From Roman to Early Christian Cyprus: Studies in Religion and Archaeology 9783161568732, 9783161568749

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Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Herausgeber/Editor Jörg Frey (Zürich) Mitherausgeber/Associate Editors Markus Bockmuehl (Oxford) ∙ James A. Kelhoffer (Uppsala) Tobias Nicklas (Regensburg) ∙ Janet Spittler (Charlottesville, VA) J. Ross Wagner (Durham, NC)

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From Roman to Early Christian Cyprus Studies in Religion and Archaeology Edited by

Laura Nasrallah, AnneMarie Luijendijk, and Charalambos Bakirtzis

Mohr Siebeck

Laura Nasrallah, born 1969; 2003–19 Professor of New Testament and Early Christianity at Harvard University; since 2019 Buckingham Professor of New Testament Criticism and Interpretation at Yale Divinity School and Yale University Department of Religious Studies. orcid.org/0000-0003-3232-9487 AnneMarie Luijendijk, born 1968; 2006–12 Assistant Professor, 2012–14 Associate Professor and since 2014 Professor of Religion, Princeton University, Department of Religion. orcid.org/0000-0003-3736-9904 Charalambos Bakirtzis, born 1943; Ephor emeritus of Byzantine Antiquities of Eastern Macedonia and Thrace, and of Thessaloniki and Central Macedonia; currently Director of the Foundation Anastasios G. Leventis in Nicosia, Cyprus.

ISBN 978-3-16-156873-2 / eISBN 978-3-16-156874-9 DOI 10.1628/978-3-16-156874-9 ISSN 0512-1604 / eISSN 2568-7476 (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament) The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data are available at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2020 Mohr Siebeck Tübingen, Germany. www.mohrsiebeck.com This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that permitted by copyright law) without the publisher’s written permission. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was typeset by epline in Böblingen using Minion typeface, printed on non-aging paper by Gulde Druck in Tübingen, and bound by Buchbinderei Spinner in Ottersweier. Printed in Germany.

Table of Contents Acknowledgments  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . � VII Abbreviations  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . � IX Laura Nasrallah Introduction (and an Analaysis of Religion by Means of the Annex of Eustolios)  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . �  1 Charalambos Bakirtzis Sea Routes and Cape Drepanon: Excavations at Agios Georgios tis Pegeias, Paphos, Cyprus  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . � 25 James Carleton Paget Cyprus in the New Testament and Beyond  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . � 33 Athanasios Papageorghiou and Nikolas Bakirtzis Hagiographic Narratives and Archaeological Realities: Revisiting the Beginnings of Christianity in Cyprus  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . � 55 Henry Maguire The Gods, Christ, and the Emperor in the Late Antique Art of Cyprus  . . . . � 75 Demetrios Michaelides Mosaic Workshops in Cyprus from the Fourth to the Seventh Centuries CE:  Two Parallel Lives?  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . � 93 Andrew T. Wilburn Ritual Specialists and the Curse Tablets from Amathous, Cyprus  . . . . . . . . . �111 Andrew S. Jacobs Epi­pha­nius’s Library  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . �133 Young Richard Kim Cypriot Autocephaly, Reconsidered  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . �153

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AnneMarie Luijendijk The Gospel of Matthew in the Acts of Bar­nabas through the Lens of a Book’s History: Healing and Burial with Books  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . �169 Ioli Kalavrezou The Cyprus Treasures since their Discovery: A Re-Evaluation  . . . . . . . . . . . . �195 Stephanos Efthymiadis The Cult of Saints in Late Antique Cyprus and the Apostolicity of its Churches: The Testimony of Greek Hagiography  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . �211 Marina Solomidou-Ieronymidou and Giorgos Philotheou The Representation and Memory of Saints Paul, Bar­nabas, Epiphanios, and Others on Wall Paintings of Byzantine and Medieval Cyprus  . . . . . . . . . �225 Bibliography  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . �237 Figures  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . �271 Subject Index  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . �317

Acknowledgments The editors are grateful to a great number of people and organizations for their help with the original conference and for the publication of this volume. The conference and publication would not have been possible without substantial funds and administrative support from the A. G. Leventis Foundation; the Harvard Divinity School Center for the Study of World Religion; and Princeton University’s Departments of Art and Archaeology, Classics, History, and Religion, as well as the Committee for the Study of Late Antiquity. At the conference, Harvard Ph.D. students Heather McLetchie-Leader and Sarah Porter were invaluable, with Sarah making the conference possible within days of her arrival to study at Harvard. Ashley Richardson, Karin GrundlerWhitacre and her office, and Daniel Hawkins and his team made the conference run smoothly. At the conference itself, the following posters were displayed, and we are grateful to their authors: Cyprus: From Aphrodite’s Island to the Island of Saints by Stavros S. Fotiou, University of Cyprus The Early Christian Baptisteries of Cyprus  by Rania Michail, University of ­Cyprus – Istituto Pontificio di Archaeologia Cristiana (Rome-Vatican) Late Antique Baths of Cyprus  by Paraskevi Christodoulou, University of ­ yprus C Wall Mosaics of Cyprus by Pelli Mastora, Ephoreia of Antiquities, Thessalo­ niki – Open University of Cyprus This publication would not have been possible without the labor of many. We are grateful to Elena Müller of Mohr Siebeck for acquiring this manuscript and to Tobias Stäbler and Daniela Zeller for their help in producing this manuscript. We are especially grateful to Princeton University Ph.D. student Jonathan Klein Henry for his expertise and dedication in editing the volume, to Princeton Theological Seminary Ph. D. student Nathan Carl Johnson for his help in editing, especially in preparing the bibliography. Harvard University Ph.D. students were invaluable in their help: Sarah Porter again helped with images, and Eric Jarrard offered careful copy-editing in a remarkably timely manner and with good humor. Mr. Theocharis Petrou helped in the proofreading and editing of the paper of Marina Solomidou-Ieronymidou and George Philotheou. For the color images, we are grateful to the A. G. Leventis Foundation; for authorization for many images, we are grateful to the Department of Antiquities, Cyprus.

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Acknowledgments

The conference was preceded by travels to Cyprus; AnneMarie Luijendijk and Laura Nasrallah would like to thank Karin and Bernhard Brouwer for their hospitality. For their love, care, and support, AnneMarie would like to thank her husband Jan Willem, children Kees, Erik, Rosemarie, and Annabel, and parents Ary and Gerie. We are also especially thankful to Charalambos Bakirtzis for his hospitality and guiding of us and two of our children in Cyprus in a truly unforgettably beautiful trip – with beauties of mosaics, frescoes, archaeological sites, mountains, and sea.

Abbreviations ACM ACW ActAnt AGAJU AJ AJA AJEC AJP AnBoll ANF ANRW APSP ARDAC ASOR BA BASP BCH BGU BHG BHT BSR BZNW CCSG CÉFR CH CIAnt ClAp ClQ CPG CSEL DOP DTA DTAud EstBib FC

Marvin Meyer and Richard Smith. Ancient Christian Magic: Coptic Texts of Ritual Power. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1994. Ancient Christian Writers Acta Antiqua Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchristentum Antiquaries Journal American Journal of Archaeology Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity American Journal of Philology Analecta Bollandiana Ante-Nicene Fathers: The Writings of the Fathers down to 325 A. D. ­Edited by Alexander Roberts et al. (Repr. Hendrickson: Peabody, 1995.) Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt American Philosophical Society Proceedings Annual Report of the Director of Antiquities American Schools of Oriental Research Biblical Archaeologist Bulletin of the American Society of Papyrologists Bulletin de correspondance hellénique Aegyptische Urkunden aus den Königlichen Staatlichen Museen zu Berlin, Griechische Urkunden. Bibliotheca Hagiographica Graeca Beiträge zur historischen Theologie Bulletin for the Study of Religion Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft Corpus Christianorum: Series Graeca Collection de l’ École française de Rome Church History Classical Antiquity Clavis apocryphorum Novi Testamenti Classical Quarterly Clavis Patrum Graecorum Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum Dumbarton Oaks Papers Richard Wünsch. Defixionum Tabellae Atticae. Inscriptiones Graecae 3.3. Berlin: G. Reimer, 1897. Auguste Audollent. Defixionum Tabellae. Paris: Fontemoing, 1904. Estudios bíblicos Fathers of the Church

X GCS GRBS Hesperia Historia HTR JAC JACErg JBL JDI JEA JECS JEH JHS JJP JNES JPOS JRH JRS JTS Klio LCL LIMC MAAR NETS NGD NHS NovT NPNF NTS NumC Numen OCP OECT PGL PO RDAC RGRW RQ RST SAC SBFCMa SC SEG

Abbreviations

Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten drei Jahr­ hunderte Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies Hesperia: Journal of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens Historia: Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte Harvard Theological Review Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum – Ergänzungsbände Journal of Biblical Literature Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Journal of Egyptian Archaeology Journal of Early Christian Studies Journal of Ecclesial History Journal of Hellenic Studies Journal of Juristic Papyrology Journal of Near Eastern Studies Journal of the Palestine Oriental Society Journal of Religious History Journal of Roman Studies Journal of Theological Studies Klio: Beiträge zur Alten Geschichte Loeb Classical Library Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome New English Translation of the Septuagint David R. Jordan. “New Greek Curse Tablets (1985–2000).” Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 41 (2000): 5–46. Nag Hammadi Studies Novum Testamentum Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers. Edited by Philip Schaff, Alexander Roberts, Henry Wace, James Donaldson New Testament Studies The Numismatic Chronicle and Journal of the Royal Numismatic Society Numen: International Review for the History of Religions Orientalia Christiana Periodica Oxford Early Christian Texts Patristic Greek Lexicon. Edited by Geoffrey W. H. Lampe. Oxford: ­ larendon, 1961. C Patrologia Orientalis Report of the Department of Antiquities Cyprus Religions in the Graeco-Roman World Römische Quartalschrift für christliche Altertumskunde und Kirchengeschichte Regensburger Studien zur Theologie Studies in Antiquity and Christianity Studium Biblicum Franciscanum, Collectio major Sources chrétiennes Supplementum epigraphicum graecum



SOAC Spec STAC StPat Suppl. Mag. TLG TSAJ TynBul VC WGRW WUNT ZAC ZNW ZPE

Abbreviations

Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization Speculum Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum Studia Patristica Robert W. Daniel and Franco Maltomini. Supplementum Magicum. Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag, 1990. Thesaurus Linguae Graecae: Canon of Greek Authors and Works Texte und Studien zum antiken Judentum Tyndale Bulletin Vigiliae Christianae Writings from the Greco-Roman World Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der ä­ lteren Kirche Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik

XI

Introduction (and an Analaysis of Religion by Means of the Annex of Eustolios) Laura Nasrallah

Cyprus is a crossroad of the ancient eastern Mediterranean, an astonishingly beautiful and rich location, providing much data about the world of late antiquity. Egypt, the Levant, Asia Minor, Greece: Cyprus stood and stands in the midst of it all. The mosaics at Paphos, the elusive Bar­nabas, the role of Cyprus as autocephalous: these buildings, images, figures, and events are intriguing data from late antiquity, to take only a few.1 Yet the significance of Cyprus has been underappreciated for the study of late antiquity. From Roman to Early Christian Cyprus and the conference that preceded it participate in filling this lacuna. This volume takes as its focus Cyprus as a key location between east and west, a location in which Judaism, Greco-Roman religions, and Christianity intersected, and where Christianity came to flourish. Cyprus is mentioned in the New Testament only in the Acts of the Apostles (ca. 90–120). There we find an account of the apostles Paul and Bar­nabas in Cyprus. A story of Bar­nabas, who comes to be closely associated with Cyprus, is recounted in chapters 4, 9, and 11–15 of Acts. The name of Bar­nabas is mentioned in the letters of Paul (1 Cor 9:6; Gal 2:1, 9, 13), which predate the Acts of the Apostles and the deutero-Pauline Letter to the Colossians (Col 4:10). In later Christian traditions, we find other texts associated with the apostle who is beloved to Cyprus. The Epistle of Bar­nabas, for example, is an allegorical interpretation that indicates tensions between Christians and Jews over interpretation of Scripture. It likely dates to the period between the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem and the emperor Hadrian’s quashing of Bar Kokhba’s revolt in 135. The Acts of 1  Sophocles Hadjisavvas, Cyprus: Crossroads of Civilizations (Nicosia: The Government of the Republic of Cyprus, 2010); Nicholas Stampolidis and Vassos Karageorghis, eds., ΠΛΟΕΣ. Sea Routes: Interconnections in the Mediterranean, 16th–6th c. BC: Proceedings of the International Symposium Held at Rethymnon, Crete, September 29th–October 2nd, 2002 (Athens: The University of Crete and the A. G. Leventis Foundation, 2003). See also Bernard Knapp, whose study focuses on pre-historical Cyprus. He questions whether looking at Cyprus as crossroads of civilizations has focused too little on events and motivations within the island itself; “Prehistoric Cyprus: A ‘Crossroads’ of Interaction?” in Multiple Mediterranean Realities: Current Approaches to Spaces, Resources, and Connectivities, ed. Achim Lichtenberger and Constance von Rüden, Mittelmeerstudien 6 (Paderborn: Wilhelm Fink; Ferdinand Schöningh, 2015), 17–30.

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Bar­nabas, which likely dates to the early fifth century CE, details stories of the Cypriot saint. Stories about other early Christian saints and leaders in Cyprus, such as Hera­ kleidios, Mnason, Epaphras, Tychicos, Auxibios, and Spyridon, not only provide important narratives of Christian saints, but also information about topography and everyday life on the island. In addition, in the late fourth century, Epi­pha­ nius of Salamis emerges as an important collator of information about the varieties of early Christianity and as a strong voice in early Christian controversies. The chapters in this volume treat these various figures, texts, and their material contexts. Other figures from Cyprus, too, come into view: those who used so-called magical texts, for example, and those who worked in a harbor, involved with the transport of building materials. By drawing on literary, archaeological, and art historical evidence from the first century CE to the medieval period, the volume elucidates the diversity of Christianity in late antique Cyprus and relations between Christians, Jews, and participants in Greco-Roman religions. Our volume is part of a groundswell of studies and publications since 2005 about ancient Cyprus. Since 1995, Theodoros Papadopoullos has been publishing a multi-volume Ιστορία τῆς Κύπρου, including a 2005 volume about Byzantine Cyprus.2 In the same year, a volume focused Aphrodite in Cyprus appeared.3 Since 2010, monographs and edited volumes treating Cyprus have focused on various other issues. Two recent volumes analyze Cypriot objects in far-flung locations of Sydney, Australia, and Reading, UK.4 A  richly illustrated volume, Historic Nicosia, edited by Demetrios Michaelides, analyses the city and environs from the prehistoric period to 1960.5 Another lavishly illustrated volume, Ancient Cyprus: Cultures in Dialogue, formed a catalogue to an exhibition hosted in Cyprus and Brussels in 2012 and 2013. The volume reviews the history of Cypriot archaeology and details a historical overview of Cyprus from the Neolithic to the Roman period. In addition, thematic essays treat such topics as natural resources, religion, and language, and the volume concludes with a thematically organized catalogue for the exhibition, including objects classed as part of the “world of the sacred.”6 A recent volume titled Four Decades of Hiatus in Archae2  Theodoros Papadopoullos, ed., Ιστορία της Κύπρου (6 vols. Nicosia: Hidryma Archiepiskopou Makariou, 1995-). 3  Jacqueline Karageorghis, Kypris. The Aphrodite of Cyprus: Ancient Sources and Archaeological Evidence (Nicosia: The A. G. Leventis Foundation, 2005). 4  Craig Barker, Aphrodite’s Island: Australian Archaeologists in Cyprus. The Cypriot Collection of the Nicholson Museum (Sydney: Nicholson Museum, University of Sydney, 2012); Sadie Pickup, Marianne Bergeron, and Jennifer M. Webb,  Cypriote Antiquities in Reading: The Ure Museum at the University of Reading and the Reading Museum (Reading Borough Council), Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology, XX:30; Corpus of Cypriote Antiquities, 30 (Uppsala: Åströms Förlag, 2015). 5  Demetrios Michaelides, ed., Historic Nicosia (Nicosia: Rimal Publications, 2012). 6  Despina Pilides and Nikolas Papadimitriou, eds., Ancient Cyprus: Cultures in Dialogue (Nicosia: Department of Antiquities, 2012).



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ological Research in Cyprus: Towards Restoring the Balance addresses issues of cultural heritage in a divided island.7 Other books offer scientific publication of the archaeological sites of Psematismenos-Trelloukkas and Pyla-Koutsopetria, or focus on metallurgy and pottery in bronze-age Cyprus.8 The evolution of the wall paintings and architecture of an originally twelfth-century church is detailed in an edited volume titled Asinou Across Time: Studies in the Architecture and Murals of the Panagia Phorbiotissa, Cyprus.9 Two recent volumes study religion, politics, and social life in Cyprus in antiquity: Giorgos Papantoniou’s Religion and Social Transformations in Cyprus: From the Cypriot Basileis to the Hellenistic Strategos,10 and Takashi Fujii’s Imperial Cult and Imperial Representation in Roman Cyprus.11 Les inscriptions de Paphos: La cité chypriote sous la domination lagide et à l’époque impériale, by JeanBaptiste Cayla, republishes more than 350 inscriptions, dating from the fourth century BCE to the seventh century CE, associated with the city of Paphos.12 The publications of an international symposium at the Römisch-Germanisches Zentralmuseum in Mainz have focused on the churches of late antique Cyprus and include chapters focusing on liturgy and baptism, as well as the material stuff of mosaics and textiles, and the larger issue of the place of churches within the sacred landscape of Cyprus.13 A project funded by the TOPOI Excellence Cluster in Berlin worked to understand early Christianity in Cyprus and other regions, by collecting epigraphic and literary evidence.14 7  Despina Pilides and Maria Mina, eds., Four Decades of Hiatus in Archaeological Research in Cyprus: Towards Restoring the Balance. Proceedings of the International One-Day Workshop, Held in Lefkosia (Nicosia) on 24th September 2016, Hosted by the Department of Antiquities, Cyprus, Κυπριακά – Forschungen zum antiken Zypern 2 (Vienna: Holtzhausen Verlag, 2017). 8  Giorgos Georgiou, Jennifer M. Webb, and David Frankel, Psematismenos-Trelloukkas: An Early Bronze Age Cemetery in Cyprus (Nicosia: Department of Antiquities, 2011); William R. Caraher, R. Scott Moore, and David K. Pettegrew, Pyla-Koutsopetria I: Archaeological Survey of an Ancient Coastal Town, Archaeological Reports 21 (Boston: ASOR, 2014); Jennifer M. Webb and David Frankel, Ambelikou Aletri. Metallurgy and Pottery Production in Middle Bronze Age Cyprus, Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology 138 (Jonsered: Åströms Förlag, 2013). 9  Annemarie Weyl Carr and Andreas Nicolaïdès, eds., Asinou across Time: Studies in the Architecture and Murals of the Panagia Phorbiotissa, Cyprus (Washington, D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection; Cambridge, MA: Distributed by Harvard University Press, 2012). 10  Giorgos Papantoniou, Religion and Social Transformations in Cyprus: From the Cypriot Basileis to the Hellenistic Strategos, Mnemosyne Supplements: History and Archaeology of Classical Antiquity 347 (Leiden: Brill, 2012). 11  Takashi Fujii, Imperial Cult and Imperial Representation in Roman Cyprus (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2013). 12  Jean-Baptiste Cayla, Les inscriptions de Paphos: La cité chypriote sous la domination lagide et à l’époque impériale, Travaux de la Maison de l’Orient 74 (Lyon: Maison de l’Orient et de la Méditerranée Jean Pouilloux, 2018). 13  Marietta Horster, Doria Nicolaou, and Sabine Rogge, eds., Church Building in Cyprus (Fourth to Seventh Centuries): A Mirror of Intercultural Contacts in the Eastern Mediterranean (Münster: Waxmann Verlag, 2018). 14  “The Rise of Christianity in Asia Minor and On Cyprus,” Topoi: The Formation and

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Our volume thus adds to a number of recent studies of and publications about Cyprus. From Roman to Early Christian Cyprus makes its own contribution both in its temporal focus and in its scholarly collaboration. We investigate late Rome to early Christian Cyprus, with some essays treating the middle Byzantine period. The contributors to the volume come from different disciplinary backgrounds. Studies of ancient literature, religion, archaeology, and art history are represented. The essays in our volume focus on questions of social, political, and religious life in Roman and early Christian Cyprus and contribute new data and new interpretations to the study of religion in antiquity.

Religion in Late Antique Cyprus Late antique religion in Cyprus could be caricatured by mapping two theological extremes. The first lies in the area of expertise of Andrew Wilburn, one of this volume’s authors: the astonishingly rich find of over two hundred lead and approximately thirty selenite tablets. These were found at Amathous, nearby and to the west of Kourion, and dated by paleography to the late second or the third century CE.15 The defixiones call upon multiple gods and daimones of the underworld (as is common) to exact justice and to bring about the result in the context of a law court that the commissioner of the spell requests. One example reads: I invoke you by ACHALEMORPHŌPH, who is the one god upon the earth OSOUS OISŌRNOPHRIS OUSRAPIO do whatever is written herein. O much lamented tomb and gods of the underworld, and chthonic Hekate, chthonic Hermes, Plouton, the chthonic Eirynes, and you who lie here below, untimely dead and the unnamed.16

Even in this short portion of a much longer defixio, we see that a ritual expert not only refers to “the one god upon the earth,” but also helps the petitioner to call upon magicae voces as well as the divinities Hekate, Hermes, Pluto, and the Eirynes. As is typical of defixiones, we find a drive to multiplicity: to the supplication of many divinities in the search for help. Epi­pha­nius of Salamis, the subject of Young Kim’s and Andrew Jacobs’s chapters in this volume, stands in contrast to this plurality  – or seems to. His late fourth-century Panarion both discloses and rejects the idea of Christian diversity. In this “medicine chest against the heresies,” Epi­pha­nius states that he will offer remedies for victims of “wild beasts’ bites” – that is, those endangered by heresies. Epi­pha­nius draws on the image of eighty concubines in the Song of Solomon to encourage his audience to reject these in favor of the one who is Transformation of Space and Knowledge in Ancient Civilizations, accessed March 17, 2019, https://www.topoi.org/event/45492/. 15  Andrew T. Wilburn, Materia Magica: The Archaeology of Magic in Roman Egypt, Cyprus, and Spain (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2012), 170, 172. 16 Wilburn, Materia Magica, 171.



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“Christ’s ‘holy bride,’ the Church.”17 The bishop drives down from the multiple to the one. Both examples – the one a so-called magical text, the other by one of the crankiest and most taxonomically driven “church fathers”18 – recognize the notion of the oneness of God and the multiplicity of religious practice and divine invocations. A Case Study in Religious and Theological Complexity at Cyprus: The Annex of Eustolios Before introducing the contributions within this volume, I want to pause to give the reader a sense of the rich opportunities for thinking about religion, theology, material culture, and social life in Cyprus. The so-called Annex of Eustolios in Kourion brings us to the ground in Cyprus, to an example of such complex theological-philosophical ideas and practices. There, in a floor mosaic, the complexities of theologies and religious identities in late antique Cyprus are laid bare. The mosaics in these buildings briefly illustrate the riches of objects and theological concepts in late antique Cyprus. Excavations of the so-called Annex of Eustolios were conducted in 1935 and again from 1948 to 1950 and reveal a large, urban complex which includes a bath on its upper terrace. It is located to the northeast of the theater complex, and, in its present form, was probably erected after the destruction of the theater.19 The complex included a central peristyle courtyard “surrounded by colonnaded porticoes, three of which preserve part of their mosaic decoration.”20 A fragmentary inscription names Eustolios as the owner of the baths; he is otherwise unattested in literary or documentary evidence. The building may have initially been constructed as a grand private residence, which was later renovated with the mosaic floors and the baths as a perhaps quasi-public site.21 The origins of the Eustolios complex may predate the construction of the early Christian episcopal basilica 17  Proem 1.1.1–3; trans. Frank Williams, The Panarion of Epi­pha­nius: Book 1 (Sects 1–46), NHS 35 (Leiden: Brill, 1987), 3. 18 See Todd Berzon, Classifying Christians: Ethnography, Heresiology, and the Limits of Knowledge in Late Antiquity (Oakland, CA: University of California Press, 2016), esp. 186–217. 19  The so-called Annex of Eustolios is hard to understand since the University of Pennsylvania excavation has not yet been published. Demetrios Michaelides, “Some Characteristic Traits of a Mosaic Workshop in Early Christian Cyprus,” in La mosaïque greco-romaine VIII: Actes du VIIIème colloque international pour l’étude de la mosaïque antique et médiévale, ed. Daniel Paunier and Christophe Schmidt (Lausanne: Cahiers d’archéologie romande de la Bibliothèque historique vaudoise, 2001), 316. 20  Demetrios Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics (Nicosia: Rimal Publications, 1987), 81. 21  The complex was first called a palace; see George H. McFadden and John Franklin Daniel, “The Excavations at Kourion,” Expedition Magazine: Bulletin of the Pennsylvania Museum 7 (1938): 4–10; John Franklin Daniel, “Kourion: Past Achievements and Future Plans,” Expedition Magazine: Bulletin of the Pennsylvania Museum 13 (1948): 12.

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in Kourion, located to its northwest, but the Christian basilica and the Eustolios complex also existed contemporaneously.22 The mosaics of the Eustolios complex have raised questions about whether this is a Christian complex, a so-called pagan one, or something else entirely. Before investigating five of the mosaic inscriptions in more detail, it is helpful to see the range of scholarly opinion, which places us precisely into the conundrum of how to understand the theological ideas and religious practices operative in Cyprus in late antiquity. In his 1988 discussion of mosaic floors of early Christian cult buildings in Cyprus, Demetrios Michaelides mentions the mosaic inscriptions of the Annex: The mosaic inscriptions from the 5th century Annex of Eustolios at Kourion illustrate a rather strange ambivalence for such an advanced date. One of these says that the structure has girt itself with the venerated symbols of Christ … but another tells us … [about] the return of the benefactor Eustolios to his native Kourion [and] evokes the visits to the city of its former patron, Apollo.23

David Soren and Jamie James offer a different interpretation, focusing on one inscription in particular: The references to stone, iron, bronze, and adamant clearly refer to the pagan religion that preceded Christianity; the versifier seems to be saying that pagan superstition oppresses the soul of man as heavily as do these materials. What gives this passage particular significance is that the same person – perhaps the beneficent Eustolios himself – who wrote about Apollo’s protection of the city as though it was not terribly remote in the past, here invokes and venerates the name of Jesus.24

Ino Nicolaou instead sees the mosaic as demonstrating “an atmosphere of tolerance … which is suggestive of a gradual transition from paganism to Christianity.”25 Terence B. Mitford’s titles for the inscriptions in The Inscriptions of Kourion reveal something of what he thinks: “The declaration of the new faith,” “The new spirits by whom the house is tended.” Mitford discusses them in light of a “transition from paganism to Christianity,” but also refers to the “pagan” nature of the reference to the “three sisters,” and sees the mosaic inscriptions as hinting “that the conversion of Kourion was a matter of convenience.”26 22  A. H. S. Megaw et al., Kourion: Excavations in the Episcopal Precinct, Dumbarton Oaks Studies 38 (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2007), 157–76. 23  Wiktor Andrzej Daszewski and Demetrios Michaelides, Mosaic Floors in Cyprus (Ravenna: Mario LaPucci/Edizioni del Girasole, 1988), 83. 24  David Soren and Jamie James, Kourion: The Search for a Lost Roman City (New York: Anchor Press of Doubleday, 1988), 23. 25  Ino Nicolaou, “The Transition from Paganism to Christianity as Revealed in the Mosaic Inscriptions of Cyprus,” in MOSAIC: Festschrift for A. H. S. Megaw, ed. Judith Herrin, Margaret Mullett, and Catherine Otten-Froux, British School at Athens Studies 8 (London: British School at Athens, 2001), 14. 26  Terence B. Mitford, The Inscriptions of Kourion, Memoirs of the American Philosophical Society 83 (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1971), 353–54; note Bagnall and



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Do the Eustolios mosaics reveal an oppressive pagan superstition, as Soren suggests? A period of tolerance, as Nicolaou says? Christianity lite, as Mitford implies? A “strange ambivalence,” as Michaelides suggests?27 What do we mean by “pagan” and “paganism,” in any case?28 Instead of following the rhetoric of early Christian writers who actively distance themselves from others – whether Greeks, so-called pagans, or other Christians, we should look at new modes of cultural production, inflected by the names of venerated figures, whether Christ or Apollo. The Mosaic Inscriptions There are six extant inscriptions in the Eustolios complex, one fragmentary beyond any useful reconstruction.29 The remaining five mosaic inscriptions talk about the space of the Eustolios complex. In doing so, they prescribe how the literate viewer experiences the space, providing a kind of running commentary and seeking to persuade the viewer-reader to consider the identity of the building and his or her identity within it. The inscriptions help to assert the agency of the building itself, as it articulates how it should be interpreted.30 The first fairly intact mosaic, with black letters in a red, brown, and gray wreath, greeted the visitor as s/he entered. It reads: Εἴσα[γε] ἐπ᾽ ἀγαθ[ῷ] εὐτυχῶς τῷ οἴκῳ Enter to your good fortune with blessings to the house.31 Drew-Bear’s critique of Mitford’s titling of inscriptions (and of Mitford): Roger S. Bagnall and Thomas Drew-Bear, “Documents from Kourion: A Review Article Part 1: Principles and Methods,” Phoenix 27 (1973): 99–117; Bagnall and Drew-Bear, “Documents from Kourion: A Review Article Part 2: Individual Inscriptions,” Phoenix 27 (1973): 213–44. 27  See also his comments regarding “peaceful harmony” between “paganism and Christianity” in Cyprus in the fourth century: Demetrios Michaelides, “Mosaic Decoration in Early Christian Cyprus,” in Horster, Nicolaou, and Rogge, Church Building in Cyprus, 216. 28  See the conclusion to Alan Cameron, The Last Pagans of Rome (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 783: “So when did paganism really, finally, end? This is a question that depends on a series of further questions, of definition, interpretation, and context. Above all, it depends on constantly changing perceptions of paganism.” To rethink terms such as “Christianization” and “pagan survival,” see David Frankfurter, Christianizing Egypt: Syncretism and Local Worlds in Late Antiquity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2018). 29 Mitford, Inscriptions of Kourion, 206. 30  We discover an even more explicitly “talking” building in Nea Paphos, where a mosaic inscription reads χαῖρε | καὶ σύ. On the agency of matter, see Laura Salah Nasrallah, Archaeology and the Letters of Paul (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), ch. 1, and its bibliography. 31  IKourion 201 in Mitford, Inscriptions of Kourion, 352–53. Mitford states: “The welcome is in fact twofold: Enter to thy good fortune and may thy coming bless this house.” Translation my own.

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A second mosaic, found in the northern apsidal room, to the east of the tepidarium and caldarium, contains only one word: KTIϹIϹ (Kτίσις). The word surrounds the head of a female figure within a roundel. She gazes toward her right, looking at an upright rod marked by two ninety-degree angles at top and bottom, likely a Roman foot measure, which is indeed “almost exactly a Roman foot in length.”32 Since at least two of the other two mosaic inscriptions in the Annex also speak about the building, this image of Κτίσις too must refer to the Annex. With its personification of “foundation” or “creation” it aggrandizes the role of the benefactor who founded the complex.33 The personification of Κτίσις fits within contemporaneous practices elsewhere. In Antioch, mosaic busts of Κτίσις were found, discovered in lavish domestic settings.34 Images of Κτίσις juxtaposed with Kosmēsis (κόσμησις, “adornment”) and Ananeōsis (ἀνανέωσις, “renewal”), dating to the Justinianic period, have been found in Cyrenaica.35 This inclination toward personifications is something familiar from late antique writing and iconography. The late fourthor early fifth-century Nonnus personifies “Night, Day, Dawn, Aion, the Seasons and the Moira, … Victory and Sleep” in his Dionysiaca.36 In Cyprus, the mosaics of Dionysus in the House of Aion in Nea Paphos label Theogonia (θεογονία, “birth of the gods”) and Anatrophē (ἀνατροφή, “upbringing”), and include personifications of “the gifts of the god to humanity,” namely, Ambrosia and Nektar.37 32 Mitford,

Inscriptions of Kourion, 358. I originally thought that this word might best be translated “creation” and that it might hint at some larger notions of theological or philosophical cosmology, as does a similar KTIϹIϹ at Qasr el-Lebia, as Henry Maguire argues in his Earth and Ocean: The Terrestrial World in Early Byzantine Art, Monographs on the Fine Arts 43 (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1987), 44–50, esp. 48. Maguire argues that the Κτίσις of the Eustolios complex must refer to the foundation of the complex itself, especially given the foot marker she holds. He also argues for a double meaning of Κτίσις (foundation and creation proper, in a theological sense) in regard to a mosaic in the East Church of Qasr-el-Lebia. The Κτίσις there may refer to the Justinianic imperial foundation, but multiple scholars have also argued that the mosaic program as a whole refers to God’s creation. 34 Doro Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1947), 1:357–58. In addition, as Kondoleon notes, the “mosaicists of Antioch were especially predisposed to and inspired in the creation of female personifications in order to express concepts such as KTIϹIϹ (Foundation) … or GH (Earth) or BIOϹ (Life).” See Christine Kondoleon, “The Mosaics of Antioch,” in Antioch: The Lost Ancient City, ed. Christine Kondoleon (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000), 63–77. 35 Maguire, Earth and Ocean, 44–50. One Κτίσις from Antioch, now at the Louvre, was found among other personifications: Ananeosis, Dynamis, Euandria. 36  As Laura Miguélez-Cavero has shown, in both literature and iconography, the Bacchic court for instance is “densely populated with personifications;” Miguélez-Cavero, “Personifications in the Service of Dionysus: The Bacchic Court,” in Nonnus of Panopolis in Context: Poetry and Cultural Milieu in Late Antiquity, ed. Konstantinos Spanoudakis, Trends in Classics Supp. 24 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2014), 175. 37  Miguélez-Cavero, “Personifications in the Service of Dionysus,” 175. So too we find personifications in the House of Dionysus in Nea Paphos, where Ikarios chooses between Temperance and representations of drunkenness. 33 



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These personifications exceed our inclination to create boundaries between Christian and pagan. A third mosaic inscription lies in an eastern hall, near the illegible inscription of the east room. This mosaic inscription is also challenging to read, given its fragmentary state.38 Even if it were whole, its meaning would still be hard to interpret. Perhaps the only thing that can be clearly said of this inscription is that it mentions both Eustolios and Phoibos (Apollo). I offer here Andrea Boskoy’s reconstruction:39 [Κουριέας] τ̣ὸ πάρο̣ι ̣θ̣ε ̣ ἐ̣[ν] ὄ̣[λβω]ι ̣ π̣αντ̣ὶ ̣ πέλ̣ο[̣ ν]τας [νῦν ἐν δύηι ἰδ]ὼν ἐκ̣ ποδὸς Εὐστόλιος [οὐ πατέρων χώ]ρης ἐπελήσατο, ἀλλ᾽ ἄρα καὶ τῆς [ἐμνήσθη φιλί]ως, λουτρὰ χαρισσάμενος [αὐτὸς δὴ τότε] δί ̣ζ̣ετο Κούριον, ὣς ποτε Φοῖβος, [γαίην δὲ β]ρ̣υχ[̣ ί]ην̣ θῆκεν ὑπηνεμίην.

Soren and James translate the inscription thus: Eustolios, having seen that the Kourians, though previously very wealthy, were in abject misery, did not forget the city of his ancestors but having presented the baths to our city, he was then taking care of Kourion as once did Phoebus [Apollo] and built this cool refuge sheltered from the wind.40

Nearly every aspect of this inscription – and note that the translation itself is a guess at how to put together a fragmentary text – is subject to questioning. Does the inscription refer to a disaster, such as an earthquake? (We certainly know that there was a significant earthquake in ca. 365.)41 What is the significance of the reference to Phoibos (Apollo), given the nearby sanctuary of Apollo Hylates? Does the inscription indicate Christian triumphalism? Mitford has argued that, despite the difficulties of restoring the poem, its meaning “nevertheless, is not obscure. Eustolios, although he lived abroad – and possibly had risen in Imperial service – when he saw the miseries of Kourion, did not forget the city of his birth. First, he presented these baths; and then, visiting the city in person (as once did Phoebus), built for her this cool shelter from the winds.”42 This influential reading and interpretation seems to have influenced Soren and James’s translation. They continue by arguing that “the primary message conveyed by this verse (after extolling the generosity of citizen Eustolios, of course), is that the worship of Apollo, while in the past, was nonetheless a re38 

McFadden and Daniel, “The Excavations at Kourion,” 4–10. Ἀνδρέα Ι. Βοσκοῦ, Ἀρχαία Κυπριακὴ Γραμματεία, vol. 2:   Ἐπίγραμμα (Nicosia: The Anastasios G. Leventis Foundation, 1997), 126, E52; Mitford, Inscriptions of Kourion, 204. Dotted underlining denotes readings which Βοσκοῦ has deemed uncertain. 40  Soren and James, Kourion: The Search for a Lost Roman City, 20. 41  Soren and James, Kourion: The Search for a Lost Roman City, 3. 42 Mitford, Inscriptions of Kourion, 357. 39 

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cent memory.”43 Roger Bagnall and Thomas Drew-Bear, however, in their strong critique of Mitford’s Inscriptions of Kourion, declare that nearly every aspect of this interpretation is fictive, including the assumption that there is an essentially Christian character to the inscription.44 What we can tell from the few remaining words in these inscriptions, according to Boskoy, is that we have three elegiac doublets influenced by Homeric language, which mention Phoibos Apollo.45 Eustolios is the subject of the inscription and seems to have been the cheerful giver of a bath (loutra). The inscription that mentions Phoibos is one of three in the Eustolios complex that are written in dactylic hexameter. Thus, in their very form they gesture toward epic poetry. In addition, their vocabulary alludes to Homer and other classical writers known from the educational system of the Roman period. If the meaning of this mosaic inscription is unclear, what we can know is that this inscription, in tandem with the others, is part of the display of paideia on the part of one who commissioned or produced these mosaics. In addition, we can address the riddle of this particular mosaic inscription by pointing to other evidence of Christ and Apollo together. What has perplexed and fascinated scholars about this annex is the juxtaposition of the phrase ὣς ποτε Φοῖβος, “as at some time Phoibos” with the remaining two mosaic inscriptions, found at the south side of the excavated area, one of which is explicitly Christian. This need not necessarily be surprising. We can think of Constantine himself, famed for his conversion to Christianity, as Eusebius of Caesarea told the story of his seeing a cross-shaped trophy made of light, and subsequently receiving a revelation from Christ (Vit. Const. 1.28–29). He was also famed for his worship of the gods, as we see in a panegyrist who insisted: “O Constantine, you saw, I believe, your protector Apollo, in company with Victory, offering you laurel crowns each of which bears the presage of thirty years.”46 The light and clarity of an Apollo compare favorably with that of Christ. A fourth mosaic inscription, disintegrated in its center-right, is located “at the entrance to the southern rooms of the Annex,”47 in the eastern part of the excavated complex. This southernmost mosaic inscription reads: 43 

Soren and James, Kourion: The Search for a Lost Roman City, 20. Bagnall and Drew-Bear, “Documents from Kourion 2,” 240–41. 45 Βοσκοῦ, Επίγραμμα, 410; 409–14 provides a useful commentary on the inscription. 46  “But why indeed do I  say, ‘I believe’? You really saw the god and recognized yourself in the appearance of one to whom the prophecies of poets have declared that the rule of the whole world should belong.” Pan. Lat. VI.21.3–7, translated in J. Stevenson and W. H. C. Frend, A New Eusebius. Documents Illustrating the History of the Church to A. D. 337 (London: SPCK, 1987), 282 (no. 248). See also discussion in Jan Bremer, “The Vision of Constantine,” in Land of Dreams: Greek and Latin Studies in Honour of A. H. M. Kessels, ed. A. P. M. H. Lardinois, M. G. M. van der Poel, and V. J. C. Hunink (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 57–79. 47 Mitford, Inscriptions of Kourion, 354. 44 



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ἐξέδρην θάλαμόν τε θυώ[δεα τοῦτο]ν [ἀδ]ελφαὶ Αἰδὼ〈ς〉 Σωφροσύνη τε καὶ [Εὐσεβίη] κομέουσιν The sisters Reverence, Moderation, and [Piety] tend the exedra and this sweet-smelling inner hall.48

The third term, or the third “sister,” is contested. Mitford’s Inscriptions of Kourion contradicts his earlier reconstruction of eusebiē, preferring eunomē, a reading that Soren and others follow, while Bagnall and Drew-Bear do not.49 My reasons for preferring eusebiē will become clear below. The inscription employs the language of the Odyssey and the Hymn to Demeter in its reference to θάλαμόν τε θυώ[δεα τοῦτο]ν.50 Its references to Reverence, Moderation (sometimes translated modesty or purity), and Piety likely emerge from popular philosophical-theological conversations of the day. Sophrosynē, or self-control, was a principal philosophical virtue in antiquity,51 just as the virtue of eusebeia, or piety, was important in political and philosophical writings from the Roman period.52 In the case of the Eustolios mosaic, these virtues may be gendered not only in their grammatically feminine sense, but also in their application to women, since the term thalamos, translated here “inner hall,” also means “women’s quarters.” This inscription may allude to terminology found in the early Christian text of 1 Timothy. First Timothy, compared to other texts of the Christian Testament, 48  IKourion 203; I have edited the Greek to substitute Εὐσεβίη for Εὐνομίη; see arguments below. Soren and James, Kourion: The Search for a Lost Roman City, 21, offer a different translation: “The sisters Reverence, Temperance, and Obedience to the law [of God] tend the platform and this fragrant hall.” The term thalamos is associated with women’s quarters, and thus perhaps a more private space; the term exedra seems to point to the public location of the house. I am grateful to AnneMarie Luijendijk for pointing out this contrast. 49  Bagnall and Drew-Bear, “Documents from Kourion 2,” 239 n. 99. They question the relevance of the reading eunomiē, “the ‘justice’ of governors and high officials,” for the thalamos or women’s quarters. 50  Bagnall and Drew-Bear, “Documents from Kourion 2,” 239 n. 98: “Od. 4.121 θαλάμοιο θυώδεος; Hymn to Demeter 244, 288 θυώδεος ἐκ θαλάμοιο.” 51  The third term, or the third “sister,” is contested. Mitford’s Inscriptions of Kourion contradicts his earlier reconstruction of eusebiē, preferring eunomē, a reading that Soren and others follow; see in contrast the reconstruction of Drew-Bear and Bagnall. In addition, a TLG search reveals no juxtapositions of eunomiē with sophrosynē. Mitford’s original reconstruction of eusebeiē, rather than his later reconstruction of eunomiē, must be the correct one, as others too argue. I  too would reconstruct eusebeiē, based upon my finding, using a Thesaurus Linguae Graecae search, that the roots of sophrosynē and eusebeia occur together six times more frequently (eighty-eight hits altogether) within five words of each other than do the roots of sophrosynē and eunomia. See also the argument below about 1 Timothy as an intertext for this mosaic – and 1 Timothy is a text particularly concerned about eusebeia. 52  See T. Christopher Hoklotubbe, Civilized Piety: The Rhetoric of pietas in the Pastoral Epistles and the Roman Empire (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2017). We find eusebeia extolled in a text like 1 Timothy within the Christian Testament and juxtaposed with other virtues in writers such as Clement of Alexandria, Paed. 2. 12. 131.4.3: Ἀνθρώπου δὲ ἀρετὴ δικαιοσύνη καὶ σωφροσύνη καὶ ἀνδρεία καὶ εὐσέβεια …

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extols and mentions eusebeia most frequently by a significant margin.53 The juxtaposition of aidōs and sophrosynē in the Eustolios mosaic inscription may allude to the proximate use of these terms in 1 Tim 2:9, in which women are instructed to adorn or to order/arrange themselves with reverence and modesty (ὡσαύτως [καὶ] γυναῖκας ἐν καταστολῇ κοσμίῳ μετὰ  αἰδοῦς καὶ  σωφροσύνης κοσμεῖν ἑαυτάς). In addition, the root of the verb kosmein, with its overtones of order and arrangement, is used twice in the passage from 1 Timothy. The inscription uses the verb komein (“to tend”). Nevertheless, the words sound similar and might have been easily confused in transmission. The sorts of philosophical-theological virtues of restrained adornment, of ordering oneself with virtues, and even of arranging or tending, are common both to philosophical-theological literature and to the building complex. Indeed, the mosaic KTIϹIϹ is herself neatly attired, simply adorned with one bracelet, and with her hair nicely coiffed focuses attentively to the right, gazing upon the measuring stick that helps her to order and arrange the building. She can be interpreted as embodying these virtues. Finally, the mosaic inscription located nearby in the southern part of the east hall is the best preserved and perhaps the most contested of them all. In the words of Bagnall and Drew-Bear, it is the “only inscribed mosaic [in this complex] with an unequivocally Christian text.”54 It reads: ἀντὶ λίθων μεγάλων, ἀντὶ στερεοῖο σιδήρου χαλκοῦ τε ξανθοῖο καὶ αὐτοῦ ἀντ’ ἀδάμαντος 〈ο〉ἵδε δόμοι ζώσαντο πολύλλιτα σήματα Χριστοῦ.55

Mitford’s translation is florid: “this house, in place of its ancient armament of walls and iron and bronze and steel, has now girt itself with the much-venerated symbols of Christ” (fig. 9, p. 288). We might instead translate: Instead of great stones, instead of both solid iron and yellow bronze, and even instead of the hardest metal, this house56 girt itself with the signs of Christ, objects of many prayers.57

The mosaic design that surrounds the inscription contains nothing that we would recognize as sēmata Christou, although it is possible that the signs of Christ were 53  Searching within the Christian Testament, we find that 1 Timothy uses words with the root euseb- ten times, compared to the next most frequent user of this terminology, 1 Peter, which contains five instances. 54  Bagnall and Drew-Bear, “Documents from Kourion 2,” 242. 55  Bagnall and Drew-Bear, “Documents from Kourion 2,” 243, agreeing with IKourion 202. 56  Domos is frequently used in plural for “house.” 57  Soren and James, Kourion: The Search for a Lost Roman City, 22: “In place of big stones and solid iron, gleaming bronze, and even adamant, this house is girt with the much-venerated signs of Christ.” Mitford (Inscriptions from Kourion, 354) notes that “πολύλιττος is to be found in Kallimachos for the Homeric πολύλλιστος.” LSJ, s. v. πολύλλιστος, states that the word is used in Od. 5.445 to mean “object of many prayers” (citing Georg Autenrieth, A Homeric Dictionary for Schools and Colleges [New York: Harper and Brothers, 1891]). With thanks to David Elmer, in the Harvard Classics Department (David Elmer, email message to author, 27 August 2015).



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on the walls, consisted of objects within the room, or were found in oral form as prayers themselves. As Henry Maguire argues in this volume, it may have been undesirable to have signs of Christ on the floor; we should not be surprised that the floor mosaic itself contains no such indications of Christ. Mitford argues that, due to the lack of evident Christian symbolism in the surrounding mosaics that remain, the inscription “hints that the conversion of Kourion was a matter of convenience.”58 Bagnall and Drew Bear rightly critique this comment.59 Even if the mosaic imagery gives us nothing we could clearly identify as “signs of Christ,” and even if the content of this inscription is tantalizing and baffling, the inscription tells us a great deal by its very form. It employs the diction of epic by using dactylic hexameter. According to David Elmer, its first lines, with the “collocation of lithos, stereos, and sidēros” may have been a reference to Odyssey 19.494: ἔξω δ᾽ὡς ὅτε τις στερεὴ λίθος ἠὲ σίδηρος.60 The specific vocabulary of this interesting epigram may also tell us even more. The word polyllitos, as Mitford notes, is the equivalent to the Homeric polyllistos “object of many prayers,” but with the spelling that is found in the fourth-century BCE Kallimachos’s epigrams.61 The word is found twice in this corpus, once in an epigram regarding Apollo. The fact that the spelling polyllitos corresponds to an epigram connected with Apollo may be significant. This unusual word is deployed in the Eustolios Annex, which mentions Apollo (Phoebus) in the inscription detailing Eustolios’s benefaction, and near the location of the worship of Apollo Hylates in Kourion.62 Thus, this inscription looks to ancient traditions of Greek poetry and demonstrates the sophistication of the owner of the complex and of those who can read the inscription and understand its intertexts. But the significance of this word does not only lie in looking backwards to its use in Kallimachos. Because this word in this particular form is used in such a limited way – only fifteen occurrences in the Greek literature contained in the Thesaurus Linguae Graecae – it is both easy and important to see how the term is used contemporaneously with the inscription, to draw a larger context. The word polyllitos is used roughly four times in the fourth and fifth centuries CE.63 Two of the three writers who use these terms are Christians who produce Christian texts and stories that emulate the classical Greek tradition.64 The term is used by Eu58 Mitford, Inscriptions of Kourion, 354; see Soren and James, Kourion: The Search for a Lost Roman City, 22: “in place of big stones and solid iron, gleaming bronze, and even adamant, this house is girt with the much-venerated signs of Christ.” 59  Bagnall and Drew-Bear, “Documents from Kourion 2,” 242–43. 60  Prof. David Elmer, email message to author, 27 August 2015. 61 Mitford, Inscriptions of Kourion, 354. 62 Mitford, Inscriptions of Kourion, 204. 63  Two of these are found in Nonnus, who in one place refers to “theon … polylitton” the much-prayed to God. It is used once in Pseudo-Manetho to modify the goddess of childbirth, Eileithyia. 64  I deliberately use this term “emulate” to echo the shift in art historians’ terminology with

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dokia, empress and composer of Greek hexameter, to refer to the “much prayed to (or revered) Christ” in her Life of Cyprian.65 The late fourth- or early fifth-century Nonnus uses the word polyllitos twice.66 Nonnus’s use of the term is significant for the purposes of interpreting the Eustolios complex mosaic, because of his famous role as narrator of both Dionysus and of Christ. Nonnus produced a Paraphrasis of the Gospel of St. John in 3650 lines of dactylic hexameter, an expansion and rephrasing of the Gospel of John influenced by Neoplatonic thought. Simultaneously, or perhaps after the Paraphrasis had been completed,67 Nonnus wrote his Dionysiaca in forty-eight books and 12,382 lines, a long story of Dionysus that included ruminations on his progress to divinization. Some scholars read Nonnus as writing primarily for aspirational Christians,68 presenting a subtly triumphant Christianity in both volumes.69 We can instead recognize Nonnus as someone who wrote about both Christ and Dionysus, and who reframed Christian scripture in epic tones. His writings are evidence of one form of late antique Christian identity, in which some Christians easily valued the language of the classical epic poets, melding Christian religious sensibility with that of the classical. Elsewhere in our volume, Ioli Kalavrezou offers a similar argument regarding the Lambousa treasure found at Cyprus: the plates depicting David “can be seen as a Christianized form of the ancient educational tradition of the hero myth.”70 regard to Roman “imitation” of Greek sculpture; such art historians began instead to use the term “emulation” in order to mark the creativity and productivity in the Roman period and their relation to classical Greek tradition. 65  De martyrio sancti Cypriani (e cod. Florent. Laurent. VII, 10) book 2 line 462. 66  The term “polyllitos” is used once to modify “God” and once to modify terpōlē (rare sport, delight). Our only biographical knowledge about Nonnus comes from an anonymous epigram that states that he came from Panopolis (modern Achmim) in Egypt. See Konstantinos Spanoudakis, Nonnus of Panopolis, Paraphrasis of the Gospel of John XI (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014). 67 Spanoudakis, Nonnus of Panopolis, Paraphrasis, 4. 68  This poetry, as Spanoudakis says, is “attentive to the aspirations of its audience” (Nonnus of Panopolis, Paraphrasis, 4). 69  Spanoudakis says of Nonnus’s compositions: “The Paraphrasis and the Dionysiaca of Nonnus of Panopolis are two parts of a great cultural project which aims at recounting the history of the world. The perspective is essentially Christian … Such poetry is attentive to the aspirations of its audience. The diverse subjects of the poems need not imply a diverse audience. Either poem within itself contains features and allusions to the ‘other’ heritage. A ‘mixed’ poetry is addressed to a mixed audience in which religious conviction is less important than cultural identity … The arrival of Christ verified the truth and validity of these old symbols for those able to recognize them.” Spanoudakis, Nonnus of Panopolis, Paraphrasis, 4. 70  See in this volume Ioli Kalavrezou, “The Cyprus Treasures since Their Discovery: A ReEvaluation.” That the contrast between Christianity and “Hellenistic culture” is a scholarly construct rather than an ancient fact we know well from Werner Jaeger, Early Christianity and Greek Paideia (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 1961), for example. The connections of late antique Christianity to Greek education and literature has been explored in the work of Ellen Muehlberger, who shows with precision how non-Christian progymnasmata are used and re-



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The Mosaic in the Landscape of Cyprus and Antiquity Ino Nicolaou has argued regarding the mosaic inscriptions of the Eustolios complex that “the composer of [these texts] could not stop his ears to the Pagan Siren … The propaganda of the new religion was being made through the traditional pagan means of expression,” namely, by using dactylic hexameter and archaizing verse.71 This interpretation does not take into account the broader context of Christian writing in late antiquity.72 It bifurcates “pagan” from Christian at a time that such labels would not have made sense to many Christians, who understood their theological-philosophical heritage as continuous of those of their forebears (or the Greeks whom they wished had been their forebears).73 Georgios Deligiannakis writes that “the extent to which an interest in classical culture also contained a personal statement of belief or should be perceived as what we would today call ‘secular’ will always be open to discussion,” using the formed in Christian education and practice. See her “The Morphing Portrait of a Church Father: Evidence from the de morte (CPG 4886) attributed to John Chrysostom,” Eirene – Studia Graeca et Latina 52 (2016): 407–19, and also her The Moment of Reckoning: Imagined Death in Early Christianity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019). Simultaneously, of course, other Christians constructed the category of the pagan, asserting Christian difference and distance. A famous example of both kinds of Christianity comes in the relationship between the western writers Ausonius and Paulinus of Nola. It is particularly relevant to interpretation of the Eustolios complex because the discussion specifically names Apollo. Ausonius wrote to Paulinus: “This I pray: receive these words of mine, divinities from Boeotia, Muses, / And with Latin poetry call back the poet-priest.” Paulinus responded in this way: “Why do you instruct the Muses that I have rejected to return to my affection, my father? Hearts given up to Christ give refusal to the Camenae [sc. Latin Muses], and are not open to Apollo. Once upon a time there was this understanding between me and you, equals not in power, but in enthusiasm – to summon deaf Apollo from his Delphic cave, to call on the Muses as goddesses, and to seek from groves or mountains the gift of speech granted by the gift of god. Now it is another force that directs my mind, a greater God, and he demands another mode of life, claiming for himself from man the gift he gave, so that we may live for the Father of life.” Carmen 10.19–32. This material is gleaned from Robert Shorrock, The Myth of Paganism: Nonnus, Dionysus and the World of Late Antiquity (London: Bristol Classical Press, 2011), 15–16. 71  Nicolaou, “The Transition from Paganism to Christianity,” 14. 72  The idea that inscriptions that are written in verse reveal “the dying influence of the pagan literary form on Early Christian writing” is problematic. See Nicolaou, “The Transition from Paganism to Christianity,” 14, concerning the inscription at Agios Spyridon at Tremithous. 73  Werner Jaeger helpfully argued in the mid-twentieth century that we must recognize the ways in which early Christian literature understands itself as a continuation of Greek paideia, indeed, as a perfection of it, as in the case of the second-century CE writer Justin Martyr, who advances arguments about philosophers such as Socrates knowing the Logos, and thus being Christians avant la lettre. Regarding differences in how such a mix was manifest in Athens and Alexandria in late antiquity, see Edward J. Watts, City and School in Late Antique Athens and Alexandria (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006). Regarding constructing genealogical connections, see the Panhellenion as discussed, e. g., in Christopher P. Jones, Kinship Diplomacy in the Ancient World, Revealing Antiquity 12 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999); Nasrallah, Christian Responses to Roman Art and Architecture: The Second-Century Church amid the Spaces of Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 87–118.

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epigrams of Eustolios as an example.74 While I share Deligiannakis’s question, the very frames of “personal statement of belief ” and “secular” are not helpful; these modern categories have unraveled,75 revealing more about our present commitments and criteria than those of antiquity, in which, for example, the interiority of belief was not an omnipresent litmus test of true religiosity. The Eustolios mosaics are examples of the contiguity of what we label Christianity and Greek culture. Eustolios or Nonnus or others in antiquity would have likely understood such juxtapositions of Apollo and Christ merely as how they lived, rather than as a complex intermingling of two separable elements. So too, we find examples of continuity of Christianity with its cultural context in early Christian miscellanies or collections such as the Dishna papers or Bodmer Miscellany, in which Cicero’s Catiline Orations are found bound together with the Hymn to the Virgin, the Gospels of Luke and of John, and the tale of the Emperor Hadrian.76 We find such continuity and sharing in the very education of Christian thinkers in the fourth century.77 We have already found such continuity and complexity in the writings of Nonnus of Panopolis. We find such continuity again in Cyprus, as Pelli Mastora has demonstrated, in the fifth-century mosaic depiction of the bath of Achilles in Nea Paphos and in the larger cultural contexts of Christian use of Homer and Virgil (Constantine, Didymos of Alexandria) that she adduces.78 Such continuity between what we wrongly bifurcate as Christian and pagan may also have been present among the artisans themselves. As Michaelides argues, the same workshop may have worked at the basilica of Agia Trias and at the Annex of Eustolios.79 74  Georgios Deligiannakis, “The Last Pagans of Cyprus: Prolegomena to a History of Tradition from Polytheism to Christianity,” in Horster, Nicolaou, and Rogge, Church Building in Cyprus, 23–44. 75  See, inter alia, Brent Nongbri, Before Religion: A  History of a Modern Concept (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2013); Carlin Barton and Daniel Boyarin, Imagine No Religion: How Modern Abstractions Hide Ancient Realities (New York: Fordham University Press, 2016); Talal Asad, Formations of the Secular: Christianity, Islam, Modernity (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2003). 76  Jennifer Knust “Miscellany Manuscripts, the Dishna Papers, and the Christian Canonical Imaginary,” in Ritual Matters: Material Remains and Ancient Religion, ed. Jennifer Knust and Claudia Moser, MAAR (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2017), 99–118. 77  Ellen Muehlberger, “The Morphing Portrait of a Church Father,” 407–19. 78  Pelli Mastora, “Achilles [sic] First Bath in the House of Theseus in Nea Paphos and the Nativity of Christ,” Επετηρίδα του Κέντρου Επιστημονικών Ερευνών, XXXVII (Nicosia: 2015), 14–15; see also the discussion in Deligiannakis, “The Last Pagans of Cyprus,” in Horster, Nicolaou, and Rogge, Church Building in Cyprus, 35–38; and in the same volume, Michaelis, “Mosaic Decoration in Early Christian Cyprus,” 213–44. 79  Michaelides, “Some Characteristics of a Mosaic Workshop,” 319. See also Daszewski and Michaelides, Mosaic Floors in Cyprus, 105: “In the Baths of Eustolios at Kourion, dated to the beginning of the 5th century by a coin of Theodosius II found under one of its mosaics, the same lotus frieze [as found in Chrysopolitissa and Limeniotissa basilicas, which are probably of the same workshops] is found and it is so similar to those of the two basilicas that there is little



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The mosaic inscriptions of the Eustolios complex are best interpreted not in light of battle between “paganism” and Christianity, but in light of larger philosophical-theological trends of late antiquity – that is, the larger paideia or culture and education.80 At this time, discussion of the highest God was taking place, and Christianity was sometimes defined in light of current trends in Greek education, which reached back to Homer and other foundational literature. Let us return to the larger Cypriot context: to the “magical” texts of Amathous and the harsh bishop of Salamis. Some Christians, like Epi­pha­nius, to be sure, were clearing ground and rejecting other Christians and others in general for their idolatrous ways, carving out a thin and singular identity. But others, like the users of the defixiones, were aggregating their theologies, bringing together gods or philosophical-theological concepts and practices from multiple sources. The Annex of Eustolios, in its mosaic inscriptions, literally addresses the viewerhearer. The building itself is a material object brimming with purpose and persuasive power. And its mosaics speak in epic tones of theological-philosophical virtues, drawing together the classical past and the signs of Christ.

Contributions in This Volume Our volume explores this complexity around religion, culture, artisanal work, and society in Cyprus. We begin with Charalambos Bakirtzis’s “Sea Routes and Cape Drepanon  from the Hellenistic to the Byzantine Period Excavations at Agios Georgios Tēs Pegeias, Paphos, Cyprus,” which provides an overview of the archaeological history of Cape Drepanon. This site, at the very west of the island, was important from the Hellenistic to the Byzantine period, first as a possible site of quarrying in relation to the building of Ptolemaic Alexandria, then as a site of trade and the transport of grain from Alexandria to Constantinople. We find the communication of ideas indicated by material evidence from small finds to architectural styles. This chapter points to how the hagiographies of saints associated with Cyprus often talk about their sea travels: ports are built into the todoubt that the same mosaicists must have been responsible for the decoration of both secular and religious buildings such as these.” 80  Cyprus has an unusually high concentration of hypsistos inscriptions. According to Stephen Mitchell’s catalogues, Cyprus offers a full thirty-one inscriptions in which a god is named as the “highest”: see Stephen Mitchell, “The Cult of Theos Hypsistos between Pagans, Jews, and Christians” in Pagan Monotheism in Late Antiquity, ed. Polymnia Athanassiadi and Michael Frede (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 81–148; Stephen Mitchell, “Further Thoughts on the Cult of Theos Hypsistos,” in One God: Pagan Monotheism in the Roman Empire, ed. Stephen Mitchell and Peter van Nuffeln (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 167–208. These inscriptions vary in date and in relation to the god who is proclaimed as “highest,” but they are evidence on the ground, literally, of a larger discourse in antiquity, a discourse of the highest god or greatest god. See Angelos Chaniotis, “Megatheism: The Search for the Almighty God and the Competition of Cults,” in Mitchell and van Nuffeln, One God, 112–40.

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pography of Cyprus and also are key to narratives of the island. Bakirtzis outlines our archaeological knowledge of this site, which included the Justinianic basilica, visible to sailors from the sea, and two post-Justinianic basilicas. James Carleton Paget’s “Cyprus in the New Testament and Beyond” tackles a longstanding puzzle: What can we know of early Christians in Cyprus in the first and the second century CE? We find some data in the canonical Acts of the Apostles, and there is some archaeological and other literary evidence of the first through fourth centuries. The chapter delineates the (meager) evidence we have of earliest Christianity in Cyprus and discusses the issue of Jews in Cyprus in the first century CE. It focuses in particular on the themes and the brevity of the account of Paul and Bar­nabas in Cyprus in the Acts of the Apostles, on the one hand, and the puzzle of the role of Jews in Cyprus, on the other. The chapter contextualizes the account in the Acts of the Apostle in light of what we know about Jews in Cyprus in the high Roman imperial period. It shows how necessary this task is, given the emphasis in Luke-Acts on conflict with Jews in Cyprus, even though a more general view of Cyprus in the first and second centuries should reasonably emphasize its well-known “pagan” aspects. Carleton Paget’s account helps us to keep our eye on an understudied minority population – Jews – and on the rhetoric of an early Christian text like the Acts of the Apostles, which overinflates the power and role of Jews in Cyprus. “Archaeological Realities and Hagiographic Narratives: Revisiting the Beginnings of Christianity in Cyprus,” co-authored by Athanasios Papageorghiou and Nikolas Bakirtzis, examines the tensions between the literary and archaeological record on the transition from traditional religion to Christianity at Cyprus. The chapter details hagiographical narratives relevant to the Christianization of the island, including Acts of the Apostles, Acts of Bar­nabas, and saints’ lives. These literary sources, the chapter argues,  portray the conversion of the island as a struggle. Jews in particular are depicted as violent and resistant in these texts. The archaeological sources, in contrast, suggest a rather different situation, mainly of peaceful co-existence. The chapter concludes by turning back to the Jewish revolt in 115–117 and its effect on the Christians of Cyprus, Roman patronage of traditional cults, as well as investigating the deep impact of natural disasters in the fourth century on the developing cities of Cyprus. The next two essays focus on the mosaics of Cyprus. Henry Maguire’s “The Gods, Christ, and the Emperor in the Late Antique Art of Cyprus,” emerges from his keynote presentation at the conference. The chapter takes a seemingly small but clear difference between Christian and non-Christian uses of images, and it uses that difference to open up a world of implications for art and religion. Maguire observes, “whereas from the Hellenistic through to the end of the late antique period it was common for pagan gods and their exploits to be illustrated upon the floors of buildings, it was exceedingly uncommon for either Christ or the emperor to be so depicted.” Why, Maguire asks, was it so rare for scenes from



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the Bible or from imperial ceremony to be on the ground, where they could be stepped on? Maguire’s chapter explores a wealth of iconography on the island of Cyprus. Depictions of the god Dionysus, for example, appear on the floors of the House of Dionysus and the House of Aion, or the goddess Aphrodite in a bath at Alassa. While Christian symbols can be found on mosaic pavements in Cyprus – fruiting vines, or a cross, for instance – only in rare cases outside of Cyprus is Christian figural imagery found on floors. Drawing in comparisons from outside Cyprus, ruminating on whether the lack of Christian figural imagery on the floor is due to bishop Epi­pha­nius’s stance against images (the answer is no), and investigating floor mosaics in Jewish synagogues which depict biblical scenes, Maguire marshals evidence to point to the absence of biblical imagery on Christian floor mosaics. Yet, he also notes, Roman imperial portraits on floors are also absent, making Christians in one way similar to their “pagan” others. Thus, Maguire concludes, “The absence of Christian portrait images on pavements was inextricably linked with the veneration of icons.” Art with the “pagan” gods could be placed underfoot, but as more honor was rendered to images of Christ or to other saints, they could not be incorporated into floor mosaics, even as the Roman emperors could not be trodden underfoot. Demetrios Michaelides’s “Mosaic Workshops in Cyprus from the Fourth to the Seventh Centuries CE: Two Parallel Lives?” returns us to the beauties of the mosaics of Cyprus and to the question of what they can reveal about relations between Christians and others in the fourth to seventh centuries. In his review of the mosaics (and some other decorative elements) of churches and elite structures throughout Cyprus from the fourth to the mid-seventh centuries CE, Michaelides discovers several important themes. First, some workshops accommodated themselves both to domestic and to religious structures. Second, close investigation of mosaics allows a glimpse of artisanal labor and larger artistic and economic trends: some mosaic workshops moved between Cyprus and Antioch or were found in distant locations within Cyprus.81 Third, several mosaics in Cyprus indicate the strength of traditional religion in the mist of the emergence and growth of Christianity on the island, and what we can perhaps call religious syncretism or at least proximity. For example, the same workshop could decorate both an ecclesiastical building, like the basilica of Agia Trias, and a civic or private building, like the Annex of Eustolios. Finally, there was a shift in decorative practice in the sixth century: as the marble trade came to Cyprus, sophisticated examples of opus sectile decoration were used in churches. Throughout, this chapter helps the reader to look closely and to understand with precision patterns, color, and motifs of those who made mosaics in ancient Cyprus. It also 81  See also discussions in Lawrence Becker and Christine Kondoleon, The Arts of Ancient Antioch: Art Historical and Scientific Approaches to Roman Mosaics and a Catalogue of the Worchester Art Museum Antioch Collection (Worchester, MA: Worchester Art Museum; Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005).

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helps the reader to consider larger trends and issues, as it argues that the themes and techniques of the mosaics indicate a peaceful co-existence with Christians among their non-Christian neighbors on the island. Drew Wilburn’s “Ritual Specialists and the Curse Tablets from Amathous, Cyprus” turns us to something more hidden in the landscape of Cyprus. At Amathous, deposited either in a well or a shaft grave, the to-date largest cache of so-called magical materials from antiquity was found: more than two hundred lead and selenite tablets. The tablets which have been published so far are judicial in nature and “focus on removing the anger of adversaries, and ask that the victims be made speechless.” The chapter deepens our understanding of ritual practice and religion in Cyprus. It does so by questioning the very definition of magic in contradistinction to religion, reminding us, for example, that the canonical Acts of the Apostles depicts a scene in Cyprus in which a figure named Elymas is called a magos, which we usually translate magician – a term that could equally have been applied to Paul and Bar­nabas by Roman officials. The chapter contextualizes the Amathous cache within the ritual practices in the ancient Mediterranean world, demonstrating, for instance, how the tablets contain an international set of names (Osiris, Iao, Adonai, among others), which indicate references to Egyptian religions and Judaism, as well as communications between Cyprus and other locations. The chapter also illuminates the use and importance of the Cypriot tablets by turning to other defixiones around the Mediterranean, considering how they were displayed in cult centers, and how ritual experts produced them. The next two chapters star the contentious bishop of Constantia (Salamis), Epi­pha­nius. Andrew Jacobs’s “Epi­pha­nius’s Library” lays out the usual approach to the fourth-century CE bishop’s corpus by those that mine it for its sources, rather than approach the agitated, critical bishop himself. This chapter instead pursues the question: What of Epi­pha­nius’s library? To what sources, and in what form, did Epi­pha­nius have access? In this, Jacobs enters a larger set of scholarship on the late antique libraries of other figures, such as Eusebius and Jerome. Jacobs focuses on Epi­pha­nius’s unique qualities. In the Panarion, which was completed after Epi­pha­nius had moved to Cyprus, mention of so-called pagan and heretical texts and authors predominates, but significant citations come from so-called orthodox writers. Yet, among these citations, many are precisely about those who are considered heretical. This orthodox voice unites to produce truth, yet that truth discloses heresy, sometimes in the heretics’ own voices, quoted first by someone like Irenaeus, then again by Epi­pha­nius. In Jacobs’s terms, “Epi­ pha­nius’s library is polyglossic.” Jacobs reminds us that many voices from early Christianity emerge from Epi­pha­nius’s study in Constantia on Cyprus, even if they are deracinated from their original context of citation. Young Richard Kim’s “Cypriot Autocephaly, Reconsidered” returns to the question of the Cypriot autocephaly – that is, the Cypriot claim of the authority



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to consecrate its own bishops, which fifth-century patriarchs in Antioch claimed was theirs alone. After carefully laying out the history of scholarship on Cypriot autocephaly from the late nineteenth century on, the chapter argues “that the quintessential act that epitomized this Cypriot autonomous impulse was the selection and consecration in 367 of Epi­pha­nius as lead bishop of the island.” Kim lucidly guides the reader from the Council of Nicaea to the Council of Ephesus, through the complex church politics and councils of the fourth century, and he demonstrates how the ancient Cypriot church argued for its independence. In public debates, the Cypriot church used the figure of Epi­pha­nius to demonstrate their right to choose a bishop, and for questions about apostolicity, to Bar­nabas. And not only the role of Epi­pha­nius was crucial to bolster Cyprus’s authority, but also a miracle from St. Bar­nabas, according to the accounts: the revelation by Bar­nabas of the spot of his burial, and the discovery of his body “clutching a copy of the Gospel of Matthew, penned in the Cypriot’s own hand.” It is this story of Bar­nabas and the Gospel of Matthew that is taken up in Anne­Marie Luijendijk’s chapter, “The Gospel of Matthew in the Acts of Bar­ nabas through the Lens of a Book’s History: Healing and Burial with Books.” The chapter looks to the broader context of how books in antiquity functioned both as texts to be read and as objects, especially for healing and burial practices. Bar­ nabas’s Gospel of Matthew, as described in the Acts of Bar­nabas, played a role in making the case for the autocephaly of Cyprus. This chapter collects an important set of evidence regarding Bar­nabas, contextualizing it among other ancient practices of using written texts for a variety of functions: to authorize, to teach, to heal, even, if rarely, as an appropriate object with which to be buried. The chapter uses the Acts of Bar­nabas not to elucidate Bar­nabas himself, but to demonstrate how he functioned within debates over authority and rights within early Christianity, and most of all how literary accounts of written texts also functions to grant authority to persons, places, and arguments – in this case, to Bar­nabas, to fifth-century Cypriot ecclesiastical authorities, to Cyprus, and to the argument for Cypriot ecclesiastical independence. Ioli Kalavrezou’s “The Cyprus Treasures since their Discovery: A  Re-Evaluation” turns our attention to the Cyprus or Lambousa treasures, found at the turn of the nineteenth century in Cyprus. The numerous precious objects have little to no precise archaeological documentation associated with them. This is the reason that until now only the David plates had been placed in a historical context. Kalavrezou undertakes to show that, beyond the David plates, the other objects can be placed within a social and political context. These finds include the exceptional set of nine silver plates with representations of the life of King David of the Jewish Scriptures, numerous other silver household objects, and among the gold pieces a belt with special medallions presented by the emperor Maurice to the owner, together with an additional commemorative medallion which might be associated with the baptism of Theodosius Porphyrogennetos,

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the son of emperor Maurice. Kalavrezou re-evaluates the story of these objects, arguing that it is possible that all these objects were connected with one man, whose name Theodore appears on some of these. He would have held a provincial high office on the island, possibly governor, and perhaps found recognition for his support of a coup d’état by Herakleios (608–610), which was organized in Cyprus. Thus, the famous David plates need to be read not as symbolic of the battle of Herakleios against Razatis in 627 but as revealing the early years when the young Herakleios, the unknown upstart, was preparing to gain the throne. Stephanos Efthymiadis, with his “The Cult of Saints in Late Antique Cyprus and the Apostolicity of its Churches: The Testimony of Greek Hagiography,” surveys the hagiographical materials associated with Cyprus. First, the reader is introduced to the island’s most well-known saint, Bar­nabas, through his Laudatio, which is contextualized within larger pan-Mediterranean ecclesiastical concerns. Second, the reader meets Cypriot Saints Herakleidios and Auxibios. The narratives of their lives both reflect local details about Cyprus and provide evidence of a larger local and regional political-ecclesiastical competition. Finally, we are introduced to a range of lesser known pre- and post-Constantinian saints from Cyprus. The chapter not only introduces us to a rich set of hagiographical texts associated with Cyprus, but also shows how these texts promote the apostolicity of the episcopal sees in Cyprus in different ways, on the one hand, and respond to larger external political forces in the seventh century, on the other. Marina Solomidou-Ieronymidou and Giorgos Philotheou’s “The Representation and Memory of Saints Paul, Bar­nabas, Epiphanios, and Others on Wall Paintings of Byzantine and Medieval Cyprus,” by focusing on wall paintings, details the churches, monasteries, and iconographic evidence that help us to trace the celebration of key Cypriot apostles, saints, and hierarchs, from the fourth to the seventh centuries. The chapter offers a valuable catalogue of such imagery, so that any scholar who visits Cyprus can map a journey through this iconography. The chapter also provides data that could allow for analysis of the rise and fall of the authority of particular saints, the juxtaposition of saints and hierarchs, and even local variation within Cyprus. A scholar could investigate how and where certain saints, hierarchs, and bishops were most appreciated, and then move to analyze what these traditions of honoring the saints has to do with local ecclesiastic politics and the larger political, social, and economic world. This, the final chapter in our book, jibes with other chapters in the volume. It provides an iconographic echo to Stephanos Efthymiadis’s account of Cypriot hagiography; the accounts of Saint Epi­pha­nius in it will be read fruitfully in relation to Andrew Jacobs’s and Young Richard Kim’s analyses, and the account of Saint Bar­nabas will be fruitfully read in relation to James Carleton Paget’s chapter.



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Conclusion The conference “From Roman to Early Christian Cyprus” and this published volume have a longer history, born of long years of friendship and intellectual companionship between archaeologists and scholars of New Testament and early Christian literature. In the 1970s, Helmut Koester founded at Harvard Divinity School a project titled Archaeological Resources for New Testament Studies. In the early years of that project, Koester connected with many archaeologists and scholars of ancient history and religion, including Charalambos Bakirtzis. Archaeological Resources for New Testament Studies has at its core the belief that the study of religion in general and early Christian literature in particular is insufficient if it does not take into consideration the material conditions in which such literature was produced and used. Concretely, the project has taken generations of students to Greece and Turkey, held conferences about religion and archaeology in key cities of the ancient Mediterranean world, and published both images and edited volumes that highlight the importance of archaeology for the study of religion and the importance for archaeologists of understanding recent discussions in religion and theology as they interpret their sites and findings. The collaborations have resulted in multiple projects, including Bakirtzis’s and Helmut Koester’s publication of Philippi at the Time of Paul and after His Death; and, years later, a volume co-edited by Steven Friesen of the University of Texas at Austin, Bakirtzis, and myself, titled From Roman to Early Christian Thessalonikē. Thus, the collaborations of the twentieth century continue through the generations into the twenty-first, with new friendships and intellectual companionships emerging. This volume is produced in this tradition of friendship and the mutual enriching of scholarship globally and across disciplinary boundaries.

Sea Routes and Cape Drepanon Excavations at Agios Georgios tis Pegeias, Paphos, Cyprus Charalambos Bakirtzis

The sea of Cyprus was not inhospitable.1 In 367, Saint Epi­pha­nius, wishing to visit Saint Hilarion, who was an ascetic in the mountains of Paphos, had no difficulty finding a ship in the port of Caesarea preparing to sail non-stop to Paphos. Saint Spyridon of Trimithous travelled at the beginning of the fourth century directly by ship from Salamis to Alexandria. The biographer of Saint Auxibios says that the trip from Rhodes to Cyprus was not in the least tiring.2 The distance between Alexandria and Paphos, Cyprus, was somewhat greater, around 350 nautical miles according to Strabo.3 We may even hear of such a sea route from Lucian: “When they left Pharos, the wind was not very strong, and they sighted Akamas in seven days.”4 These ancient and incidental mentions of Drepanon and environs in relation to sea travel support the thesis of this chapter: Cape Drepanon was an important harbor on sea routes and a significant site for trade and communications from the Hellenistic to the Byzantine period. The archaeological site of Agios Georgios near the village of Pegeia is located on Cape Drepanon.5 The site consists of the remains of an unwalled settlement. The ancient harbor has not been located. Small coves in the vicinity, such 1  Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Η θαλάσσια διαδρομή Κύπρου-Αιγαίου στα παλαιοχριστιανικά χρόνια,” in Acts of the International Archaeological Symposium “Cyprus and the Aegean in Antiquity from Prehistoric Period to the 7th Century,” Nicosia, 8–10 December 1995 (Nicosia: Cyprus Department of Antiquities, 1997), 327–332. 2  Even recently, the ship Kyrenia II sailed the distance of 210 nautical miles from Mandraki Harbor on Rhodes to the Bay of Maa, south of Cape Drepanon in Cyprus, in September 1986 in three-and-a-half days. Michael Katzev, “An Analysis of the Experimental Voyages of Kyrenia II,” in Tropis II: Proceedings of the International Symposium on Ship Construction in Antiquity, Delphi, 27–29 August, 1987, ed. Harry Tzalas (Athens: Hellenic Institute for the Preservation of Nautical Tradition, 1987), 245–56. 3  Strabo, 14.6.3: Φασὶ δ’εἰς Ἀλεξάνδρειάν τινες εἶναι ἐκ Πάφου σταδίους εἶναι τρισχιλίους ἑξακοσίους. 4 Lucian, Navigium 7: … ἀπὸ τῆς Φάρου ἀπάραντας οὐ πάνυ βιαίῳ πνεύματι ἑβδομαίους ἰδεῖν τὸν Ἀκάμαντα. I believe he was referring to Cape Drepanon, Cyprus’s westernmost peninsula, as “Akamas.” 5  Rupert Gunnis, Historic Cyprus: A Guide to Its Towns and Villages, Monasteries and Castles (London: Metheun, 1936; repr. Nicosia: 1973), 381.

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as Lara and Maniki, afforded anchorages,6 and a small island called Geronisos (= Holy Island) lies close to the rocky coast.7 The site of Agios Georgios itself was first visited by D. G. Hogarth.8 A. H. S. Megaw excavated for the Department of Antiquities three Justinianic and post-Justinianic basilicas and a bathhouse between 1949 and 1955.9 In 1991, the Greek Archaeological Expedition continued research, excavating next to basilicas A and C and the bathhouse to reveal how they fit into the town planning and to clarify the function and the history of the settlement (fig. 1, p. 273).10

6 

ARDAC 1984, 51; C. Giangrande, et al., “Cyprus Underwater Survey, 1983–1984: A  Preliminary Report,” RDAC (1987), 185–97; Sophocles Hadjisavvas, “Cyprus and the Sea: The Archaic and Classical Periods,” in Proceedings of the International Symposium “Cyprus and the Sea,” Nicosia 25–26 September 1993, ed. Vassos Karageorghis and D. Michaelides (Nicosia: University of Cyprus, 1995), 89–98, esp. 95, fig. 10. 7  New York University is conducting excavations on Geronisos under the direction of Prof. Joan Connelly. 8  David G. Hogarth, Devia Cypria: Notes of an Archaeological Journey in Cyprus in 1888 (London: Henry Frowde, 1889), 10. 9  A. H. S. Megaw, “Early Byzantine Monuments in Cyprus in the Light of Recent Discoveries,” in Akten des XI. internationalen Byzantinistenkongresses, München 1958, ed. Franz Dölger and Hans-Georg Beck (München: C. H. Beck, 1960), 345–51; Megaw, “Byzantine Architecture and Decoration in Cyprus: Metropolitan or Provincial?” DOP 28 (1974), 57–88, esp. 71–73. 10  ARDAC 1991, 67; ARDAC 1992, 66–68; ARDAC 1993, 68–70; ARDAC 1994, 80–82; ARDAC 1995, 47–48; ARDAC 1996, 56–57; ARDAC 1997, 59–60; ARDAC 1998, 72–74; ARDAC 2002, 80– 81; ARDAC 2003, 80–83; ARDAC 2005, 72–73; AJA 99 (1995): 291; BCH 116 (1992): 831; BCH 117 (1993): 753; BCH 118 (1994): 689; BCH 119 (1995): 836; BCH 120 (1996): 1093–95; BCH 121 (1997): 925–26; BCH 122 (1998): 697; BCH 123 (1999): 627–29; BCH 125 (2001): 771; BCH (2003): 673– 74; BCH 128–129 (2004–2005): 1691–93; Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Αποτελέσματα ανασκαφών στον Άγιο Γεώργιο Πέγειας (Ακρωτήριον Δρέπανον),” 1991–1995,” in Proceedings of the Third International Congress of Cypriote Studies Nicosia, 16–20 April 1996, II, Medieval Section, ed. Athanasios Papageorghiou (Nicosia: Society of Cypriote Studies, 2001), 155–70; Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Ἀρχαιολογικὲς ἐργασίες στὸν Ἅγιο Γεώργιο Πέγειας (Ἀκρωτήριον Δρέπανον),” unpublished report presented at the IV International Cyprological Congress, Nicosia, Society of Cypriote Studies, 2008; Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Les basiliques de Ayios Yeoryios,” Le Monde de la Bible 112 (1998): 46–47; Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Agios Georgios of Pegeia (Paphos)” (in collaboration with Konstantinos Raptis, Pelli Mastora, Pandelis Xydas, and Olga-Maria Bakirtzis), European Center for Byzantine and Post-Byzantine Monuments Newsletter 4 (2003): 167–241; Konstantinos Raptis and Olga-Maria Bakirtzis, “Agios Georgios, Pegeia – Cape Drepanon: Integrating an Excavation Site into an Archaeological Landscape,” in POCA 2005, Postgratuate Cypriot Archaeology, Proceedings of the Fifth Annual Meeting of Young Researchers on Cypriot Archaeology, Department of Classics, Trinity College, Dublin, 21–22 October 2005, ed. Giorgos Papantoniou in collaboration with Aoife Fitzgerald and Siobhán Hagris (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2008), 87–95; Konstantinos Raptis and Stella Vasiliadou, “Διαχρονική χρήση, διαδοχικές θέσεις και απόπειρα επανένταξης των μαρμαρίνων αρχιτεκτονικών μελών των βασιλικών Α, Β, Γ Αγίου Γεωργίου Πέγειας (Πάφος): από την παραγωγή στα παλαιοχριστιανικά λατομεία της πρωτεύουσας στη διαμόρφωση του αρχαιολογικού χώρου,” RDAC (2005), 199–227; Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Ἅγιος Γεώργιος τῆς Πέγειας: ἡ ἀνάδειξη τοῦ ἀρχαιολογικοῦ χώρου,” Proceedings of the Conference “Cultural Heritage: η διάσωση της μνήμης,” organized by ICOMOS/Cyprus, Coral Bay, Paphos, 21–22 November 2015 (forthcoming).



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27

The settlement’s public edifices were built on the saddle of Cape Drepanon and were visible to sailors from a great distance. The largest building is the Justinianic three-aisled Basilica A  without narthex (fig.  2, p. 274). Its marble column shafts and Corinthian capitals were imported from Prokonnesos. There is a narrow passage along the north side of the church, which is common in early Christian Cypriot basilicas.11 I  am of the opinion that the narrow passage allowed entrance to the annexes (hospitality, dining and storage spaces, some of which were two-storied) even when the church itself was closed.12 The eastern portico of the atrium was used as a narthex. West of the atrium and at a higher level is a large baptistery with four porticoes. With the cruciform baptismal font in the center,13 the baptistery is different than those at Kourion, Salamis (Constantia), and other Cypriot basilicas influenced by the East, and suggests Constantinopolitan prototypes.14 The operation of the baptistery was connected with a small three-aisled basilica with transept which was used, according to Megaw, as outer house (ἐξώτερος οἶκος) of the baptistery, and was at this location before the erection of the large Basilica A.15 The architectural type of the basilica with transept is represented on Cyprus only by the example at Agios Georgios. I identified the extensive complex of rooms around a courtyard which was excavated west of Basilica A as the episcopal residence. The upper story of this residence communicated directly with the baptistery via a staircase.16 Next to the north and main entrance of basilica A is a small Justinianic bathhouse (fig.  3, p. 275) like that of the House of Eustolios in Kourion.17 It con11  Athanasios Papageorghiou, “L’architecture paléochrétienne de Chypre,” Corsi di Cultura sull’Arte Ravennate e Bizantina 32 (1985): 229–334, esp. 303. 12  Georges Roux sees “une fonction utilitaire, profane, de passage commode entre l’atrium ouest et l’atrium est” outside of the church itself; Roux, La basilique de la Campanopétra (Salamine de Chypre XV; Paris: Mission archéologique française de Salamine de Chypre, 1998), 157. Megaw describes the north passage at the Episcopal basilica of Kourion as a service alley open to the sky whose one function was to permit light to enter windows in the walls of the adjacent buildings; Megaw, “The Basilica” in Kourion: Excavations in the Episcopal Precinct, ed. A. H. S. Megaw (Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection; Cambrige, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007), 27–28. 13 Megaw, Kourion, 348, and Papageorghiou, “L’architecture paléochrétienne,” 316, see circular font. The baptismal font itself is destroyed by treasure hunters except the steps of the staircase at the eastern side, but the frame of the font in the mosaic floor is cruciform. 14 Rania Michail, “The Early Christian Baptisteries of Cyprus (4th–7th Centuries AD): Typological Analysis of the Architecture and of the Baptismal Structure,” Cahiers du Centre d’Études Chypriotes 43 (2013): 137–53, esp. 150, fig. 10. 15 Megaw, Kourion, 348. 16  Demetrios Pallas, Les monuments paléochrétiens de Grèce découverts de 1959 à 1973 (Città del Vaticano: Pontificio Istituto di archeologia cristiana, 1977), 277. 17  Skevi Christodoulou, “Ancient Baths in Cyprus,” in 25 siècles de bain collectif en Orient, Proche-Orient, Égypte et péninsule Arabique, Actes du 3e colloque Balnéorient, Damas 2–6 nov. 2009, ed. Marie-Françoise Boussac et al., Études urbaines 9 (Le Caire: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 2014), 83–96, esp. 94, fig. 18.

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sists of a porter’s lodge opening onto the path leading to the church, dressing room, footbath, frigidarium, tepidarium, and caldarium, where two cauldrons once held water that was heated by a praefurnium. An open-air yard is situated between the bathhouse and basilica A; a large underground Roman rock-cut tomb with a stepped dromos/entrance was used in the early Christian period as a drainage tank for bath water and as a waste dump. Small items found inside the drainage tank allow the reconstruction of the bathhouse’s everyday use and life: clay bathing cups, one of them for use by left-handed bathers,18 portable glass candles for night bathing, glass bottles for aromatic oil, and stone dice. The main sector of the settlement, sitting on the promontory’s southern slope overlooking the sea, consists of small houses and rock-cut cisterns to collect rain water from the roofs of buildings.19 The sixth-century three-aisled basilica B is on the southeast edge of the settlement (fig. 4, p. 275). Its marble columns had imported marble Ionic-impost capitals. The south side of the narthex was occupied by a tomb, which belongs, I suggest, to the founder (ktetor).20 The discovery of jewellery inside the tomb attests to the sudden collapse of the building and abandonment of the settlement. The three-aisled basilica C of the sixth century at the southeast edge of the settlement was the first building one encountered upon entering it (fig. 5, p. 276). Basilica C has elegant proportions, with a narthex/porch open to the west and a stone-paved courtyard in place of an atrium. The monogram of the donor was probably painted on the marble cushion capitals. A narrow corridor on the north side separated the operation of the church from that of the annexes, which included the church sacristy and guest-house complex. On its ground floor, the guest house had two rooms and a vestibule with staircase ascending to the upper floor. The upper story had two rooms decorated with stucco cornices and a northwestern-facing balcony open to the breeze from the sea. The guest house also had a cistern for collecting rainwater, a courtyard for pack animals, and an olive press where the inhabitants of the settlement produced olive oil, paying a small percentage fee to the church. Marble tables imported from Constantinople and intended for distribution in the area of Paphos were found piled in the guest house’s ground floor (fig. 6, p. 276). They were never sold due to the settlement’s abrupt abandonment. The guest house was at this location before the erection of the church in the sixth century and was accessed from the road

18  Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Description and Metrology of Some Clay Vessels from Agios Georgios, Pegeia,” in The Development of the Cypriot Economy from the Prehistoric Period to the Present Day, ed. Vassos Karageorghis and Demetrios Michaelides (Nicosia: University of Cyprus and Bank of Cyprus, 1996), 153–61. 19  See the complex of small houses at Agios Konon; J. Fejfer, ed., Ancient Akamas I: Settlement and Environment (Aarahus: Aarhus University Press, 1995), 85, fig. 14. 20  Megaw, “Byzantine Architecture,” 72.



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leading from the countryside of Akamas to the settlement.21 The road was narrow at this point and shaded by fresh palm leaves placed on stone arches connecting and securing the facing buildings. The settlement’s cemetery consisted of 24 rock-cut tombs overlooking the sea (fig. 7, p. 277). They consisted of two types – chambers with arcosolia and chambers with loculi – and are datable to late Hellenistic and Roman times.22 The tombs, as was common in Cyprus, carry no Christian symbols, because they were employed interchangeably by pagans and Christians.23 This is why large early Christian cemeteries have not been identified in Cyprus. The fronts of three loculi tombs are marked with crosses and names, as Philaios, Nikios, and the title of vikarios related to the function of the settlement as a stopover of the Byzantine fleet carrying Egyptian grain (see below). These three tombs appear to have been used exclusively by Christians.24 The settlement on Cape Drepanon has not been identified in the written sources. Athanasios Sakellarios identifies it as the city Tegessos,25 but the absence of a fortification wall indicates that this was not a city. Hellenistic sherds, its proximity to late Hellenistic rock-cut tombs at the site of Meletis, and the archaeological finds at Geronisos testify to Drepanon having been inhabited from at least the Hellenistic age. Quarry cuttings over the entire rocky surface of the promontory attest that the largest coastal porous quarry in Cyprus operated at this location for centuries (fig. 8, p. 278). I am of the opinion that in antiquity all of Cape Drepanon was at the same altitude as the basilicas’ plateau and Geronisos Island, and that its current low surface level tip is the result of continuous quarrying. The rock-cut tomb chambers opened in the front of the quarry were originally underground quarry cuttings, opened to obtain high-quality stone. Thus, the quarry would have begun operating before the conversion of underground quarry cuttings into tombs. If it is indeed the case that the low ground level is due to constant quarrying, the question that arises is this: Why was the large quarry at Drepanon opened in 21 Fejfer,

Akamas I, 113–19. Anastasiadou, “The Rock-cut Tombs at Agios Georgios tis Pegeias,” RDAC (2000), 333–347. 23  Athanasios Papageorghiou and Andreas Foulias, “L’architecture funéraire à Chypre du Ier au Xe siècle,” Cahiers du Centre d’Études Chypriotes 43 (2013): 204. 24  Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Early Christian Rock-cut Tombs at Hagios Georgios, Peyia, Cyprus,” in Studies in Art, Architecture, and History in Memory of Doula Mouriki, ed. Nancy Patterson Ševčenko and Christopher Moss (Princeton: Department of Art and Archaeology and Program in Hellenic Studies, Princeton University in association with Princeton University Press, 1999), 35–48. 25  Mentioned as town by Stephanos of Byzantium, and as promontory by Hesychios, see Athanasios Sakellarios, Τα Κυπριακά:  Ήτοι Γεωγραφία, Ιστορία και Γλώσσα της Κύπρου από των αρχαιοτάτων χρόνων μέχρι σήμερον, vol. I (Athens: 1890; reprint. Nicosia: Cultural Foundation of Archbishop Makarios III, 1991), 10, and Kyriakos Hadjioannou, Ἡ Κύπρος εἰς τὰς ἑλληνικὰς πηγάς, vol. V (Nicosia: Ιερά Αρχιεπισκοπή Κύπρου, 1993), entry 198. 22  Theodora

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Hellenistic times, and where were the thousands of cubic meters of hard porous stone transferred? Neighbouring Nea Paphos is one possible destination. This area, however, had an abundance of stone of its own suitable for building needs, and the transfer of such large quantities from the quarry at Drepanon is not justified in this case. The Tombs of the Kings and other burial complexes, for example Agia Solomoni and Agios Lambrianos in Kato Paphos, and the rocky beach up to the site Agios Georgios of Chloraka were ancient quarries.26 The theatre of Nea Paphos was carved into the previous quarry site of Fabrica.27 It is not logical, then, that the massive amount of stone quarried at Drepanon was transported just to the south, along the coast of Paphos. A more reasonable conjecture is that the thousands of tons of building stone were sent by sea to Alexandria, because its own local soft stone did not satisfy the Ptolemies’ plans for the erection of monumental edifices in the Greek style.28 The need for appropriate stone would have been pressing during the founding of Alexandria in 331 BCE, after the establishment of the Ptolemies’ rule in 323 BCE, and again when Alexandria was rebuilt by Hadrian in 115 CE. The existence of hard porous stone on the coast of Cyprus just opposite Egypt, and its transport by sea, offered the quickest, cheapest, and most viable solution to this problem. The founding of Nea Paphos by Nikokles, the last king of Paphos, in 321–312/311 BCE, just across from Alexandria, falls within the intent of Ptolemy I to exploit Cyprus’s raw materials.29 The operation of a harbor and shipyards at Nea Paphos facilitated sea transport to Alexandria of timber for construction and shipbuilding, grain, copper, and building stone from neighbouring Cape Drepanon and other quarries in the area. The shipwreck found in August 2014 by the American research vessel Nautilus in the open sea sixty kilometers south of Paphos, at the submarine mount and volcano Eratosthenes, was a ship of the Hellenistic era, and demonstrates the sea route between Paphos and Alexandria.30 A bit of mod26  Lionel M. Bear, The Mineral Resources and Mining Industry of Cyprus, Geological Survey Cyprus Bulletin 1 (Nicosia: Geological Survey Department, 1964), 140; Jean-Claude Bessac, “Les aspects techniques des aménagements rupestres de Paphos,” in Nea Paphos: Fondation et développement urbanistique d’une ville chypriote de l’antiquité à nos jours: Études archéologiques, historiques et patrimoniales; Actes du 1er colloque international sur Paphos, Avignon 30, 31 octobre et 1er novembre 2012, ed. Claire Balandier, Mémoires 43 (Bordeaux: Ausonius Éditions, 2016), 105–20. 27  Claire Balandier, avec la collaboration de Matthieu Guintrand, “Fabrica, un quartier résidentiel à Paphos? Résultats archéologiques et réflexion historique sur l’évolution urbaine du secteur Nord-Est de la ville antique,” in Nea Paphos, ed. Baladier, 121–143. 28  Peter M. Fraser, Ptolemaic Alexandria (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), 266, 610. 29  Jolanta Mlynarczyk, Nea Paphos III: Nea Paphos in the Hellenistic Period (Warsaw: Éditions Géologiques, 1990), 67–76 and 108–9, and Dimitri Vitas, “The Foundation of Nea Paphos: A New Cypriot City or a Ptolemaic katoikia?” in Balandier, ed. Nea Paphos, 241–48; and Andreas Mehl, “Nea Paphos et l’administration ptolémaïque de Chypre,” in Balandier, ed. Nea Paphos, 249–60. 30  Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Ératosthène, les hydrocarbures et saint Onésiphore,” Cahiers du Centre d’Études Chypriotes 43 (2013): 21–30, esp. 24.



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ern evidence also supports my argument that Drepanon’s quarries served Egyptian needs: It is known that in 1859–1869 the side walls of the Suez Canal were built of stone from Cyprus.31 We have no literary information, neither about the quarry at Cape Drepanon in the Hellenistic, Roman, and early Christian era, nor that the quarried stone went from Drepanon to Alexandria. The archaeological evidence of the operation of a quarry at Drepanon and the sea routes strongly indicate that my conclusion is the most logical one. Trade and communication between Alexandria and Drepanon were not limited to quarries or to the Hellenistic period. Constantine I exploited the muchfrequented sea route between Alexandria and Drepanon and existing harbor installations, and ordered the Annona fleet with Egyptian wheat to be directed to Constantinople after 330, using the Cape Drepanon as the first stopover (fig. 9, p. 278).32 The provisioning of Constantinople via Cyprus, Rhodes, Chios, and Tenedos was reorganized by Justinian I, as described by Procopius.33 The anchorages at Drepanon on Cyprus also provided relative security since it was located at some distance from inhabited towns. The only city/harbor in the region was Nea Paphos, which was twenty-two kilometers away. The peninsula of Akamas had no cities apart from some small settlements, such as Agios Konon, which were also associated with stone quarrying, grain shipment, and warships.34 We may say that the Cape Drepanon and the northwest region of Cyprus was a sort of Byzantine commercial and military base under the control of the authorities of Quaestura Justiniana Excercitus, a new administrative unit established under Justinian.35 Under Justinian I, the settlement at Agios Georgios flourished. New buildings changed its form. Close communications with Alexandria and Constantinople brought to Agios Georgios pilgrims’ ampullae from the shrine of Saint Menas 31  Elizabeth Hoak-Doering, “Stones of the Suez Canal: A Discourse of Absence and Power in Cyprus and Egypt,” Journal of Balkan and Near Eastern Studies 14/2 (2012): 199–228. Pierre Louÿs wrote in 1894 that “Ces ruines (Amathus) ont presque disparu depuis trente ans, et les pierres de la maison où peut-être vécut Bilitis pavent aujourd’hui les quais de Port-Saïd;” Les chansons de Bilitis, ed. Jean-Paul Goujon (Paris: Gallimard, 1990), 36. 32  Charalambos Bakirtzis, “The Role of Cyprus in the Grain Supply of Constantinople in the Early Christian Period,” in Proceedings of the International Symposium “Cyprus and the Sea,” ed. Karageorghis and Michaelides, 247–53; Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Θαλασσία διαδρομή,” 329–31; Georgios Constantinou and Ioannis Panagides, Κύπρος καὶ γεωλογία (Nicosia: Cultural Foundation of the Bank of Cyprus, 2013), 268, fig. 310. 33 Procopius, Aed., 5.1.7–16. 34 Fejfer, Akamas I, 73–86, fig. 24 (quarry at Agios Nikolaos in Eastern Akamas). For numerous coins of Heraclius and Constans II and Byzantine lead seals at Chloraka, south of Drepanon, see David M. Metcalf, Byzantine Cyprus 491–1191 (Nicosia: Cyprus Research Centre, 2009), 230; and Metcalf, Byzantine Lead Seals from Cyprus, 2 (Nicosia: Cyprus Research, 2014), 47. 35  Andreas Goutziokostas and Xenophon Moniaros, Ἡ περιφερειακὴ διοικητικὴ ἀναδιοργάνωση τῆς Βυζαντινῆς αὐτοκρατορίας ἀπὸ τὸν   Ἰουστινιανὸ Α΄ (527–565):  Ἡ περίπτωση τῆς Quaestura Justiniana Excercitus (Thessaloniki: Vanias Editions, 2009), 147–49. For the title of vicarios, passim.

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and high-quality pottery from Egypt, such as large thin-walled cooking pots (chytrai, fig. 10, p. 279). At the same time, column shafts, capitals, sigma-shaped marble tables and the marble ambo in Basilica A bearing the inscription Ὑπὲρ εὐχῆς ναυτῶν (“a vow for sailors”) came from Prokonnessos.36 The architecture of the basilicas in Agios Georgios conform with Constantinopolitan practice: their semi-circular synthronon, the externally semi-hexagonal apses, the configuration of the baptistery with the font in the center, and the opus sectile on the walls, with full-length figures of saints in the small baptistery Basilica.37 Agios Georgios was an international center. The harbor-station of the maritime Annona fleet at Drepanon fell into disuse after Alexandria was conquered by the Persians in 618 and was abandoned after the Arabs took Egypt in 640 and grain shipments to Constantinople were interrupted. The last coin found at Agios Georgios dates to 637. During medieval times the ruins of the settlement served as a source of building stones. At the turn of the thirteenth century to the fourteenth, under Lusignan, the singleaisle vaulted chapel of Agios Georgios was built (fig.  11, p. 279). Its expansion in the sixteenth century attests to the pilgrimage at this site, comparable to that of the Apostolos Andreas on the eastern promontory of Cyprus. The pilgrimage site was bounded by an enclosure wall and was self-sufficient, with its own cistern for growing vegetables and an olive press. In 1928, the large domed church of Agios Georgios was erected at the expense of Cypriots from Pegeia installed in Egypt. Residents of the neighboring villages of Pegeia and Kathikas have built small houses around the chapel as abodes for pilgrims. Recently, a fishermen’s refuge was built on the cape at the site Mantoullis and the sometime isolated site is changing gradually into a recreation area with villas and small hotels. Drepanon was a significant site. In the Hellenistic period, it was likely a site of active quarrying, in service of building projects in Ptolemaic Alexandria. At a later period after 330, it flourished as a harbor of the Annona ships carrying Egyptian wheat to Constantinople. Drepanon was a site of trade and international communications, with small finds, building materials, and architectural style all indicating the connection of this area with Alexandria and Constantinople. As this site is further researched and restored, our intention is for the archaeological remains to be unchanged, to preserve the archaeological aura, the nostalgia of the memory, the feeling of stability gifted by the past, the authenticity of the local flora and the silence.

36 Demetrios Michaelides, “The Ambo of Basilica A  at Cape Drepanon,” in MOSAIC, Festschrift for A. H. S. Megaw, ed. Judith Herrin, Margaret Mullet, and Catherine Otten-Froux (London: British School at Athens, 2001), 43–56. 37  Megaw, “Byzantine Architecture,” 71. For the opus sectile see Demetrios Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics (Nicosia: Department of Antiquities, 1992), 101.

Cyprus in the New Testament and Beyond James Carleton Paget

Cyprus and Cypriots are a relatively conspicuous presence in the history of early Christianity,1 but one marked by significant lacunae in the historically fragile texts available to us (almost exclusively the Acts of the Apostles, a New Testament work generally attributed to Luke, the author of the third canonical Gospel). So the Cypriot and Levite Bar­nabas is a major character in the history of the Jerusalem Christian community,2 in the early mission to Antioch,3 and seems to have played an important part in Paul’s early life as a Christian, visiting him in Damascus after his “conversion,”4 introducing him to the Christian community in Antioch,5 accompanying him on his first missionary journey, which included activity in Cyprus, and eventually separating from him after the so-called Council of Jerusalem.6 Yet it is impossible to establish how Bar­nabas became a 1  See Markus Öhler, who notes the importance of the island in early Christian history given its relatively obscure position in the Roman Empire (see below), although he emphasizes the fact that most of the references in Acts refer to Cypriots rather than to Cyprus itself; Markus Öhler, Bar­nabas: Die historische Person und ihre Rezeption in der Apostelgeschichte, WUNT 156 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 98. For the sense of importance, see the unsourced quotation in John B. D. Hackett, laying particular significance upon the importance of Bar­nabas, both in history and legend: “Under what an obligation then should the city of Antioch be towards the Cypriots! Under what a debt, too, are Christian people in being called Christian through the instrumentality of Cyprus! But what shall we say of thee, O holy Rome? Whence hast thou received the first beginning of our holiness but from Bar­nabas? And Milan, Bergamo, and Brescia, what thanks do ye not owe?” The references at the end are to early medieval works in which Bar­nabas is depicted as founding Christian communities in these Italian towns; John B. D. Hackett, A History of the Orthodox Church of Cyprus: From the Coming of the Apostles Paul and Bar­nabas to the Commencement of the British Occupation, (A. D. 45–A. D. 1878). Together with Some Account of the Latin and Other Churches Existing in the Island (London: Methuen, 1901), 1. 2  See Acts 4:36; 9:27; and 11:22. 3  Acts 11:22. 4  Acts 9:27. 5  Acts 11:30. 6  Acts 15.39. For a clear endorsement of Bar­nabas’s importance in the early history of the church see Bernd Kollmann, Joseph Bar­nabas: Leben und Wirkungsgeschichte, SBS 175 (Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1998), 72: “Historisch wie wirkungsgeschichtlich erweist er sich als eine der Zentralfiguren des frühen Christentums, deren Bedeutung für die urchristliche Theologiegeschichte und die Gestaltwerdung der Kirche bislang kaum wahrgenommen wurde.” See also n. 1 above.

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Christian,7 what his association with Cyprus (or Jerusalem) was,8 and what role he played in Paul’s first missionary journey. Moreover, Luke mentions a second mission to Cyprus in Acts 15:39, involving both Bar­nabas and Mark, but tells us nothing about it and never mentions the former again. Paul refers to Bar­nabas as a travelling companion in 1 Cor 9:6, and as someone who withdrew from table fellowship with gentiles in Antioch in Gal 2:11–14.9 Both references are brief and, especially in the case of the latter, highly contested. At Acts 11:19 Luke mentions people who, after the so-called persecution of the Christian church in Jerusalem (Acts 8:1), and following Stephen’s martyrdom (Acts 7:60), travel as far as Phoenicia, Cyprus, and Antioch, and speak the word to no one but Jews. Details, however, are in short supply, in spite of what must have been important activity. In the following verse, Cypriot Christians (Jews would be a better description) are mentioned as participating in the mission to Antioch, often thought to be the most influential mission with regard to the spread of the gospel to the gentiles, but again with considerable brevity (Acts 11:20).10 The reference at Acts 21:16 to Mnason, the Cypriot who gave Paul lodgings on his way to Jerusalem, and who had himself been a believer for some time, may give evidence of a friend of Bar­nabas, but little is said about him.11 As will be seen, similar issues are raised by the account of the mission of Paul and Bar­nabas to Cyprus, recorded in Acts 13:4–12. The event can be construed as significant: it witnesses to Paul’s earliest recorded activity as a Christian missionary, to a possible change in power and authority from Bar­nabas to Paul, to a shift in Paul’s understanding of his mission, as well as the first conversion of a Roman 7  That gap is filled, spuriously, by the sixth-century Laudatio (13 f.). See Kollmann, Joseph Bar­nabas, 2007 and our discussion below. 8  At Acts 4:36, he is described as Κύπριος τῷ γένει. Öhler, Bar­nabas, 97–98, argues that the phrase may only imply that his family came from Cyprus, not that he had resided there. While Öhler notes that in the two other cases where τῷ γένει is used in Acts (18:2 to refer to Prisca and 18:24 to refer to Apollos) reference to birthplace is unambiguous (made clear by their movement to another place), nevertheless in Acts 4:36, where such a thing is not indicated, there is potentially ambiguity. The reference to people living in Jerusalem in Acts 2:5 may support the idea that Bar­nabas resided there, though Cyprus is not mentioned in the list of nations present at Pentecost. The fact that Bar­nabas owned land points to property in Palestine (the sale of such land, if in Cyprus, might involve time and complication), and it is striking that he goes on living in Jerusalem (9:27; 11:22). Other commentators do not follow Öhler (e. g., Barrett, Pervo, and Keener) and the ancient tradition is clear that he was born on the island (see Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 30.25.5–6 and Alexander Monachus, Laudatio 10). 9  At Col 4:10 John Mark is mentioned as the nephew of Bar­nabas. Whether Colossians is by Paul or not, the reference to Bar­nabas implies the ongoing importance of his personality. 10  One should assume that these Κύπριοι do come from Cyprus, though they are immediately associated with Jerusalem. 11  For problems with Mnason’s name see Richard Pervo, Acts: A Commentary (Philadelphia: Fortress, 2008), 539.



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official.12 And yet, in a passage that Nock described as “bald and unadorned,”13 questions are raised at every point.14 The references in Acts, however, may seem like an embarrassment of riches relative to what follows. Between Acts 15:39, where Luke reports Bar­nabas and Mark’s departure to Cyprus on an apparent second missionary visit,15 and the Council of Nicaea in 325 CE, there is what one scholar has named a “hiatus” in our information about Christianity on the island;16 and yet we must assume an ongoing history and development of Christianity on the island. As to Cypriot Christian literary sources, we have to wait until the works of Epi­pha­nius and the fifth-century Acts of Bar­nabas to gain those;17 and all of this in an island that was able to boast and defend its autocephalous status in the fifth century. This paper re-examines the origins of Christianity in Cyprus, for which all of our information comes from Acts. It will concentrate on Acts 13:4–12, asking to what extent the passage betrays Cypriot origins, that is, whether some of its emphases are elucidated by a knowledge of ancient Cyprus, a question related to the problem of historicity. Also addressed will be the fact of the relative succinctness of the passage in relation to the claims made for it by an array of scholars. As a way of indirectly illuminating the Acts passage, I shall say something about the Acts of Bar­nabas and the Laudatio, late works, which betray knowledge of the Acts of the Apostles. I  shall conclude with a few suggestive observations.

12  Note Mitford’s comments: “It would be hard to exaggerate the significance of the encounter at Paphos between AD 46 and 48 of Paul and Bar­nabas with the proconsul, Sergius Paulus … the conversion, even if short-lived, of a Roman governor and the change of Saul’s name to Paulus in recognition of this event;” Terence B. Mitford, “Roman Cyprus,” ANRW 2.7.2, 1381; repeated in Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” ANRW 2.18.3, 2207. This, of course, is Mitford’s interpretation. Luke barely hints at such an extravagant assessment. 13  A. D. Nock, “Paul and the Magus,” in The Beginnings of Christianity 1, ed. K. Lake and H. J. Cadbury (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1979), 187. 14  See Öhler, Bar­nabas, 281–82. 15  Luke refers to Cyprus twice more in Acts, at 21:3, and 27:4, but here simply as a geographical referent in an account of a sea voyage. 16  Mitford, “Roman Cyprus,” 1381. He mentions “crypto-Christian inscriptions of uncertain date,” but does not accord them the status of evidence, a judgment repeated in Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” 2297. 17  For the text see Max Bonnet, Acta Philippi et Acta Thomae accedunt Acta Barnabae, vol. 2.2 of Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha, ed. Richard Adelbert Lipsius and Max Bonnet (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1903), 292–302. A translation is found at Kollmann, Joseph Bar­nabas, 76–82.

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Bar­nabas and Paul on Cyprus: The Beginning of the First Missionary Journey The earliest Christians were Jews, and this appears to have been the case among the earliest Cypriot Christians. Bar­nabas, a resident of Jerusalem at the time of his “conversion,” was Jewish, hailing from a Levitical family,18 as were the anonymous Cypriots mentioned as the earliest missionaries on Cyprus at Acts 11:19. Moreover, according to Luke, the activity of the latter was confined to Jews, just as Paul and Bar­nabas confined their initial preaching in Salamis to “the synagogues of the Jews” (Acts 13:5). Paul’s confrontation with Bar Jesus was a confrontation with a Jew (Acts 13:6) and, as will be seen, it is possible that Sergius Paulus was a God-fearer, that is, a gentile affiliated to the Jewish community who had not yet become a Jew.

Jews in Cyprus Jews are first mentioned in Cyprus in a letter recorded in 1 Macc 15:23, dating from 140 BCE, in which the Roman consul, Lucius, insists on the good treatment of the Jews in a variety of places, including in Cyprus.19 The letter, which must be thought to imply what van der Horst calls a “not insignificant” population of Jews on the island, could be taken to assume a presence on the island from much earlier than that, probably from the Ptolemaic period.20 The fact that Josephus (A. J. 13.284) mentions the Jews of Alexandria, Egypt, and Cyprus together implies a large Jewish population, that is, one that could be mentioned in the same breath as those of Egypt and Alexandria, and which Josephus describes explicitly as “flourishing;” Philo appears to confirm this when he refers to colonies of Jews living on the islands Euboea, Cyprus, and Crete (Legat. 282).21 It is possible that Jews were attracted to the island by the fact that it was well situated 18  On this identification, see Craig Keener, Acts: An Exegetical Commentary 3:1–14:28, vol. 2 of Acts: An Exegetical Commentary (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2013), 1181–82. 19  Evidence for a Jewish presence in Hasmonean times comes also from Hasmonean coins found in Paphos. See Pieter W. van der Horst, “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,” in van der Horst, Jews and Christians in Their Graeco-Roman Context, WUNT 196 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 29; and A. Reifenberg, “Das antike zyprische Judentum und seine Beziehungen zu Palästina,” JPOS 12 (1932): 213. See also a possible Jewish inscription from Kourion mentioning an Onias, also probably from the Hasmonean period; David Noy and Hanswulf Bloedhorn, Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis: III Syria and Cyprus, TSAJ 102 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 222–23. 20  Van der Horst thinks that we should assume a presence on the island from at least as early as the third century BCE, as was the case with Jewish populations on Delos and Crete; van der Horst, “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,” 28–29. 21  van der Horst, “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,” 29.



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between Asia Minor, Judea, Greece, and Syria, and so a good place for trade.22 Josephus, in the passage already mentioned, quoting Strabo, mentions the support of the Jews for Cleopatra III, who sent them to Cyprus to attack her rival, Ptolemy IX Soter II Lathyrus (the intermittent ruler of Egypt between 118 and 81 BCE), though they ended up joining his cause. In the first century BCE, in an exchange of gifts between himself and Augustus, Herod the Great received half the revenue of the copper mines of Cyprus, located at Soloi, and he was entrusted with the management of the other half (A. J. 16.128). We are told also that one of Herod’s granddaughters, Alexandra,23 married an important Cypriot Jew, named Timios.24 Such evidence indicates close connections between Cyprus and Palestine,25 as well as the high standing of some Jews on the island. In the reign of Nero, probably in the 50s CE, the love-soaked Felix, who was to become governor of Judaea, attempted successfully to marry the Jewish princess, Drusilla, through the actions of a Cypriot Jew, named Atomos,26 who pretended to be a magician (A. J. 20.142).27 Association of Cypriot Jews with magic may be further supported by Pliny the Elder (Pliny, Nat. 30.11)28 and Acts 13 where Bar Jesus the Jew is a magos.29 Evidence for Cypriot Judaism then dries up until the early part of 22 

van der Horst, “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,” 29. She was the daughter of Phasael and Salampsio, the daughter of Herod. 24  See Josephus, A. J. 18.131. 25  See Kollmann reporting the actions of Queen Helena of Adiabene in the procuratorship of Tiberius Julius Alexander, during which she helped soften the effects of a famine in Palestine by purchasing figs from Cyprus to distribute to needy residents of Jerusalem (see Josephus, A. J. 20.51, 101); Kollmann, Joseph Bar­nabas, 16. 26  Some manuscripts read “Simon” rather than “Atomos.” For a discussion, questioning the former reading, and critiquing the various attempts at identifying who this “Simon” might be, see Louis H. Feldman, Josephus, Antiquities Book XX (Cambridge, MA: William Heinemann, 1981), 76–77. 27  The form of magic Atomos engaged in is not described. Andrew Wilburn, Materia Magica: The Archaeology of Magic in Roman Egypt, Cyprus, and Spain (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2012), 176, suggests that it was an erotic binding spell. 28  The passage reads as follows: “There is yet another branch of magic (magices factio), derived from Moses, Jannes, Lotapes and the Jews (ac Iudaeis pendens), but living many thousands of years after Zoroaster. So much more recent is the branch in Cyprus (tanto recentior est Cypria).” While Wilburn, notes that the form of magic associated by Pliny with Cyprus should probably be distinguished from that of the Jews and Persian magi, he adds “that the association between Cypriot magic and the Jews is somewhat problematic,” because the text does not provide “a clear break between Cypriot and Jewish magic;” Wilburn, Materia Magica, 175–76. Terence Mitford, on the basis of this passage, assumes Jewish and Cypriot magic are the same; Mitford, The Inscriptions of Kourion (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1971), 127–42. Menahem Stern fails to include the sentence on Cyprus in his text of this passage; Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, vol. 1 (Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1974), 498. 29  Mitford claims Jewish influence behind a number of defixiones discovered in Kourion; Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” 2205. These are discussed at length by Wilburn, though without addressing their Jewish character; Wilburn, Materia Magica, 169–218. But Mitford’s claim seems unjustified. As Noy correctly notes, “They only contain standard magical language 23 

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the second century when Cassius Dio and Eusebius inform us of a violent Jewish revolt against the Romans in the time of Trajan (which also broke out in Egypt, Cyrenaica, and perhaps Palestine),30 under the leadership of a possibly messianic figure, called Artemion. According to Eusebius, this resulted in the destruction of Salamis and, according to Dio, in the killing of 240,000 inhabitants.31 The quelling of this insurrection led to a permanent ban on Jews entering the island,32 although this seems not to have been in place in the third and fourth centuries, when we have epigraphic evidence of the presence of Jews on the island.33 The information above provides only piecemeal evidence of the Jewish population of Cyprus. But it indicates that there was probably a large population, and especially in Salamis, that the population was mixed in terms of economic and social origins, some rich Jews who could marry Jewish princesses from Palestine, and some workers in the mines at Soloi and agricultural workers in an island renowned for its farming.34 While Jews are not mentioned as savants or scholars, poets or writers, they may have had a reputation on the island for magical activity. The fact that the Jews were able to engage in an initially successful revolt, which witnessed the sack of Salamis (the only city to be recorded as falling to the Jews in the Trajanic revolt), points to a community boasting a certain unity and sense of difference from the native population, captured perhaps in Philo’s use of the word “colony.” and have no particular Jewish connection;” Noy and Bloedhorn, Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis, 223. 30  William Horbury sees ancient connections between the Jews of Cyprus and Egypt as playing a role in the decision of the Jews of the former to revolt, and assumes some coordination between them. Horbury suggests that Cyprus played an important part in the revolt precisely because of its contacts with both Egypt and Antioch; Horbury, Jewish War under Trajan and Hadrian (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 249 and 252. 31  See Cass. Dio, Hist. 68.32.2, and Eusebius, Chron. Trajan 19 (Eusebius does not mention Cyprus in his longer account of the revolt in Hist. eccl. 4.2.1–5). For the Jewish revolt in Cyprus see Horbury, Jewish War, 246–52. 32  Horbury emphasizes the severity of this action, noting how Dio draws attention to it, and how it contrasts with the refusal of Titus to act in a similar way when faced by a request of the Antiochenes to ban the Jews from their city in the wake of the first Jewish revolt; Jewish War, 251; see also B. J. 7.100–111. 33  Terence B. Mitford and Ino K. Nicolaou claim that a rescript from Salamis, possibly of Severan date, which forbids the establishment of a statio for craftsmen of a particular race, refers to Jews, but do not justify the view that ‘race’ here must refer to Jews. For further epigraphic references after the period of the Trajanic revolt; Inscriptions from Salamis (Nicosia: Cyprus Department of Antiquities, 1974), 91; repeated in Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” 2205; see also Noy and Bloedhorn, Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis, 213–26. These inscriptions, which come from Lapethos, Morfou, Golgoi, Kourion, and Kition, give evidence of the presence of rabbis and synagogue buildings. 34  See Eisler’s point about the Trajanic revolt as arising out of the discontent of slaves working at Soloi, and Horbury’s citation of Mitford’s view that Salamis gives evidence of an industrial proletariat to which some Jews may have belonged and from whom some of the revolutionaries would have come, as discussed in Horbury, Jewish War, 250.



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Acts 13:4–12 and its Cypriot Background Some of the information mentioned above adds verisimilitude to the account of Paul’s, Bar­nabas’s and John Mark’s trip to Cyprus in Acts of the Apostles. It helps to make sense of the reference in Acts to the “synagogues of the Jews” in Salamis (Acts 13:5), a phrase implying a large population in the town (though as yet no synagogue in the city has been found by archaeologists), as well as the presence of the Jewish magos among the retinue of Sergius Paulus. It may also explain why it was that this group of early Christian missionaries decided to begin their activities on the island, being attracted by its large Jewish population. But other towns and cities in Syria and Asia Minor had large Jewish populations and this alone will not serve to explain why a trip to Cyprus was undertaken. Perhaps the fact that a mission had already begun there “only to the Jews” (Acts 11:19),35 that Bar­nabas came from Cyprus (though there is no evidence provided by Luke that Bar­nabas made use of contacts on the island), and that Cyprus itself, besides having historic links with Egypt to the south  – a point reflected in the history of the Jewish population on the island – also looked east, through its port in Salamis to Cilicia, played a part in the decision. Indeed the island had been a part of the Persian Empire, as a satrapy of Syria, and when the Romans had first annexed it in 58 BCE, it had been incorporated into the province of Cilicia, one of the proconsuls of which was Cicero. The choice of travel to Cyprus is strange for another reason. As Terence Mitford and others have commented, the island, which had become a senatorial province in 22 BCE, and so under the governance of a proconsul, a technical detail that Luke gets right (Acts 13:7), was an administrative backwater,36 neither being rich nor providing much opportunity to the senator seeking military glory.37 We hear little about distinguished Cypriots during the period of Roman rule, have relatively few names of those who were proconsuls, and only know of six of these individuals who went on to be consuls.38 If the trip is an 35  For some this reference contradicts what we read in Acts 13:4–12, where Paul and Bar­ nabas’s mission to Cyprus appears as the first Christian presence on the island and so is likely to go back to Christian tradition. However, it is not beyond the realms of possibility that this matter might have escaped Luke’s notice. See C. K. Barrett, Acts Volume 1: 1–14, ICC (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2004), 549. 36  See Mitford, “Roman Cyprus,” 1346. 37  Mitford notes that when one compares Cyprus with Sicily and Sardinia, both senatorial provinces, we see that it was never afforded great privileges. No coloniae and no cities were granted the status of civitas; no latifundia or imperial estates were known on the island; there is no evidence that Romans of wealth or standing settled in the province or owned land there; and it may have been visited by only one emperor (probably Hadrian). It lay on no important sea routes and so was of little strategic significance; Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” 1295. 38  Van der Horst speculates that the decision to go to the island is an indirect indication of the importance of the Jewish community there. This, then, makes the decision to go there quite logical; van der Horst, “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,” 30.

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invention of Luke, against such a background the reason for the invention needs some explanation.39

Aspects of Acts 13:4–12 As has been noted, terseness marks Luke’s account of Paul and Bar­nabas’s Cypriot trip. Their journey is described without comment,40 and the presence of John Mark is left unexplained (Acts 13:5). If Paul and Bar­nabas were greeted by friends, and in the case of Bar­nabas, relatives, that fact is not mentioned. Salamis – the city at which they arrived – boasted a long history stretching back to 1050 BCE, even if the city had been somewhat in decline since the second century BCE when it ceased to be the major city of the island in favor of Paphos. It had a striking physical appearance, including a theater which could hold 15,000 people, a long forum with porches, a gymnasium, as well as boasting the important temple of Zeus. Yet Luke fails to include any details of this.41 All that is referred to is preaching in the synagogues of the Jews.42 The reference could imply the presence of other synagogai in the city, here understood as associations, but it seems more likely that it was a standard way of referring to a synagogue, for we find the term in Jewish inscriptions elsewhere.43 The presence of more than one synagogue seems likely on the basis of what has already been said about the Jewish population during the Trajanic revolt.44 As already noted, Luke does not enlighten us as to the content of the preaching (he simply mentions preaching the word of the Lord) or the reaction to it (in contrast to other places in the first missionary journey and beyond, where we are provided with a lengthy speech by Paul and often a negative reaction to it).45 The absence of any account of words spoken or the success or failure of the venture is an indication of the dubious historical claims of the account to some. The Cypriot journey, then, is little more than an enactment of Luke’s view that one preaches to the Jews first, something 39  Keener notes that Cyprus would have been a natural port of call because of its strategic placement, sea routes from Egypt, Asia Minor, and Syria all converging there; Keener, Acts, 1999. 40  Often in the summer months ships experienced difficulty getting to the island because of the westerly winds. The Acts of Bar­nabas 11–12 gives an account of this kind. 41  On Salamis see Mitford, “Roman Cyprus,” 1321–23; Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” 2189–90; Keener, Acts, 2000; Thomas W. Davis, “Saint Paul on Cyprus: The Transformation of an Apostle,” in Do Historical Matters Matter to Faith? ed. James K. Hoffmeier and Dennis R. Magary (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2012), 415. 42  For more on the Jewish association with Salamis, see Kollmann, Joseph Bar­nabas, 40–41; and our comments on the Jewish capture of the city in the Trajanic revolt above. 43  The term occurs here for the first time in Acts (for other appearances, but here only in the singular, see 14:1; 17:1 and 10). For discussion of this phrase see Öhler, Bar­nabas, 274–75. 44  See above. 45  See 13:45; 14:2; 17:5; 18:6; 19:9.



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which occurs with regularity in Acts.46 But one could argue that the absence of a reaction does not fit Luke’s customary account, which is precisely to have Paul preach first to the Jews, encounter opposition and then move to the Gentiles. Such a schema here seems at best oblique,47 with gentiles never being mentioned.48 Silence may conceal lack of success49 or of informationor of both.50 The description of the journey from Salamis to Paphos is skeletal, as if it is Luke’s main aim to get to the interview with Sergius, upon which he wants to focus.51 For others the brevity points to invention, a Modellreise, invented through knowledge of a map.52 It is likely that Paul and Bar­nabas would have followed the south coastal road,53 although it seems on the basis of extant Roman milestones that at this time there was only a relatively small stretch of Roman road from Paphos to Kourion, with its temple to Apollo Hylates.54 Most, however, assume that there was a Ptolemaic road from Salamis to Paphos, and that the 46  See 13:14; 14:1; 17:1, 10, 17; 18:4, 19; 19:8. To this observation, some add the strongly Lukan nature of the language at 13:4–6a; see Pervo, Acts, 323. 47  See Keener’s point: “His lack of mention of opposition in the synagogues also suggests that the report is not simply a Lucan fixation;” Keener, Acts, 2003. 48  Jack T. Sanders argues for such a schema. While he notes that there is no opposition expressed in 13:6, he states that Luke has an evil Jew oppose gentile conversion, gives evidence of the power of the gospel over such a person, and then recounts the conversion of a gentile. “If the reader turns from that account with any view other than that the missionaries take the Gospel to the Jews, who oppose it, and that the missionaries then preach successfully to the gentiles, it will not be for want of Luke’s narrative skill, for he has highlighted these themes well;” Sanders, The Jews in Luke-Acts (London: SCM Press, 1987), 258. But this seems an example of eisegesis – of reading one’s assumptions into an ancient text. The fact that Luke fails to detail the results of the preaching to the Jews, that he does not clearly link that preaching with the event involving Bar Jesus which follows, and that it is difficult to see Bar Jesus as symbolic of the Jews more generally, make Sanders’s view unlikely. On this see John J. Kilgallen, “Acts 13:4–12: The Role of the Magos,” EstBib 55 (1998): 225–26. For our discussion of the Jewish dimension of this passage, see below. 49  The implication of Acts 15:36 and 39 is that there was successful missionizing on the island, but of this, save for the incident with Sergius Paulus, we are told nothing. See Öhler, Bar­ nabas, 280. 50  See Öhler, Bar­nabas, 275. 51  Certainly it is difficult to see how it could have been a journey around the whole island, as the Greek claims. On this see Barrett, Acts, 612. 52  A view associated with Haenchen and Conzelmann, the latter of whom claimed that Luke could have read the information on a map. This is disputed by Cilliers Breytenbach, who notes the lack of availability of maps and the generally good geographic knowledge Luke demonstrates; Breytenbach, Paulus und Bar­nabas in der Provinz Galatien: Studien zu Apostelgeschichte 13 f.; 16,6; 18,23 und den Adressaten des Galaterbriefes, AGAJU 38 (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 86–87. 53  David Gill mentions another possible route, via the north coast, to Chytri, over the Kyrenia ridge and then along the coast to Soloi, Arsinoe, and then south to Paphos. This was a longer route than the southern coastal one, and the first evidence of a road for that route comes from the Severan period in the late second and early third century; Gill, “Paul’s Travels through Cyprus,” TynBul 46 (1995): 220. 54  Gill, “Paul’s Travels,” 222, discusses the relevant milestone.

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Roman road would have stretched further by this time.55 It seems unlikely that Paul would not have stopped off at some of the important towns between Paphos and Salamis, but again Luke is silent about this matter.56 The decision to go to Paphos would have been a natural one. Paphos refers to New Paphos, a city built in the late fourth century BCE near Old Paphos, which had been and continued to be the site of the most important shrine to Aphrodite in the ancient world. By the second century BCE, New Paphos had taken the place of Salamis as the major city of the island (a position it would hold until 346 CE), mainly because of its harbor, and appears quickly to have won the favor of the Romans, with Cicero, in the early period of its imperial history, speaking warmly of it.57 In 15 BCE it had been badly damaged in an earthquake but Augustus had provided funds for its rebuilding and as a result it had acquired the title “sebaste” to which “Claudia” and “Flavia” were to be added at different times.58 It was the place of residence of the proconsul and it quickly adopted a Roman calendar (this in contrast to Salamis which retained an Egyptian calendar). It was also given the title “metropolis,” one to which Salamis aspired59 but unsuccessfully until the time of Epi­pha­nius.60 Evidence of trade, in particular in pots, points to a strong western orientation, which would be compatible with what some have seen as its heavily Romanized character.61 Despite the rich history of Paphos, Luke, as with his account of Salamis, provides us with no information about the physical appearance of the city, failing to mention the shrine of Aphrodite, although that was located at Old Paphos. Rather, all interest is focused on the encounter between Paul and Bar­nabas, and Sergius Paulus and Bar Jesus. From this encounter a number of points emerge. 55 

See Gill, “Paul’s Travels,” 222. these, mention should be made of Kition, Amathous (one of only three Cypriot cities to be granted the right of asylum through its temple of Aphrodite), and Kourion. As Barrett notes, “D* has περιελθόντων δὲ αὐτῶν, they went round, that is, presumably they sailed round [the island],” perhaps to explain the narrative void, indicating that they sailed around the island and so there was no need to give an account of a mission in the towns between Salamis and Paphos; Barrett, Acts, 612. 57 Sib. Or. 4.128–144.; 5.450–454 could, along with Salamis, refer to Paphos as exemplifying Cyprus. Justin Taylor argues that the evidence for Paphos becoming the major town of the island is, aside from what he takes to be the ambiguous evidence of Acts, limited to a comment by Cicero (omnes … Cyprios, sed magis Paphios [Cicero, Fam. 13.8]); Taylor, “St. Paul and the Roman Empire: Acts of the Apostles 13–14,” ANRW 2.26.2 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1995), 1192. 58  See Mitford, “Roman Cyprus,” 1310. 59  Paphos probably received the title in the early 2nd century CE. Hadrian denied the title to Salamis in 123 CE. 60  Salamis’s supposed anti-Roman profile may have been informed by an early incident in the Roman rule of the island when there was a blockade of the Salaminian council by Scaptius (the issue concerned the recovery of a hugely inflated debt), which resulted in the death of five councilors. See Mitford, “Roman Cyprus,” 1291. 61  On Paphos see Mitford, “Roman Cyprus,” 1309–15; Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” 1990, 2178–83; and Keener, Acts, 2006–8. 56  Among



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First, Acts makes no attempt to explain how it was that Paul and Bar­nabas ended up meeting the procurator, or what the setting was in which they met him.62 The invitation appears to come from the latter,63 but the narrative tells us nothing about how Sergius may have heard about the missionaries. Does the writer of Luke-Acts think that the reader will assume that such information came from the Jewish community, with whom, possibly through Bar Jesus, Sergius had a connection? Second, what of Bar Jesus? The name is suggestive of some historical kernel to the story, for why name a figure with the same name as your savior figure?64 Paul’s cursing him as the “son of the Devil,” betrays recognition of the association of his name and the inversion of this. His relationship to Sergius has elicited much discussion, not least because it is never formally described.65 Scholars have suggested that Bar Jesus was something akin to a court astrologer, like Thrasyllus in the court of Tiberius (Suetonius, Tib. 14.4), or Babillus (Suetonius, Nero 36.1) and Tiridates (Pliny, Nat 30.17) in Nero’s court, or Asceletarion in the court of Domitian (Suetonius, Dom. 15.3);66 and others have seen him more generally as part of proconsul’s retinue, a comes of sorts. Insofar as Bar Jesus is described, he is twice called a magos (13:6 and 8). This term need not be a self-designation, although, as noted, we hear of Felix making use of a Jewish magos (or at least someone who pretended to be a Jewish magos) in his attempts to woo Drusilla from her husband, a passage which bears similarities with the contents of this passage in Acts.67 The term is not in itself negative. It originally referred to wise 62 

Is the reader to envision an interview in a gubernatorial palace, with Sergius seated while Paul and Bar­nabas interview him, or a less formal discussion elsewhere? The text is silent on this matter; Pervo, Acts, 326. 63  See 13:7 and the reference to Sergius summoning (προσκαλέσαμενος) Paul and Bar­nabas. 64  For the view that his name is not Bar Jesus but Bar hizwa, son of the vision, and that this is an Essene self-designation for seer, see Constantin Daniel, “Un Essénien mentionné dans les Actes des Apôtres: Barjésu,” Le Museon 84 (1971): 455–76. The Syriac reading “Barsuma,” sometimes translated as “son of the name,” seems to be an attempt to get over the embarrassment to a Christian of the name Bar Jesus. 65  The closest we get is the description of him “with (σύν) the proconsul” (13:7). That could be taken to imply that Bar Jesus was a part of the court of the proconsul. For a more cautious interpretation of the term, see Rick Strelan, Strange Acts: Studies in the Cultural World of the Acts of the Apostles, BZNW 126 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2004), 217. 66  See also Tacitus, Hist. 1.22.2, who talks of astrologers in the retinue of Otho. For other references see Hans-Josef Klauck, Magic and Paganism in Early Christianity: The World of the Acts of the Apostles (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000), 51. The fact that Paul blinds him so that he is not able to see the sun has been taken to indicate that astrology is his trade for the sun was important for his work. 67  Note in particular the presence of a governor and a Jewish magician as well as Josephus’ implicit condemnation of the actions of the magos Atomos, in A. J. 20.143, where the magician leads Drusilla to transgress the law. Some have argued that the variant for Elymas in D*, Etoimas, which comes close to Atomos of the Josephan passage, indicates that one scribe saw a similarity between the two passages. The notion that Luke is dependent upon Josephus is not warranted, however. For further discussion see Pervo, Acts, 323–24.

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men from a Persian priestly caste, but it could be used negatively to refer to a quack or fraud or something worse.68 The latter sense is meant here, as the word pseudoprophētēs implies.69 It is possible, however, that the negative designation may provide an insight into how Bar Jesus viewed himself: as some kind of a prophet, a spokesman for God.70 This interpretation might be suggested by his second name of Elymas, which could be derived from the Hebrew word haloma, meaning interpreter of dreams.71 Paul and Bar­nabas’s claim to speak the word of God could be thought somehow to threaten his livelihood and so his patronage under Sergius. Paul’s curse, in verses 10–11, which draws heavily on the Hebrew Scriptures in tone,72 identifies Bar Jesus as a false prophet, who derives his power from the devil, not God, invoking well-known debates in the Hebrew scriptures and elsewhere about who is a true and a false prophet. This is why his identity as a magos is emphasized by Luke. This has led to the view that Luke is engaged, as elsewhere in Acts, in a careful differentiation of Christians from magicians.73 There must be an element of this in the passage, as we can see by the way it resonates with biblical debates about false and true prophets. Yet, Luke’s willingness 68  See Philo, Spec. 3.100–101 [Colson]: “Now the true magic, the scientific vision by which the facts of nature are presented in a clearer light, is felt to be a fit object for reverence and ambition not only by ordinary persons but by kings and the greatest kings, and particularly by the Persians … But there is a counterfeit of this most properly called a perversion of art, pursued by charlatan mendicants, parasites, the basest of the women and the slave population.” 69  See Keener, Acts, 2009–12. The term is obviously Luke’s evaluative designation for Bar Jesus and should perhaps be seen in contrast to Paul and Bar­nabas’s placement among “the prophets and teachers” at 13:1. In this view the passage becomes a battle between the true prophet and the false one. On this see Strelan, Strange Acts, 216–17. 70  See Jer 23:9–32, esp. v. 32: “Behold I am against those who prophesy lying dreams, declares the Lord, and who tell them and lead my people astray by their lies and their recklessness, when I did not send them or charge them. So they do not profit this people at all, declares the Lord” (Jer 23:32 ESV). 71  This is one way to solve the difficulty of understanding how Elymas is a translation of Bar Jesus. To some it might seem like a long shot, not least because Elymas can only at a stretch be related to haloma. Some assume that Bar Jesus had two names and Luke assumed “Elymas” to be a Greek word and so a translation of Bar Jesus, when in fact it was not. Others, as we have seen, focus on D’s alternative reading for Elymas of Etoimas. Strelan, Strange Acts, 218–19, argues against the idea of Elymas as a translation in the strict sense, and sees Elymas as relating to Elam, the son of Shem (Gen 10:22), who, according to Josephus, is the ancestor of the Persians from whom the magoi descend. For the options see Barrett, Acts, 316–17. 72  On this see n. 78 below. The scene has been thought to conjure up biblical images such as we find in Exod 7 and 8; 1 Kings 18; or Dan 14. 73  See Klauck: “There existed a wide spectrum of religious ‘special offers’, often with a whiff of the exotic. The external appearance of the itinerant Christian missionaries was similar to the ‘men of God’ of every shade who wandered from place to place, and they risked being evaluated against this background and into this spectrum;” Klauck, Magic and Paganism, 52. The attempt to differentiate seems more emphatic in the case of Simon Magus, especially as Luke describes this at Acts 8:20–24. For further discussion see Soham Al-Suadi, “Magie und Apokalyptik im Zentrum lukanischer Geschichtsschreibung – Historizität am Beispiel von Apg 13.6–12,” NTS 61 (2015): 499–502.



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to present Paul as blinding Bar Jesus, in spite of its obvious symbolic value, could leave him open to the charge of magic. Third, to some, the fact that Bar Jesus is a Jew (v. 6) makes this a confrontation whose primary referent lies in the failure of Jews to respond to the word of God and indeed their determination to prevent Christians from spreading the word, in this instance described by Paul as “turning people from the ways of the Lord” (v. 10).74 It is true that the actions of Bar Jesus can be seen to be compatible with previous and subsequent actions of Jews in Acts, that his name, Bar Jesus, draws further attention to his Jewish identity.75 The proliferation of Septuagintal language,76 together with the designation of Paul’s protagonist as a pseudoprophētēs can be seen to create a scene of inner-Jewish conflict. Moreover, Christian texts often posit blindness as a besetting sin of the Jews, and so Paul’s miracle simply enacts a state Luke sees as endemically Jewish.77 But it would be wrong to assume that the designation of Bar Jesus as a magos is irrelevant to the text’s interpretation. Bar Jesus’s actions in opposing the spread of the Christian word (the word of God as it is designated) are not exclusively connected with his Jewish identity (in fact there is no overt condemnation of the Jews in the passage – this has to be inferred). Although the Jewish context of Paul and Bar­nabas’s trip to Cyprus is clear, that need not exclude from consideration the issue of magic, which concerned Jews as well, not least in the Acts of the Apostles.78 Moreover, the associa74  This

case is made most strongly, but not entirely convincingly, by Sanders (see n. 50 above) and in a different way by Kilgallen here arguing not so much for Bar Jesus as a Lukan symbol of Jewish opposition but rather as an instantiation of a consistent feature of early Christian history, namely Jewish opposition; Kilgallen, “The Role of the Magos,” XX. G. W. H. Lampe sees Bar Jesus as a “propagandist for Judaism, a counter-missionary against the church,” whose activity recalls warnings found in 2 Tim 3:8, where reference is made to men who withstand the truth in the coming times of trouble, as Jannes and Jambres withstood Moses. Such individuals form a part of what Lampe proposes was a Jewish counter-mission against the Christians; G. W. H. Lampe “‘Grievous Wolves’ (Acts 20:29),” in Christ and the Spirit in the New Testament, ed. C. F. D. Moule and S. S. Smalley (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973), 259. 75  See Kilgallen, “The Role of the Magos,” 227. 76  For this view see Strelan, “Who Was Bar Jesus? (Acts 13,6–12),” Biblica 80 (2004): 73–74. The curse at v. 11, taken by some as an oracle of judgment, has been understood to conjure up Deut 28–9, with special reference being made to Deut 28:29 and 29:19–20. For other curse-type verses see Gen 32:11; 1 Kings 12:7; Jer 5:27; Hos 4:10; Prov 10:9; Sir 1:30; 19:26; 39:24. Note also the phrase “the hand of the Lord is against you” (χεὶρ κυρίου ἐπἰ σε) and compare this with Exod 9:3; Deut 2:15; Judg 2:15; Job 9:21; Isa 25:10. See also the use of the word δόλος at v. 10 and compare with Sir 1:30 and 19:26; and the phrase turning from the straight ways (διαστρέφων τὰς ὁδοὺς [τοῦ] κυρίου) used at 13:10 and compare this with its use at Isa 40:3–5 and Prov 10:9 (though the allusion in 13:10 may be to Luke 3:4 and the words of John the Baptist). 77  See esp. Acts 28:26–27 and the reference to Jewish blindness through citation of Isa 6. “The temporary curse from Paul … is fully intelligible only with Judaism as its point of reference;” Kilgallen, “The Role of the Magos,” 230. 78  Al Suadi emphasizes the appropriateness of Paul beginning his ministry with a miracle involving blindness. Noting its presence as an idea at Luke 4, where the Gospel brings sight to the blind, Acts 9 where Paul was blinded as a result of his encounter with Christ on the road to Damascus, and Acts 28 where the book ends with reference to the blindness of some Jews, Al

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tion of Bar Jesus with the devil (13:10) arises from his magical activity, indicating the importance of the theme for Luke.79 A fourth issue in the account of Paul and Bar­nabas in Cyprus concerns the figure of Sergius Paulus. Scholars have attempted to locate this elusive figure in Roman records. Sadly, there is no unambiguous evidence of a Sergius Paulus being a proconsul of Cyprus at this time (ca. 45–50). This may not be surprising, however, as only the names of fourty-eight proconsuls from 22 BCE to 294 CE survive, representing one-sixth of the possible number. Three inscriptions have been thought to give evidence of a Sergius Paulus who could be associated with the figure in Acts. Two are Cypriot: One probably dates from the time of Hadrian or later and so is irrelevant;80 the other is heavily damaged and may well refer to someone with the name of Sergius Paulus, though that is by no means certain. The inscription may come from the time of the emperor Gaius rather than as had been previously thought, Claudius, again rendering an identification with Sergius of Acts less likely.81 The other is of Roman origin, refers to a Lucius Sergius Paulus, who was a curator of the banks of the Tiber in Claudius’s reign, which Saudi concludes from this that it is the different manifestation of divine power which is decisive. Al Suadi, “Magie und Apokalyptik,” 503. Some have seen the reference to Paul’s blindness as primary, the claim being that in fighting Elymas, Paul is rejecting his own former personality which remains a threat to him; see Robert Tannehill, The Narrative Unity of Luke-Acts: A Literary Interpretation, 2 vols. (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986), 2.163 n. 15. Strelan rejects this psychological interpretation but accepts the strong parallels between both events, arguing that, as a continuation of the parallel with Paul’s conversion, it may be possible to infer that Bar Jesus was in fact converted, the reference to “the hand of the Lord” (13:11) being seen as positive; Strelan, Strange Acts, 221. 79  See Al Suadi who notes the coming together of the idea of the defeat of magic and apocalyptic themes in the passage, Al Suadi, “Magie und Apokalyptik,” 498–99. 80  IGR III.930, the so-called Soloi inscription. Here the reference is to a proconsul called Paulus, without nomen or praenomen who held his position in the tenth (some think thirteenth year – the reading in the seventh line is contested) year of an emperor. Some took that emperor to be Claudius, but most now agree that the inscription is from a later period, not least on the grounds that the word in l. 6, δεκαπρωτε[ύ]σ[ας], refers to the office of the δεκάπρωτοι, which does not antedate the reign of Hadrian. Discussion with relevant literature in A. Nobbs, “Cyprus,” in The Book of Acts in its First Century Setting, vol. 2: The Book of Acts in its Graeco-Roman Setting, ed. D. W. J. Gill and C. Gempf (Grand Rapids and Carlisle: Paternoster Press, 1994), 283. See also Rainer Riesner, Paul’s Early Period: Chronology, Mission Strategy, Theology, ET (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 138; and Breytenbach, Paulus und Bar­nabas, 38–45. 81  IGR III.935 = SEG 20, 302.9–11. This inscription comes from Kytheria in northern Cyprus. “Paullus” is restored by the editors in l. 11 after the words ]ΟΙΝΤΟΥ ΣΕΡΓ (Quintus Sergius) and some believed that the reference to the emperor (]ΑΙΟΥ ΚΑΙΣΑΡΟϹ ΣΕΒΑΣΤΟΥ) in l. 9 was to Claudius. Mitford disagreed and restored it to ΓΑΙΟΥ, that is, the emperor Gaius; Mitford, “Roman Cyprus,” 1300. In a lengthy discussion, Douglas Campbell disagreed with Mitford and restored ]ΑΙΟΥ to ΤΙΒΕΡ]ΙΟΥ, making this the basis for a radical rewriting of the dating of Paul’s life; Campbell, “Possible Inscriptional Attestation to Sergius Paul[l]us (Acts 13:6–12), and the Implications for Pauline Chronology,” JTS 56 (2005): 1–29. Conventional opinion would see Mitford as right and the inscription as therefore irrelevant to the Sergius Paulus under discussion in Acts 13. See also Taylor, “St. Paul and the Roman Empire,” 1193–94; and Riesner, Paul’s Early Period, 139.



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would make an identification with Sergius of Acts possible.82 Yet this remains a guess, not least because we do not have the praenomen of the figure in Acts. The Sergii Pauli owned estates in the area of Pisidian Antioch and some have used this information to explain Paul’s next destination after Cyprus, which is Pisidian Antioch.83 However, even if it were possible to identify Sergius Paulus with any of those mentioned in the inscriptions discussed above, we would know little about him except from what we read in Acts 13.84 Some have suggested that Sergius was a God-fearer.85 The description of him as συνετῷ (13:7), can be translated as “sagacious” or “intelligent,” but in a passage which resonates with scriptural allusions, it could equally be translated as pious.86 The fact that Sergius wishes to hear about the word of God, could imply an interest in scripture, though this seems overly specific.87 When these depictions are combined with the presence in his entourage of the Jew, Bar Jesus, the idea that Acts might be portraying Sergius Paulus as a God-fearer becomes stronger, though how strong remains a question: Luke, after all, knew about God-fearers, and yet nowhere associates Sergius explicitly with this group (see Acts 10:2, 22; 13:16, 26).88 The question as 82  CIL 631543. Here the reference is to Lucius Sergius Paulus, one of the curatores riparum et alvei Tiberis. The date of the inscription, which comes from the time of Claudius, has been taken to be before 47 because the emperor’s role as censor is not mentioned, an office he acquired in 47. If the mission to Cyprus is dated between 45 and 50, that would give this individual adequate time to advance to the proconsulship of Cyprus. See the discussion in Stephen Mitchell Anatolia: Land, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor: The Rise of the Church, vol. 2 of Anatolia: Land, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor (Oxford: Oxford University Press,1993), 7; Nobbs, “Cyprus,” 284–7; Taylor, “St. Paul and the Roman Empire,” 1193; and Riesner, Paul’s Early Period, 139–40. Taylor is skeptical about the identification, as is Klauck, Magic and Paganism, 51. 83  For a positive discussion of this information see Mitchell, Anatolia 2, 5–8. For the evidence, see MAMA VII.319, 321, 330 f., 485, all of which derives from the Flavian period, and relates to land owned in rural Anatolia. Mitchell, however, argues that by analogy with other property we know about, we can probably assume that the property had been acquired in the Julio-Claudian period. We also know of a certain L. Sergius L. f. Paullus filius in Pisidian Antioch, who some assume to be the grandson of Sergius Paulus in Acts. 84  Note also the possibility supported by Riesner, Paul’s Early Period, 142–43, that the Sergius Paulus, according to some manuscripts (he is also referred to as Lucius Sergius Plautus), referred to at the beginning of books 2 and 18 of Pliny’s Natural History, is the proconsul in Acts, a view supported by the relatively frequent occurrence of references to Cyprus in these sections of Pliny. 85  See Jacob Jervell, Die Apostelgeschichte: Übersetzt und erklärt (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 346; and Pervo, Acts, 325, suggesting that the relationship between Sergius and Bar Jesus lay in Bar Jesus’s Jewish identity. See Strelan, Strange Acts, 218, for the view that Sergius is very close to the Jewish synagogue in Paphos. 86 Jervell, Die Apostelgeschichte, 346, translates the word as “einsichtsvoll, fromm, gottesfürchtig.” See Prov 28:7 where those who keep the law are described as συνετός. See also Sir 9:15 and 18:28. In the only other usage of the word in Luke (10:21), it is coupled with the term “wise” and used, in a negative context to refer to those from whom Jesus has hidden “these things.” 87  See Jervell, Die Apostelgeschichte, 346. The phrase λόγος τοῦ θεοῦ appears frequently in Acts but is best seen as a summary of the Christian message. See 4:31; 6:2, 7; 8:14, 25; 11:1; 12:24; 13:5, 7, 26, 44, 48; 15:36; 16:32; 18:11. 88  See Jervell, Die Apostelgeschichte, 348. Strelan, Strange Acts, 218, gives further support to this position.

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to whether he became a follower of Jesus remains open. Certainly it is indicated that he believed,89 but there is no account of his baptism. Whatever his affiliation with Christianity, the implication is that he was favorably disposed towards the movement,90 though whether this arose principally from the actions of Paul or of his preaching is somewhat obscured by Luke’s Greek.91 That Luke makes so little of the event, however understood, is striking and possibly explained by the fact that Sergius did not maintain his link with the Christian movement, or did so in an inclusive way, entertaining it as one of a number of religious affiliations (perhaps in the way he had engaged with Judaism).92 A number of additional puzzles connected with the passage needs to be mentioned: the meaning and significance of the reference to Saul also being called Paul; and related perhaps to this, the apparent non-participation in the event, indeed the muteness, of the previously senior partner, Bar­nabas.93 The second of these observations has led some scholars to suggest the presence of three different traditions consisting of a story about Paul and Bar­nabas’s missionizing of Cyprus and two different confrontation stories involving Paul and magicians (connected with Bar Jesus and Elymas).94 This seems at best highly conjectural – as we have seen there is nothing intrinsically unlikely about the story Luke presents in spite of its difficulties. 89  Some think that a better translation might be “trust” – Sergius Paulus comes to trust Paul and Bar­nabas more than Bar Jesus/Elymas. For further discussion see Keener Acts, 2025, who is skeptical of such a view on the grounds of other instances of the verb in Acts (2:44; 4:4, 32; 9:42; 10:23; etc., where it carries a stronger sense). It is perhaps significant, however, that in v. 8 Elymas is presented as trying to turn Sergius “from the faith.” The fact that Sergius goes on to believe can, against this background, seem more significant. In the sixth-century Laudatio (21), the word used to describe what happened to Sergius is “illuminated” (φωτίζω), a word which probably implies conversion, though the term is not glossed by the author. 90  See Kollmann who claims that Sergius became a “Sympathisant;” Kollmann, Joseph Bar­ nabas, 43. 91  Pesch takes the reference to the teaching of the Lord as a subjective genitive and so a reference to the miraculous blinding of Bar Jesus; Pesch, Die Apostelgeschichte, 26. For further discussion see Barrett, Acts, 618. D reads “and he marveled at what had happened and believed in God” (being deeply impressed at the teaching of the Lord), but whether this clarifies matters any further is unclear. Barrett addresses the relevant grammatical issues. Sense, he suggests, would indicate that ἐκπλησόμενος should go with τὸ γεγονός and so we might render the passage, “When the proconsul saw with astonishment what had happened, he believed in the teaching of the Lord.” But this barely reflects the ordering of the words which suggests that ἰδών goes with γεγονός, ἐπίσετευσεν is used absolutely, and the marveling is at the teaching of the Lord. Öhler assumes that the confused sentence is best explained by arguing that an original story of missionizing has then been combined with possibly two miracle stories (for this see n. 95 below); Öhler, Bar­nabas, 282. 92  Certainly if he is the same Sergius Paulus who became consul suffectus in 70 (CIL vi.253), then his allegiance to Christianity must have been complex and non-exclusive. 93  Öhler notes that the role accorded to Paul in the passage contradicts what we read in Acts 13:1 and 14:12, where Paul appears to play a subordinate role, though this can be argued less easily for 14:12; Öhler, Bar­nabas, 282. 94  See Öhler, Bar­nabas, 272 f. For our discussion of Elymas and the complex issues related to that name and its relationship to Bar Jesus see above, especially n. 71.



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A number of tentative observations emerge from our discussion of this passage. First, in spite of its difficulties, a dismissal of it as invention seems unlikely on a number of grounds, not least the believability of some of the contents of the passage in a Cypriot context.95 The brevity of the passage,96 which adds to its difficulty, may arise from the character of Luke’s source, his own abbreviation of it, and related to this, his assumption of the audience’s knowledge of the events concerned.97 Second, there is a strongly Jewish aspect to what is described in the account of Paul and Bar­nabas in Cyprus. Paul and Bar­nabas preach in the synagogues of the Jews in Salamis; Bar Jesus is a Jew; Sergius Paulus might be a God-fearer; and the character of the language in which the encounter between Paul and Bar Jesus is couched is strongly scriptural. It is important to note that the pagan worlds of Salamis and Paphos barely intrude into Luke’s account, as they will, for instance, in his accounts of Paul and Bar­nabas at Lystra (Acts 14:8–18) or Paul at Ephesus (Acts 19).98 Third, while Sergius Paulus’s conversion, if that is what it is, would have been significant, its importance is not explicitly emphasized by Luke.99 For some it might have seemed a natural thing to engage in further missionary activity on the island with the proconsul’s support. Others, however, suggest that the main emphasis lies in the combat between Bar Jesus and Paul, as there are significant combat scenes elsewhere in Acts. Fourth, this scene presents the first instance of Luke placing words in the mouth of Paul and giving him a leading role. The apparent transformation in Paul’s standing, at least in relation to Bar­nabas,100 has impressed some.101 Does 95 

See below. notes that Acts 13–14 is in relation to 16–19, notable for the absence of too many specifics, e. g., the names of officials, synagogue leaders etc.; Pervo, Acts, 319–20. Nock, emphasizing its brevity, suggesting that it implies access to a tradition of sorts. “So lame a story would not have been invented in Luke’s time … in a later stage of development we should have heard of the conversion and cure of Elymas, and of the subsequent fortunes and martyrdom of Sergius;” Nock, “Paul and the Magus,” 188. 97  See Pervo, Acts, 323. 98  Note how the Acts of Bar­nabas in particular compensates for this absence of a pagan dynamic. 99  “The proconsul’s conversion … is just stated as though it were that of a washerwoman;” Nock, “Paul and the Magus,” 187. Keener suggests that the focus will now be on Paul’s mission, rather than Bar­nabas’s, which will involve a return to Cyprus. Had the emphasis been on the latter, more would have been made of Sergius’s conversion (but the problem with such a view is that the emphasis is on Paul in this section). He also thinks that it is possible that Sergius’s affiliation to Christianity may not have been permanent, and even if not permanent the enthusiasm of a Roman official for Christianity would still have been significant; Keener, Acts, 2024–25. 100  See esp. 13:13 and the reference to Paul and those around him. 101  As has, for instance, the apparent parallels between Paul’s activity here and that of Peter. Peter had cursed a practitioner of magic (8:20–24), and worked a punitive miracle (5:1–11); and 96  Pervo

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it emerge from Paul’s actions in front of Sergius?102 Some have also assumed that the event marked a change in Paul’s perspective, a movement from his identity as Saul, with a primary interest in the conversion of Jews, to Paul, oriented towards gentiles.103 Yet the reference in verse 9 to the fact that Saul is, literally, also Paul, is not to a change of name but at best a reference to the fact that Paul will now be the name by which he goes, and so should not be accorded much importance.104 Similarly undermining the importance of this event for Paul is the fact that he fails to mention his journey to Cyprus in Gal 1:21, where in a passage thought to refer to the first missionary journey, he only refers to Cilicia and Syria, implying a visit of less importance for Paul.105 Fifth, the Cypriot dimension of the passage, however muted, is present. This has been seen in Luke’s attention to the Jewish dimension of the island’s life, especially in Salamis, to the association of Jews with magic, as seen in the figure of Bar Jesus. An association of Sergius Paulus with the island has been argued for. None of this straightforwardly elucidates Acts 13:4–12, but rather lends it verisimilitude. Timothy Davis has sought to make more of this Cypriot aspect. Arguing against a homogenized view of Cypriot culture, he claims that there was a greater difference between Paphos and the eastern two thirds of the island, with the former being more Romanized, a point made clear by recent finds of pottery which imply that Paphos traded mainly with Rome and Italy,106 and of coins,107 as well as possible indications that the imperial family ritual “may have been his first convert was also a Roman official. On this see Pervo Acts, 324. Barrett thinks that in the passage Luke was attempting to show Paul to be Peter’s equal; Barrett, Acts, 610. 102  “Dass er (Paul) sich gegenüber Bar­nabas emanzipieren konnte, liegt vielleicht gerade daran, dass er mit dem Prokonsul eine so wichtige Persönlichkeit zum Christentum geführt hat und als dessen Klient nun über Bar­nabas stand.” He adds, cautiously, “Lukas belässt es hier allerdings bei Andeutungen;” Öhler, Bar­nabas, 280. 103  “Up till this point in Acts the reader has seen the apostle as a Jew among Jews, and so has known him as Saul; from now on he appears as a Roman citizen and Hellenized oriental moving in the Greco-Roman world, and so is known as Paul;” Taylor “St. Paul and the Roman Empire,” 1197. See also Davis: “Luke sees this as a seminal event, changing Paul’s name and, in essence, his ministry;” Davis, “Saint Paul on Cyprus,” 418. Keener broadly takes the same view: “The primary reason for Luke’s transition at this point is that Paul’s ministry to gentiles begins at this point, inviting Paul as well as Luke to shift to emphasis on the Roman name;” Keener, Acts, 2020. 104  As most commentators point out, the formula ὁ καί appears in the papyri to refer to an alternative name, in this instance, most think the cognomen rather than the signum, which was Saul (the idea that Paul has changed his name to that of Sergius Paulus is generally thought to be unfounded). Paul may have been the name by which he was known beforehand – it is simply that Luke, feeling he has established Paul’s Jewish credentials as Saul, reverts to the name by which Paul generally went. On this see Keener, Acts, 2017–22. 105  But some have contended that his reference to Bar­nabas in 1 Cor 9:6 as a travelling companion implies knowledge of this visit. 106  Davis, “Saint Paul on Cyprus,” 418–19, citing studies by Anthi Kaldeli and John Lund. 107  Davis, “Saint Paul on Cyprus,” 419. There is evidence of coins which seek to promote the unity of the island, implying a division.



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somehow blended with the island’s primary cult of Aphrodite.”108 In this argument, Salamis is seen as representing a mercantile, Hellenistic, Jewish-Christian world Paul was used to, and Paphos something different. Bar­nabas, Davis maintains, responded less openly than Paul to this changed environment in Paphos. As Davis writes: “Luke portrays Paul as more open to the cultural challenge of the pagan Roman world than Bar­nabas, who appears out of his depth.”109 Davis suggests that the positive results of encounter with the governor, in contrast to the assumed negative results of encounter with Jews in Salamis, may have provided a catalyst for fundamental change in Paul’s conception of his ministry by embracing a truly pagan world. Davis’s argument has the advantage of going some way to explaining Paul’s elevation over Bar­nabas, but one wonders whether the thesis is too conjectural, and assumes that the event implies a great shift in Paul’s missionary strategy.110 Paul’s mission after this point continues to be one to the Jews and so a sense that the change of name points to some absolute change in mission strategy is questionable.111 As a coda to his paper, we might finish with some comments on two instances of the reception of Acts 13:4–12.112 These are found in works from perhaps the fifth and sixth centuries respectively, the Acts of Bar­nabas and the Laudatio, both Cypriot in origin, where the passage is alluded to or briefly summarized.113 In different ways both texts focus upon the lost missionary journey of Bar­nabas and Mark to Cyprus, referred to in Acts 15:39. They describe Bar­nabas’s martyrdom, which apparently took place during this journey, the hiding of his body, and in the case of the Laudatio, its rediscovery in the late fifth century. The texts are written, many think, to defend the autonomous status of the church of Cyprus, which had been challenged by the patriarch of Antioch unsuccessfully at the Council of Ephesus in 431 and then in the 470s when Zeno was emperor, by 108 

Davis, “Saint Paul on Cyprus,” 419. Strangely, Davis does not mention the fact that Paphos used a Roman calendar in contrast to Salamis’s use of the old Egyptian calendar. 109  Davis, “Saint Paul on Cyprus,” 420. He also suggests that there could have been an antiRoman aspect to Bar­nabas, encouraged perhaps by his origins in Salamis, which as noted, showed signs of being less favored by and less favorable towards Rome. 110  See esp. Davis, “Saint Paul on Cyprus,” 423. To the question had not Paul already embraced a pagan mission, at least in his mind, Davis responds by noting that that might have been possible but Paul may have been resisting such a commitment until this episode. 111  See Jervell, Die Apostelgeschichte, 347. 112  The passage is not a particularly popular one in the history of early Christian reception. See, inter alia, Tertullian, Idol. 9.6; and Pud. 21.4. 113  See the strikingly brief account of Acts 13 in Laudatio 21. At Acts of Bar­nabas 18, Bar­ nabas, on what is his second visit to the island, meets Bar Jesus, who recognizes him as a companion of St. Paul, implying knowledge of Acts 13, but without making any detailed allusion to it (there is no mention, for instance, of Bar Jesus’s role as a magos – in fact his identity here is simply as a Jew. There is also no mention of Sergius’s “conversion”). Bar Jesus continues to appear in the work as an enemy of Bar­nabas and Mark (see 19; 20; 23) but without explicit allusion to Acts 13 (though we must assume that this text is in the background. Note, for instance, the reference at 22 to Bar­nabas preaching in the synagogues of the Jews in Salamis).

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appealing to its association with Bar­nabas, and in particular to the presence of his martyred body.114 It is unsurprising, then, that the authors of these works barely refer directly to Acts 13:4–12, where Bar­nabas plays a muted role. Yet the influence of Acts 13, and Acts more generally, can be glimpsed. In the Acts of Bar­nabas, the Jewish Bar Jesus is presented as a persistent enemy of Bar­nabas and Mark and someone who stirs up the Jews against them (see 18, 19, 20 and 23). While Bar Jesus is not mentioned in the Laudatio, in that work, as in the Acts of Bar­nabas, Jews from Syria stir up the Jewish population of Salamis against Bar­ nabas.115 Whether the Acts of Bar­nabas and the Laudatio reflect a particular anti-Jewish reading of Acts 13 is debatable. Their narratives could equally betray ancient memories of Jewish and Christian dispute, perhaps honed in the context out of which their sources116 emerged;117 or from memories of the revolt of Artemion in 116 CE, in which Christians, as they did in the Bar Kokhba revolt, might have suffered persecution. Certainly the idea of Jews as persecutors is dominant in both sources, climaxing in the murder of Bar­nabas.118 In spite of the fact that Jewish opposition is central to both works, the Acts of Bar­nabas in particular shows greater awareness of the pagan environment Bar­nabas and his compan114  This issue is explicit in the Laudatio but less so in the Acts of Barnabus. As Tobias Nicklas has argued in an as yet unpublished paper, it would be wrong to account for the latter simply by reference to this crisis. 115 See Laudatio 26. 116  This raises the question of the sources for both texts. We have already suggested a muted influence of Acts 13 and 15. There is evidence from at least the second century of a congeries of legends developing around the figure of Bar­nabas (see, indirectly, the attribution of the Epistle of Bar­nabas to Bar­nabas, as well as Hebrews [Tertullian, Pud. 20], and stories relating to Bar­ nabas in Ps. Clem. Rec.1.7–13, and Ps. Clem. Hom. 1.7–16). The last of these with its association of Bar­nabas with Egypt is picked up in Laudatio 21, where Bar­nabas is seen preaching in Egypt and Alexandria. The claim found in a number of places (Ps. Clem. Rec. 1.60.5); and Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 2.116.3, which sees Bar­nabas as a follower of Jesus, is also important for the Laudatio (see 12 f.). This would suggest that sources are in the background; see Bernd Kollmann, who also refers to John Chrysostom’s homilies on Acts; Alexander Monachus: Laudatio Barnabae/Lobrede auf Bar­nabas (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007), 34–38. That there is not much material in common between the Laudatio and the Acts of Bar­nabas is intriguing, not least because both may have been compiled at the time of the crisis relating to the autocephalous status of Cyprus. On this see Kollmann, Alexander Monachus, 38–56. 117  The seventh-century Leontius of Neapolis composed a work against the Jews, which only survives in a few fragments. It points, however, to the existence of an adversus Judaeos tradition on the island, which may be reflected in the Acts of Bar­nabas and Laudatio. This seems clearer in the case of the latter where at Laudatio 26 the Syrian Jews articulate well-known accusation against Jesus (e. g., that he is a deceiver [πλάνος], godless person [ἀντίθεος], and someone who denies the law, the prophets, and the Sabbath). But these tropes are not developed at any length. 118  For a similar suggestion see Horbury: “The lawless behaviour of the Salamis Jews in the legend of Saint Bar­nabas (referring to the Acts), when (giving up the idea of delivering him to the governor) they burn him and pursue his companions fits a topos of martyr literature; but in this case it might also echo traditions of the turbulence of the city’s Jews;” Horbury, Jewish War, 250.



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ions would have encountered; and it is pagans whom they convert. Here perceived lacunae in the account from the canonical Acts are filled in ways which reflect the authors’ own setting and their theological imagination.119

Conclusion The role of Cypriots and Cyprus in the history of earliest Christianity is striking, at least from what we read in Acts, not least because in Roman imperial eyes, Cyprus was an administrative backwater. Yet knowledge of the Cypriot dimension of earliest Christianity remains fragmentary with Luke’s account of Paul’s and Bar­nabas’s initial missionizing there begging more questions than answering. Elements of verisimilitude, whether to do with the Jewish dimension of the account, the magical tendencies of Bar Jesus, and the presence of Sergius Paulus (correctly described as a proconsul), imply some historical core. What the passage reveals in strict terms about Cypriot Christianity is difficult to articulate. The Cyprus account includes as an important theme the strongly Jewish context in which the Christian message was spread; the failure, for instance, to make anything of the overwhelming pagan character of this island, of the important temples in Salamis to Zeus and in Paphos to Aphrodite, is unexpected. Luke’s failure to tell us anything about Bar­nabas’s second mission with John Mark to Cyprus, which implies some success in the first trip (see 15:36), is probably explained by the Paulo-centric focus of the last sixteen chapters of Acts rather than proof of the lack of information on the part of Luke. The choice of the authors of the Acts of Bar­nabas and of the Laudatio, probably works of the fifth and sixth centuries respectively, is an attempt to fill this gap, rather than evidence of what in fact took place during it (not least the martyrdom of Bar­nabas himself). The silence in the written and archaeological record about Cypriot Christianity from this moment until the early part of the fourth century is an oddity after such relatively frequent testimony before that. One pressing question relating to this ‘hiatus’ concerns how Cypriot Christians responded to the violent Jewish revolt against the Romans in 116 CE. Did that event change a Christianity marked by a strong Jewish profile (reflecting Luke’s account of the origins of Christianity in Cyprus in Acts as well as one aspect of the profile of Bar­nabas, namely his conservative position on the Jewish law see Gal 2:10 f.) into something different? This transformation may have been encouraged by two factors: first, the expulsion from the island of its Jewish population brought about by the revolt; and secondly, the possible experience of persecution by Jews of Christians during the revolt, which would have served either to reinforce or initiate a sense of separation between Christian and 119 

See especially Acts Barn. 19 f.

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Jew.120 It is possible, of course, that partings between Christians and Jews, as some have termed them, were earlier and the revolt a less traumatic experience, simply confirming a separation which had already begun at an earlier date. Indeed did the expulsion of the Jews from the island present the Christians with an opportunity to missionize without any attempt by non-Christian Jews to prevent such activity?121 What seems clear, in particular from evidence in the New Testament reviewed in this contribution as well as from the many indications of an important Jewish presence on the island from at least the third century BCE and perhaps earlier, is that, amidst many lacunae in our knowledge, a key to understanding early Christian history in Cyprus lies in reflecting upon its Jewish origins. This is especially important when the hagiographic and iconographic evidence from the island attributes much more importance to encounters with pagans (though this is interestingly only partially the case with the Acts of Bar­ nabas and the Laudatio). Such evidence may simply reflect the fact that Jews were a much less important presence on the island as a result of the Jewish revolt of 116 CE. But the latter may have marked a considerable caesura in this history of Christian Cyprus, a caesura, which can serve to skew our vision of the history of early Christianity on the island in a variety of ways.

120  Persecution would have been encouraged by the failure of Christians to follow what some hold to be a quasi-messianic revolt, associated with the name of Artemion, as reported in Dio (see the reference in Justin, 1 Apol. 31, to persecution of Christians in the Bar Kokhba revolt for a similar reason). Christians, if they appeared as Jews, would have suffered violence at the hands of the Romans, and such an experience may also have encouraged a distancing from their Jewish heritage. Similar arguments play a role in accounts of the Trajanic revolt’s effect upon Jewish-Christian relations in Egypt, for which see James Carleton Paget, “Egypt,” in Redemption and Resistance: The Messianic Hopes of Jews and Christians in Antiquity, ed. James Carleton Paget and Markus Bockmuehl (London: Continuum, 2007), 191. 121  This is the claim of Hackett, A History of the Orthodox Church of Cyprus, 6. All of this remains speculative. The fate of the Christians during the revolt and the consequences of it are not known. It remains striking that the Acts of Bar­nabas and the Laudatio emphasize Jewish opposition to Christian preaching and attribute Bar­nabas’s death to Jews. But how such assertions relate to folk memory of the second century Jewish revolt is impossible to say. There are other ways of explaining the emphasis.

Hagiographic Narratives and Archaeological Realities Revisiting the Beginnings of Christianity in Cyprus Athanasios Papageorghiou and Nikolas Bakirtzis

In the building complex of Eustolios in Kourion, dating from the turn of the fifth century, a mosaic inscription executed in black tesserae on white background celebrates the patronage of one of the city’s foremost citizens.1 Set in the floor of Eustolios’s complex, the inscription seemingly proclaims Christ as the city’s guardian, and in his protective role, successor to Phoebos (Apollo) who once guarded Kourion.2 The juxtaposition of Christ with Apollo is fascinating, as it links the religious past of the city with its Christian present epitomized and strengthened through Eustolios’s patronage.3 As such, much has been written on the inscription in the context of Cyprus’s process of Christianization. The very existence of the Eustolios house, prominently exhibiting its patron’s Christian identity, stands as a monument to Kourion’s and Cyprus’s transition from polytheism to Christianity, and the complexity of its society’s transformation. In this context, the reference to Apollo is packed with meaning, requiring further scholarly attention. First, considering the date of Eustolios’s project, the memory of the religious legacy of Kourion is rather fresh. According to the inscription, the presence of the city’s divine protector Apollo, although in the past, is not a distant faded memory. On the contrary, Phoebos is a cultural reality wor1  Arthur H. S. Megaw, “The Episcopal Precinct at Kourion and the Evidence for the Relocation,” in The Sweet Land of Cyprus. Papers Given at the Twenty-fifth Jubilee Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, ed. Anthony Bryer and Georgios Georghallides (Nicosia: Imprinta Ltd., 1993), 53–67; Hans Hauben, “Christ Versus Apollo in Early Byzantine Kourion?” in Philomathestatos, ed. Bart Janssens, Bram Roosen, and Peter van Deun (Leuven: Peeters, 2004), 269– 84. 2 DeCoursey Fales, “Kourion  – The Amusement Area,” University Museum Bulletin 14 (1950): 30–34, pl. VII; Terence Bruce Mitford, The Inscriptions of Kourion (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1971), 531; Ino Nicolaou, “The Transition from Paganism to Christianity as Revealed in the Mosaic Inscriptions from Cyprus,” in Mosaic: Festschrift for A. H. S. Megaw, ed. Judith Herrin, Margaret Mullet, and Catherine Otten-Froux (London: British School at Athens, 2001), 14–15; Athanasios Papageorghiou, “Βυζαντινή Επιγραφική στην Κύπρο,” in Κύπρος: Το πολιτιστικό της πρόσωπο διά μέσου των αιώνων (Nicosia: Kentro Meleton Ieras Monis Kykkou, 2003), 100. 3  See also the discussions on the Eustolios house in Henry Maguire and Laura Nasrallah’s essays in this volume.

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thy of mention and recognition. In other words, he is still relevant, and, more importantly, is still present in the collective memory of the inhabitants of Kourion. Furthermore, in the case of Kourion and the rest of Cyprus, a new guardian, Christ, has assumed the duty of protector. Adding to the aforementioned eloquent inscription, a different inscribed text from the same complex mentions the “signs of Christ” that adorn and sanctify the space.4 These written messages, combined with representations of Christian visual motifs and symbols, helped to create the desired spatial and visual synthesis that integrated late Roman architecture with the pictorial vocabulary of early Christianity.5 The co-existence of Apollo and Christ under the same roof is certainly remarkable as it mirrors the cultural environment of the centuries preceding the Eustolios complex, aspects of which are addressed in the present study. The multifaceted cultural meaning of the inscriptions from Eustolios’s complex offers glimpses of a smooth transition from paganism to Christianity. The Christian present appears to be aware as well as accepting of the recent religious past, a consciousness reflected in another instructive inscription, this time from the Gymnasium of Salamis. Located on the floor of eastern stoa of the Gymnasium which adjoins the baths erected in the second half of the fourth century, an inscription celebrates the restoration works of Valerius remarking that this important work “brought Cyprus back to its ancient glory.”6 The expressive inscription, with proposed dates in the middle of the fourth or in the fifth century, mirrors the remarkable awareness and appreciation of the ancient past by the Christian patrons of the Gymnasium’s transformation into a bath complex. Cyprus holds a central role in the Christianization of the eastern Mediterranean basin through the Early Byzantine period.7 The arrival of Paul, Bar­nabas, 4 Mitford, The Inscriptions of Kourion, 353–354; Papageorghiou, “Βυζαντινή Επιγραφική,” 99–100. 5 Demetrios Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics (Nicosia: Cyprus Department of Antiquities, 1992), 5–6, 40–42. 6  Terence Bruce Mitford and Ino Nicolaou, The Greek and Latin Inscriptions from Salamis (Nicosia: Cyprus Department of Antiquities, 1974), 73–74; Jean Pouilloux, Paul Roesch, and Jean Marcillet-Jaubert, Salamine de Chypre XIII. Testimonia Salaminia 2. Corpus épigraphique (Paris: de Boccard, 1987), 79. 7  For early mentions of Christians in Cyprus, see Acts 11:19–20. On the Early Byzantine period and the beginning of Christianity on the island see, Evangelos Chrysos, “Cyprus in Early Byzantine Times,” in The Sweet Land of Cyprus, 3–14; Athanasios Papageorghiou, “Cities and Countryside at the End of Antiquity and the Beginning of the Middle Ages in Cyprus,” in The Sweet Land of Cyprus, 27–52; Charles Delvoye, “L’art paléochrétien de Chypre,” in Chypre dans le monde byzantin 4, Rapports et co-rapports V, Actes du XVe Congrès international d’études byzantines (Athens: Association Internationale des Études Byzantines, 1976), 3–52; Andreas Mitsides, “Η εκκλησία της Κύπρου από το 2ο μέρι το 5ο αιώνα,” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου, τομ. Γ’: Βυζαντινή Κύπρος, ed. Theodoros Papadopoulos (Nicosia: Archbishop Makarios III Foundation, 2005), 113; Christos Oikonomou, “Η εισαγωγή του Χριστιανισμού και η θεμελίωση της κυπριακής εκκλησίας,” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου; Claudia Rapp, “Christianity in Cyprus in the 4th to the 7th centuries: Chronological and Geographical Frameworks,” in Cyprus and the Balance



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and John Mark on Cyprus underlines the island’s significance as a stepping stone for the spread of the new religion beyond the Levantine coast and into the realm of the Greco-Roman Mediterranean.8 Their travels and their direct impact on the local population led to the foundation of the first Christian communities on the island and the subsequent organization of a Church institution.9 Overall, our understanding of the island’s early Christian centuries relies heavily on a small set of textual sources, primarily of hagiographic nature, and increasingly on the archaeological record and the study of the art and architecture of the period.10 Of particular interest and the focus of the present paper is the contrast between the hagiographic and the archaeological sources regarding the growth and expansion of the religion on the island and the formation of Christian communities until the fourth century. Hagiographies, most of them dating from later centuries when Christianity was established, offer accounts that are more or less in line with narratives of conflict, violence, and persecution of early Christians. Such a perspective is not corroborated by the evidence provided by archaeological finds and through the analysis of architectural and artistic remains, which show no particular evidence of violence and conflict but point to a smooth transition from paganism to Christianity in Cyprus.11 This essay will revisit aspects of the contradicting evidence in an attempt to better understand the complex networks of religious co-existence and conversion in early Christian Cyprus. of Empires, ed. Charles Anthony Stewart, Thomas Davis, and Annemarie Weyl Carr (Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research, 2014), 29–38; Nicolaou, “Transition from Paganism to Christianity,” 13–17. See also in this volume the essay by James Carleton Paget. 8  Acts 13:4–13. 9  On the general history of the Church of Cyprus, see John Hackett, A History of the Orthodox Church of Cyprus from the Coming of the Apostles Paul and Bar­nabas to the Commencement of the British Occupation (A. D. 45-A. D. 1878) (London: Methuen, 1901), esp. 1–58, covering its establishment through the end of Byzantine rule on the island. 10  See the recent essays by Vassos Karageorghis, “From Paganism to Christianity,” Eikonostasion 10 (2018): 172–87; Georgios Deligiannakis, “The Last Pagans of Cyprus: Prolegomena to a History of Transition from Polytheism to Christianity,” in Church Building in Cyprus (Fourth to Seventh Centuries). A Mirror of Intercultural Contacts in the Eastern Mediterranean, ed. Marietta Horster, Doria Nicolaou, and Sabine Rogge (Münster: Waxmann, 2018), 23–44; idem, “From Aphrodite(s) to Saintly Bishops in Late Antique Cyprus,” in Authority and Identity in Emerging Christianities in Asia Minor and Greece, ed. Cilliers Breytenbach and Julien M. Ogereau, AJEC 103 (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 326–46; Łukasz Burkiewicz, “The Beginnings of Christianity in Cyprus. Religious and Cultural Aspects,” Folia Historica Cracoviensia 23 (2017): 5–30; Athanasios Papageorghiou and Andreas Foulias, “L’architecture funéraire à Chypre du Ier au Xe siècle,” in The Archaeology of Late Antique and Byzantine Cyprus (4th–12th centuries AD): Recent Research and New Discoveries: Conference in Honour of Athanasios Papageorghiou, ed. Maria Parani and Demetrios Michaelides (Paris: de Boccard, 2013), 201–207; Demetrios Michaelides, “Mosaic Decoration in Early Christian Cyprus,” in Horster, Nicolaou, and Rogge, Church Building in Cyprus (Fourth to Seventh Centuries), 202–206. Also, Phryni Hadjichristophi, “Identités païennes et chrétiennes dans l’art paléochrétien de Chypre,” in Identités croisées en un milieu méditerranéen: le cas de Chypre (Antiquité – Moyen Âge), ed. Sabine Fourrier and Gilles Grivaud (Mont-SaintAignan: Publications des Universités de Rouen et du Havre, 2006), 207–21. 11  Papageorghiou, “Cities and Countryside at the End of Antiquity,” 31.

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Hagiographic Narratives Drawing from primary sources like the Acts and vitas of early saints and martyrs, the official history of the dissemination of Christ’s teachings on the island’s cities follows established narratives of conversion, persecution, and martyrdom in the late Roman Empire. Hagiographic sources describe the struggles of the founders and early fathers of the church in Cyprus such as Bar­nabas, Auxibios, Herakleidios, Tychon, Philon, and Epiphanios, leading to the triumph of Christians over cityscapes like those of Soloi, Salamis, and Paphos.12 However, while containing valuable historical details concerning the early centuries of Christianity in Cyprus, these narratives are constrained by the conventions and topoi of official church histories formulated centuries after the facts on the ground. Thus, they should be taken cum grano salis. Possibly the most important reference to the struggles and sacrifice of early church fathers in Cyprus is the martyrdom of the apostle Bar­nabas, of Cypriot ancestry, in Salamis.13 The discovery of his relic around the middle of the fifth century established the tradition upon which the Church of Cyprus claimed its autocephalus status.14 According to the Acts of the Apostles, Bar­nabas’s first passage through Cyprus, along with Paul, was successful at the centers of Salamis and Paphos.15 The sources note no resistance to this message on the part of the island. The incident of Paul’s arrest in Paphos and the related tradition of his public beating is described as the result of the reaction of the city’s Jewish population to his preaching. According to the Acts, these events along with Paul’s miraculous temporary blinding of the Jew Elymas, also known as Bar-Jesus and identified as a sorcerer who attempted to oppose him in front of the Roman Proconsul Sergius Paulus, provided the pretext as well as the setting for the conversion of the Roman official.16 This was a major development for the successful 12  Claudia Rapp, “Epi­pha­nius of Salamis: The Church Father as Saint,” in The Sweet Land of Cyprus, 169–187; Athanasios Papageorghiou, “Ο Άγιος Αυξίβιος,” Απόστολος Βαρνάβας 30 (1969): 13–28; Athanasios Papageorghiou, “Η βασιλική του Αγίου Επιφανίου στη Σαλαμίνα,” Επετηρίς Κέντρου Μελετών Ιεράς Μονής Κύκκου 8 (2008): 35; Mitsides, “Η εκκλησία της Κύπρου από το 2ο μέρι το 5ο αιώνα,” 107, 115–16; Oikonomou, “Η εισαγωγή του Χριστιανισμού,” 38–40. 13  “Acta Barnabae,” in Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha post Constantinum Tischendorf denuo ediderunt Ricardus Adelbertus Lipsius et Maximilianus Bonnet, ed. Maximilianus Bonnet, vol. 2.2 (Leipzig: Mendelsson, 1903), 300. 14  On the discovery of the relic, see Andreas Mitsides, “Το αυτοκέφαλον της Εκκλησίας Κύπρου,” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου, 135–36 and 129–54 on the relation of the event to the autocephalus (self-headed) status of the Church of Cyprus. Also, Hackett, Orthodox Church of Cyprus, 23–26. See also Young Kim and AnneMarie Luijendijk’s essays in this volume. 15  Acts 13:4–12. 16  On the identification of Elymas/Bar-Jesus as magician and sorcerer, see Oikonomou, “Η εισαγωγή του Χριστιανισμού,” 80–84. Also, Alfred D. Nock, “Paul and the Magus,” in Essays on Religion and the Ancient World, ed. Zeph Stewart (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986), 308–24.



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spread of Christianity over the traditional population of the island and an early indicator of the effectiveness of these apostolic journeys. Bar­nabas returned to Cyprus sometime later accompanied solely by his cousin John Mark.17 His journey and martyrdom are described in a hagiographic text known as the Acts of Bar­nabas.18 The text picks up the story of Bar­ nabas from the Acts of the Apostles and is written as if narrated by John Mark, thus lending the account the authority of an eye-witness. The text most probably dates from the early decades of the fifth century, although it could be a development of an earlier narrative tradition of Bar­nabas’s second trip to the island. The text suggests that since the time of the apostle’s first journey to Cyprus, conditions for the positive reception of their teachings had worsened, again due to the opposition of the Jewish population on the island.19 As a result, Bar­nabas and Mark met great difficulties accessing the populations of Cypriot cities, which were their primary target. The narrative’s emphasis placed on Jewish reaction to Christian teachings needs to be treated with caution in regard to its accuracy. Considering the source’s fifth-century date, the persistence of the narrative in blaming, almost exclusively, the Jews for the challenges of Bar­nabas’ apostolic mission appears to serve more as Contra Judaeos rhetoric than an actual account. The apostles began their journey on the northern coast of Cyprus, landing at the site of Crommyacita (most probably the location of Kormakitis village). It is worth mentioning that the first interaction of Bar­nabas and Mark with pagans began immediately upon their arrival in Cyprus as they were welcomed and hosted by Timon and Ariston, two servants of the local temple, who then joined them in their journey. They then headed to nearby Lapithos, which they were not allowed to enter except for a short rest at the city gate. According to the Acts of Bar­nabas, this was due to a pagan festival taking place at the city’s theater. They then crossed over the Troodos mountain range, and at Lambadistis met with Herakleidios from Tamasos, an acquaintance from their previous journey, whom Bar­nabas ordained bishop of Cyprus. Then, they moved towards Palaipaphos (Old Paphos) where they met another temple servant named Rhodon who also decided to join them. Their arrival at the port city of Nea Paphos was anticipated by Bar-Jesus, their bitter adversary from their previous trip to Cyprus. Meeting them outside the city and vigorously determined to resist their mission, he prevented their entry to Paphos.20 Bar­nabas and his companions were forced to leave and to head east 17  On Bar­nabas, see Markus Öhler, Bar­nabas: Die historische Person und ihre Rezeption in der Apostelgeschichte, WUNT 156 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003). 18  “Acta Barnabae,” 292–302. 19  See, Pieter van der Horst, “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,” Zutot 3 (2003): 110–20; Zdzisław J. Kapera, “The Jewish Presence in Cyprus before AD 70,” Scripta Judaica Cracoviensia 7 (2009): 33–44. 20  “Acta Barnabae,” 298.

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towards Kourion. The narrative of the text emphasizes the existence of strong pagan traditions by mentioning Bar­nabas’s encounter with the decadence of the naked festivities, presumably in the stadium close to the temple of Apollo Hylates outside Kourion, causing him much anger and disappointment.21 Again, Bar-Jesus was able to stop them as his followers denied them access to the city. Bar­nabas’s difficulties continued as he further traveled along the east coast of Cyprus towards Amathous and Kition.22 Approaching Amathous, Bar­nabas and his companions encountered another local celebration at a temple and were welcomed by a lone, elderly woman outside the city’s walls. They were prevented from entering the city by Bar-Jesus, who had alerted the Jewish population against them. At Kition, while noticing the population’s festivity in the hippodrome, they were not welcomed in the city but only allowed to shortly rest at the gate near the aqueduct. Arriving by boat from Kition, Salamis was Bar­nabas’s sole and last successful entry into one of the major cities of late-antique Cyprus. According to the narrative of Acts, he preached in the synagogue, was arrested, kidnapped, carried outside the city in the middle of the night, tortured and finally burned by the enraged Jewish community led by Bar-Jesus who had himself arrived in Salamis.23 Bar-Jesus proved to be an able opponent, resolute at denying Bar­nabas, John Mark, and their companions the opportunity to preach inside urban centers and the synagogues of Cypriot cities in particular. It is worth noting that at this early stage of apostolic activity, Jewish populations were among the primary target groups for proselytization and conversion. This would have also been true at Cyprus and could help explain Bar-Jesus’s cause for opposition. The description of Bar­nabas’s death at the hands of the Jews of Salamis does not shed any light on the relation between Christians and pagans in Cyprus during the early years of Christianity.24 The source’s fifth-century date calls for caution regarding the accuracy of the described events and the stress on Jewish blame for Bar­nabas’ struggles and martyrdom. Nonetheless, the narrative confirms the strong presence of Jewish urban communities in the cities of Cyprus, a fact that allows the possibility for their resistance to the growth of the Christian religion on the island. Overall, the early hagiographic narrative of Bar­nabas’s second trip to Cyprus offers a puzzling perspective of the apostle’s efforts and related results. Although accurate in its topographical details, it is a story of repeated rejections, as he was 21  “Acta Barnabae,” 299. Also, see, Philip H. Young, “The Cypriot Aphrodite Cult: Paphos, Rantidi and Saint Bar­nabas,” JNES 64 (2005): 34–41, identifying the site of pagan festivities at Rantidi. 22  “Acta Barnabae,” 299–300. 23  “Acta Barnabae,” 300. 24  “Acta Barnabae,” 300–301.



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effectively prevented from entering the cities of Cyprus. These difficulties culminated with his martyrdom, which, as specified in the text, did not leave any relic or palpable trace.25 Even though the Acts of Bar­nabas date from early fifth century, they offer valuable insights into the traditions of the beginnings of Christianity in Cyprus and the focus placed on urban centers. Allusions to festivals, games, and gatherings at temples, stadiums, and hippodromes in Lapithos, Kourion, Amathous, and Kition point to the active public life of local traditional populations. Members of these societies came under the influence of Bar­nabas’s teachings and eventually became coverts to Christianity. Locals like Herakleidios, Timon, Ariston, and Rhodon – the latter three mentioned as serving in traditional religious temples – joined the apostle’s journey and in turn became leaders of local Christian communities. It is worth noting that Bar­nabas and Paul were preaching to nonJewish traditional populations before their arrival in Cyprus, an issue which was debated and clarified in the so-called Jerusalem conference of Christian apostles and Church leaders held around 50 CE.26 The vita of the most influential of the local followers of Bar­nabas, Saint Herakleidios, bishop of Tamassos, provides some evidence concerning the resistance of local populations to the teachings of early church fathers.27 In the aftermath of the martyrdom of Bar­nabas, Herakleidios, with the help of Saint Mnason, actively preached the teaching of Christ throughout Cyprus, particularly in the area and city of Tamassos. According to his vita he founded a church, performed miracles, and converted locals to Christianity. The hagiographic source mentions that late in Herakleidios’s life there was a violent outburst against him from the people of Tamassos, who attacked the church and broke its door, leading the saint to curse and exorcize them from the site. Whereas the examples of Bar­nabas and Herakleidios refer to the early years of Christianity on the island, the vita of Saint Tychon, bishop of Amathous provides a later example set approximately in the end of the fourth century and the beginning of the fifth.28 Tychon’s actions are set in a different social, political, and cultural landscape, since by this time the Christian religion was well established on the island while other traditions were still present. The vita describes Tychon as a formidable opponent to pagan traditions, and to the cult of Aphrodite in particular. A series of incidents included in the vita show his polemical stance towards traditional rituals and beliefs in the area of Amathous. During a procession of the cult statue of Aphrodite, Tychon and his followers intervened and broke the 25 

“Acta Barnabae,” 301. Acts 15:1–35. 27  François Halkin, “Les Actes apocryphes de saint Héraclide de Chypre, disciple de l’apôtre Barnabé,” AnBoll 82 (1964): 135–36. 28  Hermann Usener, Der heilige Tychon (Leipzig: B. G. Teubner, 1907), 111–58. 26 

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idol to pieces.29 Another time, he entered a temple dedicated to Artemis, or possibly Aphrodite, and chased out its priestess.30 The hagiographical narrative of Tychon’s relations with the non-Christian population of Cyprus suggests tension, violence, and animosity between Christians and other religious practitioners. Yet, it is important to explore the historical context of the vita’s creation.31 It is attributed to patriarch of Alexandria, John the Almsgiver, and is dated in the end of the sixth or beginning of the seventh century. Being from Amathous himself, John assumed the patriarchal seat of the metropolis of Alexandria in 610. It is particularly useful to view John’s interest in Tychon and the writing of his vita in the framework of Alexandria’s legacy of the persecution of polytheism and idols. The narrative of Tychon’s struggles against pagan practices echoes the forceful stance of the church of Alexandria against Jewish and local traditional institutions. Indicatively, the actions of Patriarchs Theophilus and Cyril that led to the destruction of the Serapeum and other pagan institutions in 391, the expulsion of the Jewish population of the city, the alleged burning of what remained of the Library of Alexandria, and the murder of the Neoplatonic philosopher Hypatia in 415 are evocative of an environment of animosity and violence.32 Besides Tychon, there are other narratives that contribute to a legacy of conflict between Christians and others in the early centuries of Christianity in Cyprus. Most of these stories date from the beginning of the fourth century, a time associated with the persecutions of Christians under Diocletian (284–305), Maximian (286–305), Galerius (305–311), Maximinus II Daia (305–313), and Licinius (308–324).33 Although there is no concrete historical or archaeological evidence about Christian persecutions in Cyprus during this period, hagiographic narratives suggest otherwise. According to the preserved tradition, Saint Spyridon 29 Usener, Der heilige Tychon, 151–52. On the cult of Aphrodite in Cyprus, see Jacqueline Karageorghis, Kypris: The Aphrodite of Cyprus. Ancient Sources and Archaeological Evidence (Nicosia: A. G. Leventis Foundation, 2005). 30 Usener, Der heilige Tychon, 151. 31 Usener, Der heilige Tychon, 80–107. 32  Christopher Haas, Alexandria in Late Antiquity: Topography and Social Conflict (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1997), 128–214, 278–330; Johannes Hahn, “The Conversion of the Cult Statues: The Destruction of the Serapeum in 391 AD and the Transformation of Alexandria into the ‘Christ-Loving’ City,” in From Temple to Church: Destruction and Renewal of Local Cultic Topography in Late Antiquity, ed. Johannes Hahn, Stephen Emmel, and Ulrich Gotter, RGRW 163 (Leiden: Brill, 2008) 336–67; Judith S. McKenzie, The Architecture of Alexandria and Egypt, c. 300 BC to AD 700 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007), 195–203, 244–47. See also Edward J. Watts, Hypatia: The Life and Legend of an Ancient Philosopher (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), 107–20. 33  On the history and administration of the island in the third and early fourth centuries, David Potter, “Η Κύπρος επαρχία της Ρωμαϊκής Αυτοκρατορίας,” in Papadopoulos, Ιστορία της Κύπρου, 855–60; Johannes Lokin, “Ο πολιτικός και διοικητικός θεσμός της Κύπρου από τον Μεγάλο Κωνσταντίνο εώς τον Ιουστινιανό,” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου, 3:157–97.



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himself was imprisoned, tortured, and sent to Cilician labor camps.34 A  suggestive example is offered in the Constantinople Synaxarion, dating from the tenth century, mentioning the martyrdom of Saints Aristokles, Dimitrianos, and Athanasios in Salamis in the beginning of the fourth century and during the persecution of Christians by Maximinus Daia.35 Another example of martyrdom is offered by Saint Philonides, bishop of Kourion, who supposedly jumped to his death from a cliff; he was escaping arrest and the certainty of horrific tortures and execution.36 Another example from the same period is the case of Saint Theodotos, bishop of Keryneia, who presumably was tortured by the Roman praeses Sabinus, sometime between 320 and 324, during the persecutions of the Christians by Licinius.37 On the whole, the aforementioned hagiographic narratives share and propagate a common perspective of the contentious and violent relations between Christians and indigenous, traditional practitioners in the early centuries of Christianity in Cyprus. It is a perspective that is in line with literary models and topoi that were established in later centuries to emphasize the self-sacrificial nature of the foundation of the Christian church as well as celebrating its agents as martyrs.38

Archaeological Realities Compared to the aforementioned hagiographic narratives, the archaeological record offers a different perspective of the island’s Christianization and suggests a transition that is slower, smoother, and more tolerant of the “other.” What has been preserved of the monuments and the topography of late-antique cities does not show a strong Christian presence. Parallel to the paucity of literary sources, no major building activity or significant material evidence within these urban centers, and beyond, associated with the new religion can be traced on the ground.39 In fact, this does not happen until the construction of the great basilicas of the second half of the fourth and fifth centuries.40 One of the earliest ex34  Paul Van den Ven, La légende de S. Spyridon, évêque de Trimithonte (Louvain: Publications universitaires, 1953). 35  Hippolyte Delehaye, Synaxarium Ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae e Codice Sirmondiano nunc Berolinensi (Brussels: Socios Bollandianos, 1902), 765–66. 36 Delehaye, Synaxarium Constantinopolitanae, 933–34. 37  The Roman official is known from epigraphical evidence from Salamis, Terrence Mitford, “Roman Cyprus,” ANRW 2.7.2, 1377. 38  On Cypriot saints and martyrs, see Hippolyte Delehaye, “Saints de Chypre,” AnBoll 26 (1907): 161–301; also, Archbishop Makarios III, Κύπρος η αγία νήσος (Nicosia: Imprinta, 1997). 39  Michaelides, “Mosaic Decoration,” 213–14; Deligiannakis, “Last Pagans,” 30–32. 40  Terence Mitford, “Some New Inscriptions from Early Christian Cyprus,” Byzantion 20 (1950): 105–75; Arthur H. S. Megaw, “Byzantine Architecture and Decoration in Cyprus: Met-

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amples, the small funerary basilica at Amathous, dated from the second half of the fourth century and linked to Saint Tychon, is actually located outside the city’s walls.41 Of course, the lack of architectural evidence, a fact surely affected by the devastating earthquakes of the fourth century, does not necessarily mean the absence of active communities. The existence of Christian communities and an organized church institution is proved by the strong participation of Cypriot bishops in early church councils. In 325 three Cypriot bishops – Kyrillos of Paphos, Gelasios of Salamis, and Spyridon of Tremithous  – were present at the First Ecumenical Council of Nicaea.42 Less than twenty years later, a total of twelve bishops from Cyprus signed the acts of the Serdica council of 342/3.43 Although it is highly improbable that the number and size of Christian communities swelled to justify such an increase in the number of participant bishops in the limited time between the two councils, it is safe to assume that there were worthwhile efforts to organize the early Church.44 Nonetheless, the lack of building activity related to Christian presence is mirrored in the fragmented information drawn from inscriptions, burials, and other archaeological material that suggest a low-key growth for Christianity on the island.45 Moreover, the available archaeological evidence may also reflect a slower process of transition and conversion, thus suggesting an extended state of peaceful coexistence between locals and Christians. Subtle indications of this phenomenon can be traced in funerary monuments and tombs. There is no concrete evidence for Christian cemeteries or tombs until the fourth century, except the presence of crypto-Christian symbols in a total of six tombstones bearing pagan inscriptions.46 It appears that Christians were buried in mixed cemeteries. The excavation of Roman burials at cemeteries at Aphendrika and Vasa Koilaniou have unearthed oil lamps bearing Christian symbols.47 Finds from Salamis and at the so-called “royal” tomb in Palaipaphos ropolitan or Provincial?” DUP 28 (1974): 57–88; Athanasios Papageorghiou, “L’architecture paléochrétienne de Chypre,” Corso di Cultura sull’Arte Ravennate e Bizantina 32 (1985): 299–324. Also, more recently, Doria Nicolaou, “Liturgical Structures of the Early Basilicas of Cyprus: A Spatial Analysis,” in Church Building in Cyprus (Fourth to Seventh Centuries), 119–51. 41  Eleni Procopiou, “Église d’Ayios Tykhonas (Saint-Tykhon),” in Guide de Amathonte, ed. Pierre Aupert (Athens: École française d’Athènes, 1993), 154–60. 42 Hackett, Orthodox Church of Cyprus, 7; Mitsides, “Η εκκλησία της Κύπρου,” 108–15. 43 Hackett, Orthodox Church of Cyprus, 7–8; Mitsides, “Η εκκλησία της Κύπρου,” 109. 44  Rapp, “Christianity in Cyprus,” 30–31. 45  Deligiannakis, “Last Pagans,” 25–26. 46  Papageorghiou and Foulias, “L’architecture funéraire,” 203–204. 47  Evelyn Dray and Joan du Plat Taylor, “Tsambres and Aphendrika: Two Classical and Hellenistic Cemeteries in Cyprus,” RDAC (1937–1939): 24–123; Joan du Plat Taylor, “Roman Tombs at ‘Kambi’ Vasa,” RDAC (1940–1948): 10–76; Papageorghiou and Foulias, “L’architecture funéraire,” 205.



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may suggest similar practices.48 In addition, the presence of Christian symbols and graffiti in pagan tombs such as at Pegeia, the Tombs of the Kings in Kato Paphos, at the Seven Georges in Geroskipou, in Ellinospilia at Anavargos, Chrysokava in Keryneia, and Lambousa, among other examples, could be linked to the use of the tombs by Christians, although we cannot exclude the possibility that these symbols are related to later burials and use.49 These finds may very well signify the contemporaneous existence of Christian burials among other local ones, a practice that was common in the late Roman world.50 Furthermore, the absence of archaeological evidence for exclusively Christian cemeteries and burial sites in Cyprus is an additional fact supporting the hypothesis of the peaceful coexistence of Christians and pagans. The revival of the city of Salamis after the disastrous earthquakes of 331 and 342 is largely attributed to Constantius II (337–361), who effectively re-founded the city as Constantia.51 The repair and continuity of key institutions of civic life such as the theater, the Roman forum, and the gymnasium suggest their strength founded on a smooth transition between the not-so-distant pagan past and the Christian present of the city. Specifically, the restoration of the baths of the city’s gymnasium provides a fascinating example of cultural sensibility and continuity.52 During the massive reconstruction effort that restored the baths and revived the broader gymnasium complex, although not to be used for games or sports, a selection of ancient statues adorned its courtyard. Others were discarded or used as building material. Nevertheless, the final building product was a remarkable spatial and artistic composition that offers a valuable perspective of Christian attitudes in Salamis towards the art of antiquity.53 This was a time of growth for the Christian church in Salamis as only a few years later Epiphanios would be con48 Thérèse-Jean

Oziol and Jean Pouilloux, Salamine de Chypre I, Les lampes (Paris: de Boccard 1969); Vassos Karageorghis, “Chronique des fouilles et découvertes archéologiques à Chypre en 1958,” BCH 116 (1992): 820. 49  Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Early Christian Rock-cut Tombs at Hagios Georgios, Peyia, Cyprus,” in Medieval Cyprus: Studies in Architecture, History in Memory of Doula Mouriki, ed. Nancy Patterson Ševenko and Christopher Moss (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 35–48; Demetrios Michaelides, “‘Ayioi Pente’ at Yeroskipou. A New Early Christian Site in Cyprus,” Musiva et Sectilia 1 (2008): 185–98; Papageorghiou and Foulias, “L’architecture funéraire,” 205–208. 50 Mark. J. Johnson, “Pagan-Christian Burial Practices of the Fourth Century: Shared Tombs?” JECS 5 (1997): 37–59; Éric Rebillard, “Conversion and Burial in the Late Roman Empire,” in Conversion in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages. Seeing and Believing, ed. Kenneth Mills and Anthony Grafton (Rochester and Woodbridge: University of Rochester Press, 2003), 69–74. 51  On Salamis, see Vassos Karageorghis, Salamis in Cyprus: Homeric, Hellenistic and Roman (London: Thames and Hudson, 1969). 52  Vassos Karageorghis, Excavating at Salamis in Cyprus 1952–1974 (Athens: A. G. Leventis Foundation, 1999), 33–47; Karageorghis, “From Paganism to Christianity,” 172–87. 53  Papageorghiou, “Cities and Countryside at the End of Antiquity,” 31.

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secrated bishop of the city.54 His writings express his disdain for pagan bath culture, linking it with the work of the devil, although his vita does mention friendly relations with pagans.55 In this context, the beheading of statues and the mutilation of the genital parts and breasts of almost all nude statues surely calls for further consideration as it echoes the destructive actions of Christians against traditional art at the end of the fourth and into the fifth century throughout the empire.56 Yet, it is very possible that the “sanitizing” mutilation of these nude statues should not necessarily be dated to the time of the restoration of the baths, as there is no concrete evidence on the matter. It may be dated later, possibly towards the very end of the fourth century or the beginning of the fifth, when more rigid attitudes towards traditional art and nudity prevailed. The mutilations could be an after-the-fact censoring effort; if nude statues were considered altogether offensive, they would have been discarded at the time of the restoration of the bath complex. Moreover, it is worth mentioning that there is no evidence of any effort to destroy wall mosaics and paintings belonging to earlier phases of the bath complex; instead, these scenes, depicting mythological scenes, were simply covered with plaster, thus removing them from public view and effectively preserving them through time.57 In any case, the prominent reuse of ancient statuary points to a culture of acceptance, coexistence, and continuity, very much resonating with the aura of the Eustolios complex. Its imagery was not treated as a religious or superstitious threat but was rather appropriated and used in the multifaceted process of the city’s revival. The reuse of these beautiful relics of the glorious ancient city lent a sense of familiarity and reassurance of continuity in an urban environment struggling to recover from the trauma of devastating natural disasters. A comparable example can be observed in the area of the Roman Agora of Thessaloniki, where four late Roman statues of the Muses continued to adorn

54  On Epiphanios, see Rapp, “Epi­pha­nius of Salamis”; Rapp, “The Vita of Epi­pha­nius of Salamis – A Historical and Literary Study” (PhD diss., University of Oxford, 1991); also Young R. Kim, Epi­pha­nius of Cyprus: Imagining an Orthodox World (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2015); Andrew S. Jacobs, Epi­pha­nius of Cyprus: A Cultural Biography of Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2016). 55  The Panarion of Epi­pha­nius of Salamis, 2nd ed., trans. Frank Williams (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 136–37, 30: 7.5–6. 56  On the statues from Salamis, see Emily Vermeule and Vassos Karageorghis, Salamis: Sculptures from Salamis I (Nicosia: Cyprus Department of Antiquities, 1964); Emily Vermeule and Vassos Karageorghis, Salamis: Sculptures from Salamis II (Nicosia: Cyprus Department of Antiquities, 1966); Vassos Karageorghis, “Des édifices antiques aux monuments chrétiens,” Le monde de la Bible 112 (1998): 24–29. 57  Pelli Mastora, “Επεμβάσεις σε εντοίχια ψηφιδωτά κατά τη βυζαντινή περίοδο” (PhD diss., Open University of Cyprus, 2017), 345–50; Janine Balty, “Les mosaïques des thermes du gymnase à Salamine de Chypre,” RDAC (1988): 205–18; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 49; Michaelides, “Du paganisme au christianisme,” Le monde de la Bible 112 (1998): 12–15.



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and were even repositioned in the city’s Odeon during the early Christian period.58 Additionally, the iconography of mosaic floors dating from the fourth and the fifth centuries provide additional evidence for the continuity of late Roman iconographic themes during the period associated with the establishment of the Christian religion and church on the island.59 A key example of reuse, comparable to the statues of the Salamis gymnasium, is the Theseus and Minotaur mosaic from the House of Theseus in Paphos.60 The mosaic dates from the third century and was attentively restored around the middle of the fourth century, thus demonstrating that its mythological theme was still appreciated, hence the efforts to preserve it. Several mosaics from the mid- to late-fourth and fifth centuries provide additional evidence for the continuity of late Roman themes and iconography: the panel depicting Neptune and Amphitrite, also from the House of Theseus in Paphos, the panel with the representation of Achilles at the court of King Lycomedes from Kourion, the hunting scene from a Roman villa in Mansoura, the mosaic representing the toilet of Aphrodite from a bath house in Alassa, and the more recent discovery of the mosaic with hippodrome scenes at Akaki.61 The mosaics from the so-called Aion House have inspired an array of suggestions about their imagery and meaning in the context of the island’s cultural transition between polytheism and Christianity.62 The five mythological panels that decorated the triclinium of a Roman villa and date from the second quarter of the fourth century draw from Greco-Roman mythology but also integrate iconographic details and modifications that may allude to hidden meanings about the polemic and competitive relation between traditional and Christian beliefs.63 The fifth-century mosaic representing the birth and first bath of Achilles and its resemblance to Christian depictions of the nativity of Christ has 58  Charalambos

Bakirtzis, “Η Αγορά της Θεσσαλονίκης στα Παλαιοχριστιανικά χρόνια,” in Actes du Xe Congrès international d’archéologie chrétienne. Thessalonique 1980, vol. 2 (Vatican City: Pontificio Istituto di archeologia cristiana, 1984), 5–18; Theodosia Stefanidou-Tiveriou, “Τα αγάλματα των Μουσών από το Ωδείο της Θεσσαλονίκης,” Egnatia 2 (1990): 73–122. 59  Michaelides, “Mosaic Decoration,” 216–21. 60  Wiktor A. Daszewski, La mosaïque de Thésée: études sur les mosaïques avec représentations du labyrinthe, de Thésée et du Minotaure (Warsaw: PWN, Éditions scientifiques de Pologne, 1977). 61  Wiktor A. Daszewski and Demetrios Michaelides, Mosaic Floors in Cyprus (Ravenna: Mario Lapucci, Edizioni del Girasole, 1988), 70–72; Demetrios Michaelides, “An Unusual Detail of the Achilles at the Court of Lycomedes Mosaic at Kourion, Cyprus,” in Proceedings of the XIII Colloquio AIEMA, Venezia, 11–15 Settembre 2012, ed. Giordana Trovabene (Verona: Scripta Edizioni 2016), 549–52; Demetrios Michaelides, “The Baths at Mansoura,” RDAC (1993): 265–74; Sophocles Hadjisavas, “Alassa: A New Late Cypriot Site,” RDAC (1986): 64, pl. XVIII.3; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 93, no. 51. 62  For summaries of the scholarly debate and bibliography see Michaelides, “Mosaic Decoration,” 216–18; and Deligiannakis, “Last Pagans,” 35–38. 63  Wiktor A. Daszewski, Dionysos der Erlöser. Griechische Mythen im spätantiken Cypern (Mainz: Ph. von Zabern, 1985); Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 54–63, nos. 27–31.

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also been the focus of discussions on the appropriation of iconography between pagan and Christian art.64 Regardless of the interpretation, the very existence of these themes suggests the existence of an audience able to understand their complexity during a period of cultural and social transition. Another aspect of the smooth transition of religious life in Cyprus between traditional cults and Christian practices is evident in the establishment of major ecclesiastical complexes in the fourth and fifth centuries and the transformation of urban landscapes following the earthquakes of the fourth century.65 It is important to note that there is no evidence for violence against traditional sites on the island; actually, no significant Christian building activity can be traced on the ground before the fourth century and the positive impact of the Edict of Milan in 313. Even when Constantine I and his successors suppressed key pagan cults in the East, like that of Aphrodite, no indication survives to suggest that these efforts affected the goddess’s temples in Cyprus.66 The use of major ancient temples, like those of Zeus in Salamis, Aphrodite in Paphos, and Apollo in Kourion, had ceased or at least faded by the fourth century, a phenomenon widely attributed to the cataclysmic impact of the period’s earthquakes.67 Notably, the fourthand fifth-century basilicas erected in the major urban centers of the island were not built over ancient temples or other traditional sites of importance for the traditional population of Cyprus. Serving both practical needs as well as carrying a strong symbolic message of the triumph of the new over the old religion, the transformation of temples into churches was a widespread phenomenon in the Mediterranean world, especially in urban contexts.68 Yet, in Cyprus, the insertion of basilica complexes in 64 Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 91–92, no. 50; Pelli Mastora, “Achilles’ First Bath in the House of Theseus in Nea Paphos and the Nativity of Christ,” Επετηρίς Κέντρου Επιστημικών Ερευνών 37 (2015): 9–52. 65  Papageorghiou, “Cities and Countryside at the End of Antiquity,” 27–51. 66  Deligiannakis, “Last Pagans,” 26. 67  Marcus Rautman, “From Polytheism to Christianity in the Temples of Cyprus,” in Ancient Journeys. A Festschrift in Honor of Eugene Numa Lane, ed. Cathy Callaway (n. p.: Stoa Con01.  0014; Papageorsortium, 2002), http://www.stoa.org/hopper/text.jsp?doc=Stoa:text:2001.  ghiou, “Cities and Countryside at the End of Antiquity,” 28. 68 On cultural aspects of this phenomenon, see, Cyril Mango, “Discontinuity with the Classical Past in Byzantium,” in Byzantium the Classical Tradition, ed. Margaret Mullet and Roger Scott (Birmingham: Center for Byzantine Studies, 1981), 48–57; Angelos Chaniotis, “Ritual Dynamics in the Eastern Mediterranean: Case Studies in Ancient Greece and Asia Minor,” in Rethinking the Mediterranean, ed. William V. Harris (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 141–66. On the conversion of temples into churches, Friedrich W. Deichman, “Frühchristliche Kirchen in antiken Heiligtümern,” JDI 54 (1939): 103–36; Hahn, Emmel, and Gotter, eds., From Temple to Church: Destruction and Renewal of Local Cultic Topography in Late Antiquity. Indicatively, see about Greece and Athens, Timothy E. Gregory, “The Survival of Paganism in Christian Greece: A Critical Essay,” AJP 107 (1986): 229–42; Jean-Michel Speiser, “La christianisation des sanctuaires païens en Grèce,” in Neue Forschungen in griechischen Heiligtümern, ed. Ulf Jantzen (Tübingen: Ernst Wasmuth, 1976), 309–320; Alison Frantz, “From Paganism to Chris-



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the fabric of cities like Salamis, Paphos, and Kourion, to name some indicative examples, did not interfere with traditional sites; there is no concrete archaeological evidence pointing to the intentional erection of Christian churches over earlier pagan religious spaces.69 In the case of Amathous, the earliest possible use of the southern part of the temple of Aphrodite in the acropolis for Christian worship dates to the fifth century.70 Furthermore, by the time a three-aisled basilica was erected at the site in the seventh century, the temple and its traditions had been long abandoned. Still, the basilica was not built on the temple, thus symbolically triumphing over it, but to its side (northeast part) occupying a part of its Atrium.71 In Salamis, the suggestion about the use of the temple of Zeus for Christian worship needs to be further substantiated as there is no definite evidence about its functioning as a church.72 Nonetheless, the lack of Christian construction over local temples is at least noteworthy, considering the numerous sites on the island associated with major traditional cults and pilgrimage.73 In addition, it appears that traditional religion was not a past memory but a present reality. Evidence suggests that pagan traditions continued to be a part of religious life in Cyprus through the fourth and even the fifth centuries, especially in rural localities. A useful example concerns the question, still unsubstantiated by archaeology, of the existence of the temple of Lavranios Zeus in Fasoula and the longevity of the cult until the end of the fourth century and possibly through the fifth century.74 Until the emergence of tianity in the Temples of Athens,” DOP 19 (1965): 186–205; on Rome, see Feyo L. Schuddeboom, “The Conversion of Temples in Rome,” Journal of Late Antiquity 10 (2017): 166–86; on Cilicia, Richard Bayliss, Provincial Cilicia and the Archaeology of Temple Conversion (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2004), esp. 19–122; on the Dodecanese and the eastern Aegean, Georgios Deligiannakis, The Dodecanese and East Aegean Islands in Late Antiquity, AD 300–700 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 18–40. 69  Athanasios Papageorghiou, “Foreign Influences on the Early Christian Architecture of Cyprus,” in Acts of the International Archaeological Symposium “Cyprus Between the Orient and the Occident,” ed. Vassos Karageorghis (Nicosia: Cyprus Department of Antiquities, 1986), 490– 503. 70 Antoine Hermary, “Les fouilles françaises d’Amathonte,” Travaux de la Maison de l’Orient 22 (1993): 180–84. 71  Annie Pralong, “La basilique de l’acropole d’Amathonte (Chypre),” Rivista di Archeologia Christiana 70 (1994): 411–55; Annie Pralong and Jean-Michel Saulnier, “La basilique chrétienne du sommet de l’acropole,” in Guide de Amathonte, ed. Pierre Aupert (Paris: de Bocard, 1996), 132–45. 72  Gilbert Argout et al., “Le temple de Zeus à Salamine,” RDAC (1975): 140–41; Olivier Callot, “Les portiques du temple de Zeus à Salamine de Chypre,” in Proceedings of the 2nd International Cyprological Congress, Nicosia 1982, ed. Theodoros Papadopoullos and Stelios Hatzistylli (Nicosia: Etaireia Kypriakon Spoudon, 1986), 363–68. 73  On the end of the use of the ancient temples of Cyprus, see Rautman, “Temples of Cyprus.” 74  Ernst Kitzinger, “Notes on Early Coptic Sculpture,” Archaeologia 87 (1938): 205–206; Vassos Karageorghis, “Chronique des fouilles et découvertes archéologiques à Chypre en 1958,” BCH 83 (1959): 359–60; Mitford, “Roman Cyprus,” 1339, no. 239; Pierre Aupert and Marie-

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further evidence, the consideration of a fourth-century date for the stylistically distinctive sculpted heads found at the site remains a plausible suggestion and presents a possibility that fits the persistence of traditional religious practices in Cyprus and the related conditions of tolerance between Christians and others. Other examples from rural locations in the Paphos region include the cult of Aphrodite’s consort Apollo/Adonis at Rantidi and that of Apollo Melanthios at Amargeti.75

Framing Memory and Narrative An important, yet lesser-known, hagiography may help us gain a more nuanced understanding of the matter of the peaceful coexistence of pagans and Christians. The case of Saint Auxibios, bishop of Soloi, offers a hagiographic perspective that in some ways contradicts the established narratives of conflict and echoes the realities suggested by the aforementioned archaeological facts.76 According to his vita, dated after the end of the fifth century, Auxibios left his native Rome to avoid a marriage arranged by his wealthy, pagan parents. Landing at the port of Limnites, he encountered John Mark before his departure from the island, following the terrible events of the martyrdom of Bar­nabas in Salamis. Mark proceeded to instruct and consecrate him bishop, urging him to spread the word of Christ to the population of Soloi. The vita’s narrative describes that Auxibios was hosted as a traveler in the house of the priest of the temple of Zeus, which was located outside the western walls of the city. He chose to conceal his Christian identity from his host to facilitate his efforts to get inside Soloi. Using Zeus’s temple as both his base and cover, he began preaching secretly within the city on a daily basis, presumably attracting and converting its inhabitants to Christianity. It is worth noting that the massive conversion it claims would be implausible in the first century; Soloi remained an active center of traditional religion until the fourth century.77 In time, Auxibios revealed his identity and actively led what appears to have been Christine Hellmann, Amathonte I: Testimonia 1, Études chypriotes IV (Paris: Éditions recherche sur les civilisations – École française d’Athènes, 1984), 23 no. 46; Antoine Hermary, “Le sanctuaire de Zeus Labranios à Phasoula,” in Studies in Honour of Vassos Karageorghis, Kypriakai Spoudai 1990–1991, ed. Georgios Ioannides (Nicosia: Etaireia Kypriakon Spoudon, 1992), 333– 37; Eleni Procopiou, “Φασούλα-Κάστρο. Αποτελέσματα δοκιμαστικής έρευνας,” RDAC (1999): 315–26. 75  Olivier Masson, “Kypriaka XVIII, un sanctuaire rural prés de Paphos,” BCH 118 (1994): 261–75; Terence B. Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” ARNW 2.18.3, 2183; Young, “The Cypriot Aphrodite Cult,” 29–44. 76  For the vita, see, Papageorghiou, “Ο Άγιος Αυξίβιος,” 17–28; Jacques Noret, “Vita sancti Auxibii,” in Hagiographica Cypria, ed. Peter Van Deun and Jacques Noret (Turnhout-Leuven: Brepols, 1993), 177–202. 77  Papageorghiou, “Ο Άγιος Αυξίβιος,” 12–14.



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a smooth Christianization of the city of Soloi; a major basilica complex with several phases was erected over his tomb.78 On the whole, Auxibios’s vita does not contain any sign of animosity and conflict between indigenous practitioners, Jews, and Christians. One could point to the saint’s original secrecy as proof of at least mistrust, but, on the other hand, his approach was thoughtful as well as strategic, and certainly in striking contrast to the more hostile stance towards pagans adopted by apostles and early fathers of the church elsewhere. Still, the vita’s later date must be taken into consideration as to the factual accuracy of the described events. Additionally, the vitas of Saint Spyridon (seventh century) and Saint Epiphanios (sixth century) also contain narrative episodes that describe the friendly coexistence of the two communities.79 Indicatively, in the vita of Saint Spyridon, there is reference to the saint’s friendship with a mixed marriage couple.80 The wife was a pious Christian and the husband a stubborn pagan who eventually succumbed to Spyridon’s instructions. On the whole, hagiographic sources narrating the deeds and struggles of early fathers of the church in Cyprus need to be critically analyzed in the chronological framework of their composition, as well as in conjunction with the available archaeological record. Although their narratives contain valuable information on the history and topography of early Christian Cyprus, they are also filled with literary topoi concerning Jewish and traditional resistance to the spread of the word of Christ on the island. Moreover, Cyprus, being in the proximity of great urban centers like Antioch and Alexandria, came under the direct influence of developments related to the spread of early Christianity in these cities.81 The culture, ideology, and experience of early Christian communities in these contested urban environments were effectively projected throughout the region, including Cyprus. As a result, 78  David. S. Neal, The Basilica at Soli Cyprus: A Survey of the Buildings and Mosaics (Cyprus: SAVE, International Resources Group, 2009); Doria Nicolaou, “Νέα ερμηνευτική πρόταση και αναχρονολόγηση του παλαιοχριστιανικού συγκροτήματος των Σόλων,” Deltion of the Christian Archaeological Society 38 (2017): 55–86. 79  Van den Ven, La légende de S. Spyridon, 71; “Vita Epiphanii” (PG 41:76–79). 80  Actually, this was read by bishop of Paphos Theodoros on December 14, 655 at the church dedicated to the saint in Tremithous. Present were the archbishop of Cyprus Sergius, archbishop of Crete Paul, bishop of Tremithounta Theodoros, bishop of Kition Theodoros, bishop of Lapithos Eusebius; see Van den Ven, La légende de S. Spyridon, 89–90. 81  On Antioch’s role in the Christianization of the island, Oikonomou, “Η εισαγωγή του Χριστιανισμού,” 53–57. Also on Antioch, Glanville Downey, A History of Antioch in Syria from Seleucus to the Arab Conquests (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1961), 272–475; Robert R. Hann, “Judaism and Jewish Christianity in Antioch: Charisma and Conflict in the First Century,” JRH 14 (1987): 341–60; Magnus Zetterholm, The Formation of Christianity in Antioch: A Social-Scientific Approach to the Separation Between Judaism and Christianity (London: Routledge, 2003). On Alexandria, Haas, Alexandria in Late Antiquity; Annick Martin, Athanase d’Alexandrie et l’église d’Égypte au IVe siècle (328–373) (Rome: École française de Rome, 1996); Edward J. Watts, Riot in Alexandria: Tradition and Group Dynamics in Late Antique Pagan and Christian Communities (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010), 155–215.

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in the centuries following the establishment of Christianity and the organization of the formal institution of the church in the region, hagiographies systematically shaped the narrative of its early beginnings and growth. Yet, beyond the importance of hagiographic narratives, it is worth considering some of the factors and events that to a larger or lesser extend influenced, framed, and shaped the apparent smooth transition from polytheism to Christianity in Cyprus. Patronage of traditional cults, natural disasters, the role of the Jewish population, and the insularity of Cyprus certainly contributed to the phenomenon in question. Roman support for traditional cults seems to have contained the spread of Christianity at the island during the early period of its growth. Imperial patronage in particular significantly strengthened institutions and cults. For example, the 69 CE passage from Cyprus of young Titus (79–81), son and successor of Vespasian (69–79), was of critical importance with both practical and symbolic implications.82 He sought the advice of the oracle of Aphrodite in Paphos and was told of his glorious future. His eventual success in Jerusalem against the Jewish rebellion and his father’s proclamation as emperor were events that brought great prestige and support to the temple, thus further reinforcing the authority of its cult. Among numerous other examples, Trajan’s (98–117) investment in Kourion, and the temple of Apollo Hylates specifically, is indicative of the ways imperial patronage helped pagan institutions retain their multifaceted influence.83 Furthermore, the economic, political, and social influence of educated traditional elites and state officials continues through the fourth and fifth centuries, although the extent to which these contributions really shaped the relations between pagans and Christians is difficult to assess.84 Yet, this instrumental support certainly strengthened and sustained the central role of major traditional cults on the island and as a result acted as a containment buffer against the growing influence of Christians on the island. Although the dates and the level of destruction brought by the earthquakes of the fourth century is debated in scholarship, the impact of these natural disasters in the ending of traditional religious life and the establishment of Christianity in Cyprus needs to be seriously considered.85 In effect, the earthquakes served as the perfect pretext for transition and change. The urban landscapes that emerged after these natural disasters in cities like Salamis-Constantia, Paphos, and Kou82 

Potter, “Η Κύπρος επαρχία της Ρωμαϊκής Αυτοκρατορίας,” 795, 804, 931. Potter, “Η Κύπρος επαρχία της Ρωμαϊκής Αυτοκρατορίας,” 799–800. 84  Deligiannakis, “Last Pagans,” 33–35. 85  George Hill, A  History of Cyprus, Volume 1: To the Conquest of Richard the Lionheart (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1940), 245; Papageorghiou, “Cities and Countryside at the End of Antiquity,” 27–31; Rautman, “Temples of Cyprus”; John Antonopoulos, “Data from Investigation on Seismic Sea Waves Events in the Eastern Mediterranean from the Birth of Christ to 500 A. D.,” Annali di Geofisica 33 (1980): 152. 83 



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rion were now predominantly Christian. The patronage of emperors like Constantius II in Salamis-Constantia or of wealthy aristocrats such as Eustolios in Kourion was not only instrumental in helping civic populations to recover, but also strategic in helping the establishment of the Christian church, which was already enjoying the positive effects of the Edict of Milan. Maybe the impact of the fourth-century earthquakes contributed to sparing the island from the persecution of traditional cults under Theodosius I (379–395). By the time Nicene Christianity was declared the official religion of the empire in 380, Cypriot cities and societies were already transitioning into the new, Christian era. In this context, the beautiful mosaics and inscriptions from the early Christian basilica of Chrysopolitissa in Kato Paphos, with phases dating between the middle of the fourth century to the beginning of the fifth century, provide instructive examples of the visual culture of the period.86 A topic worth further consideration is the role of the island’s Jewish population in the early spread and development of Christianity in Cyprus.87 According to the Acts, the primary audience and the main challenge for the apostolic missions of Bar­nabas, Paul, and John Mark appear to have been the Jewish populations of the cities of the island. Of course, perspectives on Jews offered by the Acts and hagiographies must be taken with a pinch of salt since these accounts were shaped during later centuries and seem to mirror the then-established antiJewish rhetoric. Without doubt, the relationship between traditional Jews and Jews who follow Jesus in the insular context of Cyprus, which was dominated by traditional cults, was more complex than necessarily antagonistic. That said, there is still value in the narratives offered by the Acts as they confirm the active presence of Jewish communities on the island which, to a certain extent, must have provided fertile ground for the early spread of the Christian message. Moreover, the presence of Jewish communities is particularly important in the context of the Jewish rebellion of 115–117, an event which certainly affected Christians on the island.88 As mentioned by Cassius Dio, the uprising in Cyprus was led by one Artemion, leading to the massacre of thousands of non-Jewish local Greeks.89 Cities like Salamis were particularly hard-hit. Although the number of the victims may be inflated in the sources, it still reflects the violence 86 Michaelides,

Cypriot Mosaics, 7–9, 96–97. See, Van der Horst, “Jews of Cyprus,” 110–20; Adolf Reifenberg, “Das antike zyprische Judentum und seine Beziehungen zu Palästina,” JPOS 12 (1932): 209–15; Mitford, “Cults of Roman Cyprus,” 2204–2206; E. Mary Smallwood, The Jews under Roman Rule. From Pompey to Diocletian: A Study in Political Relations, 2nd ed. (Leiden: Brill, 1981), 412–13. 88  Zdzisław J. Kapera, “Jewish Rebellion in Cyprus in 116/117 AD and Mesopotamia,” in Here and There: Across the Ancient Near East. Studies in Honour of Krystyna Łyczkowska, ed. Olga Drewnowska (Warsaw: Agade, 2009), 69–84; Van der Horst, “Jews of Cyprus,” 113–15; Archbishop Kyprianos, Ιστορία χρονολογική της νήσου Κύπρου (Venice: N. Glykis, 1788), 95; Smallwood, Jews under Roman Rule, 412–14; Mitsides, “Η εκκλησία της Κύπρου,” 107–108. 89  Dio Cassius, Roman History, 6.68.32; Van der Horst, “Jews of Cyprus,” 113. 87 

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of the rebellion. The Romans responded with ferocity as they suppressed the rebellion, which spread in the broader region of Egypt and Cyrenaica.90 It can be assumed that great numbers of Jews were killed in Cyprus, and new legal regulations forbade any future Jewish settlement on the island. Unfortunately, we can only hypothesize about how the Christians fared during these events, although there is little doubt that the rebellion and its aftermath affected the religious, cultural, and social landscape of Cypriot cities during a critical period for the growth of Christianity. As a final thought, it’s important to consider Cyprus’s insularity and the ways it affected issues of cultural identity and experience for local populations during this era of transition. Surrounded by sea and at considerable distance from the closest shores, Cyprus has always balanced between being a hub of maritime and cultural interconnections and a closed system with a strong and persistent local cultural identity.91 The successful efforts of the Church of Cyprus to achieve autocephaly in the fifth century reflect the self-determined and independent character of Cypriot populations and their leaders. Of course, looking at the process of Christianization in other larger islands of the region, such as Crete and Rhodes among others, can provide particularly interesting contexts for further analysis and comparisons.92

90  Joseph Mélèze-Modrzejewski, The Jews of Egypt. From Rameses II to Emperor Hadrian (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997), 198–205; Burkiewicz, “The Beginnings of Christianity in Cyprus,” 24–25. 91  See the essays in Fourrier and Grivaud, eds., Identités croisées en un milieu méditerranéen: le cas de Chypre. 92  Indicatively, Dimitris Tsougarakis, “Ρωμαϊκή Κρήτη (1ος αι. π. Χ.  – 5ος αι. μ. Χ.)” in Κρήτη: Ιστορία και πολιτισμός, ed. Nikolaos N. Panayiotakis, vol. 1 (Heraklion: Bikelaia Bibliotheke, 1987), 285–336; Isabella Baldini Lippolis and Giulio Vallarino, “Gortyn: From City of the Gods to Christian City,” in Cities & Gods: Religious Space in Transition, ed. Ted Kaizer, et al. (Leuven: Peeters, 2012), 103–19; Deligiannakis, The Dodecanese and East Aegean Islands in Late Antiquity; Elias Kollias, “Η παλαιοχριστιανική και βυζαντινή Ρόδος. Η αντίσταση μιας ελληνιστικής πόλης,” in Ρόδος 2.400 χρόνια. Η πόλη της Ρόδου από την ίδρυση της μέχρι την κατάληψη από τους Τούρκους (1523), vol. 2 (Athens: Fund of Archaeological Proceeds, 2000), 299–308.

The Gods, Christ, and the Emperor in the Late Antique Art of Cyprus Henry Maguire

The subject that is explored in these pages is complex and much debated, and yet the inquiry begins with a verity that is simple and relatively little discussed – one might almost say it is taken for granted. It can be briefly stated as follows: whereas from the Hellenistic through to the end of the late antique period it was common for pagan gods and their exploits to be illustrated upon the floors of buildings, it was exceedingly uncommon for either Christ or the emperor to be so depicted; in fact, biblical episodes and imperial ceremonial were in general rarely depicted in places where they could be trampled underfoot.1 My purpose in these remarks is to examine the implications of this phenomenon, and especially what we may learn from it about the nature of pagan representations, on the one hand, and of Christian and imperial images on the other. Cyprus presents an excellent opportunity to explore this topic, for the island is exceptionally rich in floor mosaics, especially from the late antique period. Accordingly, the majority of the examples in this chapter will come from Cyprus, although evidence from outside the island will appear from time to time, when the course of the argument so requires. Ernst Kitzinger, in an article on a floor mosaic in Turin, cited an episode from the early 1950s that involved the presidential seal in the Reception Room of the White House.2 Harry Truman, who was president at that time, noted that the seal was on the floor, where people desecrated it by walking on it. He therefore ordered that it be raised to a more honorific position above the door. This provides a succinct example of an enduring cross-cultural problem with placing imagery of an authoritative or official nature on pavements, rather than on walls or ceilings, or in free-standing sculptures. Nevertheless, it is the very lowliness of 1  Rina Talgam, Mosaics of Faith: Floors of Pagans, Jews, Samaritans, and Muslims in the Holy Land (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi, 2014), 204. 2  Ernst Kitzinger, “World Map and Fortune’s Wheel: A Medieval Mosaic Floor in Turin,” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 117 (1973): 343–73, esp. 343; reprinted in Kitzinger, The Art of Byzantium and the Medieval West: Selected Studies (Bloomington, Indiana, 1976), 327. Kitzinger also cites St. Bernard of Clairvaux, who complained of visitors desecrating the images of saints and angels depicted in the floors of churches: S. Bernardus, Apologia ad Guillelmum Sancti-Theoderici abbatem, 12.28 (PL 182:915).

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floor mosaics that gives them a particular value as witnesses to their wider historical and cultural contexts. They were both an underlying and a conspicuous background to people’s lives, and thus more likely to express fundamental attitudes than the dogmatic and self-conscious statements of state or religious ideology. Moreover, floor mosaics have survived in far greater numbers than the decorations of walls or vaults, because frequently the pavements have been preserved when the upper parts of buildings have been lost. The relative ubiquity of surviving pavements makes it easier to establish from them cultural norms within and across the contexts of time, space, ethnicity, and religion.

Floor and Wall Mosaics in Cyprus We will begin by looking at some examples of the depiction of pagan gods on the floors of buildings in Cyprus. The richly decorated villa in Paphos known as the House of Dionysos provides an especially varied selection of images, which probably date to the late second century of the Christian era.3 Here three gods were depicted in the portico that lay in front of the most important space, the dining room. Immediately in front of its entrance, the mosaicists portrayed the salutary story of the god Dionysos and Ikarios, the first man to make wine; this was an appropriate subject for the threshold to a room used for drinking.4 To the right of this panel are two mosaics with contrasting love scenes. One shows Poseidon and Amymone, a mortal who gave the ardent god her consent. The other mosaic depicts Apollo in pursuit of Daphne, who refused the god. In the mosaic we can see the fleeing Daphne already turning into a laurel bush, while Apollo tries to catch up with her.5 The figured floor inside the dining room is divided into two main zones. Immediately inside the entrance the diners were greeted by a large rectangular panel at the threshold that again portrays Dionysos, this time riding in his triumphal chariot drawn by panthers, and accompanied by his retinue of satyrs and maenads (fig. 1, p. 280). Beyond this mosaic, the central portion of the floor is filled by a large fruiting vine scroll, which contains animals and vintage scenes.6 Further portrayals of the gods graced other rooms of the villa. For example, in a room to the east of the courtyard one can see Zeus in aquiline form carrying Ganymede aloft.7 3  Wiktor A. Daszewski and Demetrios Michaelides, Guide to the Paphos Mosaics (Nicosia: Department of Antiquities, 1988), 11–45; Christine Kondoleon, Domestic and Divine: Roman Mosaics in the House of Dionysos (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1995). 4  Daszewski and Michaelides, Paphos Mosaics, 37–41, figs. 29–32. 5  Daszewski and Michaelides, Paphos Mosaics, 41–45, figs. 33–34. 6  Daszewski and Michaelides, Paphos Mosaics, 20–28, figs. 12–16. 7  Daszewski and Michaelides, Paphos Mosaics, 31–32, fig. 19.



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Even more impressive, and certainly more commented upon, images of pagan deities have been found in another building in Paphos, which was named by its discoverers the House of Aion. In it, a large room features a floor with a magnificent mosaic containing five panels with mythological scenes. The mosaic has been dated to the second quarter of the fourth century, but it apparently continued to be used until the early fifth century, when it was restored.8 One of the panels portrays Dionysos held as an infant in the lap of Hermes. The child is about to be handed to his tutor, Tropheus, and to the nymphs of Mount Nysa for his upbringing (fig.  2, p. 281). The compositions in the mosaic are densely crammed with figures, most of whom are meticulously – one might almost say obsessively – named by inscriptions. Some modern scholars have interpreted these mosaics in philosophical and religious terms, seeing them as a highbrow pagan response to the growing impact of Christianity in the post-Constantinian era. Wiktor Daszewski has read into the images a kind of pagan monotheism, in which Dionysos embodied the other gods in himself, so that the pagan god is celebrated here as a savior, born, like Jesus Christ, to introduce a new order to the world.9 Glen Bowersock, agreeing with this soteriological interpretation, cited Neoplatonic writers who believed that Apollo was a manifestation of Dionysos, and that his lyre symbolized divine harmony and order, which was foolish for mortals to challenge. In Bowersock’s words: “The supremacy of Dionysus suggests a kind of pagan monotheism, responding to Christian monotheism.”10 In the panel depicting Hermes holding the god-child Dionysos, there was, he said, an “uncanny resemblance to Christian mother-and-child imagery.”11 So far as I am aware, the latest floor mosaics in Cyprus that bear mythological imagery date to the fifth century. For example, a bath building at Alassa preserves a pavement that portrays Aphrodite. Evidently, she has been bathing, for a gleaming silver jug can be seen on the left beside her. Perhaps she is wringing out her hair, or she may be adorning herself, for on the right an eros carries a mirror and a box of jewelry. In any case, here the goddess has a propitious purpose, for she is flanked by an inscription reading ΕΠ ΑΓΑΘΟΙΣ, or, “for a good cause,” bringing luck on the bathers.12 8  Wiktor A. Daszewski, Dionysos der Erlöser, griechische Mythen im spätantiken Cypern (Mainz: von Zabern, 1985); Daszewski and Michaelides, Paphos Mosaics, 63–71, figs. 45–51; Wiktor A. Daszewski and Demetrios Michaelides, Mosaic Floors in Cyprus (Ravenna: Edizioni del Girasole, 1988), 56–70, figs. 26–33; Glen W. Bowersock, Hellenism in Late Antiquity (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1990), 49–52; Bowersock, Mosaics as History: The Near East from Late Antiquity to Islam (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2006), 39–41. 9 Daszewski, Dionysos der Erlöser, 38–45. 10 Bowersock, Hellenism in Late Antiquity, 52. 11 Bowersock, Mosaics as History, 39–41. 12  Demetrios Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics (Nicosia: Department of Antiquities, 1987), 45, plate 32, fig. 51.

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We turn now to Christian images on the floors of Cyprus. Here, in contrast to the pagan gods and goddesses, we never encounter visual portrayals of Christ or of biblical figures on the pavements of the island. Motifs that evoke Christ or Christian ideas in a symbolic way, however, do make an appearance. As an example, we may cite a well-known panel from the original basilica of Chrysopolitissa at Nea Paphos, which can be dated to the fifth century. The mosaic portrays a fruiting vine, with the prominent inscription ΕΓΩ ΕΙΜΙ Η ΑΜΠΕΛΟΣ Η ΑΛΗΘΙΝΗ, or “I am the true vine” (fig. 3, p. 282).13 The quotation is from the Gospel of John, and it identifies the vine as Christ (John 15:1). It also attempts to appropriate for Christianity a symbol that had been pagan, for, as we have seen, the fruiting vine was also associated with Dionysos. Here it may be asked: was the absence of Christian figures on the mosaic floors of Cyprus due to a reluctance to place sacred persons in a position where they could be trodden upon, or was it evidence of a more general iconoclasm, that is, a disinclination to portray Christian portrait images in general, wherever they might appear, whether on pavements or not? An argument for the second proposition is the famous episode reported in the late fourth century by Epi­pha­nius, bishop of Salamis, in a letter that he wrote to John, the bishop of Jerusalem, which has been preserved for us in a Latin translation made by Jerome.14 In this letter, Epi­pha­nius reported that he saw a cloth hanging in the door of a village church between Jerusalem and Bethel, just outside the city. On this curtain was portrayed a human image which may have been of Christ or of one of the saints; Epi­pha­nius professed not to know. Outraged, Epi­pha­nius tore the offending image down and advised Bishop John explicitly “to order that such things not be displayed in the churches.” This letter, which is not in doubt, helps to establish the authenticity of other writings of Epi­pha­nius that have been disputed, in particular a letter to Theodosius I in which the bishop complains that he often entreated his fellow clerics to take down Christian images, but in vain.15 It is certainly reasonable to suppose that Epi­pha­nius may have tried to forbid the making of Christian portrait images in Cyprus, and it is also very possible that he failed in his efforts. As we shall see shortly, outside of Cyprus there is ample evidence that Christian figures were portrayed on the walls and vaults 13 Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 35, plate 16, fig. 37; Daszewski and Michaelides, Mosaic Floors in Cyprus, 92–93. 14 Jerome, Epist. 51.9; CSEL 54: 411–12. Part of the letter is quoted by the ninth-century Patriarch Nikephoros; Paul Maas, Kleine Schriften (Munich: Beck, 1973), 437–45. English translation in Cyril Mango, The Art of the Byzantine Empire (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1972), 42–43. 15  Karl Holl, “Die Schriften des Epi­pha­nius gegen die Bilderverehrung,” Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Kirchengeschichte, vol. 2 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1928), 351–58; Ernst Kitzinger, “The Cult of Images in the Age before Iconoclasm,” DOP 8 (1954): 83–150, esp. 93 n. 28. See Christopher P. Jones, Between Pagan and Christian (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2014), 54.



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of churches, even while they were absent from floor mosaics. And, even though there is little surviving evidence for Christian images on the walls of Cypriot churches in the late fourth and fifth centuries, by the sixth century they were certainly abundant. Their ubiquity is evidenced by the three mosaics that still survive, or survived until recently, in the apses of the churches of Lythrankomi, Kiti, and Livadia. At Lythrankomi, where the mosaic was set in the first half of the sixth century, the Virgin and Child were enthroned in a mandorla flanked by palm trees and angels, while the border contained portrait busts of the apostles.16 The date of the much better-preserved mosaic at Kiti is somewhat later, perhaps the second half of the sixth century (fig. 4, p. 283). Here again we find the Virgin with her Child in her arms between a pair of angels, but in this case she is standing.17 The latest in the series of Cypriot apse mosaics appeared in the small church of Livadia, which should be dated between the end of the sixth century and the start of the Arab invasions in the middle of the seventh. The composition of this mosaic is strikingly austere and focused entirely on the iconic image of the Virgin; she stands on her own in the pose of an orant with her hands outstretched, silhouetted against a plain gold ground, which is deprived of any accompanying angels or even vegetation.18 Archaeology has revealed that other sixth-century churches in Cyprus had their upper surfaces covered with sacred portraits, even while there were apparently no such images on the floors. For example, in the northeast chapel attached to the Episcopal Basilica at Kourion, the eastern wall was covered with late sixthcentury mosaics of human figures (fig.  5, p. 284). The mosaics appear to have been arranged in two registers in a central niche and on its flanking walls. Although the state of preservation does not allow for certain identifications, the excavator, A. H. S. Megaw, proposed that the upper part of the niche had contained an image of the Virgin, surrounded by a retinue of saints in the lower part of the niche and on the walls to either side.19 In contrast to this rich figural decoration on the walls of the northeast chapel, the remains of floor mosaics of the same period from the Episcopal Complex at Kourion suggest that the accompanying 16  Arthur H. S. Megaw and Ernest J. W. Hawkins, The Church of the Panagia Kanakariá at Lythrankomi: Its Mosaics and Frescoes (Washington, D. C.: Dumbarton Oaks, 1977). 17  Ellinor Fischer, “Die Panagia Angeloktistos in Kiti auf Zypern: Neue Aspekte zu Bau und Apsismosaik,” in Begegnungen: Materielle Kulturen auf Zypern bis in die römische Zeit, ed. Sabine Rogge (Münster: Waxmann 2007), 151–95; Andreas Foulias, “Το ψηφιδωτό της αψίδας στην Παναγία Αγγελόκτιστη Κιτίου,” Epeterida Kentrou Meleton Ieras Mones Kykkou 8 (2008): 269–334. 18  Arthur H. S. Megaw and Ernest J. W. Hawkins, “A Fragmentary Mosaic of the Orant Virgin in Cyprus,” in Actes du XIVe Congrès International des Études Byzantines, Bucarest, 6–12 septembre 1971, vol. 3, ed. Mihai Berza and Eugen Stănescu (Bucharest: Editura Academiei Republicii Socialiste România, 1976), 363–66, figs. A–E; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 56–57, plate 41, fig. 71. 19  Arthur H. S. Megaw, Kourion, Excavations in the Episcopal Precinct (Washington, D. C.: Dumbarton Oaks, 2007), 47–48, fig. 1.2, plate 1.30a.

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pavements were primarily geometric in character. For example, the late sixthcentury floor of the diakonikon was decorated with panels containing squares, poised squares, and interlaced circles. The panels are framed by borders of circles and poised squares enclosed by knotted straps. These motifs either enclose crosses or designs that evoke crosses, such as the knot of Solomon.20 Thus, at Kourion, we find sacred portraits on the walls, but not on the floors; on the floors we see only the signs of Christ.21

Floor and Wall Mosaics outside Cyprus If we move beyond the shores of Cyprus to consider the wider context of late antique mosaics, we find the same phenomenon: the pagan gods were portrayed on pavements, but Christ, his prophets, and his saints were not, even though they did appear on walls and vaults. Let us take only the situation in and around Jerusalem, where at the end of the fourth century Bishop Epi­pha­nius encountered the objectionable curtain with its icon. In addition to Epi­pha­nius, other witnesses attest to the presence of portrait images in and near Jerusalem. According to the sixth-century ecclesiastical history by Theodore Lector, between 443 and 453 the empress Eudokia, the wife of Theodosius II, sent an icon of the Virgin from Jerusalem to Pulcheria, the daughter of Arcadius. Supposedly, the image had been painted by St. Luke.22 A letter purportedly sent to the emperor Theophilos by a council held in Jerusalem in 836 describes a mosaic of the Nativity and the Adoration of the Magi on the outer west wall of the basilica at Bethlehem. The letter claimed that when the invading Persians sacked Jerusalem in 614, they spared the Church of the Nativity on account of respect for the portrayal of the Magi, whom they perceived as their kinsmen.23 But, in contrast to these portrayals on panels and on the walls of churches, there is no evidence for the presence of sacred figures on church floors in the area of Jerusalem. Epi­pha­nius would have had no cause to take offence when he walked upon the pavements of the nearby Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, which date to the late fourth or early fifth century. The floors of the nave and octagon depict only interlaces and geometrical patterns, together with birds and fruits, including a vine.24 While, as we have seen, the vine had the potential to symbolize Christ, there are no portrait images surviving on this floor. 20 Megaw,

Kourion, 145–46, plate 1.19. Likewise, in the sixth-century complex at Pegia, where the walls of the Basilica beside the baptistery were decorated with figures of saints executed in opus sectile, the floors of the complex were covered with animals, plants, and geometric designs including reiterated crosses, but not with portrait images; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 48–50, plates 34–36. 22  Hist. eccl. 1.1 (PG 86:165); English translation in Mango, The Art of the Byzantine Empire, 40. 23  Epistola synodica patriarcharum orientalium, 7.8; ed. Louis Duchesne, Roma e l’Oriente 5 (1912–1913): 283; English translation in Mango, The Art of the Byzantine Empire, 114. 24 Talgam, Mosaics of Faith, 82–83, 157–58, figs. 110, 247–48. 21 



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Jerusalem also provides evidence for the appearance of pagan figures in mosaic floors during late antiquity. In 1901 a well-preserved mosaic was excavated in a small burial chapel near the Damascus Gate; it can now be seen in the Archaeological Museum in Istanbul (fig. 6, p. 285). The pavement has been dated anywhere between the fourth and the seventh centuries, but the most likely date appears to be between the late fourth and the early sixth century.25 The mosaic portrays Orpheus in the center, playing his lyre and surrounded by the animals that he has charmed. At the bottom right and left the god Pan and a centaur also listen to the music. This mosaic has intrigued modern scholars because of its syncretistic character. To the left of Orpheus is an eagle that wears around its neck a bulla marked with a small cross. The centaur below this bird leans on a club, which has been identified as the club of the pagan god Hercules. Accordingly, the mosaic has been interpreted both as a pagan and as a Christian allegory. Some writers have associated the centaur and Pan with the Orphic-Dionysiac cult, while others have linked Orpheus with Christ, the harmony of whose music overcomes the pipes of Pan, symbolic of unbridled passions.26 Whatever the correct interpretation of this enigmatic and ambiguous composition, there is no doubt that it signals a continuing willingness of some people in Jerusalem to place figures from pagan mythology on their pavements, even while images of Christ and his saints were not to be located underfoot. In all of late antiquity, there are very few confirmed exceptions to the rule that Christian biblical figures were not set on floors. The earliest exception comes right at the beginning of the series of Christian pavements, in the great mosaic that covers the floor of the double basilica dedicated by Bishop Theodorus in the early fourth century at Aquileia in Italy. Here, among a multitude of non-Christian representations, including sea creatures, birds, beasts, fruits and plants, there are three inserted scenes of the life of Jonah: his being cast overboard from the ship to be swallowed by the whale, his being disgorged again onto land, and finally his reclining at rest under a gourd.27 Jonah appears again, exceptionally, in two medallions of a mid-sixth century pavement in the north aisle of a church at Mahatt el Urdi, outside the ancient Eleutheropolis in Israel. In one of the medallions he is shown being thrown to the sea monster, and in the second he lies under the gourd.28

25 Talgam,

Mosaics of Faith, 246–49, figs. 326–27. Mosaics of Faith, 247–49. 27  Giovanni Brusin and Paolo Zovatto, Monumenti Paleocristiani di Aquileia e di Grado (Udine: Deputazione di storia patria per il Friuli, 1957), 20–125; Jean-Pierre Caillet, L’Evergétisme monumental chrétien en Italie et à ses marges d’après l’épigraphie des pavements de mosaïque (IVe–VIIe s.) (Rome: École française de Rome, 1993), 123–41. 28 Talgam, Mosaics of Faith, 244–46, fig. 325. 26 Talgam,

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Another exception is the famous mosaic from Hinton St. Mary in Dorset, England, a work from the “barbaric” fringes of the Roman world. The pavement was probably set around the middle of the fourth century, and it may have decorated the dining room of a villa, although the precise nature of the building is not certain. The mosaic once covered two separate spaces, with a threshold between them. Each part of the mosaic frames a central medallion containing a hero, in one roundel Bellerophon killing the Chimaera, and in the other roundel a bust of Christ with a large chi rho monogram behind his head.29 This mosaic was closely related to a nearby pavement at Frampton, also in Dorset, which is now lost, but which is known through early nineteenth-century engravings. The Frampton mosaic combined portrayals of Neptune, Dionysos, and Bellerophon with another chi rho symbol, although here there was no bust of Christ.30 Both mosaics, at Hinton St. Mary and at Frampton, appear to have represented a truly syncretic culture, which effectively accorded to Christ the same status as that of the pagan gods, allowing him to appear together with them on the floor. A fourth possible exception to the rule that banned Christian portraits from the floor can be found in a small group of fifth-century mosaics from Syria that portrayed Adam naming the animals. The best preserved of these pavements was excavated in the North Church at Huarte, near Apamea, and can be dated precisely by inscriptions to between 472 and 487.31 Other members of the group only survive as fragments that are currently preserved in museums in Copenhagen and Hama (fig. 7, p. 286).32 On the central axis of the nave floor at Huarte, nearest to the sanctuary, there is a large figure of Adam, who is identified by an inscription above his head. He sits on a backless throne, holding an open book in his left hand, and making a gesture of speech with his right. He is surrounded, like Orpheus, by a large variety of birds and beasts, which are set among trees and flowering plants. The tame demeanor of the fierce beasts, such as a lion, a leopard, and a griffin, indicate that the setting is the earthly Paradise, and that the time is before the Fall. However, the image contains one striking anachronism, namely that Adam is clothed in a white garment, whereas, according to the biblical account, he should still be naked. Adam’s white robe can also be seen in the fragment of a similar mosaic that is now in the National Museum at Copenhagen (fig. 7, p. 286). The excavators of the Huarte mosaic, Maria Teresa Canivet and Pierre Canivet, compared the appearance of Adam to certain por29  Katherine

M. D. Dunbabin, Mosaics of the Greek and Roman World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 95–96, figs. 94–95. 30 Dunbabin, Mosaics, 95–96. 31  Pierre and Maria Teresa Canivet, “La mosaïque d’Adam dans l’église syrienne de Huarte (Ve s.),” Cahiers Archéologiques 24 (1975): 49–70, fig. 3; Pierre and Maria Teresa Canivet, Huarte, sanctuaire chrétien d’Apamène (IVe–VIe s.) (Paris: Geuthner, 1987), 296–300. 32  Steffen Trolle, “Hellig Adam i Paradis,” Nationalmuseets Arbejdsmark (Copenhagen: Nationalmuseet, 1971), 105–12; Henry Maguire, “Adam and the Animals: Allegory and the Literal Sense in Early Christian Art,” DOP 41 (1987): 363–73, esp. 368, fig. 4.



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trayals of Christ, in which the Lord appears enthroned, holding a book in his left hand, and raising his right hand in benediction. Accordingly, they associated the Adam of the mosaics with the passages in St. Paul’s epistles that describe Adam as the figure of Christ, the New Adam.33 By this interpretation, we could read the portrait of Adam as a typological image of Christ. But the mosaics of Adam are ambivalent. We could also interpret his garments as representing Adam’s robe of glory, which Syrian writers, such as Ephrem, equated with the white robes of those baptized into the church.34 Thus the clothing of Adam could convey in this case the recovery by Christians through baptism of that prelapsarian state of wisdom and glory in which wild beasts could not hurt them.35 Adam on these floors, therefore, is not necessarily a typological figure of Christ.36 These mosaics are the only surviving exceptions known to me to the general rule of the absence of biblical figures from the floors of Christians. The refusal by Christians to place sacred figures on pavements is all the more striking when churches are compared to synagogues, where biblical figures were depicted with relative frequency. The permissive attitude of many Jews with respect to human representations on the floors of their cult buildings is exemplified by Targum Pseudo-Jonathan Lev 26:1, the biblical prohibition against the making and worshipping of images of stone. The targum reads: And a figured stone you shall not place in your land, to bow down upon it … But a pavement figured with images and likenesses you may make on the floor of your temples. And do not bow down to it, for I am the Lord your God.37 The variety of biblical subjects found on the floors of late antique synagogues is certainly impressive. The examples range in date from the fourth to the sixth centuries. Thus, in the early fourth century, we find the drowning of Pharaoh’s army in the Red Sea, David and Goliath, and the construction of Solomon’s temple, all portrayed in the pavement of the recently discovered synagogue at Wadi el Hamam near the Sea of Galilee.38 In the synagogue at Sepphoris in the lower 33  Rom 5:14; 1 Cor 15:22; Canivet and Canivet, “La mosaïque d’Adam,” 58, 62 and n. 37; Canivet and Canivet, Huarte, 296–300. 34 Ephrem, Hymni de Paradiso, 6.7–9, ed. René Lavenant, Ephrem di Nisibe: Hymnes sur le Paradis, SC 137 (Paris: le Cerf, 1968), 84–5. 35  Maguire, “Adam and the Animals,” 372. 36  Another exceptional mosaic that portrays a saint or a biblical figure on the floor of a building from a Christian context, though not a church, is the depiction of a martyr in the arena (or possibly Daniel in the lions’ den) discovered in a private mausoleum at Borg El Youdi in Tunisia. The mosaic is now in the Bardo, Tunis; Mohamed Yacoub, Le Musée du Bardo (Tunis: Agence Nationale du Patrimoine, 1996), 44, no. A 253, fig. 37. On the identity of the figure, see Robin M. Jensen, “Nudity in Early Christian Art,” in Text, Image, and Christians in a GrecoRoman World: A Festschrift in Honor of David Lee Balch, ed. Cissé Niang and Carolyn Osiek (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2012), 314–15. 37  John Wesley Etheridge, The Targums of Onkelos and Jonathan ben Uzziel on the Pentateuch (London, Longman, 1862), 230; Talgam, Mosaics of Faith, 409. 38 Talgam, Mosaics of Faith, 260–61, figs. 333–37.

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Galilee we discover the visit of the angels to Abraham and Sarah and the Binding of Isaac.39 The fifth-century floor of the synagogue at Huquq, also in Galilee, has preserved depictions of Samson and the foxes and Samson lifting the gates of Gaza, together with Noah’s ark and the crossing of the Red Sea.40 Scenes from the life of Samson were also portrayed on the fifth-century floor of a building at Misis Mopsuestia in Cilicia, which was probably a synagogue rather than a church, even if its identification is debated. In addition, the pavement at Misis Mopsuestia portrayed the ark of Noah surrounded by animals.41 This subject also occurs in the pavement of a synagogue at Gerasa, which dates to the end of the fifth century.42 In a synagogue at Meroth there is a panel dating to the second third of the fifth century that depicts David as a young man sitting among assorted weapons.43 From the early sixth-century floor of a synagogue in Gaza comes an Orpheus-like portrait of David calming the animals with his lyre; an inscription dates this to the years 508/9.44 The Binding of Isaac appears again in the sixth-century floor of the synagogue of Beth Alpha,45 while in the same century at Na᾽aran we find a portrayal of Daniel in the lions’ den. Here the prophet stands between the beasts with his hands outspread in the orant posture as if he were a Christian saint.46

Reverence and Blasphemy of Pagan and Imperial Images It is now time to turn to the rationale that lay behind the conventions: can we explain why pagan gods were allowable on floors, both by pagans and, on occasion, by Christians, whereas biblical figures were disallowed by Christians, but not by Jews? Even while pagan deities regularly appeared on floors during the Roman period, there was one god who never did, namely the emperor.47 In the Roman world, as in the Hellenistic period, there was a concept of the blasphemy of images of pagan gods; both pagans and Christians accused each other of it.48 But to 39 Talgam,

Mosaics of Faith, 281–85, figs. 352–53. Mosaics of Faith, 261–64; Ann R. Williams, “Biblical Scenes Uncovered in Ruins of Ancient Synagogue,” National Geographic, published 5 July 2016, https://news. nationalgeographic.com/2016/07/mosaic-synagogue-huqoq-israel-magness-archaeology/. 41 Talgam, Mosaics of Faith, 204, 321, 482 n. 192, fig. 397. 42 Talgam, Mosaics of Faith, 319–22, figs. 394–96. 43 Talgam, Mosaics of Faith, 161–62, 323–25, fig. 402. 44 Talgam, Mosaics of Faith, 322–23, figs. 398–99. 45 Talgam, Mosaics of Faith, 296–98, fig. 361. 46 Talgam, Mosaics of Faith, 304–8, figs. 376–77. 47  It has been claimed that the emperors Maximian and Maxentius are portrayed on the Great Hunt mosaic at Piazza Armerina, but it is more likely that they are high officials directing the hunt; see Dunbabin, Mosaics, 138 n. 19. 48  Christians accused of blaspheming pagan images: Origen, Cels. 8.38; ed. Paul Koetschau, 40 Talgam,



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insult an image of a pagan god was not as serious a matter as to insult the effigy of an emperor. It is in the case of blasphemy against the emperor’s images that we find the most stringent laws and punishments. A story from the Life of Apollonius of Tyana by the third-century writer Philostratus describes a lynch mob in Aspendos attacking the governor, even though he was clinging to statues of Tiberius. At that time, says Apollonius, the emperor’s statues were even more dreaded and inviolable than the statue of Zeus at Olympia (Philostratus, Vit. Apoll 1.15 [Conybeare, LCL]). Passages in Suetonius, Tacitus, and Seneca describe legislation and prosecution concerning lèse-majesté during the reign of Tiberius. According to Suetonius, it became an offence punishable by death to strike a slave or to change one’s clothes near a statue of the emperor Augustus. It also was a capital offense to carry a ring or a coin engraved or struck with the emperor’s image into a latrine or a brothel (Suetonius, Tib. 58). Seneca records that a senator named Paulus narrowly avoided getting into trouble while at a dinner party, because he reached for a chamber pot while wearing a ring with a conspicuous cameo portraying Tiberius (Seneca, Ben. 3.26.1–2).49 Tacitus relates that Granius Marcellus, proconsul of Bithynia, was charged with maiestas, or treason, because he had placed his own statue above those of the caesars, and, furthermore, had put the head of Tiberius on an older statue of Augustus, which he had decapitated (Tacitus, Ann. 1.74). Some of these tales were evidently exaggerations, but they spoke to underlying anxieties. Even to refuse to worship an emperor’s statue could be a cause for penalties. A well-known letter of Pliny to Trajan says that it would be impossible to force Christians into offering religious rites to the emperor’s statue. He therefore required accused and lapsed Christians who wished to escape punishment to offer wine and incense before statues of the emperor, in order to demonstrate that they were not currently adhering to the Christian cult (Pliny, Ep. 10.96). After the time of Constantine, the custom that the emperor’s image be worshipped was dropped, but it still demanded honor and respect, and the punishments for insulting imperial portraits became, if anything, more drastic than before. A series of imperial responses and edicts made it clear that the imperial image, even if it was not to receive a cult, was nevertheless to be treated with deference.50 For example, an edict of the emperor Theodosius II and of the caesar Valentinian, issued in 425, stated: Whenever any statues are erected, or pictures are publicly placed in Our honor, whether this is done on festival days (as is customary), or on ordinary days, a judge shall be there, Origenes Werke, vol. 2 (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1899), 253. Pagans accused of not respecting their own images: Arnobius, Adversus gentes 6.21–22; ed. Concetto Marchesi, Arnobii Adversus nationes, libri VII (Turin: Paravia, 1953), 334–36. See John Granger Cook, Roman Attitudes toward the Christians (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 193. 49 Seneca, De beneficiis, 3.26.1–2. 50 Jones, Between Pagan and Christian, 18, 109.

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without, however, permitting the inappropriate ceremony of adoration; so that by his presence he may honor the date and the place consecrated to our memory.51

The decrees of church councils also spoke of the honor due to the emperor’s image. Thus the Council of Constantinople, held in 553, spoke of “doing reverence before” the image of the emperor.52 In its definition of the nature of icons, the second Council of Nicaea, convened in 787, decreed as follows: When the population rushes with candles and incense to meet the garlanded images and icons of the emperor, it does not do so to honor panels painted with wax colors, but to honor the emperor himself.53

In the late antique period the penalties for dishonoring the emperor’s image were potentially severe. The most vivid illustrations of the dangers of insulting imperial statues at this time come from the speeches of Libanius and describe incidents in Antioch and Edessa. In his nineteenth oration the orator begs Theodosius I to show clemency on his native city Antioch, after rioters there, objecting to an increase in taxes, had thrown down statues of the emperor and his family, even going so far as to drag their effigies through the streets and smash them into pieces. As part of his plea, Libanius cites the precedent of a previous disturbance at Edessa, where the disgruntled citizens cast down a bronze statue of Constantius, turned it face down, and thrashed its back side, as if it were a naughty school boy. Libanius adds that as they inflicted this chastisement, the Edessenes claimed that “anyone visited with such a whipping was far removed from imperial dignity” (Libanius, Or. 19.48 [Norman, LCL]). The orator goes on to praise Constantius for his mild reaction to this insult, for that emperor did not seek any sanctions against the city. This, says Libanius, is precisely the way that the emperor Theodosius should behave in the case of the defamation of his own statues at Antioch. In the twentieth oration, Libanius thanks the emperor for his relatively mild reaction to the desecration of his statues. He says that Theodosius at first had stripped the city of her metropolitan title, sentenced its leading citizens to death, and imposed sanctions on the city, including the closing of the hippodrome, the theatre, and the baths. But, at the last moment, in an act of mercy, these penalties were rescinded (Libanius, Or. 20).54 The emperor’s clemency, adds Libanius, was 51  Cod. Iust. 1.24.2; trans. Samuel P. Scott, The Civil Law, vol. 12 (Cincinnati: Central Trust Company, 1932), 24.2. 52  Concilium Constantinopolitanum II, 12; ed. Norman P. Tanner, Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, vol. 1 (Washington, D. C.: Georgetown University, 1990), 119. 53  Joannes Mansi, Sacrorum conciliorum nova et amplissima collectio, vol. 12 (Florence and Venice, Antonio Zatta, 1766), 1014. See Hans Belting, Likeness and Presence: A  History of the Image before the Era of Art (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994), 102–3. 54  On this episode, see Dorothea R. French, “Rhetoric and the Rebellion of A. D. 387 in Antioch,” Historia 47 (1998): 468–84; Maud W. Gleason, “Festive Satire: Julian’s Misopogon and the New Year at Antioch,” JRS 76 (1986): 106–19, esp. 114.



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all the more remarkable given the severity of the offence. He said that once the emperor Constantine had been the victim of catcalls and abuse from the population of Rome, but Constantine made no move to punish the perpetrators. Now Theodosius, however, has shown an even greater forbearance, because to physically insult the statues of an emperor is a much worse crime than mere verbal insults (Libanius, Or. 19.19; 20.24). To desecrate the image of the emperor, therefore, was a serious matter, more serious than to blaspheme the image of a pagan deity. It is no wonder that we do not find emperors portrayed on floors.

Conclusion The foregoing pages have shown that Cyprus preserves a rich series of late antique floor mosaics depicting pagan deities, dating from the second to the fifth centuries. But floors in the early Christian churches of Cyprus never portray Christ or biblical figures, even though they sometimes show Christian symbols, such as the vine. The absence of Christian figures from the pavements of Cyprus was probably not due to a blanket avoidance of Christian portraits, because such images do appear on the walls and vaults of Christian churches on the island, at least from the sixth century onwards. In the wider late antique world outside of Cyprus we encounter the same phenomenon of pagan deities appearing on floors even while Christian portraits, with rare exceptions, were excluded from pavements but accepted on the upper parts of buildings. Contemporary synagogues, on the other hand, preserve a wide variety of biblical figures on their floors. The emperor was another figure who was never portrayed on pavements, because of the deference that was due to his person, and the severity of the punishments for desecrating his effigies. What, then, is the significance of the distribution of pagan, Christian, and imperial portrait images on pavements, walls, and vaults respectively? In answer to this question we can look briefly at two contemporary debates concerning late antique art, considering what light floor mosaics can throw on these questions. The first of the debates concerns the relationship of Christian to imperial art. Recently, there have been two major, even emblematic, publications concerned with this problem. First, Thomas Mathews in his book The Clash of Gods, first published in 1993, attacked the notion of a connection between early Christian and Roman imperial art. In framing his arguments, Mathews concentrated primarily on the supposed transfer of iconographic motives and compositions, which he vehemently denied. He wrote in the epilogue to the revised edition of his book: The art historians who in the 1930s proposed to interpret the imagery of Early Christian art as an adaptation of imperial motives and compositions attached an excessive value to

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the forms and trappings of imperial rule. Christ, they imagined, must have been assimilated into the person and role of the emperor in order to acquire the dignity and majesty that were his due.55

On the other hand, Hans Belting, in his book Bild und Kult, first published in 1990, saw a strong link between early Christian and imperial art, but primarily in terms of cult, rather than iconography. He wrote: “It is inconceivable … that an icon of God, once introduced, would have been denied the ritual of cult already in use by the imperial icon.”56 From our survey of the evidence provided by floor mosaics, one important conclusion emerges: the status of Christian images shared some important features with that of imperial images, and this status differed from that of images of pagan gods. It was the church father St. Basil the Great who provided the most succinct characterization of the relationship between the imperial and the Christian image. Basil used the relationship of the emperors with their portraits as a mirror of the relationship between God the Father and God the Son. He said that just as the emperor’s image shares glory and power with the emperor himself, so there is one glory shared by Father and Son. He then adds the corollary that the honor that we address to the image is also transmitted to its model.57 Given this close relationship between the images of the emperor and of Christ, it is logical that neither Christian nor imperial images could be desecrated by being placed underfoot. The absence of imperial and Christian figures on floors is an observable fact, not mediated by the biases and revisions of texts, but seen in the many surviving floors from late antiquity. The evidence of floor mosaics does not necessarily argue for an identification of Christ with the emperor, but only shows that the images of Christ had a special sanctity that was shared with images of the emperor, and also that this kind of sanctity existed for imperial portraits before it was accorded to portraits of Christ. The second contemporary debate that is illuminated by the floor mosaics concerns the interpretation of mythological subjects in late antique art – were they cultic in addition to their other functions? Here we can return to the mythological mosaics in the House of Aion at Paphos. Are we, in interpreting this pavement, to follow Daszweski and Bowersock and read them as images of salvation through Dionysos, that is, as illustrative of a deeply philosophical paganism? Or should we follow the skeptical views recently expressed by Alan Cameron, who sees the fifth-century Dionysiaca by Nonnus not as a promotion of Dionysos as a savior god, a rival of Christ, but more simply as a celebration of wine? Cam55  Thomas F. Mathews, The Clash of Gods: A Reinterpretation of Early Christian Art, rev. and enl. ed. (Princeton: Princeton, 1999), 191. 56  Hans Belting, Bild und Kult – eine Geschichte des Bildes vor dem Zeitalter der Kunst (Munich: C. H. Beck, 1990). The quotation is taken from the English translation, Likeness and Presence, 113. 57  De Spiritu Sancto, 17 (PG 32:149); translation in Mango, Art of the Byzantine Empire, 47.



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eron writes: “There are countless references in the Dionysiaca to pagan cults, rites, temples, altars, sacrifices, and statues, but all are literary and antiquarian rather than specific and devotional.”58 As a corollary, Cameron further states that “Dionsysiac scenes in traditional domestic contexts like silver plate and textiles are best read as decorative rather than devotional.”59 An examination of the wider context of floor mosaics can lead us to a middle way of reading the images at the House of Aion. First, we need to consider what motifs the Christians were prepared to allow on their own floors, if they did not permit biblical figures. The designs that did appear in church pavements were primarily geometric patterns and interlaces, plants, animals and nature personifications evocative of God’s creation, and also symbolic motifs evoking Christian ideas. The latter included the symbolic vine that we saw earlier in the church at Paphos Chrysopolitissa (fig. 3, p. 282). The sign of the cross also frequently appeared on floors. Since, in 427, an edict of Theodosius II specifically prohibited anyone from placing the “sign of Christ” on the pavement, the relative frequency of its appearance on the floors of churches deserves some comment. The decree stipulates explicitly that: No one shall be permitted to carve or to paint the sign (signum) of Christ the Savior upon the floor or the pavement or on marble slabs placed on the ground; on the contrary, any such that are found shall be removed, and whoever attempts to contravene our statutes shall be punished by the greatest penalty.60

Furthermore, the prohibition against crosses on the floor, lest they be trodden underfoot, was reiterated in 692 by the Quinisext council.61 Nevertheless, the Theodosian edict was not obeyed. Sometimes the crosses in pavements took a disguised form, perhaps in deference to the law, as we found in the case of the Solomon’s knot in the diakonikon of the church at Kourion. Outside of Cyprus we also find hidden crosses, for example in the sixth-century Striding Lion mosaic from Antioch, where they appear in the border merged with the petals of flowers (fig. 8, p. 287).62 But in many cases, in spite of the edict, crosses were placed on the floors of churches openly and without disguise, as we have seen also in the mosaics of the diakonikon at Kourion, where they were reiterated in the geometrical frames of the pavements. In another Cypriot church, the early seventh-century basilica at Katalymata ton Plakoton, a prominent cross marks the threshold of the sanctuary platform.63 This goes to show that texts such as edicts often give an 58 

Alan Cameron, The Last Pagans of Rome (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 701. The Last Pagans of Rome, 701. 60  Cod. Iust 1.8; translation by Mango, The Art of the Byzantine Empire, 36. 61 Mansi, Sacrorum conciliorum 11:976. 62  Doro Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1947), 321, plate 74. 63  Eleni Procopiou, “The Katalymata ton Plakoton: New Light from the Recent Archaeolog59 Cameron,

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unreliable picture of the reality that is revealed by archaeology. It is on the humble floors that we see what people really felt about placing the signs of Christ on pavements – they were prepared to have the crosses there, even if they were illegal.64 It is probable that the repeated crosses on the pavements had a protective function. Their apotropaic force is confirmed by an early fifth-century mosaic in the so-called complex of Eustolios at Kourion (fig. 9, p. 288). The central field of this mosaic presents four large Maltese crosses marked by jewels at the ends of their arms; the crosses are somewhat disguised by being nested in a guilloche framed by poised squares. In front of this mosaic is a well-known inscription that spells out the function of the crosses in an earthquake-prone city; the crosses provided better protection for the building than firmly built masonry constructed of stones bonded together with metal cramps: Not by big stones, not by firm iron and tawny bronze, and not even by steel are these buildings girded, but by the much-invoked signs of Christ.65

The spelling out of Christ’s name at the end of this inscription shows that this too could appear on a floor. The name of Christ could be walked upon, but not his image.66 The signs of Christ and the letters of his name had a very different status from his portraits. Late Roman and early Byzantine coinage clearly demonstrates that the cross and the chi rho were accorded less honor than portraits of either Christ or the ruler. Thus, on the mid fourth-century coins of Magnentius, where for the first time the christogram appears on its own as an isolated motif occupying the whole of one side of the coin, the symbol is struck on the reverse above the mint mark, showing that it is accorded a lower status than the bust of the emperor on the obverse (figs. 10 and 11, p. 289).67 From this point on, until the reign of Justinian II in the late sixth century, the cross is always on the reverse and the emperor on the obverse of the coin. Only in the coinage of Justinian II, when for the first time Christ appears in human form on the coinage, does the emperor, holding the cross, occupy the reverse, again above the mint mark, while the bust of Christ fills the principal face of the coin on the obverse (figs. 12 and 13, p. 290).68 ical Research in Cyprus,” in Cyprus and the Balance of Empires: Art and Archaeology from Justinian I to the Coeur de Lion, ed. Charles A. Stewart, Thomas W. Davis, and Annemarie Weyl Carr (Boston: ASOR, 2014), 69–98, fig. 6.19. A listing of crosses in floor mosaics of the Holy Land is provided by Talgam, Mosaics of Faith 475–77 n. 46. 64  On the lack of enforcement of imperial legislation, see Jones, Between Pagan and Christian, 24. 65 Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 41–42, plates 28, fig. 45 and 29, fig. 46. 66  Another example of Christ’s name spelled out in an inscription on a floor mosaic in Cyprus was found in the bema of the five-aisled building under the Basilica of Soloi; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 33, plate 15, fig. 34 (ΧΡΙCΤΕ ΒΟΗΘΕΙ ΤΩ ΨΗΦΩCΑΝΤΕΙ). 67  Dominique Hollard and Fernando López Sánchez, Le Chrisme et le Phénix: images monétaires et mutations idéologiques au IVe siècle (Bordeaux: de Boccard, 2014), 69–77, 83, figs. 1, 2. 68  Philip Grierson, Catalogue of the Byzantine Coins in the Dumbarton Oaks Collection and



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Since in the mosaics of Cyprus and elsewhere pagan gods and goddesses regularly appeared on floors, while portraits of Christ, his saints, and his prophets did not, the pagan images cannot be seen as cultic in the same sense as the Christian icons on walls and vaults, however much superficial resemblance there may be between their compositions. Rather we should compare the pagan figures on the pavement at the House of Aion to the Christian motifs that were allowed on floors, that is, to symbols such as the vine and to signs such as crosses. The mythological images should be interpreted as symbols or allegories of religious and philosophical ideas rather than as cult images. The Christian portrait images, on the other hand, embodied the subject more directly and completely. They were not mere allegories or symbols – or signs of the deity, like the cross. Because of the doctrine of the incarnation, Christ, as a human, was “present” in his image, in the same way that the emperor could be said to be “present” in his. Hence neither could be placed underfoot. The reverence due to Christ as a visible human being was akin to the reverence due to the emperor. The absence of Christian portrait images on pavements was inextricably linked with the veneration of icons: the more honor was accorded to images of Christ and the saints, the less thinkable was it to place them underfoot. The evidence of floor mosaics shows that as early as the fourth century there was a fundamental distinction between art with pagan subjects, on the one hand, and Christian art on the other. Portrayals of mythological deities functioned as decoration, as evocations of the good life, as indicators of cultural status, or as allegories. Christian portraits had an altogether different status; like the effigies of the emperor they were revered and could not be dishonored. As Epi­pha­nius was well aware, by his time in this respect they were already icons.

in the Whittemore Collection, vol. 2, Phocas to Theodosius III, 602–717, part 2, Heraclius Constantine to Theodosius III (641–717) (Washington, D. C.: Dumbarton Oaks, 1968), 569–70, plate 37.

Mosaic Workshops in Cyprus from the Fourth to the Seventh Centuries CE Two Parallel Lives?1 Demetrios Michaelides

Despite narratives portraying Cyprus’s early evangelization in the mid-first century by Saints Paul and Bar­nabas (Acts 11:19–20; 13:1–2), several centuries passed before Christianity was firmly established on the island. In fact, the first concrete reference to episcopal seats on the island, from which we can infer the appearance of recognized cult centers, comes as late as 325 CE.2 It was then that three Cypriot bishops, Cyril of Paphos, Gelasius of Salamis, and Spyridon of Tremithous, took part in the First Ecumenical Council of Nicaea convened by Constantine.3 The fact that Cyril of Paphos headed the delegation comes as no surprise: Paphos had been the official capital of Cyprus since at least the mid-second century BCE. During this long period, it had remained the island’s most important city, and was rivalled only by Salamis, which appears to have always vied for supremacy.4 The first half of the fourth century marked a turning point in the development of both cities and for Cyprus as a whole. On the one hand, the so-called Edict 1  For another article treating a similar subject and on similar lines but also containing some different information and examples, see Demetrios Michaelides, “Mosaic Decoration in Early Christian Cyprus,” in Church Building in Cyprus (Fourth to Seventh Centuries): A Mirror of Intercultural Contacts in the Eastern Mediterranean, Mainz, 9–11 June 2016, ed. Marietta Horster, Doria Nicolaou, and Sabine Roge, Schriften des Instituts für Interdiziplinäre Zypern-Studien 12 (Münster/New York: Waxmann 2018), 213–44. 2  For the meagre early archaeological evidence of Christianity in Cyprus, see Demetrios Michaelides, “Archeologia paleocristiana a Cipro,” in XLIV Corso di Cultura sull’Arte Ravennate e Bizantina: “Le grandi isole del Mediterraneo orientale tra tarda antichità e medioevo,” Ravenna, 19–21 settembre 1998, in memoria di Luciano Laurenzi, ed. Raffaella Farioli Campanati (Ravenna: Edizioni del Girasole, 2001), 179–239; Athanasios Papageorghiou and Andreas Foulias, “L’architecture tombale à Chypre (du Ier au Xe siècle),” Cahiers du Centre d’Études Chypriotes 43 (2013): 202–206. 3  On the Cypriot representation at Nicaea, see Andreas Mitsides, “Η Εκκλησία της Κύπρου από τον δεύτερο μέχρι τον πέμπτο αιώνα,” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου. Τόμος Γ', Βυζαντινή Κύπρος, ed. Theodoros Papadopoulos (Nicosia: Makarios III Foundation, 2005), 109 and n. 8 with bibliography. 4  See, for example, Terrence Bruce Mitford, “Roman Cyprus,” in ANRW 2.7.2, 1312. See also the discussion by Stephanos Efthymiadis in this volume.

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of Milan of 313 CE gave a firm footing to the new religion; on the other, the de­ vastating earthquakes of the first half of the fourth century ruined the large cities of the island. In the rebuilding that followed, new geo-political factors led Emperor Constantius II (337–361) to give priority to Salamis, which was rebuilt and renamed Constantia as the island’s new capital.5 Paphos was also rebuilt and, despite its political demotion, continued to thrive and prosper in parallel with the new capital. It would appear that the first basilicas were constructed on the island during the period of rebuilding that followed the earthquakes – the most splendid ones, naturally, in Paphos and Salamis.6 For their embellishment, traditional means of decoration were employed, namely wall paintings and mosaics for the walls, and mosaics for the floors. Opus sectile decoration, something for which the later basilicas of the island are renowned, was not to appear for some time. The present chapter discusses the mosaic floors which survive in numbers large enough to allow an understanding of the cultural and artistic environment of the island during this period. We know very little about the Roman mosaics of Salamis. Only a handful were recorded before the Turkish invasion and occupation of the northern part of the island in 1974, after which no official excavations have been conducted.7 Fortunately, Paphos, with its splendid floors, decorating many wealthy residences,8 more than compensates for the paucity of Salamis. Cypriot mosaic production reached a high peak during the Severan period, in the late second and early third century CE, and the emergence of different mosaic workshops is already detectable. Also clear at this early stage are the close similarities that exist between the products of the Cypriot workshops and those 5  On the complex issue of the date and the renaming of Salamis, see Noel Lenski, Constantine and the Cities: Imperial Authority and Civic Politics (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2016), 158–159. 6  E. g., the basilica known as the Chrysopolitissa (or Agia Kyriake) in Paphos, and that of Saint Epiphanios in Salamis. See infra. 7  Demetrios Michaelides, “A New Orpheus Mosaic in Cyprus,” in Acts of the International Colloquium “Cyprus between the Orient and the Occident,” Nicosia, 8–14 September 1985, ed. Vassos Karageorghis (Nicosia: Department of Antiquities, 1986), 473–74. For the wall mosaics of the baths of the gymnasium, see Stefano Tortorella, “Hinc aquila ferebat caelo sublimis idaeum (Petr. Sat. 83,3): Il mito di Ganimede in un emblema da Privernum e in altri mosaici romani,” Musiva et Sectilia 1 (2004): 44, 54–55, with bibliography; Luisa Musso, “The Northern Face of Cyprus: The Mosaics and their Relation to Eastern Mediterranean Production,” in The Northern Face of Cyprus: New Studies in Cypriot Archaeology and Art History, ed. Larife Summerer and Hazar Kaba (Istanbul: Ege Yayınları, 2016), 81–85; and more recently Pelli Mastora, Επεμβάσεις στα εντοίχια ψηφιδωτά κατά τη βυζαντινή περίοδο (PhD thesis, Open University of Cyprus, Nicosia, 2017), 341–50, and esp. 343 n. 3 and 346 n. 21, for the deterioration of their condition since the 1974 occupation of the northern part of the island. 8  See, among others, Wiktor A. Daszewski, “Figural Mosaics from Paphos: Subjects, Style and Significance,” in Wiktor A. Daszewski and Demetrios Michaelides, Mosaic Floors in Cyprus (Ravenna: Lapucci-Edizioni del Girasole, 1988), 13–77; Demetrios Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 2nd rev. ed. (Nicosia: Department of Antiquities, 1992), 12–22, 24–25, 28–31; Christine Kondoleon, Domestic and Divine: Roman Mosaics in the House of Dionysos (Ithaca/London: Cornell University Press, 1995).



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of the Syro-Palestinian coast, and Antioch in particular – something not surprising, given the geographic location of the island. In fact, Antioch and its region continued to be the major source of influence on the mosaics of the succeeding, Christian era, during which political and religious reasons kept Cyprus and Antioch in close relationship, whether friendly or hostile.9 The analysis of a number of geometric patterns – such as the very characteristic simple latch-key meander and the running peltae10 – has led to the identification of the main Paphos workshop.11 These motifs are widely used throughout the Roman world, but the examples from a number of buildings in Paphos are well-nigh identical in composition, color combinations, and even the materials used, to such an extent that in some cases it is difficult to tell them apart. As for the similarities of the Paphos mosaics with those of Antioch and the East Mediterranean coast, these are evident in terms of iconography, composition and decorative repertory.12 The following few examples suffice, I believe, to illustrate this. The Narcissus from the House of Dionysos in Paphos follows the same iconographic model as the Narcissus from the homonymous house in Antioch.13 The panel of animals walking randomly in different directions in empty space, in the House of the Four Seasons in Paphos, finds a similar compositional model in the bird panel from the House of the Red Pavement in Antioch.14 It is, however, the geometric repertory that betrays the closest affinities, one example being the rather infrequently-used frame of three-dimensional solids.15 This is an architectural motif which, of course, does not make much sense on a flat floor, but was popular all the same with the eastern workshops. Of a number of examples, I mention the frame of the panel of the Four Seasons in the House 9  George F. Hill, A History of Cyprus, Vol. 1: To the Conquest by Richard Lion Heart (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1940), 273–79; Andreas Mitsides, “Η Εκκλησία της Κύπρου,” and “Το αυτοκέφαλον της Εκκλησίας της Κύπρου,” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου. Τόμος Γ', Βυζαντινή Κύπρος, ed. Theodoros Papadopoulos (Nicosia: Makarios III Foundation, 2005), 129–54 (esp. 123–27) and 129–38 respectively, with bibliography. 10  Close variants of Catherine Balmelle et al., Le décor géométrique de la mosaïque romaine: Répertoire graphique et descriptif des compositions linéaires et isotropes (Paris: Picard, 1985), plate 188c and plate 222f, respectively. 11  Demetrios Michaelides, “New Mosaics from Paphos,” in La mosaïque gréco-romaine VII, Tunis, 2–8 Octobre 1994, ed. Mongi Ennaifer and Alain Rebourg (Tunis: Institut National du Patrimoine, 1999), 88. 12  See Demetrios Michaelides, “Cypriot Mosaics: Local Traditions and External Influences,” in Early Society in Cyprus, ed. Edgar Peltenburg (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1989), 272–92. 13 Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 33, no. 14 and Doro Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1947), II, plate X, respectively. 14  Michaelides, “New Mosaics from Paphos,” plate XXI and Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements II, plate CLXXVIIIa; a better photograph is available in Fatih Cimok, Antioch Mosaics (Istanbul: A Turizm Yayınları, 2000), 86–87. 15  Balmelle et al., Le décor géométrique, plate 99f: “Row of tangent cuboids.”

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of Dionysos in Paphos, and those of several panels in the House of the Red Pavement in Antioch.16 The fourth century marks a second high point in Cypriot mosaic production, with the House of Aion in Paphos exhibiting the best hitherto known examples (fig. 1, p. 291).17 The panels in the House of Aion, of exquisite quality and richness of composition, carry on the Greco-Roman mythological tradition, betraying once again the strong ties that exist between Cyprus and the Syrian workshops – especially in the choice of a theme like Cassiopeia and the Judgement of the Nereids in its center. This is a theme known, so far, from only three representations from the entire ancient world – all three mosaic pavements from the eastern Mediterranean: the one from Paphos, and two from Syria, in Apamaea and Palmyra.18 A coin of emperor Licinius (308–324) found embedded in the mortar gives a good terminus post quem for the laying of the mosaic of the House of Aion. This means that the floor was made and used soon after the Edict of Milan (313) and at a time that Christianity and other religions co-existed on the island. According to its excavator, Wiktor A. Daszewski, the pavement is imbued with a theological message promoting Dionysos as a monotheistic god challenging Christianity. According to Daszewski, this occurred in a general climate during which the emperor Julian the Apostate tried to reintroduce pagan cults in what was by then a Christian Empire.19 Daszewski’s interpretation is much debated, as the scholarly literature demonstrates.20 Most interpretations see the mosaic as the product of 16 Michaelides,

Cypriot Mosaics, 24–25, no. 8; Cimok, Antioch Mosaics, 70–84, respectively. Wiktor A. Daszewski, Dionysos der Erlöser: griechische Mythen im spätantiken Cypern (Mainz: Zabern, 1985); Daszewski, “Figural Mosaics from Paphos,” 56–70; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 54–63, nos. 27–31. 18 Henri Stern, Les mosaïques des maisons d’Achille et de Cassiopée à Palmyre (Paris: P. Geuthner, 1977) and Janine Balty, Mosaïques antiques de Syrie (Brussels: Centre belge de recherches archéologiques à Apamée de Syrie, 1977), 82–87, respectively. For a discussion of the myth of Cassiopeia and its Syrian connections, see Jean Charles Balty, “Une version orientale méconnue du mythe de Cassiopée,” in Mythologie gréco-romaine. Mythologies périphériques, Études d’iconographie, ed. Lilly Kahil and Christian Augé (Paris: Éditions du Centre national de la recherche scientifique, 1981) and Wiktor A. Daszewski, “Cassiopeia in Paphos, a Levantine Going West,” in Acts of the International Colloquium “Cyprus between the Orient and the Occident,” Nicosia, 8–14 September 1985, ed. Vassos Karageorghis (Nicosia: Department of Antiquities, 1986), 454–71. 19 Daszewski, Dionysos der Erlöser, 38–45. 20  As well as the works already cited, see also Johannes G. Deckers, “Dionysos der Erlöser? Bemerkungen zur Deutung der Bodenmosaiken in ‘Haus des Aion’ in Nea-Paphos auf Cypern durch W. A. Daszewski,” RQ 81 (1986): 145–172; Glen W. Bowersock, Hellenism in Late Anti­quity (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 1990), 49–53; Janine Balty, Mosaïques antiques du ProcheOrient: chronologie, iconographie, interprétation (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1995), 275–89; MarieHenriette Quet, “La mosaïque dite d’Aiôn et les Chronoi d’Antioche,” in La “crise” de l’Empire romain de Marc Aurèle à Constantin: Mutations, continuités, ruptures, ed. Marie-Henriette Quet (Paris: Presses de l’ Université Paris-Sorbonne, 2006), 511–90; Elizabeth Kessler-Dimin, “Tradition and Transition: Hermes Kourotrophos in Nea Paphos,” in Antiquity in Antiquity: Jewish 17 



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an era of polemics between pagans and Christians. It can thus be taken as evidence that Christianity had by then taken root on the island. Whatever the intended message behind the representations in the House of Aion mosaics, there is no doubt that the old traditions were still alive and well on the island after 313, even if now understood and treated in a different way. One example of this is the Theseus mosaic in the homonymous villa in Paphos. This was made in the third century in the full Greco-Roman tradition, but was badly damaged during the fourth-century earthquakes – and, Christianity notwithstanding, it was carefully and lovingly restored in a spirit not commonly found in ancient times.21 The restoration primarily involved the faces of Theseus and Crete, which were entirely remade. Naturally, despite the care taken, the stylistic development in the time that elapsed between the laying of the original mosaic and the repair could not be masked. This is most evident when one compares the gentle colors and shading of the faces of the Labyrinth and Ariadne of the original composition, who with their gaze partake in the violent actions being depicted, with the highly contrasting areas of color and the strongly outlined features of Theseus and Crete, which were remade in the fourth century. Despite their wide, staring eyes, Theseus and Crete somehow remain uninvolved with what is going on around them, and reflect a shift toward what would eventually become Byzantine art. Other mosaics made ex novo in the fourth century, like the poorly preserved Neptune and Amphitrite decorating a bedroom in the same villa,22 demonstrate that the high artistry of the Theseus panel was not an isolated phenomenon in the city. A  fragment from Lambousa23 and the mosaics at Akaki, recently excavated by Fryni Hadjichristophi for the Department of Antiquities, show that such high-quality floors were not the sole privilege of fourth-century Paphos.24 and Christian Pasts in the Greco-Roman World, ed. Gregg Gardner and Kevin L. Osterloh (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 255–81; Marek Olzewski, “The Iconographic Programme of the Cyprus Mosaic from the House of Aion Reinterpreted as an Anti-Christian Polemic,” in Et in Arcadia ego: Studia memoriae professoris Thomae Mikocki dicata, ed. Witold Dobrowolski (Warsaw: University of Warsaw, 2013), 207–38, all with extensive bibliography. Also, most recently, John Ladouceur, “Christians and Pagans in Roman Nea Paphos: Contextualizing the ‘House of Aion’ Mosaic”, UCLA Historical Journal, 29/1 (2018): 49–64. https://escholarship.org/uc/item/ 4hb1v94d. Brief but useful summaries of the various interpretations are provided by KesslerDimin “Traditions and Transitions,” 259–60, and Olszewski, “The Iconographic Programme of the Cyprus Mosaic,” 209–10. 21  Wiktor A. Daszewski, La mosaïque de Thésée (Warsaw: Éditions Scientifiques de Pologne, 1977), 14–16. 22  Daszewski, “Figural Mosaics from Paphos,” 1988, 70–72; Wiktor A. Daszewski and Demetrios Michaelides, Guide to the Paphos Mosaics (Nicosia: Bank of the Cyprus Cultural Foundation, 1988), 60; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 73, no. 39. 23 Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 64, no. 32. 24  Unpublished but there are many reports in the daily press and on the internet. See, for example: “Akaki-Piadhia,” Republic of Cyprus Department of Antiquities, accessed 24 April 2019, http://www.mcw.gov.cy/mcw/da/da.nsf/All/0301DD3B26AA989AC2257EBB00447C40? OpenDocument; “Cyprus Reveals Rare Roman Horse Race Mosaic in Akaki,” BBC News,

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The first large basilicas began to be erected at about this time. One of the most splendid is the Chrysopolitissa in Paphos, which preserves part of its fourth-century decoration in the space in front of the bema (fig. 2, p. 292). This, of course, is aniconic, in concordance with an early manifestation of iconophobia.25 What is surprising, however, is how the geometric repertory is suddenly so different. The motifs themselves are the same as they were before, but the preference is for relatively simple patterns created with large motifs and a very limited gamut of colors. The vine, though rather plainly rendered, understandably plays an important role. However, only a christogram and a handful of schematically rendered vessels and a ripidion (fan) relieve the geometric decoration.26 The question that immediately springs to mind is: Who were the makers of these floors? Did the old workshops adapt their style and repertory to satisfy their new patrons? Or did new workshops spring up in order to meet the new demand in the market? I believe that this change in the geometric décor and the general appearance of these floors is not due to the hand of newly formed workshops. Rather, established workshops were affected by the strictures of the new religious norms, such as the banning of the representation of the human figure and, later, the prohibition of the use of the Cross and other Christian symbols on floors by an edict of Theodosius II of 427.27 After all, one has to understand that the role of these floors was now different. In the past, they decorated wealthy private residences, and their role was at once decorative and an exhibition of wealth and sophistication. Now they were decorating the house of God, which sought to welcome and at the same time instruct the public. A similarly plain mosaic including the christogram is found in the basilica of Agios Herakleidios at Politiko,28 but the known Cypriot mosaics from this period are too few to allow us to establish whether this was the norm, and their simplicity was conditioned by contemporary thinking, like, for example, Saint Epi­pha­nius’s invective against images. What is certain is that the pavements of basilicas, although always expublished 26 June 2017, http://www.bbc.com/news/av/world-europe-40402816/cyprus-re​vea​lsrare-roman-horse-race-mosaic-in-akaki; and “Mosaic Unveiled in Akaki Village,” SigmaLive, published 8 September 2016, http://www.sigmalive.com/en/news/local/147694/mosaic-un​ veiled-in-akaki-village. 25  Demetrios Michaelides, “Mosaic Pavements from Early Christian Cult Buildings,” in Daszewski and Michaelides, Mosaic Floors in Cyprus, 99–100, figs. 12, 13, 18, 19; Demetrios Michaelides, “The Early Christian Mosaics of Cyprus,” BA 52 (1989): 192–93; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 68. 26  For the ripidion, see Demetrios Michaelides, “Mosaic Decoration in Early Christian Cyprus,” 223–24. 27  Although this was not applied with the same fervor everywhere. On the prohibition, see Cyril Mango, The Art of the Byzantine Empire 312–1453: Sources and Documents (Toronto/Buf­ falo/London: University of Toronto Press, 1986), 36. 28  Michaelides, “Mosaic Pavements from Early Christian Cult Buildings,” 86, 103, fig. 22; Eleftherios N. Charalambous, Τεχνολογία κατασκευής των επιδαπέδιων ψηφιδωτών της Κύπρου (Nicosia: Αριστοτέλειο Πανεπιστήμιο Θεσσαλονίκης, Πολυτεχνική Σχολή, 2012), 404, fig. 136.



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cluding the human figure appear increasingly more exuberant in the course of the fifth and sixth centuries.29 The floor of the adjacent nave in the Chrysopolitissa could hardly be more different. The excavator, Athanasios Papageorghiou, provisionally dated this mosaic to the late fourth century.30 While this dating previously seemed plausible to me, since I interpreted the very different decorative repertory and appearance to the hand of a different workshop,31 I  now have serious qualms about it. The mosaics do not fit with the simplicity of form and constraint of color that characterize the known mosaics of the late fourth century. Furthermore, although the mosaics do not depict the human figure, the three surviving panels are not truly aniconic. They illustrate Christian allegories with the use of simple depictions accompanied by inscriptions, and two of them include animals. A  deer drinking water at a spring illustrates Ps 42:1 (41:2 LXX): [ΟΝ ΤΡΟΠΟΝ ΕΠIΠ]ΟΘ[Ε]I [Η Ε]Λ[ΑΦΟΣ ΕΠI ΤΑΣ ΠΗΓΑΣ ΤΩΝ ΥΔ]ΑΤΩ[Ν ΟΥΤΩΣ ΕΠ]ỊΠ̣ Ο̣Θ̣Ε̣I Η̣ Ψ̣ Υ̣ΧΗ ΜΟ[Υ, ΠΡΟΣ ΣΕ (Ο ΘΕΟΣ)] (“Just as a doe longs for the springs of water so my soul longs for you [O God],” NETS). The first verse of the gospel of John 15: ΕΓΩ ΕΙΜΙ Η ΑΜΠΕΛΟΣ Η ΑΛΗΘΙΝΗ (“I am the true vine”) crowns a vine laden with bunches of grapes. A beautifully rendered krater is accompanied by the inscription: Η ΣΟΦΙΑ ΕΚΕΡΑΣΕΝ ΤΟΝ ΑΙΑΥΤΗΣ ΚΡΑΤΗΡΑ, a variation of “Wisdom has mixed her wine” from Prov 9:2 (fig. 3, p. 292). What little can be gleaned from the rendering of animals and plants here, even though significantly more stylized, does not differ greatly from contemporary figural mosaics in non-ecclesiastical buildings.32 What is totally different for a basilica is the geometric decoration where the intricate patterns and their rich coloring, rendered in the “rainbow style,” are anything but plain and simple. It is this décor that now prompts me to attribute these mosaics to the early fifth century.33 The term “rainbow style” was used by Doro Levi in his 1947, epoch-making publication of the mosaics of Antioch, in order to describe decoration in which the breaking down of geometric patterns in rows of different colors or shades of the same color, is reminiscent of the color gradations

29 

See also Michaelides, “Mosaic Decoration in Early Christian Cyprus,” 222, 236–37. Papageorghiou’s dating is mentioned in Vassos Karageorghis, “Chronique des fouilles et découvertes archéologiques à Chypre en 1976,” BCH 101 (1977): 776–79, fig. 114. 31  Michaelides, “Mosaic Pavements from Early Christian Cult Buildings,” 92–93; Michaelides, “The Early Christian Mosaics of Cyprus,” 193–95; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 68–71. 32  See also Henry Maguire, Nature in the Byzantine art of Cyprus. 24th Annual Lecture in Memory of Constantinos Leventis, 17 November 2015 (Nicosia: Foundation Anastasios G. Leventis, 2016), 10–11. 33  Charalambos Chotzakoglou, “Βυζαντινή αρχιτεκτονική και τέχνη στην Κύπρο,” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου. Τόμος Γ', Βυζαντινή Κύπρος, ed. Theodoros Papadopoulos (Nicosia: Makarios III Foundation, 2005), 503–504 is of the same opinion although he puts the mosaics of both the apse and the nave in the same fifth century phase. 30  Athanasios

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in a rainbow.34 It is characteristic of the mosaics of the eastern Mediterranean where it appeared for the first time in the second half of the fourth century, while during the fifth, sixth, and seventh centuries, it became their main characteristic. Although in the case of Chrysopolitissa the “rainbow style” in itself does not absolutely preclude a late fourth-century date, the evolved form and the choice of certain patterns, as well as the rendering of the wavy ribbon that is characteristic of the fifth- and sixth-century workshops of Paphos, now prompt me to attribute a slightly later date to this floor. In fact, the color and enrichment of patterns with the inclusion of the occasional bird and fish are typical of the fifth century.35 This period witnessed the proliferation of basilica buildings and the parallel development of religious and mythological mosaic decoration, as well as the final demise of the latter. Also, during this period the style of individual mosaic workshops decorating these buildings begins to be discernible. Even as Christian basilicas were decorated with mosaics, mosaics continued to adorn private houses (one would assume of both Christians and pagans) and non-ecclesiastical buildings, using age-old mythological representations, clearly unperturbed and certainly tolerated by the new religion.36 This peaceful co-existence of Christians and pagans is also reflected in the common cemeteries,37 and is also mentioned in contemporary lives of saints.38

Mosaics of the Fifth Century Not many examples of fifth-century mythological mosaics survive, but those that do are of crucial importance. Of these, the most significant is the panel with the Birth and First Bath of Achilles in the Villa of Theseus in Paphos (fig.  4, p. 293).39 This is one of four panels that originally decorated the floor of what has been interpreted as perhaps the throne room of the Paphian residence of the Roman governor of Cyprus. Small fragments of a second panel survive, too small to help identify the scene represented; nothing remains of the other two. The 34 Levi,

Antioch Mosaic Pavements, 405–8. Michaelides, “Mosaic pavements from early Christian cult buildings,” 93–94. 36  See also the chapter by Athanasios Papageorghiou and Nikolas Bakirtzis in this volume. 37  Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Early Christian rock-cut tombs at Hagios Georgios, Peyia, Cyprus,” in Medieval Cyprus: Studies in Art, Architecture and History in Memory of Doula Mouriki, ed. Nancy Patterson Ševčenko and Christopher Moss (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 40–41; Papageorghiou and Foulias, “L’architecture tombale à Chypre,” 204. 38  As for example that of Saint Herakleidios: François Halkin, “Les actes apocryphes de saint Héraclide de Chypre disciple de l’apôtre Barnabé,” AnBoll 82 (1964): 141. 39  Wiktor A. Daszewski, “Polish excavations at Nea (Kato) Paphos in 1970 and 1971,” RDAC (1972): 208–16, fig. 2, plates XXXVI–XXXVII; Daszewski, “Figural mosaics from Paphos,” 72– 75; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 91–92, no. 50. 35 



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composition of the Birth and First Bath of Achilles, although it includes many details not found in other representations of the scene,40 falls in line with the tradition of representing the first bath of a hero. Typical figures for these scenes include Dionysos (see fig.  1, p. 291) and Alexander the Great,41 with Achilles being the most widely used; the iconography of the Nativity of Christ belongs to this type of scene.42 The composition in itself and its iconographic and semantic relation to the Nativity and First Bath of Christ cannot be stressed enough and, justifiably, the mosaic has stimulated many interesting discussions and interpretations.43 Some of the more extravagant explanations forget that this is only one of four panels decorating this room, the one (now lost) at the entrance to the hall being larger than the rest. So the panel must not be seen and be interpreted in isolation, especially since there is no way of knowing what the other three panels represented. It is very likely that here we had a cycle with scenes from the life of Achilles, but this remains conjectural. The same hand and the same materials can be recognized in the restoration of the figure of the personification of Eurotas in the panel of Leda and the Swan in the nearby House of Aion, suggesting that it was made by the same workshop. We do not know of other works made by this workshop. This is a rare and interesting glimpse into the different services offered by mosaic workshops.44 Despite some affinities, the decoration of a countryside villa at Alassa was not made by the same workshop. The overall quality of the geometric decoration of the mosaic pavements there is generally basic but the one figured panel is spe40  Anneliese Kossatz-Deismann, “Achilleus,” LIMC I  (1981): 42–45, nos. 1–12; Anneliese Kossatz-Deismann, “Achilleus,” LIMC Supplementum (2009): 3, no. add. 1. 41  For a brief survey, see Glen W. Bowersock, “Infant Gods and Heroes in Late Antiquity: Dionysos’ First Bath,” in A Different God: Dionysos and Ancient Polytheism, ed. Renate Schlesier (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2011), 3–12. For Dionysos, see the example in the nearby House of Aion: Daszewski, “Figural Mosaics from Paphos,” fig. 28; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 55, no. 27; and for more examples, Daszewski, “Polish Excavations at Nea (Kato) Paphos,” n. 6. For Alexander the Great, see the fourth-century example from Baalbek: Maurice Chéhab, “Mosaïques du Liban,” Bulletin du Musée de Beyrouth 14/15 (1958–1959): 43–50, plates XI–XXVI; and David J. A. Ross, “Olympias and the Serpent: The Interpretation of a Baalbek Mosaic and the Date of the Illustrated Pseudo-Callisthenes,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 26 (1963): 1–21. See also Alfred Hermann, “Das erste Bad des Heilands  und des Helden in spätantiker Kunst und Legende,” JAC 10 (1967): 27–28. 42  See Mastora, Επεμβάσεις στα εντοίχια ψηφιδωτά for a lengthy discussion of the mosaic and the significance of its iconography (with extensive bibliography). 43  See, amongst others, Francesca Ghedini, “Achille ‘eroe ambiguo’ nella produzione musiva tardo antica,” Antiquité tardive 5 (1997): 240–42; Pelli Mastora, “Achilles First Bath in the House of Theseus in Nea Paphos and the Nativity of Christ,” Επετηρίδα Κέντρου Επιστημονικών Ερευνών XXXVII (2013–2014) (Nicosia: 2015) 9–52; Theodoros Mavrogiannis, “La ‘Maison de Thésée’ à Nea Paphos: Le praetorium de l’époque de Constantin,” in Nea Paphos: Fondation et développement urbanistique d’une ville chypriote de l’antiquité à nos jours: Actes du 1er colloque international sur Paphos, Avignon 30, 31 octobre et 1er novembre 2012, ed. Claire Balandier (Bordeaux: Ausonius Éditions, 2016), especially 329–37, 339–41. 44  Daszewski, “Figural Mosaics from Paphos,” 75.

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cial, even though it is rather crude.45 It demonstrates that a much-honored pagan theme, like the Toilet of Venus, with the goddess depicted in full frontal nudity, persisted into the fifth century. Even more interesting for me is the frame of the panel, which shows that an old-fashioned formula like the so-called Oxford frame46 was now being copied mechanically, without understanding its organic and functional significance.47 That highly refined figural work was still possible in the fifth century is proven by the mosaics of the so-called Annex of Eustolios at Kourion,48 a complex that appears to have had a public function (its baths) as well as a private one, but certainly not a religious one. The structure was remodeled and redecorated during the reign of Theodosius II (c. 408–450), and its decoration makes it of crucial importance for the passage from the ancient to the Christian world. The insertion of a few masterfully rendered birds and fish in the geometric designs is in accord with what we have seen happening in contemporary basilicas, and the rest of the decoration would be just as appropriate in an ecclesiastical context. Unique for Cyprus is a depiction of ΚΤΙΣΙΣ (the Building Power or Creation) decorating a focal point in the frigidarium,49 a personification which, like other female personifications of abstract notions, such as ΑΝΑΝΕΩΣΙΣ (Renewal)50 and ΣΩΤΗΡΙΑ 45  Sophocles Hadjisavvas in Vassos Karageorghis, “Chronique des fouilles et découvertes archéologiques à Chypre en 1984,” BCH 109 (1985), 932–33, fig. 89; Hadjisavvas, “Alassa: A New Late Cypriot Site,” RDAC (1986): 62–67, 64, plate XVIII:3; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 93, no. 51. 46  “A rectangular frame having sides which cross each other and project slightly at the corners;” “Oxford frame,” Oxford English Dictionary Online, http://www.oed.com/view/ Entry/135568. 47  For the Oxford frame in mosaics, see Michaelides, “New Mosaics from Paphos,” 83; and, more extensively, Michaelides, “Mosaic Decoration in Early Christian Cyprus.” 48 Stylianos Pelekanides and Panajota I.  Atzaka, Σύνταγμα των παλαιοχριστιανικών ψηφιδωτών δαπέδων της Ελλάδος, Ι: Νησιωτική Ελλάς (Thessalonica: Aristotle University Centre for Byzantine Research, 1974), 143–44, with earlier bibliography. See also David W. Rupp, “Eustolios Complex-Area VI,” in An Archaeological Guide to the Ancient Kourion Area and the Akrotiri Peninsula, ed., Helena Wylde Swiny (Nicosia: Dept. of Antiquities 1982), 132–39; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 81–87, nos. 45–47. 49  Examples of the personification of Ktisis from Antioch and churches in Cyrenaica include Antioch: Constantinian Villa, Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements, plate LXI; House of Ge and the Seasons, upper level, Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements, plates LXXXIIb, CLXIXb; Cimok, Antioch Mosaics, 281; House of Ktisis, Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements, plate LXXXVa; Cimok, Ancient Mosaics, 294–95, House of the Sea Goddess, Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements, plate XXXIIb. See also discussion in Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements, 255–56. Cyrenaica: Qasr-elLebia, Elisabeth Alföldi-Rosenbaum and John Ward-Perkins, Justinianic Mosaic Pavements in Cyrenaican Churches (Rome: L’ Erma di Bretschneider, 1980), plate 83/3; Tokra, Alföldi-Rosenbaum and Ward-Perkins, Justinianic Mosaic Pavements, 34 n. 89; Demetrios Michaelides, Review of Justinianic Mosaic Pavements in Cyrenaican Churches, by Elisabeth Alföldi-Rosenbaum and John Ward-Perkins, Libyan Studies 13 (1982): 117; Ras-el-Hilal, Alföldi-Rosenbaum and Ward-Perkins, Justinianic Mosaic Pavements, 83/2. 50  E. g., the Mosaic of Ananeosis from Antioch, Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements, 320–21; Cimok, Ancient Mosaics, 244; and Qasr-el-Lebia in Cyrenaica, Alföldi-Rosenbaum and Ward-



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(Salvation),51 were acceptable to Christians and popular even for church decoration in the eastern Mediterranean. In relation to the Annex of Eustolios I tend to think that the decoration of the southernmost room (of the residential quarter), which has now disappeared down the cliff-side, included personifications of the three sisters, Reverence, Prudence (or Temperance), and Piety, mentioned in the inscription on its threshold: ΕΞΕΔΡΗΝ ΘΑΛΑΜΟΝ ΤΕ ΘΥΩ[ΔΕΑ ΤΟΥΤΟ]Ν [ΑΔ]ΕΛΦΑΙ ΑΙΔΩ(C) CΩΦΡΟCΥΝΗ ΤΕ ΚΑΙ [ΕΥΣΕΒΙΗ ΚΟΜΕΟΥCΙΝ (“The sisters Reverence, Prudence [or Temperance], and Piety [to the God] tend this exedra and the fragrant hall”).52. More surprising and telling for this period, characterized by a prevailing spirit of tolerance or co-existence, are two mosaic inscriptions, one mentioning Phoebus (Apollo),53 the other declaring that the building is held together by the much-venerated symbols of Christ.54 All three inscriptions hark back to ancient poetic models. It is in the Eustolios complex that, for the first time in this period, we can attribute the laying of the mosaics to a specific workshop. This workshop also decorated the three-aisled basilica of Agia Trias at Gialousa.55 The mosaic floors of this basilica fall in two periods, and those that interest us decorate the nave and the vestibule. They are slightly later than the rest of the floors, which are dated to the early fifth century by a coin of Honorius (395–423), found in the foundation of the mosaics of the north aisle. In other words, they date to about the same time as the mosaics of the Eustolios complex. The similarities between the mosaics of these two buildings are so striking that they could not have been made by two different workshops.56 The use and Perkins, Justinianic Mosaic Pavements, plate 5/3; and Tokra, Alföldi-Rosenbaum and Ward-Perkins, Justinianic Mosaic Pavements, 34 n. 89; Michaelides, Review of Justinianic Mosaic Pavements, 117. 51  E. g., the example in the Bath of Apolausis in Antioch, Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements, plate LXVIIIa; Cimok, Ancient Mosaics, 234–35. 52  Translation of Ino Nicolaou, “Transition from Paganism to Christianity as revealed in the Mosaic Inscriptions of Cyprus,” Mosaic: Festschrift for A. H. S. Megaw, ed. Judith Herrin, Margaret Mullett, and Catherine Otten-Froux (London: British School at Athens, 2001), 15. See also Mitford’s different reading, Terence Bruce Mitford, The Inscriptions from Kourion (Philadelphia: The American Philosophical Society, 1971), 354–55, no. 203; and the critique of Bagnall and Drew-Bear, Roger S. Bagnall and Thomas Drew-Bear, “Documents from Kourion: A Review Article,” Phoenix 27 (1973): 238–39. 53  This is the inscription that mentions Eustolios as the builder of baths. It is very poorly preserved and the completion of Mitford has been strongly criticized by Bagnall and DrewBear; Mitford, The Inscriptions from Kourion, 356–58, no. 204; Bagnall and Drew-Bear, “Documents from Kourion,” 239–41. For an alternative, more convincing reading, see Nicolaou, “Transition from Paganism to Christianity,” 14–15. 54 Mitford, The Inscriptions from Kourion, 353–54, no. 202; Bagnall and Drew-Bear, “Documents from Kourion,” 242–43. 55  Michaelides, “Mosaic Pavements from Early Christian Cult Buildings,” passim, and see p. 89 for earlier bibliography; Michaelides, “Cypriot Mosaics: Local Traditions and External Influences,” 285, illustration 32.17; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 78–80, plate 44. 56  For a more detailed discussion of the similarities between the two buildings, see Demet-

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coloring of the rainbow motifs are common to the two buildings; in some cases, the patterns and their rendering, as well as the way in which they are combined, are identical. For example, the pattern of tangent saltires of intersecting spindles, creating the effect of intersecting circles, in the center of the nave of Agia Trias, is very similar to two examples in the Annex of Eustolios. This is especially true of their rainbow fillers. The scalloped squares in the nave of Agia Trias and the south portico of Eustolios are identical (figs. 5, p. 293 and 6, p. 294 respectively). The rainbow wave motif paving the entire floor of the basin in the baths of the Annex of Eustolios is found in one of the panels of the frame of the nave of Agia Trias. The bands of double latchkey meander separated by rectangular panels framing the nave of the basilica and the east portico of the Annex of Eustolios are identical. The rendering of the meander is the same, as are several of the rainbow motifs filling the panels. Even the insertion of inscriptions in the panels between the meander is the same in the two monuments – and it should be stressed that inscriptions are by no means a common feature in mosaic floors of Cypriot basilicas.57 That the same workshop decorated these two buildings leads to very important observations. For one, it shows that workshops travelled across the island and were not stationed in and working for one of the main cities – Agia Trias is on the Carpas peninsula on the East, not far from the northern coast, while Kourion is on the southern coast towards the West, at a distance of over 155 km as the crow flies. An even more significant observation is that the same workshop could decorate both an ecclesiastical building, like the basilica of Agia Trias, and a civic or private building, like the Annex of Eustolios. Few other pavements can be safely dated to the fifth century and, in fact, many mosaics seem to fall in a blur between the fifth and sixth centuries. What is certain is that major changes are witnessed with the coming of the sixth century. This is the period when Justinian’s building program encouraged large-scale building activity throughout the Byzantine Empire. Procopius hardly mentions Cyprus in this respect,58 but the surviving buildings and their decoration, no doubt financed by wealthy individuals, speak for themselves. Basilicas are conrios Michaelides, “Some Characteristic Traits of a Mosaic Workshop in Early Christian Cyprus,” in Actes du VIIIème Colloque international sur la mosaïque antique et médiévale, Lausanne, 6–11 octobre, 1997, ed. Daniel Paunier and Christophe Schmidt (Lausanne: Cahiers d’Archéologique Romande, 2001), 314–25. 57  Fryni Hadjichristophi, “Mosaic Inscriptions on Early Christian Pavements in Cyprus,” in The Sweet Land of Cyprus: Papers given at the Twenty-Fifth Jubilee Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, Birmingham, March 1991, ed. Anthony M. Bryer and George S. Georghallides ­(Nicosia: The Cyprus Research Centre for the Society of the Promotion of Byzantine Studies, 1993), 419–20; Doria Nicolaou, “Η κυπριακή επιγραφική κατά τον 4ο–7ο μ.Χ αιώνα,” in Epigraphy, Numismatics, Prosopography and History of Ancient Cyprus: Papers in Honour of Ino Nicolaou, ed. Demetrios Michaelides (Uppsala: Åströms Förlag, 2013), 244–72. 58  De aedificis V, ix, 35–36, just lists the restoration of the poor-house and the renewal of the aqueduct of St. Conon.



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structed ex novo or redecorated in a glorious, full-blown rainbow style with an always richer selection of intricate patterns. A novelty of the period and of that which followed is the use of mosaics outside the main body of the basilica and in a funerary context, as is the spreading of basilica construction from the coast towards the interior of the island. Examples of the first can be found at Agioi Pente near Geroskipou (fig. 7, p. 294)59 and the ecclesiastical complex at Katalymata ton Plakoton at Akrotiri;60 while the recently excavated basilica of the Agioi Saranda/Kirklar tekké at Tymbou (fig. 8, p. 295) is an example from the central Mesaoria plain.61 A staggering number of mosaics were made during this period and the repeated use of certain decorative designs makes the identification of workshops relatively easy. As examples of well-nigh identical patterns found in different parts of the island, mention can be made of the interlace of bi-chrome bands forming squares, circles and irregular curvilinear octagons found in Katalymata ton Plakoton at Akrotiri and the Basilica of Chrysopolitissa in Paphos.62 The same can also be said of the latchkey pattern of swastikas with single returns, with the decoration of the vertical and horizontal spaces between them creating the effect of 59  Demetrios Michaelides, “‘Ayioi Pente’ at Yeroskipou: A New Early Christian Site in Cyprus,” Musiva et Sectilia 1 (2004): 188–94, figs. 5–15; “The Excavations of the University of Cyprus at ‘Ayioi Pente’ of Yeroskipou,” in The Insular System of Early Byzantine Mediterranean: Archaeology and History: Proceedings of an International seminar, Nicosia 24–26 October 2007, ed. Demetrios Michaelides, Philippe Pergola, and Enrico Zanini (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2013), 85– 88, figs. 4, 10; Demetrios Michaelides, “The Significance of the Basilica at Agioi Pente of Yeroskipou,” in Cyprus and the Balance of Empires: Art and Archaeology from Justinian I to the Coeur de Lion, ed. Charles Anthony Stewart, Thomas W. Davies, and Annemarie Weyl Carr (Boston: ASOR, 2014), 6–10, figs. 1.8, 1.9, 1.11. 60  Eleni Procopiou, “L’architecture chrétienne dans la région d’Amathonte à l’époque byzantine (IVe–XIIe siècles). Recherches archéologiques 1991–2012,” Cahiers du Centre d’Études Chypriotes 43 (2013): 253–74; Eleni Procopiou, “The katalymata ton Plakoton: New Light from the Recent Archaeological Research in Byzantine Cyprus,” in Cyprus and the Balance of Empires: Art and Archaeology from Justinian I to the Coeur de Lion, ed. Charles Anthony Stewart, Thomas W. Davies, and Annemarie Weyl Carr (Boston: ASOR, 2014), 69–98; Eleni Procopiou, “The Excavations at Akrotiri, Katalymata ton Plakoton, 2007–2012,” in Medieval Cyprus: A Place of Cultural Encounter, Conference in Münster 6–8 December 2012, ed. Sabine Rogge and Michael Grünbart (Münster: Waxmann, 2015), 185–218; Charalambous, Τεχνολογία κατασκευής, 217–21, figs. 175–85. 61  Andreas Foulias, “Άγιοι Σαράντα/Kirklar Tekke: Μια νέα παλαιοχριστιανική βασιλική,” Κυπριακαί Σπουδαί 69 (2008), 3–24, 247–72; Andreas Foulias, “The Basilica of Agioi Saranta/ Kirklar Tekke in Cyprus and its Mosaics,” in 11th International Colloquium on Ancient Mosaics, October 16th–20th, 2009, Bursa, Turkey: Mosaics of Turkey and Parallel Developments in the Rest of the Ancient and Medieval World: Questions of Iconography, Style and Technique from the Beginnings of Mosaic until the Late Byzantine Era, ed. Mustafa Shahin (Istanbul: Ege Yayınları, 2012), 381–91; Papageorghiou and Foulias, “L’architecture tombale à Chypre,” 12, fig. 6.; Maguire, Nature in the Byzantine art of Cyprus, 9, figs. 8–9. 62  Procopiou, “The Excavations at Akrotiri, Katalymata ton Plakoton, 2007–2012,” fig. 6.16; Charalambous, Τεχνολογία κατασκευής, 423, fig. 181; and Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 96, no. 53, respectively.

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an interlace,63 rendered in an identical manner at the “Byzantine House” and the North Portico of the Atrium of the Basilica of Chrysopolitissa at Paphos, and at Katalymata ton Plakoton at Akrotiri (figs. 9–11, pp. 296–297).64 The interlace of bi-chrome bands that form different patterns and cover the whole surface of the floor is a rather common form of decoration, but it is also telling when the pattern65 and its rendering are practically identical, as in the case of the baptistery of Basilica A at Agios Georgios of Pegeia and an example from Katalymata ton Plakoton at Akrotiri.66 As for the general cultural ambience in which these geometric decorations were created, the Cypriot repertoire remained well-rooted in the eastern Mediterranean tradition, as the following examples illustrate. The interlace of cables forming circles and irregular curvilinear octagons67 is found at both the bap­ tistery of Basilica A at Agios Georgios of Pegeia and the House of the Phoenix in Antioch, in nearly identical form.68 The scalloped square,69 already examined at the Annex of Eustolios and the basilica of Agia Trias, is found elsewhere in Cyprus70 and was one of the most widely used patterns in the eastern Mediterranean,71 while it is unknown west of the island. The only exception known to me is a rather crude version in the Basilica of Saint Anastasia of Arkassa on the island of Carpathos,72 which unsurprisingly is the westernmost island of the Dodecanese. 63 

Balmelle et al., Le décor géométrique de la mosaïque romaine, plate 189a. the “Byzantine House,” see Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 98, plate 55; Charalambous, Τεχνολογία κατασκευής, 400, fig. 123. For Chrysopolitissa, see Charalambous, Τεχνολογία κατασκευής, 2012, 403, fig. 134. There is no published photograph of the Akrotiri example. 65  Balmelle et al., Le décor géométrique de la mosaïque romaine, plate 148c: “Orthogonal pattern of squares in bichrome bands interlooped at the angles, with cushions formed of asymmetrically shaded bands centered on the interspaces.” 66 Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 105, no. 59; Procopiou, “The Excavations at Akrotiri, Katalymata ton Plakoton,” fig. 6.22. 67  Balmelle et al., Le décor géométrique de la mosaïque romaine, plate 235a: “Polychrome orthogonal pattern of circles in asymmetrically shaded bands interlooped tangentially, forming irregular concave octagons (the axial sides the shorter).” 68  Michaelides, “Mosaic Pavements from Early Christian Cult Buildings,” fig. 64; Cimok, Ancient Mosaics, 290, respectively. 69  The more verbose definition of the pattern in Balmelle et al., Le décor géométrique de la mosaïque romaine, plate 341f is: “Polychrome orthogonal pattern of tangent multilobate squares of scales, radiating in four directions from a central quadrilobe of scales, creating the effect of a grid of poised tangent concave squares and a diagonal grid of tangent recumbent spindles.” 70  Photograph in the Archives of the Department of Antiquities labelled Basilica of Chryso­ politissa, upper level. See Michaelides, “Mosaic Pavements from Early Christian Cult Buildings,” fig. 59. 71  For only a few of the multitude of examples from different parts of the eastern Mediterranean, see Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements, 444 and n. 127; Michaelides, “Mosaic Pavements from Early Christian Cult Buildings,” 135–38 n. 107. 72  Pelekanides and Atzaka, Σύνταγμα των παλαιοχριστιανικών ψηφιδωτών δαπέδων της Ελλάδος, 55–57, plate 12a. 64  For



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A Shift to Opus Sectile Perhaps aided by Justinian’s building program and organization of the marble trade, the island was, at last, included on the marble trade routes  – especially for the products of the quarries of Prokonnesos near Constantinople. In the luxurious buildings of Cyprus, marble gradually dominated over all other decoration. Geometric floor mosaics continued to be made, but it was opus sectile floors and walls that became the prestigious luxury decoration par excellence.73 Although decorated marble floors were essentially unknown in Cyprus before this period,74 they suddenly dominated the decoration. On several occasions, the mosaics (opus tessellatum) of the central nave, the most important section of the floor of a basilica, were covered by opus sectile, as the remnants on top of the already discussed allegories in the Chrysopolitissa show (see fig.  3, p. 292).75 Elsewhere, opus sectile was used for the most important parts of the basilica, while opus tessellatum was used for the rest. The important basilicas in all the large cities, like the Acropolis basilica at Amathous,76 but also in smaller centers like Ledroi/Nicosia,77 all received striking and costly opus sectile paving, with imported marble (as opposed to local limestone) playing an important role in the more prestigious amongst them. It is interesting to observe, however, how the workshops in the area of Constantia, which, by now, had gained undisputed supremacy as the capital of the island, developed compositions that are quite 73  On floor opus sectile, see Demetrios Michaelides, “Opus Sectile in Cyprus,” in The Sweet Land of Cyprus, 69–114. For wall opus sectile on the island, see Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 88, 107, nos. 48, 60; Demetrios Michaelides, “The wall opus sectile from Katalymata ton plakoton at Akrotiri and other examples from early Christian Cyprus”, in “Di Bisanzio dirai ciò che è passato, ciò che passa e che sarà”. Scritti in onore di Alessandra Guiglia, ed. Silvia Pedone and Andrea Paribeni (Roma: Bardi editore, 2018), 67–81. 74  For the lack of evidence before this period, see Michaelides, “Opus Sectile in Cyprus,” 69–71. 75  Michaelides, “The Early Christian Mosaics of Cyprus,” 193; Michaelides, “Opus Sectile in Cyprus,” fig. 56. See also the case of the sanctuary of the episcopal basilica of Kourion: Arthur H. S. Megaw, Kourion: Excavations in the Episcopal Precinct (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007), 40–41. 76  Annie Pralong, “La basilique de l’acropole d’Amathonte (Chypre),” Rivista di Archeologia Cristiana 70 (1994): 411–55; Pralong and Jean-Michel Saulnier, “La basilique chrétienne du sommet de l’acropole,” in Guide d’Amathonte, ed. Pierre Aupert (Athens: École française d’Athènes, 1996), 138–40. 77  For the floor under the Bedestan, see Michaelides, “Opus Sectile in Cyprus,” 75–76, fig. 20; Demetrios Michaelides, “The Opus Sectile of Nicosia and an Archaeological Puzzle,” in MARMORIBUS VESTITA: Miscellanea in onore di Federico Guidobaldi, ed. Olof Brandt and Philippe Pergola (Vatican City: Pontificio Istituto di Archeologia Cristiana, 2011), 947–49, figs. 1–2; for the floors in Bouboulina Street, see Michaelides, “Opus Sectile in Cyprus,” 76–77, figs. 2–23; Michaelides, “The Opus Sectile of Nicosia and an Archaeological Puzzle,” 949–53, figs. 3–5; for the floor in Theseos Street, see Michaelides, “The Opus Sectile of Nicosia,” 954–62, figs. 6–14.

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distinct in their intricacy and difficulty of execution,78 and remain amongst the best examples of the genre in the ancient world. The church of Agios Procopios at Syngrasis, in the occupied part of the island, preserves a large part of the opus sectile floor of an earlier building, once beautifully preserved, but now in a sad state of abandon.79 The patterns, although not of the most complex, are nonetheless remarkable for their variety and excellent workmanship. Further to the east, on the Carpas peninsula, is the site of Agios Philon, which has been identified with ancient Carpasia.80 The floors of the basilica there are only partially preserved, but those of the adjoining baptistery exhibit an astonishing variety of fine opus sectile panels. These do not employ much real marble but include two outstanding examples of circular, so-called “shield” compositions, the cutting of the crustae of which required much calculation and great precision so as to create a trompe-l’oeil, one with a staggering centrifugal effect (fig. 12, p. 298).81 No such optical illusions are exhibited by the opus sectile floor in the baptistery of the basilica of Agios Epiphanios, in the capital itself, Constantia. Here, however, we witness another expression of affluence, namely the use of very large, plain slabs of uncut marble, framed by geometric designs created by the assemblage of small crustae.82 The basilica itself used to preserve part of its wall opus sectile, now sadly lost through neglect.83 By far the most outstanding known Cypriot opus sectile floors, both in design and the materials used, also come from Constantia. They decorate the sixth-century basilica of Campanopetra and the adjoining baths. The basilica had floors with a rich variety of designs, including several shield motifs,84 the largest part of which has now been lost. A good reflection of their extremely high quality can be appreciated in the baths attached to the basilica, where two floors survive essentially complete.85 One, with a rectilinear design employs crustae cut from the 78  Fryni Hadjichirstophi, “Το δάπεδο του Αγίου Προκοπίου στη Σύγκραση,” RDAC (1997), 282–283. 79  Hadjichirstophi, “Το δάπεδο του Αγίου Προκοπίου στη Σύγκραση,” 277–283. 80  Joan du Plat Taylor, “Excavations at Ayios Philon, 1935,” RDAC (1936): 14–17; Joan du Plat Taylor and Arthur H. S. Megaw, “Excavations at Ayios Philon, the Ancient Carpasia, part II,” RDAC (1981), 235–38, fig. 50, plates XXXVIII, XLIII, XLIV; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 112, no. 65; Michaelides, “Opus Sectile in Cyprus,” 74, figs. 11, 17–18. 81  Du Plat Taylor and Megaw, “Excavations at Ayios Philon,” XLIV/3; Michaelides, “Opus Sectile in Cyprus,” figs. 17–18. These floors, now in the Turkish occupied part of the island, used to be in good condition but suffered gravely through exposure and neglect. They have recently been conserved by the Department of Antiquities of the Republic of Cyprus. 82 Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 114, no. 66; Michaelides, “Opus Sectile in Cyprus,” 74, fig. 15. 83 Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 88, no. 48. Michaelides, “The wall opus sectile from Katalymata ton plakoton at Akrotiri,” 69–70, figs. 2, 3. 84  Georges Roux, La Basilique de la Campanopetra (Paris: de Boccard, 1998), 77, 85–86, figs. 74, 97–101. 85  Although the photograph published in Musso, “The Northern Face of Cyprus,” 113, fig. 27, shows that these have also deteriorated through neglect during recent years.



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same block of marble, the veins expertly assembled ad apertura to create concentric designs, a technique more readily associated with marble wall veneering. The same technique is found in the corners of the floor of the adjoining room, the main part of which is occupied by a shield design of astonishing complexity in the cutting of the crustae and the matching of their colors. This creates one of the most successful trompe-l’oeil effects amongst such shield designs in the early Byzantine world.86

After the Sixth Century Exactly how the making of mosaic and opus sectile floors developed after the sixth century is still largely unknown. One can be certain that prestigious buildings continued to be decorated in this way, but the question is: “Up to when?”87 The beginning of the Arab invasions in 649 and 65388 has long been used as a convenient ending point for this age-old form of decoration on the island. But this is a rather vague argument, which explains neither what happened between Justinian and the first Arab invasions nor what happened after the mid-seventh century and the three centuries that followed. We can be certain that mosaicmaking, as well as other artistic and artisanal production, did not stop overnight after the first Arab invasions. So far, however, archaeological material from this period proves difficult to identify. Among other examples, there is evidence of fairly careful repair of the sixth-century mosaics in the outside north aisle of the basilica of Chrysopolitissa in Paphos and the left medallion of the panel with the biblical quotations at Agioi Pente in Geroskipou (see fig.  7, p. 294, on the right).89 Here, one finds pottery evidence that seems to suggest a continued use of the site well into the eighth century.90 Some of the mosaic floors of Basilica A at Agios Georgios of Pegeia were clearly mended and some crudely remade. This could be linked to the collapse of the sixth-century marble ambo which was 86 Roux,

La Basilique de la Campanopetra, 261–63, plates 309–11; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 110–12, plates 63–64; Michaelides, “Opus Sectile in Cyprus,” 74–75, figs. 38–39. 87  Note that Procopiou relates the building at Katalymata ton Plakoton to the fleeing of refugees from Palestine and Egypt due to the Persian siege and conquest (617–61); “The Katalymata ton Plakoton,” 84–90. 88  On the Arab invasions and the available archaeological evidence, see David Michael Metcalf, Byzantine Cyprus 491–1191 (Nicosia: Cyprus Research Centre, 2009), 395–423. 89  The largest part of which is remade with different tesserae from the rest: Michaelides, “The Significance of the Basilica at Agioi Pente of Yeroskipou,” 2014, fig. 1.9. 90  Unpublished preliminary report by Ruth Smadar Gabrieli. See also Ruth Smadar Gabrieli, Mark Philip Charles Jackson, Anthi Kaldeli, “Stumbling into the Darkness – Trade and Life in Post-Roman Cyprus,” in LRCW 2: Late Roman Coarse Wares, Cooking Wares and Amphorae in the Mediterranean: Archaeology and Archaeometry, ed. Michel Bonifay and Jean-Christophe Tréglia (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2007), 795–96.

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re-erected as best as one could at some later point.91 We do not know the reasons for the ambo’s collapse, although we can speculate that it may have been pulled down during one of the Arab invasions or fell during an earthquake. All the same, this last phase of the mosaic decoration of Basilica A cannot be dated with any precision. Even though some examples of opus sectile floors, such as those of Agios Lazaros in Larnaca,92 appear to be post mid-seventh century, what is certain is that the hitherto available evidence shows that the making of tessellated floors was not revived on the island after it returned to the Byzantine realm in 965.

Conclusions In conclusion and returning to the title of this paper, this brief survey has attempted to analyze the activity of Cypriot mosaic workshops of the early Christian period, point out their main characteristics and place them in the wider artistic milieu, part of which they form. This, as during the Roman period, was that of the eastern Mediterranean coast, with Antioch as the main and most important source of influence. As to the question the title poses, the answer is Yes, on two fronts. First, as we have seen, the same workshop could decorate ecclesiastic as well as secular buildings. Second, at least up to the fifth century, traditional mythological iconography continued to be used in parallel with the new kind of decoration favored for Christian basilicas.

91  Michaelides, “The Ambo of Basilica A at Cape Drepanon,” in MOSAIC, Festschrift for A. H. S. Megaw, ed. Judith Herrin, Margaret Mullet, and Catherine Otten-Froux (London: British School at Athens, 2001), 43–56. 92  For post-seventh century opus sectile, see Michaelides, “Opus Sectile in Cyprus,” 77–81.

Ritual Specialists and the Curse Tablets from Amathous, Cyprus1 Andrew T. Wilburn

Around 1890, local individuals were digging a well on the island when they made an amazing discovery – a cache of more than two hundred tablets made of lead and selenite, a translucent form of gypsum.2 The tablets are more commonly identified as curse tablets – a class of artifact typically made of sheets of lead or another material that have been inscribed with spells intended to incapacitate or otherwise prevent a victim from performing some act.3 By investigating the 1  I would like to thank the organizers of the conference, Charalambos Bakirtzis, AnneMarie Luijendijk, and Laura Nasrallah for inviting me to participate in an informative and engaging conference. The experience was very enlightening, and I am grateful to all the conference participants for their comments and suggestions. I am also grateful to Thomas Kiely, curator of the Cyprus Digitisation Project, for his assistance, and to the Trustees of the British Museum for permission to reprint the images of the curse tablets. I wish to acknowledge the Thomas F. Cooper ’78 Endowed Classics Faculty Support Fund and the Jody L. Maxmin ’71 Classics Department Faculty Support Fund at Oberlin College, which provided extensive support for my research and for acquiring the images that illustrate this essay. My colleagues at Oberlin College, Corey Barnes, Cynthia Chapman, Ben Lee, Kirk Ormand, Chris Trinacty, and my spouse, Maureen Peters, graciously provided comments and suggestions, for which I am most thankful. 2  L. MacDonald, “Inscriptions Relating to Sorcery in Cyprus,” Proceedings of the Society of Biblical Archaeology 13 (1891): 160–90; DTAud nos. 23–37; Richard Wünsch, “Neue Fluchtafeln,” Rheinisches Museum 55 (1900) nos. 10–12; Louis Robert, Collection Froehner (Paris: Éditions des Bibliotheques Nationales, 1936) 106–107; Terence B. Mitford, The Inscriptions of Kourion (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1971) nos. 127–42; David R. Jordan, “Late Feasts for Ghosts,” in Ancient Greek Cult Practice from the Epigraphical Evidence, ed. Robin Hägg (Stockholm: Paul Aströms Förlag, 1994), 131–43; Pierre Aupert and David R. Jordan, “Tablettes magiques d'Amathonte,” Art Antique de Chypre du Bronze moyen à l'épooque byzantine au Cabinet des médailles (Paris: Bibliothèque nationale de France, 1994): 67–71; Amor López Jimeno, Textos Griegos de maleficio (Madrid: Akal Ediciones, 2001), nos. 273–89. 3  The bibliography on curse tablets is extensive. The most important corpora are DTA; DTAud; David R. Jordan, “A Survey of Greek Defixiones not Included in the Special Corpora,” GRBS 26 (1985): 151–97; NGD; Esther Eidinow, Oracles, Curses, and Risk among the Ancient Greeks (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007); Amina Kropp, Defixiones: Ein aktuelles Corpus lateinischer Fluchtafeln (Speyer: Kartoffeldruck-Verlag Kai Brodersen, 2008); György Németh, Supplementum Audollentianum (Budapest: University of Debrecen, Dept. of Ancient History, 2013). See most recently, the bibliography in Richard L. Gordon, “Showing the Gods the Way: Curse Tablets as Deictic Persuasion,” Religion in the Roman Empire 1 (2015): 148–80 and Esther Eidinow, “Binding Spells on Tablets and Papyri,” Guide to the Study of Ancient Magic, ed. David Frankfurter (Leiden: Brill, 2019): 351–87..

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artifacts as well as comparative material from elsewhere in the Mediterranean, I will argue that ritual specialists, perhaps associated with a temple or collective organization, produced and deposited the curses. Three features of the tablets and their deposition suggest the involvement of ritual specialists: the inscriptions on the tablets indicate the deployment of specialized knowledge; the deposition shows the use of a specific space with restricted access; the placement of the tablets indicates that they were meant to be viewed by the gods.

Ritual Specialists and Magical Practice in the Mediterranean Despite more than a century of scholarly engagement with the term, there is no consensus on what the word “magic” means. Some scholars have advocated rejecting the use of the term, but I believe that it remains a useful heuristic category to encapsulate several phenomena. For the purposes of this paper, I adopt an etic definition of magic, as a mechanistic, repeatable ritual action, typically performed for private individuals, incorporating words, objects, and/or gestures that is undertaken with the expectation of a particular result.4 A variety of individuals were responsible for ritual practices that can be grouped under the broad heuristic category of magic. Some of these were surely wandering practitioners who traveled from place to place, whom the literary tradition often associates with foreign identity.5 Others may have been local individuals skilled in herbs or other folk remedies. Formal, learned magic also can be associated with individuals who were attached to temples as priests, priestesses, and functionaries, both within and outside of Greek and Roman cultural traditions.6 I use the designation “ritual personnel” to indicate those practition4  Andrew T. Wilburn, Materia Magica: The Archaeology of Magic in Roman Egypt, Cyprus and Spain (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 2012), 15–20. 5  The meaning of the term “magician” is determined discursively within a specific society and local environment. Kimberly B. Stratton, “Magic Discourse in the Ancient World,” in Defining Magic: A Reader, ed. Bernd-Christian Otto and Michael Stausberg (Bristol, CT: Equinox, 2013), 246–48; Henk S. Versnel, “Some Reflections on the Relationship Magic-Religion,” Numen 38 (1991), 182; Julia Kindt, Rethinking Greek Religion (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 107; Robert Parker, Polytheism and Society at Athens (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), 122. In his Apology, Apuleius explicitly links Persian magi with special ritual knowledge, a statement that distances the speaker from the performance of these rites, but does not condemn this knowledge (Apuleius, Apol. 26). Wandering Egyptian and Jewish priests, attested in various sources, were often associated with ritual expertise. Dickie, Magic and Magicians in the Greco-Roman World, 221–22. 6  On the term “magician,” see David Frankfurter, “Ritual Expertise in Roman Egypt and the Problem of the Category ‘Magician’,” in Envisioning Magic: A Princeton Seminar and Symposium, ed. Peter Schäfer and Hans G. Kippenberg (Leiden: Brill, 1997); “Dynamics of Ritual Expertise in Antiquity and Beyond: Towards a New Taxonomy of ‘Magicians’,” in Magic and Ritual in the Ancient World, ed. Paul Allan Mirecki and Marvin Meyer (Leiden: Brill, 2002). In contrast, other scholars have suggested that the practitioners of ancient magic operate on the



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ers who are responsible for performing rituals or providing oversight in such institutions as temples, churches, or monasteries.7 I draw a classification distinction between these locus-bound personnel and the broader category of “ritual specialists,” who may have been itinerant or independent, and whose specific standardized rites tended to derive from textual sources.8 Although “magic” was often associated with marginal individuals, scholars recognize that such ritual procedures and state or polis cult form part of the same cultural system, discursively related to one another.9 In the Greek city state, for example, some ritual acts or spaces were marginalized by applying the label “magic,” but these were, as Kindt notes, part of “a more broadly conceived ‘religious culture,’” even, at times, undertaken by agents of the state.10 Cursing was commonplace, and an important feature of the Greek polis, particularly in the context of the Athenian law courts.11 In Athens, curses were invoked by public officials against all who intentionally deceived the democracy.12 When Alcibiades was condemned to death in absentia for profanation of mysteries in 415 BCE, the state ordered him to be cursed (καταρᾶσθαι) by all male and female priests. One woman priest of Demeter, Theano, daughter on Menon, refused carry out the curse, claiming that she was a praying priest rather than a cursing priest.13 borders of the physical urban space and the conceptual society. See Derek Collins, Magic in the Ancient Greek World (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2008), 62. Compare the discussion of magicians in Fritz Graf, Magic in the Ancient World, trans. Philip Franklin (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1997), 61–88; Matthew W. Dickie, Magic and Magicians in the Greco-Roman World (New York: Routledge, 2001), 224–43. 7  On ritual specialists, see Daniel Ogden, “Binding Spells: Curse Tablets and Voodoo Dolls in the Greek and Roman Worlds,” in Witchcraft and Magic in Europe: Ancient Greece and Rome, ed. Bengt Ankarloo and Stuart Clark (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999), 54– 60; Parker, Polytheism and Society at Athens, 121–22; Wilburn, Materia Magica, 263–64. 8  Catherine M. Bell, Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), 130–40. On the ritual performances involved in cursing, see Magali Bailliot, Magie et Sortilèges dans l’antiquité romaine (Paris: Hermann éditeurs, 2010), 72–76. 9 Kindt, Rethinking Greek Religion, 92–102; Esther J. Hamori, Women’s Divination in Biblical Literature: Prophecy, Necromancy, and Other Arts of Knowledge (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2015), 21–22; Jonathan Z. Smith, “Trading Places,” in Ancient Magic and Ritual Power, ed. Marvin Meyer and Paul Mirecki, RGRW 129 (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 13–27. 10 Kindt, Rethinking Greek Religion, 109–13. 11  Richard L. Gordon, “‘What’s in a List?’ Listing in Greek and Graeco-Roman Malign Magical Texts,” in The World of Ancient Magic: Papers from the First International Samson Eitrem Seminar at the Norwegian Institute at Athens, 4–8 May 1997, ed. David R. Jordan, et al. (Bergen: Norwegian Institute at Athens, 1999), 262–63; Eidinow, Oracles, Curses, and Risk, 165– 90; cf. Christopher A. Faraone, “Aeschylus’ Hymnos Desmios (Eum 306) and Attic Judicial Curse Tablets,” JHS 105 (1985): 153. 12  Curses by the public herald: Dem 23.97. cf. the foundation Stele of Cyprus: SEG 9: 3.44. cf. Gordon, “Showing the Gods,” 149 and n. 2; Christopher A. Faraone, “Molten Wax, Spilt Wine, and Mutilated Animals: Sympathetic Magic in Near Eastern and Early Greek Oath Ceremonies,” JHS 113 (1993): 60–80. 13 Plutarch, Alk. 22.5; Mor. 275d; Matthew Dillon, Girls and Women in Classical Greek Religion (New York: Routledge, 2002), 91.

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Theano is noteworthy because she refused to undertake a specific ritual act, although it was expected that both male and female priests would engage in cursing as part of their duties. Male and female priests may have been responsible for aggressive private “magic” as well. According to Demosthenes, a priestess named Ninos was put to death for creating pharmaka, a term that can be used interchangeably for potions, poison, or witchcraft.14 In another speech, Demosthenes alludes to Theoris of Lemnos, a pharmakis, or witch, who is condemned for creating pharmaka. Plutarch, writing later, refers to Theoris as a priestess, reflecting the cultural context in which the author would have found it believable for a priestess to be accused of magical activity.15 The brevity of the sources prevents us from knowing much about either woman. The creation of pharmaka was not itself illegal, so both women may have been found guilty because the recipient of the pharmaka died.16 Specific ritual acts, viewed as contrary to the traditional religious activities of the local polis or state, were marginalized as foreign or criminal.17 Even in each local environment, however, there was likely disagreement about whether a given rite was appropriate or not, and under what circumstances its use was justified. The same priest, rabbi, or monk may have been responsible for both spells and counterspells, and may have undertaken acts that were viewed as magic in one community, but acceptable ritual practices in another.18 The curses from Roman Cyprus provide a context in which it is possible to investigate the role of ritual specialists and personnel in the local production and use of ritual objects. 14 Demosthenes, Fals. leg., 19.281; see discussion in Henk S. Versnel, Inconsistencies in Greek and Roman Religion (Leiden: Brill, 1990), 115–17; Esther Eidinow, Envy, Poison, and Death: Women on Trial in Ancient Athens (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016), 17–23. 15 Demosthenes, 1–2 Aristog. 25.79–80; Plutarch, Dem. 4.4; Derek Collins, “Theoris of Lemnos and the Criminalization of Magic in Fourth-Century Athens,” ClQ 51 (2001): 491–92; Josephus, C. Ap. 2.37; Eidinow, Envy, Poison, and Death, 11–17. 16  Collins, “Theoris of Lemnos,” 488; Eidinow, Envy, Poison, and Death, 57–60. On the legality of magic, see Charles Robert Phillips III, “Nullum crimen sine lege: Socioreligious Sanctions on Magic,” in Magika Hiera, ed. Christopher A. Faraone and Dirk Obbink (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991); Richard L. Gordon, “Imagining Greek and Roman Magic,” in Witchcraft and Magic in Europe: Ancient Greece and Rome, ed. Bengt Ankarloo and Stuart Clark (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999), 243–66; Collins, Magic in the Ancient Greek World, 132–65; James B. Rives, “Magic in Roman Law: The Reconstruction of a Crime,” ClAnt 22 (2003); Rives, “Magic, Religion and Law: The Case of the Lex Cornelia de sicariis et veneficiis,” in Religion and Law in Classical and Christian Rome, ed. Clifford Ando and Jörg Rüpke (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2006). 17 Kindt, Rethinking Greek Religion, 115; Jonathan Z. Smith, “Towards Interpreting Demonic Powers in Hellenic and Roman Antiquity,” ANRW 2.16.1, 429. 18  David Frankfurter, “The Perils of Love: Magic and Countermagic in Coptic Egypt,” Journal of the History of Sexuality 10 (2001), 499; Annette Y. Reed, “Gendering Heavenly Secrets? Women, Angels, and the Problem of Misogyny and Magic,” in Daughters of Hecate: Women and Magic in the Ancient World, ed. Kimberly B. Stratton and Dayna S. Kalleres (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), 125.



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The Curse Tablets from Cyprus In 1890, Captain Gerald Handcock and his agent, Charles Christian, sold more than two hundred lead and selenite artifacts to the British Museum. In the letter accompanying the sale, Handcock attributed the artifacts to locals digging a well near Kourion, informing A. S. Murray that “they (the tablets) were found near the site of Curium by some natives who were clearing out an ancient shaft for the purpose of making a well, [the leads were found] at about 90 feet down, under heaps of human bones.”19 A slightly later publication in 1893 corrected the provenance to Agios Tychon (ancient Amathous): They (the locals) first found a quantity of squared stones, and then rubble, under which was a great quantity of human bones, among which were some gold earrings. In the lower stratum of the bones, they first found a few pieces of lead, and subsequently pieces of the inscribed talc, some pieces of which were attached to the side of the well imbedded in gypsum.20

This is the only information that we possess for reconstructing the archaeological context of the find, as the actual site has never been identified. The initial 1890 letter indicates that the depth of the shaft that the locals excavated was considerable, which suggests that it originally may have been a well or shaft grave, a purpose that pre-dated its use as a space for ritual activity. The bones, which lie above the level of the tablets, likely date from the period after the shaft went out of ritual use. The practitioner must have descended the shaft to deposit the selenite tablets, as a number were mounted on the walls with gypsum, and at least one of them (fig. 1, p. 299) has suspension holes and likely was hung on the wall of the shaft. In contrast, the lead tablets (fig. 2, p. 300) were rolled up, and do not show suspension holes. These artifacts may have been placed on the base of the feature, or even thrown in from the top. The large number of artifacts discovered in this location may indicate that it served as a significant depositional location for an extended period of time.21 This location went out of use, and some event necessitated the disposal of multiple dead individuals. The earrings, found mixed with the bones, suggest that bodies, rather than disarticulated skeletons, were dumped into the shaft. It is not possible to determine the cause of the mass burial, which may have been 19  Gerald Handcock to A. S. Murray, 22 April, 1890. MS British Museum, London, GraecoRoman archives, Original Letters 1890 (Incoming Letters). Pierre Aupert and David R. Jordan, “Tablettes magiques d’Amathonte,” in Art antique de Chypre du Bronze Moyen à l’époque byzantine au Cabinet des Médailles (Paris: Bibliothèque Nationale de France, 1994). 20  Cecil Smith, “Recent Greek Archaeology and Folk-Lore,” Folklore 3 (1892): 164. See discussion in Wilburn, Materia Magica, 178–84. 21  On ritual deposition, see Michael B. Schiffer, Formation Processes of the Archaeological Record (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1987), 47–98; William H. Walker, “Ceremonial Trash,” in Expanding Archaeology, ed. James M. Skibo, William H. Walker, and Axel E. Nielsen (Salt Lake City: University of Utah press, 1995), 67–79.

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related to an epidemic, warfare, or some other event. Alternatively, the bones may be related to a separate ritual act, perhaps meant to desecrate or deactivate the site during a later era. Such practices have biblical precedents; according to 2  Kgs 23:14, for example, King Josiah scattered human bones in order to desecrate the religious sites of Jerusalem and Judah that had been used for idolatrous purposes.22 Above the bones, the locals found rubble, perhaps fill that was added to the shaft after the bones. The squared stones at the top likely represent a collapse of the architecture that marked the opening of the shaft.

Globalized Knowledge in the Cypriot Tablets Of the more than 230 tablets that were discovered, only sixteen lead and seven selenite tablets have been published to date.23 David Jordan, who has analyzed many of the unpublished examples, has stated that most of the unpublished lead artifacts are similar in content to those that have been published, as they utilize the same spell formula. One of the tablets, DT 22 (BM 1891.4–18,1, image 2) can serve as an example: Demones, those who are under the earth, and demones whoever you may be; fathers of fathers, and mothers (who are a) match (for me), you who lie here, and you who sit here, since you take men’s grievous passion from their heart, take over the passion of Ariston which he has toward me, Soterianos, also called Limbaros, and his anger, and take away from him his strength and power and make him cold and speechless and breathless, cold toward me, Soterianos also called Limbaros. I invoke you by the great gods MASŌMASIMABLABOI MAMAXŌ EUMAZŌ ENDENEKOPTOURA MELOPHTHĒMARAR AKOU RASRŌEEKAMADŌR MACHTHOUDOURAS KITHŌRASA KĒPHOZŌN goddess ACHTHAMODOIRALAR AKOU RAENTAKOU RALAR hear ALOR OUECHEARMALAR KARAMEPHTĒ SISOCHŌR ADŌNEIA of the earth CHOUCHMATHERPHES THERMŌMASMAR ASMACHOUCHIMANOU PHILAESŌSI gods of the underworld, take over from Ariston and his son the passion and the anger they hold toward Soterianos also known as Limbaros, and hand him over to the doorkeeper in Hades MATHUREUPHRAMENOS and to/of the one who is appointed over the gate to Hades and the keeper of the door bolts of heaven, STERXERX ĒRĒXA, bursting forth from the earth, ARDAMACTHOUR PRISSGEU LAMPADEU. And bury him who is written upon this muzzling tablet (in a) mournful grave. I  invoke you the king of the mute demones. Hear the great name, for the great SISOXŌR rules over you, the ruler of the gates to Hades. Of my enemy Ariston, bind and put to sleep the tongue and the passion and the anger he holds toward me, Soterianos, also called Limbaros, lest he oppose me in any matter. I invoke you, demones, buried in a communal grave, violently dead, untimely dead, not properly buried, by her who bursts forth from the earth and forces back to the grave the limbs of Meliochos and Meliochos himself. I invoke you by ACHALEMORPHŌPH, who is the one god upon the earth OSOUS OISŌRNOPHRIS OUSRAPIŌ do whatever is written herein. O much lamented tomb and gods of the underworld, and chthonic Hekate, 22 

23 

I. W. Slotki, Kings: Hebrew Text & English Translation (London: Soncino Press, 1950), 307. See above, n. 2.



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chthonic Hermes, Plouton, the chthonic Eirynes, and you who lie here below, untimely dead and the unnamed, EUMAZŌN, take away the speech of Ariston who is opposing me, Soterianos, also called Limbaros, MASŌMACHŌ. I deposit with you this muzzling charge to make Ariston silent, and (you) give over his name to the infernal gods ALLA ALKĒ KE ALKEŌ LALATHANATŌ three-named Kore. These shall always carry out my wishes for me and silence Ariston the opponent of me, Soterianos, also called Limbaros. Awaken yourself for me, you who hold the infernal kingdom of all the Eirynes, I invoke you by the gods in Hades OUCHITOU, the dispenser of tombs, A­­ŌTHIŌMOS TIŌIE IŌEGOŌEIOPHRI who in the heaven rule the upper kingdom, MIŌTHAMPS, in heaven, IAŌ and the (kingdom) under the earth SABLĒNIA IAŌ SABLĒPHDAUBĒN THANATOPOUTŌĒR, I  invoke you BATHUMIA CHTHAOPŌOKORBRA ADIANAKŌ KAKIABALĒ THENNAKRA. I invoke you, gods who were exposed by Kronos ABLANAIANALBA SISIPETRON take over the Ariston the opponent of me, Soterianos, also called Limbranos, ŌĒANTIXHERECHER BEBALLOSALAKAMĒTHĒ, and you, earthshaker, who holds the keys of Hades. Carry out for me, you … Provide  …  ASMIATĒNE  …. GATHĒ MASŌMASŌSISO … LIN.24

The selenite objects show some more variation among the corpus, and may preserve shorter, perhaps abridged versions of the prototype spell.25 All of the tablets focus on removing the anger of adversaries, and ask that the victims be made speechless. They were likely created and deposited in the context of judicial disagreements. A number of the commissioners and victims of the text, such as Alexandros who curses Theodoros in two tablets, appear multiple times; the same individuals apparently sought the services of the ritual practitioners repeatedly.26 A very small number of the tablets comment on the disputes. In one, the individual commissioning the tablet refers to a disagreement over either the offspring of livestock or slaves; another appears to be related to an article of clothing.27 Scholars have used letterforms and linguistic features of the texts to suggest a date between the late second and third century CE. Given the number of tablets and the variation in materials, it is possible that the space was in use for a considerable amount of time.28 Across most of the inscribed lead tablets (for instance, DT 22, quoted above), the use of a near-identical structure and phrasing permits us to infer the use of 24  Translation from CT no. 45, p. 134–36, with some modifications. Text from Mitford, The Inscriptions of Kourion, reprinted in Wilburn, Materia Magica, 188–90. 25  Jordan, “Late Feasts for Ghosts,” 135. 26  Alexandros and Theodoros appear on BM 1891, 4–18.4 (= DTAud 25) and 1891, 4–18.5 (= DTAud 26). The interlocking web of commissioners and targets is discussed in more detail in Wilburn, Materia Magica, 210–12. 27  Livestock: BM 1890, 4–18, 8 = DTAud 29 = Mitford 134; theft of an article: BM 1891, 4–18.50(A+B) + 1891, 4–18.59(47) + Bibliothèque Nationale Collection Froehner, inv. 9 = NGD 115. 28  Late second century CE: MacDonald, “Inscriptions Relating to Sorcery in Cyprus,” 172– 73; Mitford, The Inscriptions of Kourion, 246; Wunsch DTA xix; John G. Gager, Curse Tablets and Binding Spells from Antiquity and the Ancient World (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), 133; third century CE: Jordan, “Late Feasts for Ghosts,” 133.

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a set text or handbook, the original of which is not known. While there are no internal references to the use of a formulary, the complexity of the spell, coupled with the appearance of similar phrases and words across the tablets of the cache, strongly argues for the use of a prototype by the practitioner. The formula preserved on the tablet includes features typical of second- and third-century curse practices, such as the use of complex voces magicae, invocations that utilize the secret names of divinities, and symbols that may be related to the charaktêres.29 The object calls itself a τοῦδε τοῦ φιμωτι[κοῦ] [κ]αταθέματος, a “muzzling deposit,” which perhaps denotes a particular type of incantation, as this phrasing is found in other curses from locations across the Mediterranean, notably in a number of spells from the Greek Magical Papyri.30 The spell opens with a metrical passage, invoking “demones under the earth;” ghostly spirits are called upon later in the text. The address to the demones, rather than the more widely attested daimones, appears to be either a scribal choice, or an orthographical variation that is common on Cyprus.31 The traditional gods of the Hellenic underworld appear in the inscription, each invoked in conjunction with the appellation “chthonic.” Secret divine names are scattered throughout, incorporating both well-attested voces magicae, such as Sisochor, and others that may be of local origin, such as Karamephthe. An invocation to OSOUS OISŌRNOPHRIS OUSRAPIŌ, is likely a reference to the Egyptian divinities Osiris (Onnophris) and 29 

One tablet contains only an image of a bird: BM inv. 1891, 4–18, 16 = DTAud 36. Jordan, “Late Feasts for Ghosts,” 143 n. 34. φιμόω, to muzzle, or silence, and its variants, is used more commonly beginning in the first and second centuries CE, providing another clue to dating the cache. In the Greek Magical Papyri, charms to restrain anger and prevent speech use this term. For example, in PGM XXXVI 161–77, a charm to restrain anger, the practitioner is told to recite the spell seven times:   Ἐρμαλλωθ Ἀρχιμαλλωθ φιμώσατε τὰ στόματα …, “(sacred names), silence the mouths …” See commentary on P. Oslo I 1 (= PGM XXXVI), line 164: Samson Eitrem and Leiv Amundsen, Papyri Osloenses (Oslo: Det norske videnskaps-akademi, 1925), 77–78. Other spells use φιμωτικὸν, a muzzler, to denote the spell type, as in the Cypriot examples. PGM VII 396–404 is entitled φιμωτικὸν καὶ ὑποτακτικὸν γενναῖον καὶ κάτοκος, “an excellent spell for silencing, for subjecting and for restraining.” A fragmentary spell manual, PGM XLVI, includes a poorly preserved spell for silencing and restraining (?), [φι]μωτικὸν καὶ …, to be inscribed on an unbaked potsherd. A gemstone from Afghanistan was inscribed with a spell intended to muzzle an opponent. David R. Jordan, “Inscribed Lead Tablets from the Games in the Sanctuary of Poseidon,” Hesperia 63 (1994): 124 n. 23. Currently, I am preparing a more detailed study of the links between the Cypriot tablets and evidence from Egypt. 31  Inscriptional evidence records very few attestations of δέμονες rather than the more common δαίμονες. Of the 17 inscriptions attested in the Packhard Humanities Institute corpus of Greek inscriptions, 15 are associated with Amathous (Kourion). Of the two others, SEG 38:1837 is a curse from Oxyrhynchus, while SEG 47:1438 (= EAGLE Inscriptions database EDR 152921) is short curse (first or second century CE) attested from Kamarina on Sicily. Another tablet, L’Année Épigraphique 2002, no. 577 (= Trismegistos 697433 = Epigraphic Database Heidelberg HD042079), from Riva del Garda in the Venetia region of Italy, is a protective inscription, listing demones as well as illness among the dangers that Tertius faced. A comparable search in the Packhard corpus produces 311 inscriptions that refer to δαίμονες. Earlier texts from Cyprus, such as the texts from the nymphaeum at Kafizin (numbers 122, 144, 266 and 267) or from Salamis (such as Salamine XIII 199 = SEG 6.802) also employ δαίμονες. 30 



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Serapis, gods that had a wide distribution in the classical world due to the spread of the Isis cult. This may be a local reference, as Adonis-Osiris is named as the consort of Aphrodite at Amathous in one late source.32 Beneath the inscription, the scribe incised a line and added at least one row of magical symbols. Some of these appear to be the charaktêres or “ring-letters,” which resemble letterforms with round bulbs or knobs at the end of each straight or curved line.33 The signs preserved on the Cypriot tablets also include types that may be of local origin. The selenite tablets are less well preserved, and one example, published by David Jordan and Pierre Aupert, employs a simplified version of the text known from the lead tablets. These artifacts show some variation, especially in the placement of magical signs, as symbols appear throughout the inscription (fig. 3, p. 301).34 One tablet utilizes a very different model text. The translation published by Jordan reads as follows: Zethos (?) chthonic Demeter and chthonic earth born (fem. pl.) and chthonic Acheron and chthonic “raw dead” (neut. sg.) and chthonic Thasian (s?) and chthonic heroes (?) and chthonic avengers (?) and chthonic Amphipolis (?) and chthonic Spirits and chthonic Sins and chthonic Dreams and chthonic Necessity and chthonic Oaths and chthonic Ariste (?) and chthonic Holder of Tartaros and chthonic Evil Eye and chthonic Aion (?) and chthonic (?) Heroes (?) and Paian, chthonic Demeter and chthonic Plouton and chthonic and dead Persephone and evil demons and fortunes of all men, come with mighty fate – and necessitate, accomplish this muzzling spell, lest Ariston (f.) gainsay Artemidoros, whom Timo bore, in anything (or to anyone?) but let her remain subject for the period of her life. And also muzzle Artemidoros Melasios (?) whom Gaterana (?) bore, and do not let him make an indictment to anyone concerning the cloths but let him be muzzled.35 32  St.Byz. s. v. Ἀμαθοῦς. Terence B. Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” ANRW 2.18.3, 2185; Sarolta A. Takács, Isis and Sarapis in the Roman World (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 29–30, 51–56; Eric M. Orlin, Foreign Cults in Rome: Creating a Roman Empire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 201–7. 33  On the charaktêres, see discussion and bibliography at William Brashear, “The Greek Magical Papyri: An Introduction and Survey; Annotated Bibliography (1928–1994),” ANRW 2.18.5, 3441–43; David Frankfurter, “The Magic of Writing and the Writing of Magic: The Power of the Word in Egyptian and Greek Traditions,” Helios 21 (1994): 206–10; Jacco Dieleman, Priests, Tongues, and Rites: The London-Leiden Magical Manuscripts and Translation in Egyptian Ritual (100–300 CE) (Leiden: Brill, 2005), 97–101; Gideon Bohak, Ancient Jewish Magic: A History (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 270–74; Bohak, “The Charaktêres in Ancient and Medieval Jewish Magic,” Acta classica univ. scient debrencen. 47 (2011); Kirsten Dzwiza, “The ‘Catalogue and Statistical Analysis of the Charaktêres’ Project: A First Introduction,” in Contesti Magici = Contextos Mágicos, ed. Marina Piranomonte and Francisco Marco Simón (Rome: De Luca editori d’arte, 2012), 307–8; David Frankfurter, “The Magic of Writing in Mediterranean Antiquity,” Guide to the Study of Ancient Magic, ed. David Frankfurter (Leiden: Brill, 2019): 626-58. 34  Pierre Aupert and David R. Jordan, “Magical Inscriptions on Talc Tablets from Amathous,” AJA 85 (1981): 184. At the site of Oxyrhynchus, illicit digging uncovered a ceramic vessel that contained two lead tablets. The lead tablets preserved two versions of a love spell, one of which was longer and more complicated than the other. The pot was also inscribed with a version of the spell, even simpler than those used on the two lead tablets. Suppl. Mag. 1.49–51. 35  NGD 115, above, n. 29. Trans. Jordan, “Late Feasts for Ghosts,” 136.

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In the body of the inscription, this selenite artifact refers to itself as a muzzling spell (τὸ φιμωτικόν, line 11) indicating that it was believed to perform a function comparable to the lead tablets. Magical signs similar to those found on the lead sheets in the deposit also are present on this selenite tablet; some of these signs appear on other selenite fragments. Jordan has identified the elements of the inscription that are paralleled in a spell from the Great Magical Papyrus of Paris (PGM IV), purportedly discovered in Thebes (Egypt).36 This papyrus is one of numerous handbooks or manuals for ritual specialists from Egypt. The spells included in the papyrus manuals vary greatly in character and function, running the gamut from love spells, to prognostication, healing, and curses. The parallel spell to ours is titled a “love spell of attraction performed with the help of heroes or gladiators or those who have died a violent death” (PGM IV 1390–1495). The instructions require the practitioner to perform the rite in a place where violent deaths have occurred and to recite a spell over seven pieces of bread, which are left for the spirits of the dead.37 In the event that the first ritual fails, the manual provides an alternative. In this second rite, the practitioner makes an offering of cow dung over flax ashes, and throws polluted dirt. The invocation in this portion of the spell shows surprising similarities to the selenite tablet from Cyprus, and calls upon “chthonic Hermes and chthonic Hekate and chthonic Acheron.” In the ritual instructions found in Thebes, the text invokes Amphiaraos, a hero associated with a shrine in Oropos in Greece. Amphipolis, in the Cypriot spell, is perhaps a different local hero or a represents a corruption of Amphiaraos.38 The inclusion of specific geographically significant names in the invocation, coupled with the absence of Egyptian elements, points to a Hellenic origin for this part of the spell. Jordan has suggested that this initial invocation was employed for rites for the dead on mainland Greece.39 This selenite tablet from Cyprus provides insight into one waypoint within the larger networks of ritual exchange. It also suggests that the Cypriot practitioners were compiling and recombining ritual elements for deployment in the artifacts deposited in the shaft. This process of importation and recombination is common in the magical papyri, many of which represent a bricolage of ritual traditions drawn from throughout the Mediterranean.40 36 Jordan, “Late Feasts for Ghosts,” 141–43. See Brashear, “The Greek Magical Papyri,” ANRW 2.18.5, 3400–3405. 37  Although the tablets were discovered beneath disarticulated skeletons, this event appears to post-date the deposition of the lead and selenite sheets. We cannot, however, be certain about where the shaft containing the tablets was located, and it remains a possibility that the tablets were deposited in a cemetery or another space associated with the dead. 38  Two sites named as Amphipolis are known: the colony established by Athens in Thrace (http://pleiades.stoa.org/places/501347), and a city known as Amphipolis, Tourmeda or Nikatoris (http://pleiades.stoa.org/places/658377). It is possible that local heroes were associated with one or the other location. 39  Jordan, “Late Feasts for Ghosts,” 134–35. 40 Lynn R.  LiDonnici, “Compositional Patterns in PGM IV (=P. Bibl.Nat.Suppl. Gr. No. 574),” BASP 40 (2003): 141–78; Bohak, Ancient Jewish Magic, 230.



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The inclusion of ritual phrases from the mainland is symptomatic of a larger trend of globalization in magical practice that appears to have increased in scope during the second century CE.41 The Cypriot tablets preserve elements that draw upon a substantial and widely distributed vocabulary of ritual practice, combining features from a variety of cultural contexts. The invocation to Osiris is the sole Egyptian invocation discernible in the text, and may indicate the incorporation of foreign elements by those who were only passingly familiar with Egyptian ritual traditions. Invocations to IAO and ADONAI may be indicative of Jewish or Christian traditions.42 The magical signs, likewise, attest to familiarity with a broader koine of magical practice, as the inclusion of such unpronounceable symbols is common throughout the late antique Mediterranean. These global elements were amassed and re-interpreted within the local context, combined to form hybrid but efficacious rituals that were apparently collected in a ritual manual employed by specialists at the site.

Model Texts, Compilation, and Ritual Personnel The language that pervades the lead and selenite curses from Cyprus is indicative of the use of a formulary to produce the artifacts. The practitioner likely consulted the model, then copied the text, introducing some errors and the occasional modification to a tablet that had been prepared in some way. Differences in the physical appearance of the inscriptions  – the handwriting  – suggests that multiple individuals were responsible for production, perhaps over an extended period. In the broader Mediterranean, there are several caches of tablets that indicate the consultation of a formulary. These include a group of tablets from a columbarium on the Via Appia outside of Rome; the tablets discovered in graves around Hadrumetum and Carthage in North Africa; and eight tablets discovered in a well in the Athenian Agora.43 The formulary-based tablets from Rome, Carthage, and Hadrumetum were found in close geographical 41  Tamar Hodos, “Global, Local and in Between: Connectivity and the Mediterranean,” in Globalisation and the Roman World: World History, Connectivity and Material Culture, ed. Martin Pitts and M. J. Versluys (New York: Cambridge University Pess, 2015), 240–53. 42 Wilburn, Materia Magica, 220–21; Bohak, Ancient Jewish Magic, 198–99, 299–30. We can more easily identify Egyptian traditions because of the wealth of evidence that we possess from Egypt. 43  Via Appia: Richard Wünsch, Sethianische Verfluchungstafeln aus Rom (Leipzig: Teubner, 1898); Attilio Mastrocinque, “Le ‘defixiones’ di Porta San Sebastiano,” MHNH: revista internacional de investigación sobre magia y astrología antiguas 5 (2005); Hadrumetum: DTAud 275–298; Richard L. Gordon, “Competence and ‘Felicity Conditions’ in Two Sets of North African Curse-Tablets (DTaud nos. 275–85; 286–98),” MHNH: revista internacional de investigación sobre magia y astrología antiguas 5 (2005); Carthage: DTAud 252 and 253; David R. Jordan, “New Defixiones from Carthage,” in The Circus and a Byzantine Cemetery at Carthage, ed. J. H. Humphrey (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1988), 117–34; Athenian Agora: David

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proximity, but deposited in different tombs within larger mortuary landscapes. Similarities in the inscriptions preserved on the tablets allow us to posit the existence of a formulary that has not been preserved. In contrast, the dry desert climate of Egypt has preserved more than 96 formularies, used for the production of power objects. The ritual manuals from Egypt were written in Greek as well the Egyptian language in the Hieratic, Demotic, and Coptic scripts, suggesting that only members of the priesthood could comprehend some of the documents.44 They are amalgamations of ritual procedures from a variety of contexts, including traditional rites associated with the temple and rituals for cursing that have roots in the Near East and Greece. The texts provide evidence of transmission PGM IV, which is a spell manual of more than three thousand lines, is itself a copy of an earlier text.45 The Egyptian material suggests that in certain periods, ritual professionals associated with temples compiled and redacted instructional texts for dream oracles, curses and healing spells performed for private individuals. It is not clear whether these activities were undertaken as part of priestly duties or instead were performed without the direct sponsorship of the temple and its authorities. Local and individual ideas of appropriate and inappropriate ritual acts may have determined how ritual specialists operated in different environments. By assessing the archaeological context of ritual formularies, we can draw inferences about the role and societal position of those who owned and used these texts. Most of the papyri identified as formularies, however, lack a secure archaeological context. In the Greek and early Roman periods, priests may have had access to ritual manuals housed in temples, since a number of Egyptian temples include small rooms identified as libraries by the lists of books inscribed on the walls.46 An archive of ritual documents from the site of Tebtynis includes more R. Jordan, “Defixiones from a Well near the Southwest Corner of the Athenian Agora,” Hesperia 54 (1985): 205–55. 44  Garth Fowden, The Egyptian Hermes: A Historical Approach to the Late Pagan Mind (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1986); Robert K. Ritner, The Mechanics of Ancient Egyptian Magical Practice, SOAC 54 (Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1993), 206 and n. 952; Ritner, “Egyptian Magical Practice under the Roman Empire: The Demotic Spells and Their Religious Context,” ANRW 2.18.5, 3345–46; David Frankfurter, Religion in Roman Egypt: Assimilation and Resistance (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998), 198–237; Dieleman, Priests, Tongues, and Rites; Ian S. Moyer, Egypt and the Limits of Hellenism (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 223–26. 45  LiDonnici, “Compositional Patterns in PGM IV”; Dieleman, Priests, Tongues, and Rites, 22, 28; Korshi Dosoo, “Magical Discourses, Ritual Collections: Cultural Trends and Private Interests in Egyptian Handbooks and Archives,” in Proceedings of the 27th International Congress of Papyrology, ed. Tomasz Derda, Adam Łajtar and Jakub Urbanik (Warsaw: Journal of Juristic Papyrology, 2016), 699–716.. 46  Émile Chassinat and Maxence de Rochemonteix, Le Temple d’Edfou (Paris: Leroux, 1928), 351; Bertha Porter and Rosalind L. B. Moss, Topographical Bibliography of Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphic Texts, Reliefs, and Paintings (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1927), 135.



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than four hundred texts, about half of which relate directly to the functioning of the temple. Ten contain instructions for rituals; one is intended for use for a private individual.47 In this context, it seems likely that temple functionaries had access to these documents. It is also possible that some of the state-focused rites were adapted for private parties, as many of the texts were written in rapid hands, and may have been used for practical purposes.48 Later evidence suggests that ritual practitioners or personnel may have maintained instructional texts as private possessions. At the Dakhleh Oasis, excavations in structure three at the site of Ismant al-Kharab (ancient Kellis) have uncovered an archive belonging to the family of an individual named Pamour or Pamouris, a Manichaean. The archive includes fragments of two ritual formularies, as well as examples of activated spells in the form of amulets, one of which was created by using the formulary. Another text has been identified as a medical prescription, indicating that the residents were skilled in healing practices.49 In the 1920s, Howard Carter discovered a jar “buried in the floor of a monk’s dwelling – a Rock Cave – near the stone chips that came from the original excavation of the tomb of Amenemhet I.”50 Carter suggests that the resident was a monk, as a Christian community was located nearby in the Deir Bekheeta, and monks or other ascetics made frequent use of the caves as residences. The formulary was written in Coptic, and includes a variety of applications, including healing spells as well as rituals to drain a cistern, lay a foundation, and make a woman pregnant. The individuals who possessed and used these documents, or their progenitors, may have received traditional religious training, as they were familiar with the languages of the temple. They were familiar with the ritual words, gestures, and actions of religious procedures, positioned as experts in the community to perform rituals for private individuals in local contexts.51 Like their 47  Kim Ryholt, “On the Contents and Nature of the Tebtunis Temple Library: A Status Report,” in Tebtynis und Soknopaiu Nesos: Leben im römerzeitlichen Fajum, ed. Sandra Lippert and Maren Schentuleit (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2005), 158. Thessalos, in De virtutibus herbarum, records that he was able to read a ritual text discovered in a library, but was unable to perform the rites effectively until he receives instruction from a high priest, associated with a temple in Thebes. (sec 6–7, 12) See Ian S. Moyer, Egypt and the Limits of Hellenism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 264–69; Fowden, The Egyptian Hermes, 162–65; Ritner, “Egyptian Magical Practice under the Roman Empire,” ANRW 2.18.5, 2256–58. 48  Peter van Minnen, “Boorish or Bookish? Literature in Egyptian Villages in the Fayum in the Graeco-Roman Period,” JJP 28 (1998), 166. 49  Klaus A. Worp et al., eds., Greek Papyri from Kellis, Dakleh Oasis Project (Oakville, CT: Oxbow Books, 1995), 50–53; Magical formulary: P. Kell. 85a, P. Kell. 85b; amulet from formulary: P. Kell. 87; fever amulets: P. Kell. 86 and P. Kell. 87; amulet: P. Kell. 88; medical formula: P. Kell. 89. 50  Quoted in Angelicus M. Kropp, Ausgewählte koptische Zaubertexte (Bruxelles: Édition de la Fondation égyptologique reine Élisabeth, 1930), 50 = ACM, no. 128. Map of findspot: Howard Carter, “Report on the Tomb of Zeser-Ka-Ra Amenhetep I, Discovered by the Earl of Carnarvon in 1914,” JEA 3 (1916): plate XIX. 51 David Frankfurter, “Female Figurines in Early Christian Egypt: Reconstructing Lost

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Egyptian counterparts, the Cypriot practitioners compiled and utilized the ritual spell texts, employing them in a community in which individuals sought out these specialists because of their expertise and familiarity with invocations, gestures, and locations.

Specialized Deposition and Restricted Access The curse tablets from Cyprus are the largest extant cache of inscribed spells known from antiquity. All of the objects were placed within a single, presumably significant location: the deep shaft. Other sizable deposits of tablets derive from temple precincts, including sanctuaries of Demeter and Kore, most notably at Corinth and Cnidus, and sanctuaries to other goddesses, including Sulis Minerva at Bath, Anna Perenna in Rome, and the sanctuary of Isis and Magna Mater at Mainz, in Germany. Ritual personnel were likely responsible for some components of the creation and deposition of these artifacts. Often, rites intended to activate curses took place within the temple enclosure and access to these spaces was likely controlled by ritual personnel or a temple warden.52 Recent archaeological work at the site of Corinth uncovered a group of eighteen tablets associated with the sanctuary of Demeter and Kore on Acrocorinth. Ten of the tablets derive from one room of a single building, the so-called “Building of the Tablets,” a structure that was located prominently in the sanctuary enclosure. Of the remaining eight tablets, most can be associated with structures within the temple enclosure.53 The tablets invoked the deities of the precinct: Demeter appears in one of the tablets. In another text, found in the cult space Practices and Meanings,” Material Religion 11 (2015): 207–9. Some practitioners may have also adopted the techniques, goals, and stereotypes of the magician, as depicted in literary sources, through what Frankfurter has termed “stereotype appropriation.” See Religion in Roman Egypt, 224–37. 52  Beate Dignas, “A Day in the Life of a Greek Sanctuary,” in A Companion to Greek Religion, ed. Daniel Ogden (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2007), 163–65. Temples may have been roped off, or closed, on non-festival days. See Parker, Polytheism and Society at Athens, 294–95 and n. 24. Our sources highlight the occasions when restricted access was violated. At the site of Arkesine in the fourth century BCE, a woman priest complains about other women entering the shrine while she was absent. Dillon, Girls and Women in Classical Greek Religion, 79. 53  The tablets are published in Ronald S. Stroud, The Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore: The Inscriptions (Princeton, NJ: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 2013). The tablets found in the sanctuary building are numbers 118–27. Tablets 128–29 were found in Late Roman fill to the southwest of the Building of the Tablets. Tablets 130–31, against Maxima Pontia, were found in the remains of a Classical period dining complex. Tablet 132 was from Late Roman fill above Room E and a small court P‑Q26. Nancy Bookidis and Ronald S. Stroud, The Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore: Topography and Architecture (Princeton, N. J.: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 1997), 208–9. Tablets 133 and 135 were found in late fourth century BCE debris associated with the main temple dedicated to Kore. Tablet 134 was found in late fourth century BCE debris associated with the easternmost temple dedicated to the Morai, or Fates.



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dedicated to the Morai, or the Fates, the inscription invokes Ananke, or Necessity, the mother of the Morai.54 In the Building of the Tablets, the artifacts were deposited around four low bases that were placed along the south wall, and have been associated with objects employed in rites probably related to some form of ritual activation: lamps, almost all of which appear to have been used, fragments of clay thymiateria (large ceramic objects for burning incense) and small vessels presumably used for pouring liquids.55 There is evidence of different hands in the creation of the texts, suggesting that multiple practitioners worked in a space that was used for as many as two hundred years, down to the third century CE.56 The rituals were being performed within a specific space – inside the temple enclosure – where access likely was constrained. Other sanctuary sites in which curse tablets were discovered in significant numbers likewise suggest the involvement of temple personnel. In the paired sanctuaries of Magna Mater and Isis at Mainz, excavation within the interior rooms of the sanctuary uncovered eighteen tablets as well as numerous fragments and globules of lead. Nearly all of the preserved tablets also show signs of exposure to high heat. The ongoing and frequent ritual at the site required the destruction of the tablets in the fires; we possess the few examples that escaped this fate.57 Temple functionaries likely placed the tablets into the fires deep within the temple, probably as part of their official duties. At the Temple of Sulis at Bath, in England, more than 130 tablets were recovered from the sacred spring associated with the local goddess. The temple precinct was built around the spring, and sometime in the second century CE, the reservoir was enclosed by the construction of a barrel-vaulted enclosure, limiting access.58 Likewise, excavation of the cistern of the fountain at the sanctuary of Anna Perenna in Rome uncovered a series of small containers, each of which contained a curse tablet and a miniature figurine.59 The location of the cistern, behind the public foun54 Stroud,

The Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore: The Inscriptions, 131. The Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore: The Inscriptions, 139–46; Bookidis and Stroud, The Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore: Topography and Architecture, 281–91. 56 Stroud, The Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore: The Inscriptions, 86; Bookidis and Stroud, The Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore: Topography and Architecture, 291. 57  Marion Witteyer, “Curse Tablets and Voodoo Dolls from Mainz: The Archaeological Evidence for Magical Practices in the Sanctuary of Isis and Magna Mater,” MHNH: revista internacional de investigación sobre magia y astrología antiguas 5 (2005): 116–23; Jürgen Blänsdorf, “The Defixiones from the Sanctuary of Isis and Mater Magna in Mainz,” in Magical Practice in the Latin West: Papers from the International Conference Held at the University of Zaragoza, 30 Sept. – 1 Oct. 2005, ed. Richard L. Gordon and Francisco Marco Simón (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 156–57; see especially Blänsdorf ’s tablet 12=DTM 11, which states: “May their limbs melt as this lead shall melt, in order that they may die;” Blänsdorf, “The Defixiones from the Sanctuary of Isis and Mater Magna in Mainz,” 178. 58  Barry W. Cunliffe and Peter Davenport, The Temple of Sulis Minerva at Bath Volume I: The Site (Oxford: Oxford University Committee for Archaeology, 1985), 180–81. 59  Marina Piranomonte, “Religion and Magic at Rome: The Fountain of Anna Perenna,” 55 Stroud,

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tain, may indicate restricted access. Given the meticulous preparation of the artifacts, it is very likely that ritual specialists were involved in the creation of these objects. At each of these sites, ritual personnel likely were involved in the creation or deposition of the tablets. At Bath and Mainz, it appears that the principal, the individual who petitioned the goddess, was responsible for writing the text. The tablets from Bath even include examples that are only scratches, probably the result of an illiterate individual’s attempt to write down the curse.60 The act of writing by the principal was critical for the efficacy of the spell; the text represented direct communication between the principal and the divinity in the shrine.61 For the temple of Magna Mater at Mainz, Blänsdorf has argued that the variation of the spells precludes the possibility of priestly intervention; some of the curses show little literary finesse, and are only lists of names.62 This argument, however, elides multiple ritual events, privileging only the act of inscribing. The principal may have acquired the tablet at the site, after it was prepared by ritual personnel or other functionaries.63 Such individuals may have assisted in devising the text that would be inscribed. Even in cases in which neither legible nor literate text is preserved on a tablet, the ritual surely included a spoken incantation; the professionals who worked in the shrine could have provided assistance in this process, as they would be aware of words or gestures believed to be efficacious. Comparison with divinatory practices can illuminate the potential role of these ritual specialists. Although the principal agent in a divinatory rite such as incubation would have experienced the dream or other visitation, the ritual professional was responsible for the interpretation, facilitating the divinatory experience.64 We should locate ritual personnel at various points within the process, from supplying the materials for the rite, to lending technical expertise or inspiration, and finally, facilitating the deposit of the tablet, or, as is likely at Mainz, ensuring that the ritual artifact was consumed in the fire.

in Magical Practice in the Latin West: Papers from the International Conference Held at the University of Zaragoza, 30 Sept. – 1 Oct. 2005, ed. Richard L. Gordon and Francisco Marco Simón (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 195–96; Il Santuario della Musica e il bosco sacro di Anna Perenna (Milano: Electa, 2002), 17–20. 60  Roger S. O. Tomlin, Tabellae Sulis: Roman Inscribed Tablets of Tin and Lead from the Sacred Spring at Bath (Oxford: Oxford University Committee for Archaeology, 1988), 247, nos. 112–16. 61  Gordon, “Showing the Gods,” 149–50. 62  Blänsdorf, “The Defixiones from the Sanctuary of Isis and Mater Magna in Mainz,” 147. 63  The lead content of the tablets from Bath suggests individual preparation. Tomlin, Tabellae Sulis, 82–84. 64 Hamori, Women’s Divination, 6.



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Display According to the account of the discovery at Cyprus, a number of selenite tablets were mounted on the walls of the shaft with gypsum. One of the selenite artifacts preserves suspension holes (fig. 1, p. 299), suggesting that the object was manufactured with the intent to hang it from the wall of the shaft. In a number of locations around the Mediterranean, curse tablets were displayed publicly, often within temple precincts, although in some cases, the tablets had been rolled or folded in order to obscure the text from those who might read it. The display of tablets within sanctuaries places this ritual act squarely within the realm of temple practice, indicating that ritual personnel took an active role in cursing. Fourteen folded lead sheets from the temple of Demeter at Cnidus provide a close parallel to the Cypriot tablets. Excavating in the mid-nineteenth century, C. T. Newton found the tablets around statue bases and portions of a statue of Demeter. A number of the sheets preserved suspension holes, indicating that they had been hung up.65 Similarities in the Cnidian inscriptions suggest that a formulary or model text would have been shared among the practitioners.66 Temple personnel were likely responsible for the creation of the artifacts, and viewed these objects as appropriate dedications to the goddess. Once the complaint had been lodged with the goddess, temple personnel may have taken an active role in resolving the conflict that precipitated the curse.67 Numerous other tablets from the Mediterranean preserve features such as suspension holes that suggest that the responsible party intended to display the artifact, with many deriving from temple contexts.68 Curses against thieves, for example, frequently were intended to be displayed, and at least six examples 65  Charles Thomas Newton, A History of Discoveries at Halicarnassus, Cnidus, and Branchidae (London: Day & Son, 1863), 724; Audollent (DTAud cxvi) denies the existence of these holes, but this may be a result of later decay. 66  Henk S. Versnel, “Beyond Cursing: The Appeal for Justice in Judicial Prayers,” in Magika Hiera: Ancient Greek Magic and Religion, ed. Christopher A. Faraone and Dirk Obbink (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), 72. 67  Henk Versnel, “Writing Mortals and Reading Gods: Appeal to the Gods as a Dual Strategy in Social Control,” in Demokratie, Recht und Soziale Kontrolle im klassischen Athen, ed. David Cohen and Elisabeth Müller-Luckner (München: Oldenbourg, 2002), 68–72; “Πεπρημένος. The Cnidian Curse Tablets and Ordeal by Fire,” in Ancient Greek Cult Practice from the Epigraphical Evidence, ed. Robin Hägg (Stockholm: Paul Aströms Förlag, 1994), 146; Christopher A. Faraone, “Curses, Crime Detection and Conflict Resolution at the Festival of Demeter Thesmophoros,” JHS 131 (2011): 25–44. On the role of temple personnel in facilitating justice at other sites in Asia Minor, see Angelos Chaniotis, “Under the Watchful Eyes of the Gods: Divine Justice in Hellenistic and Roman Asia Minor,” in The Greco-Roman East: Politics, Culture, Society, ed. Stephen Colvin, Yale Classical Studies (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 11–13. 68  Versnel, “Writing Mortals and Reading Gods,” 56–59; Versnel, “Prayers for Justice, East and West: Recent Finds and Publications since 1990,” in Magical Practice in the Latin West: Papers from the International Conference Held at the University of Zaragoza, 30 Sept. – 1 Oct. 2005, ed. Richard L. Gordon and Francisco Marco Simón (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 281 n. 22.

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were discovered in temples.69 Henk Versnel has advocated for a separate classification of some ritual tablets as prayers for justice, differentiating these objects from traditional forms of cursing.70 As Esther Eidinow has argued, many curses embody a desire to confront and manage risk, particularly with regard to a future event, such as a court case, or to ongoing animosity. Curses reflect anxieties about the future, and often reframe an aggressive act as a defensive maneuver intended to forestall an imagined act by the target.71 Prayers for justice respond to a perceived injustice and were intended to both remedy the wrong and forestall future abuse. The distinction between curses and prayers for justice relies on the text of the inscription, downplaying potential congruencies in the ritual processes that produced the artifacts. Prayers for justice, like other forms of curses, were intended to affect change through ritual means, and individuals, as members of the community, determined whether this ritual form was considered acceptable practice by local specialists.72 On Cyprus, ritual specialists descended the shaft in order to mount the tablets on the walls, but these objects would have been visible to only the practitioners and the gods.73 Even so, the act of display may have served any number of potentially overlapping purposes. The tablets may have proclaimed the desire of the principal for resolution, or asserted the justification for bringing down a curse on the target. Many of the tablets refer to justice and injustice, suggesting a desire for resolution, irrespective of guilt or innocence. Like votive objects, some curses may have been a physical testament to an agreement between the divinity and the principal. Ritual specialists likely were instrumental in facilitating the resolution that the tablets desired, either through direct mediation or through the more common avenue of gossip within the social network.74

69  Christopher A. Faraone et al., “Micah’s Mother (Judg. 17:1–4) and a Curse from Carthage (Kai 89): Canaanite Precedents for Greek and Latin Curses against Thieves?” JNES 64 (2005): 171. 70  On this category, Versnel suggests seven characteristics that typify prayers for justice, including the presence of name of the principal and a tone of supplication, but he concedes that there are a significant number of tablets that are “borderline cases” which combine features of aggressive curses, and supplicatory prayers for justice. Versnel, “Prayers for Justice, East and West,” 179–80. 71 Eidinow, Oracles, Curses, and Risk, 228–32. 72 Kindt, Rethinking Greek Religion, 113; Hamori, Women’s Divination, 25. 73  Roger S. O. Tomlin, “Cursing a Thief in Iberia and Britain” in Magical Practice in the Latin West: Papers from the International Conference Held at the University of Zaragoza, 30 Sept.–1 Oct. 2005, ed. Richard L. Gordon and Francisco Marco Simón (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 250. 74 Collins, Magic in the Ancient Greek World, 86–88; Eidinow, Envy, Poison, and Death, 254–57.



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Conclusion The inscribed lead and selenite tablets from Cyprus represent a substantial corpus of evidence for ritual practices during the late second and third centuries CE. This period witnessed religious transformation throughout the Mediterranean, and was marked by social crises, imperial instability, and the increasing importance of Christianity. Comparative evidence suggests one possible model for understanding the production and deposition of these artifacts: that ritual personnel, familiar with religious language, gestures and formulae, amassed and managed ritual procedures, including some ritual techniques and invocations that made their way to Cyprus from other locations. These individuals oversaw and may have created and deposited the ritual objects. Curses responded to local needs and concerns, and ritual practices reflected the ideas of community regarding acceptable and unacceptable behavior by both ritual specialists and amateurs. On Cyprus, analysis of the archaeological context of the artifacts and their inscriptions can provide some hints about the individuals who created the objects. The ritual tablets were products of a local community, in which the principal worked with a specialist to produce a power object. The practitioners made use of a formulary that provides evidence for the compilation of ritual texts, likely from a variety of sources. The process can be compared to ritual procedures in Egypt, where priests, monks, or other individuals with ritual expertise were associated with the production of power objects. The intricate nature of the spells, and the evidence for compilation, suggests an active, learned group of practitioners. The Cypriot ritual specialists deposited the tablets in a specific, presumably important location. The practitioners produced more than 240 artifacts over the period in which the space was in use. The number and treatment of the tablets can be compared to examples from sanctuary sites, such as those at Corinth, Cnidus, and Mainz. At these sites, it seems likely that ritual personnel associated with a local temple were responsible for the production and display or deposition of the tablets. This comparative evidence suggests that the Cypriot cache was likewise the product of professionals who may have been tied to a temple or other collective organization. In situations of perceived injustice, the practitioners served as an important recourse, either to manage risk or to ensure a just outcome. The artifacts from Cyprus, however, cannot be associated securely with a temple or a specific religious institution, either by provenance or by evidence from the inscriptions. No temple of Demeter and Kore is attested near Agios Tychon or Amathous. Inscriptional evidence locates a temple to the Demeter and Kore at Hellenistic Kourion, the site originally specified as the findspot of the cache, but it is unclear whether the temple was still active in the Roman period.75 Mit75 

Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” ANRW 2.18.3: 2184. The British were active in the

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ford suggests that the tablets are the products of Jewish-Cypriot mages, a muchcited ethnic group in the literary record, but the evidence for Jewish activity at Amathous is also limited for this period.76 By the fifth and sixth centuries, Christian basilicas had been constructed at both Kourion and Amathous.77 There is also evidence for the cult of Theos Hypsistos, the “Most High God,” who was the focus of third-century devotion on Cyprus and in Asia Minor. A cippus dedicated to the god is known from Agios Tychon; in addition, a number of funerary monuments, some of which bear similarities to votive offerings, have been discovered in the countryside around Amathous.78 Despite the extensive invocations preserved on the tablets, the inscriptions of the curse tablets are catholic in their devotion, calling upon multiple divinities, but making no specific mention of those gods for whom we have clear evidence for ritual personnel or even functioning religious structures in the third century. Archaeological evidence does not permit us to know the precise nature of the shaft in which the tablets were deposited, but it is clear that the artifacts were placed deep beneath the earth, in an area that must have resonated with ideas about the dead and their spiritual locations. The area around Agios Tychon likely served as a cemetery for Amathous, and therefore offered enormous potential for the practitioner, who believed himself or herself capable of harnessing this force for ritual use. Within this mortuary zone, ritual personnel may have been able to access the world of the dead through the shaft, depositing imprecations to the demones without the danger of pollution associated with coming into direct contact with the bodies of the deceased. The third century, when the tablets were probably deposited, witnessed the decline of many of the physical structures associated with religious practice on Cyprus as elsewhere. At Amathous, the temple of Aphrodite, long a mainstay of cult on the island, went out of use, but it was not replaced by a Christian church until the fifth century.79 Despite the absence of built structures, local individuals continued to practice religious devotion, perhaps led by ritual personnel previously associated with polis cult who had moved apart from these traditional area around Kourion in the late nineteenth century, but it is unlikely that a well would have been placed near the location of the temple of Demeter and Kore, given its elevation (Stuart Swiny, personal communication). 76  Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” ANRW 2.18.3, 2205. A fourth-century inscription locates a rabbi at Lapethus, and a synagogue is known from fifth or sixth century Salamis. There likewise is some evidence for Jewish activity at the site of Kourion in the Hellenistic period, but little afterwards. Pieter W. van der Horst, “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,” Zutot 3 (2003): 115–17. 77  William Tabbernee, “Asia Minor and Cyprus,” in Early Christianity in Contexts: An Exploration across Cultures and Continents, ed. William Tabbernee (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2014), 314. 78  Edmond Pottier and Mondry Beaudouin, “Inscriptions de l’île de Chypre,” BCH 3 (1879): 167, no. 12. 79  Pierre Aupert, Guide to Amathous (Nicosia: Bank of Cyprus Cultural Foundation and the Cyprus Department of Antiquities, 2000), 67–70, 72–75.



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physical spaces, taking on new roles in local communities. At Amathous, the individuals who created the tablets were literate professionals, conversant with multiple religious traditions, who engaged in rites that incorporated a variety of cultural elements. The religious landscape of late antique Egypt is not dissimilar. There, the Egyptian temple declined as a central focus of community life. The period of transition witnessed the increasing prominence of Christian religious structures and personnel, some of whom were similarly engaged in providing magical services.80 The Cypriot tablets may derive from a comparable period of transition, when ritual specialists were engaging in rites that were neither aligned exclusively with traditional local cults or Christianity, and were neither exclusively “magic” nor “religion.”

80  Peter Brown, “The Rise and Function of the Holy Man,” JRS 61 (1971): 80–101; Jonathan Z. Smith, Map Is Not Territory: Studies in the History of Religions (Leiden: Brill, 1978), 186–89; David Frankfurter, “Syncretism and the Holy Man in Late Antique Egypt,” JECS 11 (2003): 339– 85; “Where the Spirits Dwell: Possession, Christianization and Saint-Shrines in Late Antiquity,” HTR 103 (2010): 27–46; Christianizing Egypt: Syncretism and Local Worlds in Late Antiquity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2018): 87–103.

Epi­pha­nius’s Library Andrew S. Jacobs

Εἶπε πάλιν, ὅτι ἀναγκαία τῶν Χριστιανῶν βιβλίων ἡ κτῆσις τοῖς ἔχουσι. Καὶ αὐτὴ γὰρ καθ᾽ ἑαυτὴν τῶν βιβλίων ἡ ὄψις, ὀκνηροτέρους ἡμᾶς πρὸς τὴν ἁμαρτίαν ἐργάζεται, καὶ πρὸς δικαιοσύνην μᾶλλον διανίστασθαι προτρέπεται. He said another time that the acquisition of Christian books is necessary for those who can. For the very sight of books makes us shy away more from sin and rather urges us to be roused to righteousness. Apophthegmata Patrum Epi­pha­nius 8

Modern Anglophone scholarship has little patience with Epi­pha­nius, bishop of Constantia (Salamis) from 367 to 403: these scholars view him as a mendacious anti-intellectual whose baleful influence in late antiquity promoted intolerance and fractiousness. These same scholars, however, rely heavily on the texts preserved by Epi­pha­nius. R. C. P. Hanson wrote that his most famous work, the heresiological compendium Panarion, is “of immeasurable value because it preserves for us so much material which would otherwise have been lost, even though it is presented by a writer who is narrow-minded at best and very silly at worst.”1 Epi­pha­nius is in fact the only source for dozens of early Christian texts that would otherwise be lost, from parabiblical sources to fourth-century documents preceding the Council of Constantinople in 381.2 Even the most detailed literary study of the Panarion of the twentieth century focuses almost solely on its sources: “This documentation,” Aline Pourkier wrote, “makes his work precious to us,”3 suggesting that the best approach to Epi­pha­nius’s work is “an archaeological analysis (une analyse fouillée) … which 1  R. C. P. Hanson, The Search for the Christian Doctrine of God: The Arian Controversy, 318– 381 A. D. (London: T. & T. Clark, 1988), 658. On Epi­pha­nius’s role in modern scholarship, see my discussion in Epi­pha­nius of Cyprus: A Cultural Biography of Late Antiquity, Christianity in Late Antiquity (Oakland: University of California Press, 2016), 1–8 and 263–67. 2  Pierre Nautin, “Épiphane,” Dictionnaire d’histoire et de géographie écclesiastique 15 (1963): 617–31, at 627, provides a partial list of documents which we have only through Epi­pha­nius. 3  Aline Pourkier, L’hérésiologie chez Épiphane de Salamine, Christianisme antique 4 (Paris: Beauchesne, 1992), 92, echoing the earlier sentiment of her Doktorvater Pierre Nautin, “Épiphane,” 627: “C’est par cette documentation que son ouvrage est précieux.”

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always takes account of [Epi­pha­nius’s] sources and seeks to delimit their usage in a rigorous fashion.”4 Pourkier continues a project begun by the “founding fathers” of early Christian source criticism, who sought in the nineteenth century to extract more authentic and valuable anti-heretical works from Epi­pha­ nius’s text.5 Such a distinction between negatively valued “husk” and positively valued “kernel” characterized nineteenth-century source critical theological history, but also persists into our own day.6 Twentieth- and twenty-first-century source critical approaches to Epi­pha­nius bear the added mark of our post-Walter Bauer quest for authentic sources for “alternative” early Christianities.7 Students of Gnosticism and Jewish-Christianity conduct their own “archaeological analysis” designed to recover texts that originated with Sethians or Ebionites.8 Major recent work on Marcion has likewise carefully  – almost surgically  – retrieved verses out of his lost Evangelion and Apostolikon from Epi­pha­nius’s Refutation,9 4 Pourkier, Hérésiologie, 497. Nautin goes so far as to describe the Panarion as “une nouvelle édition de l’ouvrage d’Hippolyte, mise à jour et augmentée de quarante-huit hérésies;” Nautin, “Épiphane,” 626–27. 5  Especially R. A. Lipsius, Zur Quellenkritik des Epiphanios (Vienna: Wilhelm Braumüller, 1865), which (like Pourkier’s monograph) focuses on rescuing Hippolytus’s Syntagma from Epi­ pha­nius; Lipsius revisits his discussion of Hippolytus’s text in Die Quellen der ältesten Ketzergeschichte: neu untersucht (Leipzig: Barth, 1875). See also Charles Henry Beeson, Hegemonius: Acta Archelai, GCS 16 (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1906), who collates sections of Pan. 66 (against Mani) with Latin translations of an otherwise non-extant anti-Manichaean text and Pierre de Labriolle, Les sources de l’histoire du Montanisme: Textes, grecs, latins, syriaques, Collectanea Friburgensia n. s. 15 (Fribourg: Librairie de l’ Université, 1913), who describes his project on xxxi–lxxvi, esp. l–lxiii. 6  Adolf von Harnack famously deployed this distinction between husk (Schale) and kernel (Kern) in his lectures published as Das Wesen des Christentums (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1900), 7, 9, 35, 36, 113, 182; and in English as What is Christianity? trans. Thomas Bailey Saunders (New York: Putnam, 1901), 12, 15, 130, 179, 217. 7  The influence of Walter Bauer’s Rechtgläubkeit und Ketzerei im ältesten Christentum was felt in English-speaking scholarship in the 1960s and 1970s, simultaneous with the dispersion of “new” early Christian sources such as the texts from Nag Hammadi. The text was translated into English in 1971; Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity, ed. Robert A. Kraft and Gerhard Krodel (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1971); but we should see this translation project (spearheaded by the Philadelphia Seminar on Christian Origins) as a symptom of Bauer’s growing influence, rather than the root cause. See the minutes of the 1966–1967 meetings of the Philadelphia Seminar on Christian Origins during which Bauer was discussed: J. Reumann and R. Kraft, “Walter Bauer: The Man and His Book” (presented at the Philadelphia Seminar on Christian Origins, Philadelphia, PA, 20 September 1966), minutes available http://ccat.sas.upenn.edu/ psco/archives/psco04-min.htm, accessed 16 June 2015. 8  Bentley Layton, The Gnostic Scriptures (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 185–214; Bart D. Ehrman and Zlatko Pleše, The Apocryphal Gospels: Texts and Translations (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 210–15; Petri Luomanen, Recovering Jewish-Christian Sects and Gospels, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 110 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 251–52, updating A. F. J. Klijn, Jewish-Christian Gospel Tradition, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 17 (Leiden: Brill, 1992). 9  Dieter T. Roth, The Text of Marcion’s Gospel (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 270–346; Judith M. Lieu, Marcion and the Making of a Heretic: God and Scripture in the Second Century (Cambridge:



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and more recent studies of Montanism (the New Prophecy) have focused as much on the recovery of authentic Montanist “oracles” as earlier scholars did on authentic anti-Montanist refutations.10 These scholars who follow the assumption that Epi­pha­nius is otherwise “unbelievable” (not to mention “very silly”) also assume, possibly due to his perceived intellectual limitations, that he reproduced his earlier sources “quite slavishly.”11 Yet despite this desire to recover sources from Epi­pha­nius, no one has yet critically studied Epi­pha­nius’s library.12 Other fourth-century Christian authors have received more serious bibliographic investigation, especially Eusebius of Caesarea and Jerome (about whom more below).13 By reading Epi­pha­nius primarily as a sourcebook, modern scholars have perhaps uncritically assumed that Epi­pha­nius’s library was analogous to his acquisitive contemporaries’: wellstocked and capacious. Our appreciation for Epi­pha­nius’s sources even ameliorates our otherwise unpleasant image of Epi­pha­nius if – at least – we can reduce him to an irritating but invaluable patristic library.14 Certainly the bishop showed a deep interest in books, a fact that emerges in his own writings and those of his contemporaries. In his discussion of the “Gnostic” heresy in the Panarion Epi­pha­nius remarks: “They have a lot of books,”15 Cambridge University Press, 2015), 193–96 and 238–42 (discussion of Epi­pha­nius’s citations of Marcion’s Bible) and 209–33 and 242–69 (discussions of Marcion’s Bible that rely on Epi­pha­nius and other anti-Marcionite sources). 10  Christine Trevett, Montanism: Gender, Authority, and the New Prophecy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996); Ronald A. Heine, The Montanist Oracles and Testimonia, Patristic Monograph Series 14 (Macon: Mercer University Press, 1989). 11  Lipsius describes Epi­ pha­nius as “kein eben sehr glaubwürdiger Schriftsteller” and as someone who “sehr sklavisch” relied on his earlier sources; Quellenkritik, 1. By contrast, Pourkier remarks that Epi­pha­nius follows Hippolytues “loin … de servilement;” Hérésiologie, 146. 12  It is important to distinguish the particular material and intellectual categories of texts, books, and sources (and, of course, “libraries”): see Guglielmo Cavallo, “Libri, lettura, e biblioteche nella tarda antichità: Un panorama e qualche riflessione,” Antiquité Tardive 18 (2010): 9–19. 13  On Eusebius: Andrew Carriker, The Library of Eusebius of Caesrea, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 67 (Leiden: Brill, 2003); Sabrina Inowlocki, Eusebius and the Jewish Authors: His Citation Technique in an Apologetic Context, Ancient Judaism and Christianity 64 (Leiden: Brill, 2006); Inowlocki, “Eusebius’ Construction of a Christian Culture in an Apologetic Context: Reading the Praeparatio evangelica as a Library,” in Reconsidering Eusebius: Collected Papers on Literary, Historical, and Theological Issues, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 107 (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 199–223; Anthony Grafton and Megan H. Williams, Christianity and the Transformation of the Book: Origen, Eusebius, and the Library of Caesarea (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2006), 133–232. On Jerome: Megan H. Williams, The Monk and the Book: Jerome and the Making of Christian Scholarship (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006). 14  Grafton and Williams, Transformation, 92: “Epi­pha­nius, for all that modern scholars have questioned his intellectual seriousness, was an avid compiler of curious texts.” 15  Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 26.8.1: Καὶ τὰ μὲν βιβλία αὐτῶν πολλά. Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 25.3.5 also accuses the Nicolaitans of “inventing some books in Ialdabaoth’s name.” Epi­pha­nius explicitly links these two heresies together: Pan. 25.2.1 and 26.1.3: “these [Gnostics] are yoked together (συνεζευγμένοι) with those who follow Nicolaus.” On this incident, see Young Richard Kim,

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later revealing that he actually met these heretics.16 Readers of this chapter often focus on the deceptive scheme of the Gnostic women who attempt to seduce Epi­ pha­nius,17 but just as significant for Epi­pha­nius are the heretics’ “many books,” as he relates: The ones introducing this enticing story (ἀγώγιμον μῦθον τοῦτον) were quite lovely in their visual form (μορφῇ), but in their depraved minds they possessed all the unsightliness (ἀμορφίαν) of the Devil. But the merciful God protected me from their depravity, such that after I read their books and knew their true opinion (μετὰ τὸ ἀναγνῶναι ἡμᾶς καὶ τὰς βίβλους αὐτῶν καὶ ἐπιστῆσαι τὸν νοῦν τῇ ἀληθείᾳ) – and not being carried off by it – I escaped without taking their bait.18

The image of a studious (even nerdy) young monk using his love of books to escape the seductive grasp of heretics captures in miniature a major theme of the Panarion:19 his fellow orthodox should not judge a book solely by its cover, but investigate below the surface. Epi­pha­nius at the beginning of the treatise positions himself as the expert who, through “love of learning” (ἐκ φιλομαθίας), has collected eyewitness accounts, his own recollections, and the “refutations of earlier authors” (διὰ συνταγμάτων παλαιῶν συγγραφέων).20 Heretics will lie, but books (among other sources) will reveal their deceptions. Other Christians also recall Epi­pha­nius as particularly studious and bookish. Jerome, his close ally for the last decades of the bishop’s life, praised Epi­pha­ nius as “full of knowledge,”21 a scholar who had mastered five languages (preEpi­pha­nius of Cyprus: Imagining an Orthodox World (Ann Arbor: University of Michican Press, 2015), 35–43. 16  Epi­pha­nius does not specify that the Gnostics he met were in Egypt, but he does recall later of the Sethians: “Perhaps, I think, it was in the country of Egypt that I also encountered this heresy (for I don’t recall exactly where I encountered it)” (Pan. 39.1.2). According to Sozomen, Hist. eccl. 6.32.3, Epi­pha­nius was “educated by the best monks” in Egypt. Pourkier, Hérésiologie, 30, posits (plausibly) that he went as a young man to Egypt “y poursuivre ses études chez un rhéteur” and was “attiré par la vie monastique.” Notably, we find the same narrative in Jerome’s Vit. Hil. 2 ascribed to Epi­pha­nius’s monastic mentor, Hilarion. 17  See James E. Goehring, “Libertine or Liberated: Women in the So-called Libertine Gnostic Communities,” in Images of the Feminine in Gnosticism, SAC, ed. Karen L. King (Philadelphia: Augsburg Fortress Press, 1990), 329–44. 18  Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 26.17.8. Emphasis added. 19  Perhaps even the image of a “chest” (panarion) would evoke for readers the capsa or cistae containing scrolls, or other containers used to carry books (I thank the audience at the 17th International Conference on Patristic Studies at Oxford for making this suggestion): see George W. Houston, Inside Roman Libraries: Book Collections and Their Management in Antiquity, Studies in the History of Greece and Rome (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2014), 180–83. 20  Epi­pha­nius, Pan. proem 2.2.4. See, similarly, Pan. 26.18.1: “Some of these [heresies] I have encountered, others I have come to know through documents (συγγραμάττων), and some from the oral reports and testimony of trustworthy men, able to reveal the truth to me.” 21 Jerome, Epist. 64.22.1: of Epi­pha­nius’s treatise De XII Gemmis, “You will find it most full of knowledge (plenissimam scientiam).” See also Jerome, Comm. Isa. 15.54.11–12 and Comm. Ezech. 9.28:11 ff.



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sumably, in part, in order to read more books).22 Rufinus, Epi­pha­nius’s enemy in the late fourth-century Origenist controversy, was willing to believe that the bishop had read six thousand volumes of Origen’s works (although he then accused him of plagiarizing the dead theologian).23 Jerome, in his reply to Rufinus, denies that Origen even wrote that many books, but continues that, if he had, Epi­pha­nius could certainly have read them: “If indeed Origen had written 6,000 books, a most learned man (vir eruditissimus), educated from childhood in sacred texts, might have been able to bring himself to read others’ works for the sake of curiosity and knowledge (pro curiositate et scientia).”24 After Epi­pha­nius’s death his bookish reputation persisted. A saying attributed to Epi­pha­nius in the Apophthegmata Patrum extols the virtues of acquiring “Christian books,” which can make us “shy away from sin.”25 In the Life of Epi­pha­nius, perhaps composed within a generation or two of the bishop’s death,26 the newly-converted saint joins a monastery that supports itself by producing copies of the Scriptures.27 Epi­pha­nius’s bookish reputation ultimately derives from two interrelated elements of his surviving writings: the extent to which he preserves other texts and the degree to which he portrays himself as a reader of diverse kinds of books. I approach these two aspects of Epi­pha­nius’s library in sequence.28 First, I ask what can we know about Epi­pha­nius’s physical library: what books did he have 22 Jerome,

Ruf. 2.22 and 3.6. Adult. Libr. Orig. 14. Rufinus does not name Epi­pha­nius but the “blind item” in his defense of Origen was apparently clear to all of his readers as Jerome’s response makes clear. 24 Jerome, Ruf. 2.22. Jerome is, of course, also defending his own reading of Origen here; nonetheless, it is significant that he is “drafting” off of Epi­pha­nius’s own bookish and learned reputation. 25  Apophthegmata Patrum Epi­pha­nius 8. Although, perhaps due to Epi­pha­nius’s negative spiritual reputation in modern scholarship, Guy Stroumsa’s fine essay, “On the Status of Books in Early Christianity,” in Being Christian in Late Antiquity: A Festschrift for Gillian Clark, ed. Carol Harrison, Caroline Humfress, and Isabella Sandwell (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 57–73 at 68, attributes this saying (and several other “pro-book” sayings) to Hilarion rather than to Epi­pha­nius. 26  So Claudia Rapp, “The Vita of Epi­pha­nius of Salamis: An Historical and Literary Study,” 2 vols. (DPhil thesis, Oxford University, 1991), 1:99–103. 27  Vita Epiphanii 12–13; Epi­pha­nius also keeps aside forty nomismata from his otherwise dispersed inherited wealth so he can buy some Bibles. Jerome, Vit. Hil. 25.2, describes Epi­pha­ nius’s monastic mentor Hilarion as having copied out a codex of the Gospels as a young man; I note above (n. 16) that several elements of Hilarion’s vita seem to echo Epi­pha­nius’s life. Epi­ pha­nius’s training as a scribe is not unlikely: in addition to his own scribal staff (see below, n. 71) we might consider the scribal work of Evagrius and Rufinus, both (like Epi­pha­nius) trained in Egyptian monasticism: see Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 38.10; Rufinus, Apol. Hier. 2.11. On monks, holy men, and “pious scribal activity,” see Claudia Rapp, “Holy Texts, Holy Men, and Holy Scribes: Aspects of Scriptural Holiness in Late Antiquity,” in The Early Christian Book, Catholic University of America Studies in Early Christianity, ed. William E. Klingshirn and Linda Safran (Washington: Catholic University of America Press, 2007), 194–222. 28  For a similar project, see the scholarship on Eusebius (cited above n. 13) as well as David Lincicum, “Philo’s Library,” in The Studia Philonica Annual, Studies in Hellenistic Judaism 26, ed. David T. Runia and Gregory E. Sterling (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2014), 99–114. 23 Rufinus,

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and to what extent can we reconstruct the material conditions of his citational compositions, particularly given our paucity of other direct evidence for bookcollecting in late ancient Cyprus? I then turn to his conceptual library: when and why does Epi­pha­nius refer to books (both his own and others’), even when he does not have copies of them at hand? What kind of “order of books” does Epi­ pha­nius construct, and what does it tell us about his particular construction of late ancient Christian culture?29

Epi­pha­nius’s Physical Library A quick survey of Epi­pha­nius’s major surviving writings reveals that he refers to non-biblical authors or texts about 241 times.30 He refers to specific texts (with or without authors) around 130 times, ranging from the very specific (like the “Greater Questions of Mary”) to the very vague (like “a book” ascribed to Elxai).31 Of these hundreds of references, he actually cites from them around eighty times.32 The shortest citations are just a couple of words;33 the longest cover dozens of pages in the modern critical edition.34 In addition there are multiple places where scholars can detect an uncited source that Epi­pha­nius re29  Roger Chartier, The Order of Books: Readers, Authors, and Libraries in Europe Between the Fourteenth and Eighteenth Centuries, trans. Lydia G. Cochrane (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1994), 2: “The historian’s task is thus to reconstruct the variations that differentiate the espaces lisibles – that is, the texts in their discursive and material forms – and those that govern the circumstances of their effectuation – that is, the readings, understood as concrete practices and as procedures of interpretation.” 30  My count treats each reference to a book or author discretely; Epi­pha­nius does (of course) refer to individual authors or texts multiple times: he refers to 146 distinct authors, whom he refers to 220 times (that is, seventy-four of those references are to previously mentioned authors). I exclude mention of specific biblical books (or references to Scripture) but do include references and citations of specific versions, as these imply a physical book being consulted. According to my count Epi­pha­nius refers to authors alone (that is, with no text associated with their name) just over one hundred times; the majority (about eighty percent) of these references to authors are to pagans. Epi­pha­nius refers to texts alone (that is, without any author attached to the title) only about twenty times; most of these texts are heretical apocrypha. 31  Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 26.8.2.3; 19.1.4 and 19.4.3–6. 32  By citation I mean explicit quotation of words signaled in Epi­pha­nius’s text. On the vexed issue of citation and citationality in ancient literature, and its varied methods and contexts, see Inowlocki, Eusebius, 4–7, 33–47 and Annewies van den Hoek, “Techniques of Quotation in Clement of Alexandria: A View of Ancient Literary Working Methods,” VC 50 (1996): 223–43. Mark DelCogliano, “The Literary Corpus of George of Laodicea,” VC 65 (2011): 150–69, at 165 n. 65, notes that “Epi­pha­nius explicitly cites twenty-two documents” using a variety of introductory rubrics. My count includes all explicit citations of any length throughout Epi­pha­nius’s corpus (although my count of full documents and extensive documentary citations with rubrics in the Panarion agrees with DelCogliano’s). 33  For instance, Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 31.2.5, Χάος πρώτιστα θεῶν, citing Hesiod, Theog. 116: πρώτιστα Χάος γένετ᾽. 34  Epi­pha­nius cites significant pages of Irenaeus’s Haer. at Pan. 31.9.1–32.8 and 34.2.1–20.12;



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produces more or less verbatim.35 A maximalist reading of Epi­pha­nius’s oeuvre might claim that he possessed a copy of every author, book, or text to which he refers or which we can infer he relied upon. Such a maximalist reading is, however, uncalled for. It seems unlikely that Epi­pha­nius possessed works by the fifteen pagan naturalists he refers to in the opening pages of the Panarion,36 or the forty-four pagan philosophers he describes in the treatise On Faith appended to the Panarion.37 Like many of his contemporaries, Epi­pha­nius would more likely have had access to a handbook or epitome of philosophical or naturalist writers.38 It would also be economically astounding if Epi­pha­nius had a personal library comprising hundreds of books. Our conception of ancient libraries is, perhaps, overshadowed by the most famous examples: the personal collection of Cicero, the public libraries at Rome or Alexandria, and the remains of the Villa of the Papyri at Herculaneum all skew our sense of what constituted a realistic book collection in the ancient world.39 Such collections resonate too easily with our own experience of book collecting as relatively easy and inexpensive. Books in antiquity were very costly to produce and copy.40 Even the “codex revolution,”41 which increased both the usable amount of writing surface and the amount that a very long chunk of Methodius’s Res. at Pan. 64.12.1–62.14; and long excerpts of his own prior works at Pan. 42.11.1–13.5, 74.2.1–10.9, and 78.2.1–24.6. 35  For instance, Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 35.1.3–7 cites Irenaeus without signaling he is doing so; Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 37 (against Noetus) closely paraphrases (and sometimes seems to quote directly) a treatise of Hippolytus. Pan. 42 (against Sabellians) must be citing a preexisting source (as Epi­pha­nius describes the long-dead Sabellius as being a “recent” [πρόσφατος] heretic [Pan. 42.1.1]), but no author or text is mentioned. 36  Epi­pha­nius, Pan. proem 2.3.1. 37  Epi­pha­nius, De fide 9.5–48. 38  Pourkier presumes Epi­pha­nius possessed “at least two” philosophical doxographies (particularly as his descriptions of certain major philosophers shift at different points in the Panarion); Hérésiologie, 480. On Epi­pha­nius’s reliance on handbooks, see Jürgen Dummer, “Ein naturwissenschaftliches Handbuch als Quelle für Epi­pha­nius von Constantia,” Klio 55 (1973): 289–99. 39  The bibliography on ancient libraries has grown apace in recent decades: Lionel Casson treats the general outline of library history; Libraries in the Ancient World (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001). Yun Lee Too addresses its conceptual production, primarily in the Roman period; The Idea of the Library in the Ancient World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010). Houston assesses the material and literary evidence for personal book collection primarily in the late Republic and early Empire; Inside Roman Libraries (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 2014). I have also found extremely valuable the essays in Ancient Libraries, ed. Jason König, Katerine Oikonomopoulou, and Greg Woolf (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013). 40  Although it can only give a general sense of relative costs, Diocletian’s Edict on Maximum prices places the maximum fee for a scribe writing one hundred lines of text at the same rate as a day’s labor for a farmhand. 41  On which the classic remains T. C. Skeat and Colin Roberts, The Birth of the Codex (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983); see also Harry Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of Early Christian Texts (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 49–81.

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could be contained in a single volume, reduced the overall costs of book production only slightly.42 The slim evidence we have for personal book collections in the Roman Empire suggests a library like that uncovered at Herculaneum,43 or Cicero’s multilocal collection,44 was the exception rather than the rule.45 Even two of the most well-known Christian libraries of the fourth century may mislead us when imagining Epi­pha­nius’s physical collection of books. The library at Caesarea, based (most likely) on the personal library of Origen, supplemented by Pamphilus in the late third century, enlarged by Eusebius in the fourth century,46 and still growing by the time of Epi­pha­nius,47 was doubtless an impressive collection. Andrew Carriker estimates that, in Eusebius’s time, it numbered somewhere around four hundred titles (and possibly thousands of individual scrolls).48 Yet it was also a collection whose growth spanned more than a century and which relied, at key moments, on the sponsorship of wealthy patrons.49 By Epi­pha­nius’s day, the church of Caesarea had likely taken on financial responsibility for the collection. We hear of similar “church libraries” by the fourth century in Rome and Jerusalem,50 and very possibly sponsored collec42  T. C. Skeat estimates the savings at about twenty-five percent; “The Length of the Standard Papyrus Roll and the Cost-Advantage of the Codex,” ZPE 45 (1982): 169–76. As Skeat points out: “The cost of writing would have remained the same, and this would have been the greater part of the expense;” “The Origin of the Christian Codex,” ZPE 102 (1994): 263–68, at 265. 43  G. W. Houston, “The Non-Philodemus Book Collection in the Villa of the Papyri,” in König, Oikonomopoulou, and Woolf, Ancient Libraries, 183–208, at 185–86. 44  T. Keith Dix, “‘Beware of Promising Your Library to Anyone’: Assembling a Private Library at Rome,” in König, Oikonomopoulou, and Woolf, Ancient Libraries, 209–34. 45  G. W. Houston surveys several book lists and papyri remains and finds that most identifiable collections typically numbered in the dozens, not hundreds; “Papyrological Evidence for Book Collections and Libraries in the Roman Empire,” in Ancient Literacies: The Culture of Reading in Greece and Rome, ed. William Johnson and Holt Parker (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 233–67. Williams also posits that “professional literates might have had access to ten or twenty books, rarely more;” Monk and the Book, 147. 46  On the building up of this library from the time of Origen to Eusebius, see Carriker, Library of Eusebius. 47  Jerome describes the efforts of Euzoius, bishop of Caesarea in the late 370s, to “restore the already corrupt library of Origen and Pamphilus to parchment” (Vir. ill. 113); possibly converting deteriorating scrolls into codices or converting papyrus to more durable parchment (or both); on the former suggestion see Carriker, Library of Caesarea, 23–24; on the latter see Gamble, Early Christian Books, 159. Epi­pha­nius is the next entry in Jerome’s bibliographic treatise (Vir. ill. 114). See also Carriker, Library of Eusebius, 25–26, on later fourth-century use of the library at Caesarea. 48 Carriker, Library of Eusebius, 30–36. 49  Origen’s work was famously bankrolled by his patron Ambrose (see Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.23.1–2), and Eusebius reports some patronage for the library from Constantine, who ordered some number of “Bibles” copied from it (Vit. Const. 4.36–37). Pamphilus may have contributed his own wealth to building up the library (Eusebius, Mart. Pal. 11, claims he was of a noble family in Beirut), see Carriker, Library of Eusebius, 13. 50  Eusebius refers to a library in Jerusalem; Hist. eccl. 6.20.1. Jerome, ep 49.3, refers Pammachius (resident in Rome) to the ecclesiarum bibliothecis. According to the (later) Liber Pontificalis 1 and 39, an episcopal library was established by Julius I and Damasus. On the development



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tions under episcopal control existed at major sites such as Antioch and Alexandria.51 We lack the evidence, however, to discover whether the churches of Cyprus had established any such archive or library in Epi­pha­nius’s day.52 Similarly, it is difficult to imagine that Epi­pha­nius could marshal the resources to construct a personal library on the scale of Jerome. Megan Williams estimates that, at its height, Jerome’s library may have numbered in the hundreds, “if not thousands of codices.”53 The value of such a library, Williams calculates, would have been equal to “a senatorial fortune.”54 While some of Jerome’s library was no doubt acquired through his own ingenuity,55 we can infer from his boast at the death of his friend and patron Paula that the once wealthy Roman widow “left her daughter in great debt,”56 and that at least some of her fortune supported Jerome’s “senatorial” library. Epi­pha­nius was also friendly with wealthy Christian patrons (including Paula); their donations, however, supported monastic and ecclesiastic endeavors on Cyprus, not the amassing of a personal library.57 of different types of Christian libraries, see Thomas T. Tanner, “A History of Early Christian Libraries from Jesus to Jerome,” Journal of Library History 14 (1979): 407–35. 51 Gamble, Early Christian Books, 154–69. Some of these collections, from which Epi­pha­ nius may have acquired more recent theological documents, may have resembled public archives more than book collections. 52  We might infer from the later Life of Epi­pha­nius that it was precisely Epi­pha­nius who managed to reroute local resources to the church (and memories of scandal surrounding such fundraising): Vita Epiphanii 63–65, 74–75, 83, 96. 53 Williams, Monk and the Book, 154. Later Williams specifies “at least a thousand codices of the same length as a copy of the Aeneid;” Monk and the Book, 187. It is unclear how many individual titles Williams intends here, since the average codex could contain several works. Some texts, such as an individual copy of the Hexapla, would take up several codices. Williams estimates around twenty codices; Monk and the Book, 169. 54 Williams, Monk and the Book, 187. She refers several times to Jerome’s library “after the aristocratic model;” Monk and the Book, 165, 168, 201, 216. Williams estimates the value at 2.5 million denarii, according to Diocletian’s Edict on Maximum Prices as well as estimates on the cost of papyrus. The denarius no longer circulated in Jerome’s day, but was still a notional amount signaling the day’s wage for an unskilled laborer; see A. H. M. Jones, The Later Roman Empire, 284–602: A Social and Economic History (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), 1:438–43; Mireille Corbier, “Coinage and Taxation: The State’s Point of View, A. D. 193– 337,” in Cambridge Ancient History, vol. 12: The Crisis of Empire, A. D. 193–337, ed. Alan Bowman, Peter Garnsey, and Averil Cameron (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 327– 92, at 338. 55  Jerome contains a request for a “list” of books (including new copies) from a wealthy Italian named Florentius living in Jerusalem (Epist. 5.2). The letter dates to Jerome’s early monastic career (in Syria in the 370s) and represents an early attempt to solicit bibliographic patronage. 56 Jerome, Epist. 108.15.7. On the range of Paula’s senatorial wealth, see Andrew Cain, Jerome’s Epitaph on Paula: A  Commentary on the Epitaphium Paulae, OECT (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 109–10. 57  Jerome mentions donations from Paula during a visit to Cyprus en route to the Holy Land, but made directly for monks (fratres)(Epist. 108.7.3); Palladius lists Epi­pha­nius among those bishops to whom Olympias “bestowed gifts of lands and money” (κτήματα ἀγρῶν καὶ χρήματα ἐδωρήσατο) (Dialogus de vita Joanni Chrysostomi 17).

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We do have some indication that Epi­pha­nius sought out books from colleagues. When Basil of Caesarea, in reply to Epi­pha­nius’s request for information on the Magusians, replies that “they have no books among them” (oὔτε γὰρ βιβλία ἐστὶ παρ᾽ αὐτοῖς), it is reasonable to assume that Epi­pha­nius had asked about their books and possibly hoped that Basil might include copies, or summaries, in his reply.58 He may have had better luck in other requests. While he knows, for instance, of several letters written by Arius to Eusebius of Nicomedia, he reports that “one of these has come into my hands,” perhaps (like Athanasius’s letter to Epictetus of Corinth)59 out of the archives of the Alexandrian bishop himself.60 Epi­pha­nius bases much of his refutation of the Anomoian heresy on a rebuttal of Aetius’s Syntagmation, “a little work which I acquired” (πονημάτιον τὸ εἰς ἡμᾶς ἐλθόν).61 Where this treatise came from he does not say; perhaps if more of Epi­pha­nius’s letters survived, we could trace out his bibliographic networks. Lacking any evidence for an enormous personal library, or control over an impressive church library, it makes more sense to imagine that Epi­pha­nius owned a modest collection of books. Epi­pha­nius likely possessed copies of those texts from which he quoted extensively: Irenaeus’s treatise Against Heresies, Methodius’s treatise On the Resurrection, and previous works by Epi­pha­nius himself (the most cited author in the Panarion).62 He quotes at length from Origen’s Homilies on Psalms,63 as well as other “heretical” texts: the Ebionite “Gospel of the Hebrews,” Ptolemy’s Letter to Flora, and a mythologically inflected “book” composed by Valentinians.64 Epi­pha­nius cites significantly from a treatise against Mani,65 and preserves several letters and documents from participants in fourthcentury Trinitarian debates which we must assume he possessed.66 To these we 58 Basil, Epist. 258.4. While Epi­pha­nius does include the Magusians in his list of “foreign” philosophies in De Fide 12.5, 13.1, the information he includes does not rely on Basil’s report. 59  Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 77.3.1–13.5. 60  Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 69.5.1–3. 61  Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 76.10.5. 62  See my discussion below. 63  Pourkier thinks Epi­pha­nius also knew Origen’s Homilies on Samuel, and (given his obsession with Origen’s interpretation of Genesis 2–3) Epi­pha­nius must have, at some time, seen a copy of a commentary on that book; Hérésiologie, 479. He knows of Origen’s troublesome De principiis in the 370s (he cites it in Ancoratus 63.2–4), but does not mention or cite it in the Panarion; he quotes it again (briefly) in his Epistula ad Ioannem Hierosolytanum 4. 64  Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 30.13.1–8; 31. 4. 11–6.10; 33.3.1–7.10. 65  The so-called “Acts of Archelaus” form the core of his chapter against Manichaeism, esp. at Pan. 66.25.3–31.8. See above, n. 5. 66  Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 69.6.1–7 (Arius’s letter to Eusebius of Nicomedia); 69.7.2–8.5 (Arius’s letter to Alexander of Alexandria); 69.9.3–6 (Constantine’s circular against Arius and his creed); 71.1.8 (Photinus’s speech to Basil); 72.2.1–3.5 (Marcellus of Ancyra’s apology to Julius of Rome); 72.6.1–10.3 (Acacius of Caesarea’s Antilogion against Marcellus); 72.11.1–12.5 (statement of faith by Marcellus of Ancyra’s disciples); 73.2.1–11.1 (Council of Ancyra statement); 73.12.1– 22.8 (letter of George of Laodicea); 73.25.1–26.8 (Council of Seleucia statement); 73.29.1–33.5



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might add some parabiblical texts, such as the Didascalia, which he cites several times (as the Diataxeis of the apostles);67 we note in addition texts like the Protoevangelium of James and Jubilees, which he does not cite explicitly but whose historical narratives he has incorporated quite thoroughly into his own works.68 We have arrived, already, at more than a dozen works, some quite substantial in size, in Epi­pha­nius’s possession. What of some other major texts we know Epi­pha­nius relied on, but which he does not explicitly cite? Can we assume he owned copies of these? Two important – yet uncited – sources for Epi­pha­nius were the historical works of Eusebius and the antiheretical treatise (or treatises) of Hippolytus. Yet, as Pourkier notes several times, Epi­pha­nius’s use of Eusebius is sloppy: she suggests he relied on Eusebius mainly from memory.69 The antiheretical writings of Hippolytus, as studies have demonstrated time and again, provide a structure and significant content for close to half of the Panarion’s heresies.70 Yet unlike Irenaeus, Hippolytus is never quoted by Epi­pha­nius.71 We might posit that he owned a copy of Hippolytus’s work, but chose (for whatever reason) not to cite it directly. Given his detailed citations of Irenaeus, however, this explanation raises more questions than it solves. We might also posit that, instead of working from a text of Hippolytus, Epi­pha­nius was working from notes. Epi­pha­nius composed the Panarion, like all of his extant works, in stretches of dictation, which his amanuensis would then transcribe and send out to the (sermon by Melitius of Antioch); 76.11.1–12.27 (Syntagmation of Aetius); 77.21.1–9 (Paulinus of Antioch’s statement of faith). 67  Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 45.4.5; 70.10.1–12, 10.6, 11.3–4, 12.3, 14.1; 80.7.1. 68  As several scholars have noted, Epi­pha­nius’s historical narrative in the Panarion (and in certain parts of the Ancoratus) are influenced in structure and specific details by Jubilees (which he names at Pan. 39.6.1); see William Adler, “The Origins of the Proto-Heresies: Fragments from a Chronicle in the First Book of Epi­pha­nius’s Panarion,” JTS 41 (1990): 472–501; Jeremy Schott, “Heresiology as Universal History in Epi­pha­nius’ Panarion,” ZAC 10 (2007): 546–63; and Annette Yoshiko Reed, “Retelling Biblical Retellings: Epi­pha­nius, the Pseudo-Clementines, and the Reception-History of the Book of Jubilees,” in Tradition, Transmission, and Transformation from Second Temple Literature through Judaism and Christianity in Late Antiquity, Proceedings of the Thirteenth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, Jointly Sponsored by the Hebrew University Center for the Study of Christianity, 22–24 February, 2011, ed. Menahem Kister, Hillel I. Newman, Michael Segal, and Ruth A. Clements (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 304–21. Epi­pha­nius clearly relies on the narrative of the Protoevangelium Jacobi in Pan. 79, but does not explicitly cite or refer to it. 69 Pourkie, Hérésiologie, 108–10, 478. 70  I do not engage here with the question of whether the Philosophoumena and Contra Noetum were written by Hippolytus and part of his larger Refutatio contra omnes haereses. Scholars on all sides of the issue agree that Epi­pha­nius depended in larger part on the structure of the Refutatio and text of the Contra Noetum. Given that much of the Refutatio does not survive, Epi­ pha­nius’s reliance upon it is deduced through triangulation with other texts based on it, such as Ps.‑Tertullian and Filastrius. 71  Epi­pha­nius names Hippolytus as a source at Pan. 31.33.1 along with “Clement [presumably of Alexandria] and Irenaeus,” at the conclusion of one of his extensive citations of Irenaeus.

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dedicatee(s).72 During this dictation session, Epi­pha­nius would have multiple texts available to him, both books from which he might read relevant passages (sometimes at great length) and notebooks which he would have prepared ahead of time.73 These notebooks might contain details about heresies, upon which he might elaborate orally, his own ideas for refutations, or notes from others’ works taken down earlier.74 Given his somewhat loose reliance upon Eusebius and Hippolytus, it seems fair to infer that he did not have these texts in front of him during composition, but rather his notes on their works. We can then ask: did he own copies of Eusebius’s Chronicle or Hippolytus’s Refutation? Or had he consulted them on site – perhaps in Caesarea, or Antioch, or Alexandria – and kept only his notes on their works? We know that he himself copied texts for later use.75 He might also have taken careful notes on such complex texts as Hippolytus’s Refutation or Eusebius’s Church History and used these sources without possessing his own copies.76 His proximity to Caesarea and Antioch, as well as frequent visits to the environs of Jerusalem, must have provided opportunities for Epi­pha­nius to acquire whole books where he could, borrow others for a time, and take notes on those to which he only had temporary access.77 When we step back and consider the evidence for Epi­pha­nius’s material library closely, 72  Epi­pha­nius used the same amanuensis, Anatolius, for both the Ancoratus and Panarion. Anatolius was a member of the Constantian clergy, perhaps especially trained in dictation: Ancoratus 119.16 (he is one of the “slaves of the Lord”); De Fide 25.3 (he is one of the “brothers” and Hypatius, the copyist, is a “fellow deacon”). As Williams notes, professional writing staff (notarii, librarii) were famously expensive; Monk and the Book, 209–10. On the growth of clerical and monastic scribes in the East, see Chrysi Kotsifou, “Books and Book Production in the Monastic Communities of Byzantine Egypt,” in Klingshirn and Safran, Early Christian Book, 48–66. 73  Williams describes Jerome’s procedure in similar fashion; Monk and the Book, 204–7. On the use of notes and notebooks in composition, see van den Hoek, “Techniques of Quotation,” 225–27 and notes. See also Jocelyn Penny Small, Wax Tablets of the Mind: Cognitive Studies of Memory and Literacy in Classical Antiquity (London: Routledge, 1997), 156–59, although Small insists (pp. 160–77) that ancient authors relied much more on their memory (including their memory of notes and notebooks) during composition. Given the degree to which Epi­pha­nius cites his sources – sometimes for dozens of pages – we should conclude that he had developed a habit of having texts in front of him, even as he orally composed for his secretary. 74  Epi­pha­nius refers explicitly to the “summarized notes” (σύντομος ὑπομνηματική) he prepared from Marcion’s biblical texts in preparing his refutation (Pan. 42. 11. 16). 75  Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 31. 6. 10: When he has finished quoting from “the book” of Valentinus (whose title he seems to have forgotten) he says: “And these are the pieces from their books organized by me” (μέρους τῶν βιβλίων αὐτῶν παρατεθέντα ἕως ὧδέ μοι), suggesting that he copied and organized his extracts. 76  Although it is a later example (seventh century), among the papyri finds at Tura were notes on the first books of Origen’s Contra Celsum: see Jean Scherer, Extraits des livres I et II du Contre Celse d’Origène: D’après le papyrus no 88747 du Musée du Caire (Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 1956). 77  For instance, Epi­pha­nius refers to the “seventy letters” written by Alexander of Alexandria to bishops, but refers specifically to those written to bishops in Palestine (Caesarea, Ma­ carius, Gaza, Ascalon, Jamnia, Tyre), as if these are the copies he saw personally (Pan. 69.4.3– 4). Likewise, he mentions Photinus’s “speech to Basil” (Pan. 71.1.8) which he summarizes (Pan.



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a clear picture of the episcopal researcher emerges: while owning an impressive (but not vast) collection of books, Epi­pha­nius also likely leveraged more remote resources to collect information which he could then collate and paraphrase in his own words.

Epi­pha­nius’s Intellectual Library A recent study notes, “The ancient library is … a deliberate configuration of intellectual culture.”78 We should also attend to the intellectual contexts of the library implied in Epi­pha­nius’s writings, the cultural “order of books” Epi­pha­nius conjures through this chain of names, titles, sources, and citations.79 Studies of patristic citation have lately emphasized that citation is a rhetorical act with its own significance beyond simply preservation of sources.80 Tabulation of Epi­ pha­ nius’s references reveals a few notable trends (see Table 1). Manuscripts of biblical translators (as distinct from “Scriptures,” which are often cited without referring to material books) appear several times, more often referred to than quoted. Although on one occasion Epi­pha­nius chastises Origen for pedantically dropping the names of these translators, Epi­pha­nius himself is not averse to similar pedantry.81 Yet Epi­pha­nius refers very seldom to non-biblical Jewish authors:82 twice in the Panarion he refers to Jewish “repetitions” (δευτερώσεις) written by “Moses, Akiba, Judah, and the sons of the Hasmoneans,” but does not cite them.83 At another place in the Panarion he summarizes Philo’s description of the Therapeutae.84 In On Weights and Measures he 71.2.1–4) but does not quote from, and assiduously notes information from the colophon (the stenographers [ταχυγράφοις] and notaries [μεμοραδίοις] and destinations of copies). 78 Too, Idea of the Library, 5, 9. 79 Chartier, Order of Books. 80 Inowlocki, Eusebius, 4: “Quotation technique is a rhetorical process in its own right.” See also Jeremy Schott, “Plotinus’s Portrait and Pamphilus’s Prison Notebook: Neoplatonic and Early Christian Textualities at the Turn of the Fourth Century C. E.,” JECS 21 (2013): 329–62. 81  Compare Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 64.10.1 (“Next, as it is [Origen’s] custom to dazzle with the [biblical] versions, he says, ‘Likewise, Theodotion, Aquila, and Symmachus  ….’”) with Pan. 65.4.5. 82  As I note in Table 1, Epi­pha­nius refers on a few occasions to texts we might call “parabiblical,” ascribed to biblical figures (Isaiah, Ezekiel, the apostles) but accepted as authoritative texts. Other texts ascribed to biblical figures he specifically identifies as heretical forgeries. 83  Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 15.2.1, 33.9.4. The term δευτερώσεις, which corresponds (more or less) to the Hebrew mishnayot, appears in Christian writings about Jews as early as Origen (Comm. Cant. praef.), as well as in Eusebius (Dem. ev. 6. 18. 36) and Epi­pha­nius’s contemporary Jerome (Epist. 121.10). Scholars debate whether the term refers directly to formative rabbinic sages (and, if so, to what extent these Christian sources provide reliable evidence for those sages). For a relatively optimistic view, see Hayim Lapin, Rabbis as Romans: The Rabbinic Movement in Palestine, 100–400 CE (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 158–62. 84  Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 29.5.1–3. Pourkier has demonstrated that Epi­pha­nius is not relying on

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Table 1: Citations in Epi­pha­nius’s Major Works† by Source Type Source type

Number of references

Total length of citations*

Public documents Jewish authors Biblical manuscripts Parabiblical texts Pagan authors Heretics Orthodox

 1  6 21  6 87 67 54

no citation    3 sentences (summary)   9 verses   2 pages   2 pages   27 pages 275 pages

†

Ancoratus, Panarion, De mensuris et ponderibus, Epistula ad Ioannem Hierosolytanum * For consistency, length calculated according to recent English translations

refers to Josephus once (and once more in the Panarion) and also to the Letter of Aristeas.85 It is not accurate to say that Epi­pha­nius is not interested in Jews and Judaism, as they play a major role in his thinking about Christian community and identity.86 But as authors and textual sources, they seldom appear – that is, they do not form a significant part of Epi­pha­nius’s intellectual library.87 By contrast, Epi­pha­nius mentions pagan authors with tremendous frequency: of the roughly 240 texts and authors mentioned in his works, he refers to pagan authors more than eighty times. Yet he actually cites very few of these authors, instead linking them together into chains of cultural knowledge: “naturalists,” “philosophers,” “poets,” “atheists,” and so forth. The majority of his references are to Christians, about evenly split between those he identifies as heretics and orthodox. By a vast majority of cited works, the orthodox far outweigh the heretical, covering hundreds of pages in the critical editions. Yet Epi­pha­nius names more heretical authors and texts than orthodox ones. What are we to make of this welter of references and citations, the numerous pagans and heretics, the highly cited orthodox, the barely present Jews? It may be useful, once more, to compare Epi­pha­nius’s intellectual library to the more famous libraries of his day: those of Eusebius and Jerome. Eusebius of Eusebius in his summary of this portion of De vita contemplativa, but that he also likely does not have the text (which he calls “On the Jessaeans”) at hand; Hérésiologie, 441–47. Epi­pha­nius also does not mention that Philo is Jewish. 85  Epi­pha­nius, De mensuris et ponderibus 9 (Aristeas), 74 (Josephus); Pan. 30.4.1 (Josephus). Unlike Eusebius, who acknowledges the pagan identity of “Pseudo-Aristeas” (so Inowlocki, Eusebius, 236), Epi­pha­nius in this brief passage seems to take the letter at face value. 86  See my Remains of the Jews: The Holy Land and Christian Empire in Late Antiquity, Divinations (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2003), 44–51 and Christ Circumcised: A Study in Early Christian History and Difference, Divinations (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2012), 100–18. 87  As I have noted elsewhere, while preoccupied with Jews and Judaism, Epi­pha­nius also represents them as easily and entirely knowable to Christian eyes; see Remains of the Jews, 44– 47. What he cannot infer from their biblical history is apparently not worth collecting in their books.



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Caesarea is notable not only for the amount of texts he cites in his works but also the function of his citationality:88 as Sabrina Inowlocki has demonstrated, Eusebius’s intellectual library serves an apologetic function.89 He cites pagan, Jewish, and Christian texts (both early and contemporary) in order to construct a place for Christianity with respect to its non-Christian predecessors and neighbors. In apologetic works like the Gospel Preparation, but also in historical works like the Church History, Eusebius places pagan and Jewish texts in “horizontal” and “vertical” relation to his Christian culture.90 Some pagans and Jews, for instance, stand in harmony with the Gospel, demonstrating its eternal truth; while other pagans and Jews stand in cacophony with the Gospel, demonstrating the error of authors who refuse Christian truth.91 Eusebius’s apologetic use of these texts is not merely oppositional, therefore, but rather a way of constructing a Christian history out of the textual remains of the past: a new way of thinking about Christian historical identity through texts and authors.92 This bibliographized Christianity is not merely about a Scriptural canon or even a library of Christian “fathers,” but rather calls up a comprehensive and totalizing Christian order of all books, from Moses and Plato to Origen and Porphyry.93 For Eusebius, early in the fourth century, this order of books provides a scaffolding on which to construct a church history.94 For Jerome, at the end of that century, the books and authors have become the content of that history: “church history as bibliography,” in Mark Vessey’s catchy phrase.95 The Latin transplant to the East, who translated and expanded Eusebius’s Chronicle, likewise rewrote the Church History as a list of “Christian authors” in a treatise De scriptoribus ecclesiasticis (also known De viris inlustribus).96 88  On Eusebius’s introduction of documentary history see classically Arnaldo Momigliano, “Pagan and Christian Historiography in the Fourth Century A. D.,” in The Conflict Between Paganism and Christianity in the Fourth Century (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963), 79–99. 89  See also Aaron Johnson, “Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica as Literary Experiment,” in Greek Literature in Late Antiquity: Dynamism, Didacticism, Classicism, ed. Scott Fitzgerald Johnson (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), 67–89. 90 Inowlocki, Eusebius, 59–62. 91  On cacophony, polyphony, and symphony in Eusebius’s citations of Christian and nonChristian texts, see Inowlocki, Eusebius, 67. 92 Schott places Eusebius’s citational composition in tension with the related Platonic school of Plotinus and Porphyry; “Plotinus’s Portrait,” 329–62. 93  Inowlocki, “Eusebius’ Construction,” 214–16. 94  Schott, “Plotinus’s Portrait,” 349: “The work [Church History] is structured around two basic scaffolds: the chronology worked out in his own Chronicle, on the one hand, and the library’s πίνακες, or catalogs, on the other.” 95  Mark Vessey, “Literature, Patristics, Early Christian Writing,” in The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies, ed. Susan Ashbrook Harvey and David G. Hunter (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 42–65, at 47. See also Mark Vessey, “Augustine among the Writers of the Church,” in A Companion to Augustine, ed. Mark Vessey (London: Blackwell, 2012), 240–54, at 246–47. 96  The treatise is traditionally known as De viris illustribus, following the title of the (mostly

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Jerome’s historical bibliography positions Christian culture in complex relationship to its non-Christian “others.” He positively compares his enterprise to the bygone venture of pre-Christian literati: “Hermippus the Peripatetic, Antigonus Carystius, the learned Satyrus, Aristoxenus the musician …. Varro, Santra, Nepos, Hyginus” and, above all, Suetonius, the model invoked by Jerome’s dedicatee, Dexter.97 But Jerome also positions this work as an intellectual prophylactic against the smears of (more) contemporary pagan detractors: “Let Celsus, then, learn, and Porphyry and Julian, those rabid dogs barking against Christ, let their followers learn – those who think that the church has had no philosophers, no orators, no men of learning … and recognize instead their own ignorance.”98 This Christian order of books supersedes an illustrious pagan past and triumphs over a recalcitrant pagan present.99 Furthermore, by collating only Christian authors in his historical bibliography, Jerome surpasses Eusebius in suggesting that this Christian triumph is total. Once the preface is concluded, no pagan authors need to appear before Christian eyes.100 Epi­pha­nius’s intellectual library shares many features with Eusebius’s and Jerome’s. First, Epi­pha­nius’s pattern of reference creates complex cultural affinities and contrasts with a “pagan” literary past. Although he rarely cites pagan authors, he mentions their names with surprising frequency.101 Sometimes they are models for his own Christian orthodox literary production, sometimes they are models for his heretical opponents.102 The parade of forty-four Greek philoslost) Suetonius volume after which Jerome’s dedicatee (Dexter) supposedly asked him to model the work. Jerome himself refers to the text, in his opening sentence, as a work on ecclesiasticos scriptores (Vir. ill. praef.1). He also specifically refers to Eusebius’s Historia ecclesiastica as a model for the work (Vir. ill. praef.3). 97 Jerome, Vir. ill. praef.1. Much like Epi­pha­nius’s parade of naturalists in the proem of the Panarion, this list of biographers may be drawn from a secondary source such as Suetonius himself; so Pierre Courcelle, Late Latin Writers and Their Greek Sources, trans. H. E. Wedeck (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1969), 79. 98 Jerome, Vir. ill. praef.7. 99  On the construction of pagan literature as “classical” in late ancient Christian culture, see C. M. Chin, Grammar and Christianity in the Late Roman World, Divinations (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2007). 100  The one exception which proves the rule is Seneca (Vir. ill. 12), included because of his purported correspondence with Paul. Jerome’s performative ambivalence about “pagan” texts appears early in his career in his letter to Eustochium (Epist. 22.30). In Ruf. 1.30–31 Jerome (somewhat implausibly) claims, when Rufinus recalls this famous episode (Apol. Hier. 2.6–7), that he merely remembers his Latin authors from his youth. See the trenchant discussion of Chin, Grammar and Christianity, 77–82. 101  Such aesthetic juxtaposition of “pagan” and Christian may locate Epi­pha­nius a bit more squarely in his Cypriot context: compare the elaborate mosaic plan of the fifth-century House of Eustolios which casually mentions Christ as well as Apollo. On the House of Eustolios, see also in this volume the introduction by Nasrallah, and chapters of Michaelides, and Papageorghiou and Bakirtzis. 102  Compare the naturalists in his preface (above, n. 36) who inspire his heresiographical writing with the “poets” who inspire Valentinus’s mythographical writings (above, n. 64).



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ophers in On Faith on their face serve as a negative contrast to Christian truth: they represent just some of the “maidens without number” of Song 6:8, condemned along with the “eighty concubines” who are the heresies of the Panarion.103 As part of Epi­pha­nius’s order of books, however, these pagan authors also play a positive role in the production of Christian culture, as a sign of Christian erudition.104 Epi­pha­nius can rattle off a “partial” (but still very long) list of authors, and let the reader assume that his Christian library contains all those Greek philosophers left unnamed.105 Unlike Eusebius, Epi­pha­nius feels no need to quote these pagan authors to invoke their errors (or, on occasion, their affinities with Christian truth); nor, like Jerome, does Epi­pha­nius feel the need to remove these books entirely from his intellectual library. He lets them stand, as both proof of his own mastery and as warning to those who think error has been fully eradicated.106 Likewise the dozens of heretical texts and authors, frequently invoked but less frequently cited, form an integral part of the masterful library of the fourthcentury orthodox Christian. The complete Christian library allows the orthodox to discern the truth that heretics conceal face-to-face. Just as Epi­pha­nius evokes pagan authors “without number” in On Faith, his casual references to a multitude of uncited heretical volumes create a penumbra of heterodox books “out there,” potentially available and able to be absorbed into the Christian order of books.107 The inclusion of these “cacophonic” voices (to use Inowlocki’s term) in his conceptual library allows Epi­pha­nius to expand Christian orthodoxy to all corners of human thought: even texts written to spread error become tools for the promotion of truth. Although the mention of pagan and heretical texts and authors outnumbers orthodox authors more than two to one, the citation of orthodox authors vastly drowns out the meager citations of the pagans, heretics, and Jews. Close to one 103 

Epi­pha­nius, De Fide 9.1–48. similarly C. M. Chin, “Origen and Christian Naming: Textual Exhaustion and the Boundaries of Gentility in Origen’s Commentary on John 1,” JECS 14 (2006): 407–36. 105 Epi­ pha­ nius acknowledges that these philosophers represent only a “fraction” (πολλοστημόριον) of the bizarre opinions in the world (the metaphorical “maidens” are, after all, without number). Todd Berzon, Classifying Christians: Ethnography, Heresiology, and the Limits of Knowledge in Late Antiquity (Oakland: University of California Press, 2016), has noted that by remarking upon the “endless” nature of human error, Epi­pha­nius acknowledges the epistemological impossibility of his project in the Panarion. 106  The lists of pagan authors no doubt also serve an antiquarian function: see my “Epi­pha­ nius of Salamis and the Antiquarian’s Bible,” JECS 21 (2013): 437–64. 107  For instance, Epi­pha­nius names many books of the Nicolaitans and Gnostics, but also mentions “books in Ialdabaoth’s name,” “many books about Ialdaboath and in the name of Seth,” and “other Gospels in the names of the disciples” (Pan. 25.3.5, 26.8.1); he lists several books of the Sethians by name, and then adds “others of Moses and in others’ names” (Pan. 39.5.1); and he mentions the “spurious books” of the Melchizedekians (Pan. 55.1.5) and the “several treatises” of Bardesan (Pan. 56.1.2). 104  See

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quarter of the Panarion comprises citations of orthodox authors. Some of the quotations fill dozens of pages in the critical edition and translation: we must imagine Epi­pha­nius sitting for some time, even hours, reading page after page of Irenaeus or Methodius aloud while his amanuensis took dictation. The result is a kind of orthodox chorus of voices – “polyphony” is Inowlocki’s term – united together to produce truth.108 Yet the truth they produce, even in this choral orthodoxy, relies heavily on the inclusion and recapitulation of other, cacophonous voices. The three longest quotations in Epi­pha­nius’s writings, all found in the Panarion, are from Irenaeus, Methodius, and Epi­pha­nius himself, and all three comprise summaries of the myths and doctrines of heretics. The longest quotation from Irenaeus gives a detailed account of Valentinian cosmogony;109 the excerpt from Methodius is introduced as “an epitome of Origen”;110 and Epi­pha­ nius’s refutation of Marcion quotes and summarizes “Marcion’s Bible.”111 Epi­ pha­nius conjures orthodox voices primarily to explain heresy, often in the heretics’ own terms. While in Epi­pha­nius’s intellectual library orthodox books hold pride of place, the pages of these books nonetheless speak with the voices of the heretic. Epi­pha­nius’s library is polyglossic: it contains multiple voices, even overlapping on the page. Pagans who provide a framework for heretical myths and for the production of orthodox truth mingle with heretics captured and ventriloquized in the pages of orthodox books (who are themselves reperformed in Epi­pha­nius’s voice). What kind of culture emerges out of Epi­pha­nius’s distinct order of books, of so many different voices? It is, first and foremost, a totalizing culture, the discourse of which, to quote Jeremy Schott, “purports to comprehend truth in its entirety while granting no room for difference and dissent.”112 Schott further characterizes Epi­pha­nius’s heresiology as “a philosophy of history that unlocks encyclopedic knowledge – a knowledge that comprehends the full span of human history and the very origins of the world’s peoples.”113 Unlike Eusebius’s historical polyphony, which apologetically resolves into a single Christian voice as the reader approaches the present,114 Epi­pha­nius’s polyphony never resolves. 108  “Polyphony” is the apposite term because the explicitness of the citation makes the different voices – Irenaeus and Epi­pha­nius, for example – distinct: Inowlocki, Eusebius, 67. See also Schott, “Plotinus’s Portrait,” 359: “The writing of a work like the Preparation involved a veritable chorus.” 109  Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 31.9.1–32.8 = Irenaeus, Haer. praef.–1. 11. 11. 110  Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 64.12.1–64.14 = Methodius, Res. 111  Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 42.11.1–13.5. Epi­pha­nius remarks that he wrote this treatise “some years ago” (Pan. 42.10.2). 112  Schott, “Heresiology as Universality,” 563, referring to Averil Cameron, Christianity and the Rhetoric of Empire: The Development of Christian Discourse, Sather Classical Lecture (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991). See also my Remains of the Jews, 23–24. 113  Schott, “Heresiology as Universality,” 563. 114  Schott, “Plotinus’s Portrait,” 355.



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It remains embodied in his intellectual library: a collection of books drawn from pagans, heretics, orthodox, Jews, all left in a productive tension that can only speak to a singular Christian truth. It is the multivolume library of an imperial Christianity, drawn in from all quarters of the known world, placed in a particular order designed to reveal a truth greater than the sum of their parts.

Conclusions: Books and Readers By the late fourth century, Christian book-culture had been brought resolutely into the public sphere.115 The scriptural canon became an issue for public pronouncement,116 while a parallel canon of “church fathers” began to emerge in theological disputations held under imperial sponsorship.117 The production of a library in antiquity was always a social process, from the dictation of words to an amanuensis to the circulation of published works through networks of readers.118 This social process of Christian books and readers in the late fourth century was enacted on a broader stage, spanning the Mediterranean: imagine Augustine outside Milan hearing from Nebridius “the African” the story of two imperial agents in Trier converted by a “book” about Antony of Egypt.119 Epi­ pha­nius’s Cypriot library, although modest in size, also hints at this newly imperial scope of Christian book-culture: as he visits libraries, writes to fellow bishops for new texts, borrows books, takes notes, even makes his own copies, the episcopal researcher at work charts the growing networks of Christian books, a larger “library” that is both represented in and exceeds Epi­pha­nius’s personal book collection in Constantia. Epi­pha­nius’s intellectual library is yet more ambitious: reaching back to the earliest Greek philosophers, stretching forward to his own literary production (itself destined for recirculation, recapitulation, and citation),120 this library 115 Gamble, Early Christian Readers; John S. Kloppenborg, “Literate Media in Early Christ Groups: The Creation of a Christian Book Culture,” JECS 22 (2014): 21–59. 116  David Brakke, “Canon Formation and Social Conflict in Fourth-Century Egypt: Athanasius of Alexandria’s Thirty-Ninth Festal Letter,” HTR 87 (1994): 395–419; David Brakke, “A New Fragment of Athanasius’s Thirty-Ninth Festal Letter: Heresy, Apocrypha, and the Canon,” HTR 103 (2010): 47–66. 117  On these parallel processes of canonical (re-)production, see Mark Vessey, “The Forging of Orthodoxy in Latin Christian Literature: A Case Study,” JECS 4 (1996): 495–513. On the invention of the “fathers” in the West, see Éric Rebillard, “A New Style of Christian Argument in Christian Polemic: Augustine and the Use of Patristic Citations,” JECS 8 (2000): 559–78; and Schott, “Plontinus’s Portrait,” 356–57. 118  Schott, “Plontius’s Portrait,” 358–60. 119 Augustine, Conf. 8.14–15. On the particular monastic production of books and readers in the fourth century, which also encompasses communities from Egypt to Gaul, see Rebecca Krawiec, “Monastic Literacy in John Cassian: Toward a New Sublimity,” CH 81 (2012): 765–95; and “Literacy and Memory in Evagrius’s Monasticism,” JECS 21 (2013): 363–90. 120  Soon after the publication of the Panarion – perhaps even during Epi­pha­nius’s lifetime –

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carves out a totalizing social space in which all books and readers produce Christian truth – even if they resist it. Like the Roman Empire in which this Christian book-culture was emerging, Epi­pha­nius’s library also encompasses – but never eradicates – difference and otherness.121 In earlier centuries, aristocratic Roman libraries were spaces for the display of imperial reach: not only books acquired (and translated) from conquered spaces, but artwork as well, as Greg Woolf has noted: “Both books and paintings were most often acquired by war, or else purchased and reproduced at great cost. Either means of acquisition signaled the power and status of their founders.”122 Suggesting both economic and intellectual capacity, the growing Christian library of the late fourth century was – like its non-Christian imperial predecessors – “an expression of power.”123 Epi­pha­ nius’s library canonized “holy fathers” but also celebrated their triumph over devious heretics; we can view his library as a kind of lavish imperial triumph: generals (like Irenaeus, Hippolytus, and Epi­pha­nius himself) marching before their bowed and shamed captives (the heretics), all represented by a vast and diverse – but unified – orders of books.124 Woolf also notes that “the consequences of book collection are unpredictable.”125 I have suggested here that Epi­pha­nius’s physical library and intellectual library both produce a social and cultural space of empire: past and present, orthodox and heretic, Christian, pagan, and Jew, all corralled into a single order of triumphant books and made to speak of eternal, orthodox truth. This library serves quite a different purpose in our own day. The triumphal order of books constructed by Epi­pha­nius in his library has become the captive of a new order of knowledge, which would rather extract and reproduce otherwise “lost” texts and rescue them from Epi­pha­nius’s intolerant clutches. When we read Ptolemy’s Letter to Flora, we no longer hear Epi­pha­nius’s voice reading that text in an episcopal office in Constantia on Cyprus, even though it is only through Epi­ pha­nius’s voice that we possess it. This repristination of lost texts, this “archaeological” approach to Epi­pha­nius’s library, is itself “an expression of power,” with which we should, at some point, come to terms. an “epitome” of the work circulated, known (in Greek) as the Anakephalaioseis; while these eventually circulated as part of the Panarion manuscript tradition, scholars agree they were not composed by Epi­pha­nius. On Epi­pha­nius’s heresiographic influence, see Averil Cameron, “How to Read Heresiology,” in The Cultural Turn in Late Ancient Studies: Gender, Asceticism, Historiography, ed. Dale B. Martin and Patricia Cox Miller (Durham: Duke University Press, 2005), 193–212, esp. 197–200. 121  See Jacobs, Christ Circumcised, 6–10, 17–19. 122  Woolf, “Introduction: Approaching the Ancient Library,” in König, Oikonomopoulou, and Woolf, Ancient Libraries, 1–20, at 6 and see Too, Idea of the Library, 191–214. 123 Too, Idea of the Library, 9. 124  On the evocation of Roman triumph in antiquarian literature, see Trevor Murphy, Pliny the Elder’s “Natural History”: The Empire in the Encyclopedia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 154–64. 125  Woolf, “Introduction,” 9.

Cypriot Autocephaly, Reconsidered Young Richard Kim

In 1958, Glanville Downey published a short article that explored the contested claim of the island of Cyprus to ecclesiastical autocephaly, that is, the authority to consecrate its own bishops, a right that the patriarchs of Antioch in the fifth century claimed was theirs.1 As an expert on the history of late antiquity and in particular on the city of Antioch, Downey was in a good position to examine this dispute from the perspective of the Syrian capital. Perhaps his most important observation was the significant role that early fourth-century imperial provincial organization played in setting up this disagreement.2 Antioch apparently justified its claim partly through an appeal to its civil authority of the city over the diocese of Oriens, whose chief administrator, the comes Orientis, resided in Antioch.3 This administrative shuffling was initiated by the emperor Diocletian, and it had a lasting effect on interregional imperial and ecclesiastical relations in late antiquity and early Byzantium. One line of logic followed that since the main governor of Cyprus was subordinate to the comes in Antioch, the ecclesiastical hierarchy should follow suit. Downey then examined the specific arguments laid out in the fifth century, mainly at the Council of Ephesus in 431,4 and then the 1  Glanville Downey, “The Claim of Antioch to Ecclesiastical Jurisdiction over Cyprus,” APSP 102 (1958): 224–28. 2  See Glanville Downey, A History of Antioch in Syria: From Seleucus to the Arab Conquest (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1961); Downey, Antioch in the Age of Theodosius the Great (Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 1962); Downey, Ancient Antioch (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1963). 3  The other dimension to their claim was, of course, the Council of Nicaea and its canons, namely canons 4 and 6. On the comes, see J. Liebeschuetz, Antioch: City and Imperial Administration in the Later Roman Empire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1972), 110–14. 4  For a summary of the context for and proceedings of the Council of Ephesus, see Peter L’Huillier, The Church of the Ancient Councils: The Disciplinary Work of the First Four Ecumenical Councils (Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1996), 143–79, and 164–70, specifically on the canon regarding Cyprus. In fact, in the months leading up to the Council of Ephesus, John, the patriarch of Antioch, had turned to the magister militum Flavius Dionysius, a military official, to order both the governor of Cyprus and the bishops not to select a successor for the vacant see of Constantia. See A. H. M. Jones, The Later Roman Empire 284–602, Vol. 1 (Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 1964), 376–77, who suggests that John used this official because he did not have a working relationship with the comes Orientis; repeated by L’Huillier, Church of the Ancient Councils, 165. On the actual proceedings of the Council of Ephesus, specifically the deliberations leading to the eighth canon on the status of Cyprus as

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“conclusion” of the quarrel in 488, with the famous story of the miraculous discovery of the burial site and body of Saint Bar­nabas, an event which ultimately confirmed the apostolic roots of the island and therefore its rightful claim to autocephaly. Downey’s article did well to identify the roots of the problem in the early fourth century and to explore some of the competing arguments of the dispute in the fifth, but it left vacant much of the space in between and his point of view was colored by his expertise in the imperial history of Antioch. With respect to the Cypriot perspective, several scholars and theologians broached the subject throughout the last century (often repeating earlier assessments),5 but the most important studies were produced by Enrico Morini in 1979, Father Benedict Englezakis in 1986, and most recently Andreas Mitsides in 2005 in the monumental multi-volume Ιστορία τῆς Κύπρου, published by the Institute of Archbishop Makarios III.6 Morini’s study focused almost exclusively on the final resolution of the dispute in the late fifth century and the role that the Bar­nabas tradition played in establishing the apostolic pedigree of the island (thus legitimizing its claim to autonomy and proscribing any arguments in opposition). While both Englezakis and Mitsides wrote as clerics in the Church of Cyprus and were staunch defenders of the tradition of unbroken, ecclesiastical independence of the island, each nevertheless offered further depth and detail to the question of autocephaly. Englezakis connected the arguments laid out by the Cypriots in the fifth century to developments in the fourth century. In particular, he discussed the importance of the life and legacy of Epi­pha­nius in solidifying the island’s claim to autocephaly. Mitsides’s contribution examined the entire history of the dispute, including the fate of Cyprus’s independence well after the fifth century up to the present, and he drew on a wide range of studies, particularly by scholars writing in modern Greek. well as copies of the letters sent to Cyprus by Dionysius, see Eduard Schwartz, Acta Conciliorum Oecumenicorum: Concilium Universale Ephesenum 1.7 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1929), 118–22. 5  For example, see John Hackett, A  History of the Orthodox Church of Cyprus (London: Methuen, 1901), 13–43; Simon Vailhé, “Formation de l’ Église de Chypre (431),” Échos d’Orient 13.80 (1910): 5–10; Hippolytos Michaelides, “Περὶ τὸ αὐτοκέφαλον τῆς   Ἐκκλησίας τῆς Κύπρου,” Απόστολος Βαρνάβας 2.3, no. 45 (1931): 797–801; George F. Hill, A History of Cyprus, Vol. 1: To the Conquest by Richard the Lion Heart (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1940), 273– 79; Raymond Janin, “Chypre,” in Dictionnaire d’histoire et de géographie ecclésiastiques 12 (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1953), c. 791–95; Constantine Tsirpanlis, “The Origins of Cypriot Christianity,” The Patristic and Byzantine Review 12 (1993): 25–31. 6  Enrico Morini, “Apostolicitá ed autocefalia in una chiesa orientale: la leggenda di S. Barnaba e l’autonomia dell’arcivescovato di Cipro nelle fonti dei secoli V e VI,” Studi e ricerche sull’oriente cristiano 2 (1979): 23–45. Benedict Englezakis’s article was originally published in Greek, but translated by Norman Russell as “Epi­pha­nius of Salamis, the Father of Cypriot Autocephaly,” in Studies on the History of the Church of Cyprus, 4th–20th Centuries (Brookfield, VT: Variorum, 1995), 29–40. Andreas Mitsides, “Το Αὐτοκέφαλον τῆς   Ἐκκλησίας τῆς Κύπρου,” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου, Τόμος Γ: Βυζαντινή Κύπρος, ed. T. Papadopoulos (Nicosia: ΄Ιδρυμα Αρχιεπισκόπου Μακαρίου Γ΄, 2005), 129–54, which also includes ample references to other studies in modern Greek on the autocephaly of Cyprus.



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The aim of this essay is to synthesize the insights offered by these studies with additional considerations that seem to have gone unnoticed or have been underemphasized, and to argue that the church in Cyprus in late antiquity determined its theological and ecclesiastical destiny on its own terms, exhibiting a spirit of independence despite the gravitational pull of Antioch. However, disputes over ecclesiastical autonomy were (and are) thorny issues; and despite any seeming clarity offered by historical or theological arguments, Christian leaders in antiquity continued to struggle with their colleagues over power and authority. Nevertheless, I  will argue that the quintessential act that epitomized this Cypriot autonomous impulse was the selection and consecration in 367 of Epi­pha­nius as lead bishop of the island. He was, for all intents and purposes, an outsider, originally from Palestine, and so his elevation to the see in Salamis/Constantia was not only surprising but also indicative of the mindset of the bishops of the island. Epi­pha­nius was already at this point in his long and illustrious career known for his dedication to the monastic way of life and his theological orthodoxy, which for much of the fourth century represented a minority position in the Greek East. His selection came several years before he completed his heresiological masterpiece, the Panarion, and before he engaged in ecclesiastical affairs well beyond Cyprus. But it was no accident that he was chosen to become the leader of the Cypriot Christian community, and in time the island under his leadership became a bastion of pro-Nicene orthodoxy and a greenhouse of monastic flourishing.7 Although he has been marginalized in modern scholarship, Epi­pha­nius was a central (and popular) figure in the ecclesiastical politics of the late fourth century.8 Indeed, Andrew Jacobs’s contribution to this volume demonstrates the extent to which Epi­pha­nius’s life and work – in this case through a close examination of his “library” – are lenses through which we can see a more complicated picture of the competing visions of culture and empire that characterized late antiquity.

The Fourth Century Our analysis begins with the fourth century, whose advent, as we are all well aware, marked a drastic turn in the fortunes of Christianity in the Roman empire. A  newfound freedom opened the door to very public disputes over theology and ecclesiology that encompassed the entire Mediterranean world and involved not only Christians in positions of power but also the emperors them7 Jerome,

Epist. 108.7.3. recent reassessments of the life and legacy of Epi­pha­nius, see Young Richard Kim, Epi­pha­nius of Cyprus: Imagining an Orthodox World (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2015); Andrew S. Jacobs, Epi­pha­nius of Cyprus: A Cultural Biography of Late Antiquity, Christianity in Late Antiquity 2 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2016). 8  For

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selves.9 Furthermore, beginning with Constantine, the church also came to enjoy heretofore-unimagined access to the imperial court and all of the financial and legal benefits that could come with it. The stakes became much higher, and correspondingly so did the intensity of the political rivalries and ecclesiastical quarrels. Even as Christians were compelled to rethink and rewrite their narratives in this new dispensation, they began to wrestle with the reality of an empire and a state that was no longer the perceived apparatus of persecution and the purview of the powers of darkness. Indeed, this might be one way to frame the controversy over the theology associated with Arius: Christians had a difficult time conceptualizing and articulating a theology that could accommodate Christ and Caesar as kings, respectively in heaven and on earth.10 The Council of Nicaea was intended to resolve the debate engendered by the theological questions raised by Arius, but in fact we know how little was settled by this first ecumenical gathering. Two bishops of Cyprus, Cyril of Paphos and Gelasius of Salamis, were present at the Council of Nicaea and were counted among the signatories.11 While their mere attendance at the synod and even endorsement of its proceedings do not necessarily allow us to conclude anything certain about their theological convictions or ecclesiastical alignment, we can at least suggest that in the early fourth century the church in Cyprus was engaged in affairs beyond the confines of the island. It is also noteworthy that in the order of signatures that has survived, Cyprus was designated as a separate province (listed between Isauria and Bithynia), apart from that of Syria and Antioch. In addition, the fifth-century ecclesiastical historian Socrates informs us that another Cypriot attended the council, the bishop of Tremithous, Spyridon, a 9  The bibliography on the theological and ecclesiastical disputes of the fourth century is massive. Three important recent studies are Lewis Ayres, Nicaea and Its Legacy: An Approach to Fourth-Century Trinitarian Theology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004); John Behr, The Nicene Faith, Formation of Christian Theology 2 (Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2004); Khaled Anatolios, Retrieving Nicaea: The Development and Meaning of Trinitarian Doctrine (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2011). Now classic examinations (and often in disagreement), among others, include: Manlio Simonetti, La crisi ariana nel IV secolo, Studia Ephemeridis “Augustinianum” 11 (Rome: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum, 1975); Thomas Kopecek, A History of Neo-Arianism, 2 vols. (Cambridge, MA: The Philadelphia Patristic Foundation, Ltd., 1979); Robert Gregg and Dennis Groh, Early Arianism – A View of Salvation (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1981); Rowan Williams, Arius: Heresy and Tradition (London: Darton, Longman, and Todd, 1987); Hanns Christof Brennecke, Studien zur Geschichte der Homöer: der Osten bis zum Ende der homöischen Reichskirche, BHT 73 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1988); Richard Hanson, The Search for the Christian Doctrine of God: The Arian Controversy, 318–381 A. D. (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988). 10  See Raymond Van Dam, The Roman Revolution of Constantine (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 252–316. 11  Heinrich Gelzer, Patrum Nicaenorum Nomina (Leipzig: Teubner, 1898), 46–49, 69, 75 (missing Gelasius), 113, 137, 159, 211; Cuthbert H. Turner, Ecclesiae occidentalis monumenta iuris antiquissima 1.1 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1899), 80–81.



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miracle worker whose presence would rhetorically serve to affirm the orthodoxy for which Nicaea stood.12 But as recent scholarly works have shown, neither the council nor its famous creed were immediately recognized as the hallmarks of orthodoxy, and only decades later did the events of 325 become an integral feature of the rhetoric of right and wrong Christianity.13 Of course the figure who looms largest in this shift in discourse was Athanasius, and for better or for worse much of the information on what unfolded in the decades following Nicaea comes from his own writings, which undoubtedly reflect his perspectives and rhetoric.14 Still, Athanasius was a political and ecclesiastical giant, a polarizing figure both in late antiquity and today, and he became the representative voice and heroic figure of the pro-Nicene perspective, which for much of the fourth century was the minority view, especially in the Greek East.15 For his relentless defense of what he believed to be orthodox Christianity, Athanasius clashed with bishops and emperors alike, making many enemies along the way, and he was sent into exile or hiding on five different occasions. Athanasius maintained a strong base of support in the West, but among the eastern regions he explicitly mentioned Cyprus as one of his supporters at the Council of Serdica in 343, a contested gathering whose proceedings were dominated by decidedly pro-Nicene (primarily) western bishops.16 In the list of signatories to the letter circulated from the council to other churches in the Mediterranean, the representatives from Egypt are followed by those of Cyprus and then by those of Palestine.17 So with the Cypriot 12 Rufinus,

Hist. 10.5; Socrates, Historia ecclesiastica 1. 8. 12, 1.12.1–8. Cf. Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 1.11.1–11. On Spyridon, see Paul van den Ven, La légende de S. Spyridon éveque de Trimithonte, Bibliothèque du Muséon 33 (Louvain: Publications Universitaires, Institut Orientaliste, 1953). 13 See Ayres, Nicaea, 85–104, 140–44; Ayres, “Athanasius’ Initial Defense of the Term Ὁμοούσιος: Rereading the De decretis,” JECS 12 (2004): 337–59; Xavier Morales, La théologie trinitaire d’Athanase d’Alexandrie, Collection des Études Augustiniennes, Série Antiquité 180 (Paris: Institut d’Études Augustiniennes, 2006). 14  On the problems of Athanasius as our major source for understanding the fourth century, see David Gwynn, The Eusebians: The Polemic of Athanasius of Alexandria and the Construction of the ‘Arian Controversy’ (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007). 15  The bibliography on Athanasius is equally enormous, but see: Timothy D. Barnes, Athanasius and Constantius: Theology and Politics in the Constantinian Empire (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993); David Brakke, Athanasius and the Politics of Asceticism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995); Annick Martin, Athanase d’Alexandrie et l’Église d’Égypte au IVe siècle (328–373), CÉFR 216 (Paris: École française de Rome, 1996); Khaled Anatolios, Athanasius: The Coherence of His Thought (London and New York: Routledge, 1998). 16 Athanasius, Apol. sec. 1. Cf. Athanasius, H. Ar. 28.2; Ep. Jov. 2. On the Council of Serdica, see Martin Tetz, “Ante omnia de sancta fide et de integritate veritatis: Glaubensfragen auf der Synode von Serdika (342),” ZNW 76 (1985): 243–69; Hanson, Search, 293–306; Stuart G. Hall, “The Creed of Sardica,” StPat 19 (1989): 173–84; Barnes, Athanasius and Constantius, 71–81; Martin, Athanase, 422–36; Morales, La théologie, 259–65; Mark DelCogliano, “The Date of the Council of Serdica: A Reassessment of the Case for 343,” Studies in Late Antiquity 1 (2017): 282–310. 17 Athanasius, Apol. sec. 50.

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endorsement of the Council of Nicaea as a starting point, it seems that in the subsequent decades the Christian leaders on the island sided with the theological and ecclesiastical position maintained by Athanasius of Alexandria. The Palestinian link is equally important, as will be evident in a moment, because of its connection to the election of Epi­pha­nius as metropolitan of the island. However, before we turn to the famous heresiologist, let us consider for a moment the significant goings on in the city of Antioch during the course of the fourth century.

Troubles in Antioch Sometime between 413–417, during the papacy of Innocent I  and the patriarchate of Alexander I in Antioch, the latter had written to the former, asserting his right to jurisdictional control over the churches in Cyprus.18 Unfortunately, Alexander’s original letter is no longer extant, but Innocent’s response survives, and it is possible to extrapolate some of the arguments made in the patriarch’s original letter. Alexander had conceded that the Cypriots, not holding to the canons of Nicaea and thus submitting to the authority of Antioch, took it upon themselves to ordain their own bishops but did so because they had been “vexed by the power of the Arian impiety.”19 It seems that in Alexander’s reasoning, Antioch’s loss of ecclesiastical control over Cyprus was only temporary, exacerbated by the extenuating circumstances of the previous century, but now in his thinking it was appropriate to reclaim what had been lost.20 Indeed, the city of Antioch in the fourth century was a locus of intense and seemingly never-ending theological and ecclesiastical disputes, and at one point saw no less than four rival claimants to the see.21 In addition, as already noted, the city was an administrative capital, with a strategic location that also served at times as an imperial base, and it was also an intellectual, cultural, and religious 18  Innocent I, Epistulae 24. Innocent affirmed Alexander’s assertion of ecclesiastical authority over the diocese, including Cyprus. The date range is suggested by Fergus Millar, A Greek Roman Empire: Power and Belief under Theodosius II 408–450 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), 137. Janin, “Chypre,” 794, asserts 416. 19  Innocent I, Epistulae 24.3. 20  In addition, Downey suggests that Alexander was “naturally anxious to rebuild the prestige of Antioch,” and one method of doing so was to acknowledge Antioch’s authority over the provinces in its purview; History of Antioch, 457. 21  This was the so-called Meletian schism, for which see: Thomas Karmann, Meletius von Antiochien: Studien zur Geschichte des trinitätstheologischen Streits in den Jahren 360–364 n. Chr., RST 68 (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2009). See also Kelley Spoerl, “The Schism at Antioch since Cavallera,” in Arianism after Arius: Essays on the Development of the Fourth Century Trinitarian Conflicts, ed. Michel R. Barnes and Daniel H. Williams (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1993), 101–26, and the classic study by Ferdinand Cavallera, Le schisme d’Antioche (IVe–Ve siècle) (Paris: Picard, 1905).



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hub in the eastern Mediterranean.22 The stakes were high in Antioch, and there were many different parties with competing interests. With the ascendancy of non-Nicene Christians in the Greek East in the years following the Council of Nicaea, one of the heroes of the pro-Nicene camp, Eustathius, was deposed as bishop of Antioch. Still, there remained in the city an eponymous faction always loyal to him, led by Paulinus, who would become one of the eventual competing claimants to the see.23 The full-blown Meletian Schism began in 360 with the consecration of Meletius as the bishop of Antioch, who was subsequently deposed and exiled in 361 after just a few months in office, primarily because his theological alignment did not match the Homoian powers that held sway at court during this time. He was replaced by Euzoius, who occupied the see until his death in 376. Meanwhile, Paulinus himself was consecrated as bishop of Antioch by Lucifer of Cagliari, likely in early 362. Much later, in late 376 or early 377, the fourth contender, Vitalius, was ordained as bishop by Apollinarius of Laodicea. The ecclesiastical situation in Antioch throughout the middle decades of the fourth century was in complete disarray. The bishop who held the see and enjoyed imperial support was Euzoius, but from the point of view of the Christian leadership in Cyprus and other pro-Nicenes he was undoubtedly a heretic. Even after the “resolution” of the fourth-century Trinitarian debates at the Council of Constantinople in 381, the church hierarchy of Antioch was still in dispute, as the successors and supporters of Meletius and of the old Eustathian party still clashed over their respective choice for bishop. Thus, Antioch was simply in no position to assert any kind of ecclesiastical jurisdiction over pro-Nicene Cyprus, nor would the denizens of the island have tolerated any intervention by a bishop they considered to be theologically illegitimate. It should then come as no surprise that we hear no word whatsoever about any Antiochene claims over Cyprus, because there was no such claim made in the fourth century. In fact, the opposite may have happened, that is, the metropolitan of Cyprus may have intervened in and adjudicated in the episcopal dispute in Antioch.

22  See the references to the works by Downey above in notes 1 and 2, and also Paul Petit, Libanius et la vie municipale à Antioch au IVe siècle après J.‑C., Bibliothèque archéologique et historique 62 (Paris: Paul Geuthner, 1955); André J. Festugière, Antioch païenne et chrétienne: Libanius, Chrysostome et les moins de Syrie (Paris: de Boccard, 1959); Downey, History of Antioch in Syria; Liebeschuetz, Antioch; Jaclyn L. Maxwell, Christianization and Communication in Late Antiquity: John Chrysostom and His Congregation in Antioch (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006); Isabella Sandwell, Religious Identity in Late Antiquity: Greeks, Jews, and Christians in Antioch (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007); Christine Shepardson, Controlling Contested Spaces: Late Antique Antioch and the Spatial Politics of Religious Controversy (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2014). 23 Karmann, Meletius von Antiochien, 20–50.

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Enter Epi­pha­nius The exact circumstances and process by which Epi­pha­nius became the bishop of Constantia (otherwise known as Salamis) and thus the lead bishop of the island are unclear. The Vita Epiphanii provides a rather elaborate story, full of hagiographical tropes, in which Epi­pha­nius decided to travel to Cyprus to visit his mentor, the ascetic exemplar Hilarion, who had found refuge near the city of Paphos.24 There Hilarion told him that he ought to make his way to Salamis to avoid a storm at sea on his return journey. Epi­pha­nius, however, boarded a ship bound for Askalon and ended up being shipwrecked and washed ashore in Salamis. Meanwhile the bishops of Cyprus had convened to elect a new bishop for Salamis, and among them was a venerable confessor-bishop named Pappos. Before Epi­pha­nius was to depart for Palestine, he went to the city market where he was spotted by Pappos and his associates, who invited him to pray with them in the church. Epi­pha­nius demurred that he was unqualified to lead prayers at church, at which point Pappos ordained Epi­pha­nius against his will as deacon, presbyter, and then bishop. Pappos explained that God had revealed to him that he would find the next bishop of Salamis in the marketplace.25 Thus according to the Vita, the selection of Epi­pha­nius was miraculous and divinely sanctioned. We ought not to put too much stock into the specific details of the hagiographical account, but we can detect an underlying concern in the Vita to explain how a non-Cypriot native of Palestine became the leader of the Christian community on the island. I have explored elsewhere, building on the work of other scholars, the possible circumstances that made possible the elevation of Epi­pha­ nius to the see of Constantia, which include unfavorable developments in Epi­ pha­nius’ homeland, the likely presence and influence of Hilarion on the island, and, as suggested above, the pro-Nicene, Athanasian orientation of the church in Cyprus.26 When Epi­pha­nius was elected in 367, he was serving as the abbot of the monastery he had founded in his home region of Eleutheropolis in Palestine, a position that he had held at this point for about thirty years. We know only a few details about this phase of his life, and they come from two autobiographical anecdotes Epi­pha­nius included in the Panarion.27 While we must exhibit caution in how readily we accept his recollection of these events, we nevertheless see in them two features characteristic of the public persona Epi­ pha­nius constructed for himself. First, Epi­pha­nius recounted a story about the conversion to Christianity of Joseph of Tiberias, a one-time high official at the 24  For the Vita, see Claudia Rapp, “The Vita of Epi­pha­nius of Salamis – A Historical and Literary Study,” 2 vols. (D. Phil. thesis, Worcester College, Oxford University, 1991). 25  On this sequence of events, see Vita Epiphanii 55–62. 26 Kim, Epi­pha­nius of Cyprus, 141–57. 27 Kim, Epi­pha­nius of Cyprus, 83–95.



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court of the Jewish patriarch.28 The setting was an occasion when Epi­pha­nius lodged at Joseph’s home in Scythopolis, a region known to be an “Arian” hotbed with a heretic bishop. Also staying there was Eusebius of Vercelli, a pro-Nicene stalwart who had been exiled after the Council of Milan in 355.29 It should come as no surprise that Eusebius was also a staunch ally of Athanasius. From this anecdote, we see that Epi­pha­nius’s orthodoxy was reflected clearly in the company he kept. Second, Epi­pha­nius described his confrontation with the leader of a heretical sect known as the Archontics.30 In this story, Epi­pha­nius portrayed himself as a heresy-hunter and a defender of orthodoxy, acting as a sheepdog protecting its flock and as an arbiter of true and false Christianity. Therefore, whatever the circumstances were in which Epi­pha­nius became the lead bishop of Cyprus, the Christian leadership on the island must have known that they were getting a candidate with extensive monastic experience, important pro-Nicene connections, and impeccable orthodox credentials. While we simply cannot know if there was a dearth of suitable candidates on the island itself, the fact remains that the Cypriots selected an “outsider” to lead their church. And given the ecclesiastical and political circumstances of the eastern Mediterranean, their choice was bold and provocative. In 367, the archbishop at Constantinople was Eudoxius, a prominent figure among the Homoians, and the imperially recognized bishop of Antioch was Euzoius, while the emperor of the east was Valens, who supported the Homoian position.31 Thus in a sea of theological and ecclesiastical opposition, Cyprus elected a Palestinian monk to the see of Constantia. It is quite possible that the Cypriots had no idea just how prominent Epi­pha­nius would become in the years to come. Not only would he 28  Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 30.5.1–8. On the Joseph of Tiberias episode, Stephen Goranson, “The Joseph of Tiberias Episode in Epi­pha­nius: Studies in Jewish and Christian Relations” (PhD diss., Duke University, 1990). See also Frédéric Manns, “Joseph de Tibériade, un judéo-chrétien du quatrième siècle,” in Christian Archaeology in the Holy Land: New Discoverie: Essays in honour of Virgilio C. Corbo, SBFCMa 36, ed. G. Bottini, L. di Segni, E. Alliata (Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press, 1990), 553–60; Timothy Thornton, “The Stories of Joseph of Tiberias,” VC 44 (1990): 54–63; Stephen Goranson, “Joseph of Tiberias Revisited: Orthodoxies and Heresies in Fourth-Century Galilee,” in Galilee Through the Centuries: A Confluence of Cultures, Duke Judaic Studies 1, ed. E. Meyers (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1999), 335–43; Andrew S. Jacobs, “Matters (Un-)Becoming: Conversions in Epi­pha­nius of Salamis,” CH 81 (2012): 27–47; Jacobs, Epi­pha­nius of Cyprus, 88–92. 29  On Eusebius, see Victor De Clercq, “Eusèbe de Verceil,” in Dictionnaire d’histoire et de géographie ecclésiastiques 15 (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1963), c. 1477–83; Enrico dal Covolo, Renato Uglione, and Giovanni Vian, eds., Eusebio di Vercelli e il suo tempo, Biblioteca di scienze religiose 133 (Rome: Libreria Ateneo Salesiano, 1997); Daniel A. Washburn, “Tormenting the Tormenters: A Reinterpretation of Eusebius of Vercelli’s Letter from Scythopolis,” CH 78 (2009): 731–55. 30  Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 40.1.1–9. 31  On Valens, see Brennecke, Studien zur Geschichte der Homöer; Noel E. Lenski, Failure of Empire: Valens and the Roman State in the Fourth Century A. D., Transformation of the Classical Heritage 34 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002), 211–63.

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compose the massive Panarion in the mid-370s, but he would also involve himself – some would say meddle – in international ecclesiastical affairs that eventually saw him confront even the archbishop of Jerusalem, John, and the archbishop of Constantinople, John Chrysostom.32 But Epi­pha­nius’s earliest ecclesiastical intervention, if we are to trust his own recollection, took place either in late 376 or early 377, when he traveled to Antioch to adjudicate a dispute between two of the rival claimants to the see of the Syrian capital. The rivals were Paulinus, the “successor” to Eustathius and an unwavering pro-Nicene, and Vitalius, also a pro-Nicene but a disciple of Apollinarius of Laodicea, whose Christology was increasingly becoming a source of alarm.33 Epi­pha­nius assessed the doctrinal orthodoxy of both Paulinus and Vitalius, and in the course of his investigation he found the latter to have heretical views regarding the incarnation of Christ and therefore disqualified Vitalius. Furthermore, using the document known as the Tome to the Antiochenes, written under the auspices of Athanasius and the church in Egypt, Epi­pha­nius tested the orthodoxy of Paulinus. He found him to be a true believer and subsequently endorsed him as the rightful bishop of Antioch. Thus, despite the fact that there was already an apparently pro-Nicene bishop of Antioch in the person of Meletius, Epi­pha­nius, the lead bishop of Cyprus, decided that Paulinus was the true bishop, even traveling to Rome in 382 to advocate Paulinus’s case before Pope Damasus.34

Round 2: The Council of Ephesus After the epistolary exchange between Alexander of Antioch and Innocent I of Rome, the issue apparently remained unresolved, although it is certain that the see of Antioch (under Patriarchs Theodotus and John) maintained its claim to ecclesiastical oversight of Cyprus.35 It seems that Innocent also agreed, at least tentatively, that the Cypriots had violated the canonical practice.36 The dispute simmered in the ensuing years and boiled over in the months leading up to the Council of Ephesus in 431. Troilus, the metropolitan bishop of Constantia and therefore leader of the Cypriot churches, died in the spring months of 431. Sometime during his tenure, he had visited Antioch on some business tangential to the autocephaly question, and there the clerics of the city evidently mistreated him physically, perhaps because of this very issue.37 And so upon Troilus’s passing, 32 Kim,

Epi­pha­nius of Cyprus, 211–36. Epi­pha­nius, Pan. 77.20.1–24.5. Kim, Epi­pha­nius of Cyprus, 159–72. 34 Jerome, Epist. 108.6.1, 127.7.1. 35 L’Huillier, Church of the Ancient Councils, 165. 36 Innocent, Epistulae 24.3. 37 Schwartz, Acta Conciliorum, 118, lines 28–32, describes the abuse. Downey, “The Claim,” 33 



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Patriarch John in Antioch seized the opportunity to assert his authority over Cyprus by requesting that the magister militum per Orientem, Dionysius, write two letters to be dispatched to Cyprus. One letter went to Theodorus, the civil governor of the island (dated 21 May, 431), and the other to the bishops of Cyprus, forbidding them to elect a successor until the bishops at the upcoming council in Ephesus pronounce on the issue, or if they had already done so, to appear at the council to explain themselves.38 As both Downey and Jones have made clear, John’s recruitment of an imperial official was at the least irregular, and the proper official to be consulted (if at all) should have been either the praetorian prefect of the East or the comes Orientis, the former with his office in Constantinople and the latter in Antioch. Jones suggests that John likely had no influence over the praetorian prefect and the comes either would have consulted with the prefect, his superior, or was not friendly to the patriarch.39 That John sought to use the magister militum Dionysius (or any government official) in this dispute demonstrates the Antiochene perspective of the coordinate parallel hierarchy of ecclesiastical and secular authority. However, as Jones points out, even this is complicated by the fact that the governor of Cyprus, as a civil authority, was technically not subject to the magister militum.40 In the end, it did not matter who sent the letters, because the Cypriots acted on their own accord and duly elected Rheginus as their metropolitan. The only question that remains unanswered is whether or not they did so before or after receiving the communications from Antioch. If they did so before, then clearly the Cypriots were acting on what they believed was their right; if after, perhaps we can perceive additionally an act of defiance against the claims of Antioch. Since the Council of Ephesus itself was driven largely by the agenda of Cyril of Alexandria, a request from John and the delegation from Antioch to delay the start was not only rejected, but the commencement of the council was expedited to 22 June. When John and his cohort finally arrived on 26 June, they refused to participate in Cyril’s council and instead held their own. In the weeks following, the disputes escalated with mutual condemnations, depositions, and finally imperial intervention.41 The delegation from Cyprus was led by metropolitan bish225, suggests that Troilus had been consecrated before Innocent’s campaign to reclaim what he thought was lost authority. Hence the physical attack was the Antiochene (literal!) way of beating Troilus into submission. 38 Schwartz, Acta Conciliorum, 120, lines 12–31, 37–43, 121, lines 1–9. On the magister militum, see Liebeschuetz, Antioch, 114–18. 39  Downey, “The Claim,” 226–27; Jones, Later Roman Empire, 376–77; L’Huillier, Church of the Ancient Councils, 165. 40 Jones, Later Roman Empire, 377, although he does suggest that the respective ranks of both men would have implied an assumed submission of one to the other. This fact was recognized by the Cypriot delegation and recorded in the acta; Schwartz, Acta Conciliorum, 119, lines 2–5. 41  On all of these affairs see L’Huillier, Church of the Ancient Councils, 146–54.

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op Rheginus of Constantia, who was accompanied by Zeno of Kourion and Evagrius of Soloi. During one of the early meetings, Rheginus had made clear where his loyalties lay when he openly opposed Nestorius.42 In fact, the Cypriot alignment with the Alexandrian line, as I have argued elsewhere, reaches back to the fourth century to the island’s participation at the Council of Nicaea, affirmation of Athanasius at the Council of Serdica, and bishop Epi­pha­nius’s avowed admiration of and continuity with his Alexandrian hero.43 Hence, in the later session when the Cyprus issue was actually addressed, the delegation from Antioch was absent and therefore the perspective presented was entirely that of the Cypriots. In the acta of the council we have a transcript of the discussion that took place between the council and the Cypriot delegation.44 Rheginus had brought with him and presented the letters from Dionysius. When asked by the council what the Cypriots thought Antioch’s intentions were, bishop Evagrius replied that the city was, “attempting to possess our island and to snatch away the right of ordination for itself, against the canons and the custom that prevailed from the very beginning,” to which the synod inquired, “So it appears that Antioch has never ordained the bishop in Constantia?” Zeno, the bishop of Kourion, responded: “From [the time of] the holy apostles, never can they prove that Antioch presided over and ordained [the bishop of Constantia], that neither it nor anyone else ever consulted the island as regards to ordination.”45 The unequivocal view of the bishops of Cyprus was that the island, from era of the apostles forward, had always been independent. The inquiry continued with a recollection of canon 6 of the Council of Nicaea, which seemed to imply that Antioch had the privilege of jurisdictional oversight (although with no specific mention of which provinces), in particular with respect to the ordination of bishops, and a request from the inquirers to the Cypriots for further explanation.46 Again, Zeno firmly declared that in their own province the metropolitan was always chosen by the Cypriots, and it seems that at this point in the discussion one of the underlying issues was the relationship between the ecclesiastical and provincial organization and hierarchy of leader42  The original invitee was metropolitan Troilus. See Anna Crabbe, “The Invitation List to the Council of Ephesus and Metropolitan Hierarchy in the Fifth Century,” JTS 32 (1981): 369– 400. 43  See Kim, Epi­pha­nius of Cyprus, 104–37. 44  The date for this meeting in the acta is 31 August, but should be read as 31 July, pace L’Huillier, Church of the Ancient Councils, 164; based on Charles Hefele, Histoire des conciles 2.1 (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1908), 332–34. On the complexities of reconstructing the sessions and proceedings of the council, see Thomas Graumann, “‘Reading’ the First Council of Ephesus,” in Chalcedon in Context: Church Councils 400–700, ed. Richard Price and Mary Whitby (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2009), 27–44. I am grateful to Richard Price for sharing with me portions of his (yet unpublished) translation of the acta. 45 Schwartz, Acta Conciliorum, 121, lines 21–28. 46 Schwartz, Acta Conciliorum, 121, lines 29–32.



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ship, which in part served as the basis of the Antiochene claim. When asked by the synod who had ordained the previous three metropolitans – Troilus, Sabinus, and Epi­pha­nius – Zeno indicated that each had been chosen only by those in Cyprus, a practice that extended all the way back to apostolic times, and that Antioch never had any hand in the ordination of bishops on the island: Both these holy bishops who are now remembered and the most holy bishops who preceded them and those from [the time of] the holy apostles, all of them orthodox, were ordained by those in Cyprus and never was the bishop of Antioch in possession of the territory or someone else able to ordain in our eparchy.47

Scholars who have studied the proceedings of the council do not discuss at all the significance of Epi­pha­nius. However, the synod’s inquiry about Rheginus’s predecessors went only as far back as Epi­pha­nius, who was called aoidimos (ἀοίδιμος), that is, “sung about in song,” which speaks volumes about the reputation that the famed heresiologist had even into the fifth century.48 The Cypriots had chosen him, an outsider, as their leader, and his reputation for defending the orthodox faith and combatting heresy had reached legendary status.49 For those gathered at Ephesus, this must have been an important component to the argument that Cyprus had always been autocephalous, and at this point in the inquiry, the synod moved to a concluding resolution.50 Noticeably absent from the entire exchange between the representatives of the Council of Ephesus and the Cypriot delegation was any mention at all of Bar­nabas (more on this below). For this particular gathering, as recorded in the acta, the ordination of the previous three metropolitans, including the legendary Epi­pha­nius, by the bishops of Cyprus was strong evidence of the ecclesiastical independence of the island: Therefore, it seems fitting to the holy and universal synod, that to each province the rights belonging to it from the beginning and from on high, in accordance with the ancient right to rule, be preserved clear and free from compulsion, for each metropolitan, free from fear, to fully receive secure equality in the conducting of his own affairs. And if someone produces a decree contesting that which has now been determined, it seems to the all-holy and ecumenical synod that this is invalid.51

In “canon” 8, the council affirmed the independence of Cyprus: If, as is asserted in memorials and orally by religious men who have come before the Council – it has not been a continuous ancient custom for the bishop of Antioch to hold ordinations in Cyprus, – the prelates of Cyprus shall enjoy, free from molestation and violence, their right to perform by themselves the ordination of bishops.52 47 Schwartz,

Acta Conciliorum, 121, lines 42–45. Acta Conciliorum, 121, line 41. 49  Whereas modern scholarly assessments have minimized and marginalized his significance in the fourth century. See Kim, Epi­pha­nius of Cyprus, 1–13. 50  Englezakis, “Epi­pha­nius of Salamis,” 38. 51 Schwartz, Acta Conciliorum, 122, lines 17–22. 52  The “canon” was actually a resolution passed by the council. For commentary on this 48 Schwartz,

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Scholars have emphasized that here in the canon (as in the acta) we see the conditional extension of autocephaly to Cyprus, which thus suggests that even the Council of Ephesus hesitated to affirm full rights of self-rule for the church on the island and included an “out” clause if indeed Cyprus did not always have the right to ordain its own bishops.53 However, at the same time, the Council upheld the Cypriot claim (granted, there was no representation from Antioch), and as we will now see, the patriarch of Antioch resorted to another argument altogether to assert the authority of the city over the island. In other words, Antioch could not prove that it had ever ordained the bishops of Cyprus.

Conclusion: Bar­nabas and the “Final” Word Decades after the Council of Ephesus, Antioch, under the leadership of its nonChalcedonian bishop Peter the Fuller, would try again to assert control over Cyprus.54 But if our earliest source for the ensuing events is to be trusted, the nature of the argument had changed.55 After he was repudiated by the Cypriots for his theology, Peter contended that, “The Word of God was made known in Cyprus from Antioch, and indeed the church in Cyprus should be under the see of Antioch, since it happens to be the apostolic and patriarchal see.”56 Rather than build a case based either on established (but temporarily suspended) practice or on the parallel ecclesiastical and imperial hierarchies, now the patriarch of Antioch asserted his control over Cyprus on the fact that the Gospel had been introduced to the island from Antioch.57 He was making an apostolic argument. Thus, the justifications for ecclesiastical oversight of the island made in the first half of the century by the patriarchs Alexander and John were abandoned for what was seemingly a weightier, biblical claim. This time, it took the miraculous intervention of Bar­nabas himself to settle the matter once and for all.58 The apostolic saint revealed the location of his burial site in a dream to archbishop Anthemios of Constantia, who led a procession canon, see William Bright, The Canons of the First Four General Councils of Nicaea, Constantinople, Ephesus and Chalcedon, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Clarendon, 1892), 135–39 (translation from 136). 53 Bright, Canons, 136; Downey, History of Antioch, 464–65; L’Huillier, Church of the Ancient Councils, 168. 54  On the emperor Zeno and Peter the Fuller, see Downey, History of Antioch, 484–502. 55  The encomium of Saint Bar­nabas (Laudatio in apostolum Barnabam) was written sometime in the middle or late sixth century (Downey, “The Claim,” 227 n. 31) by a Cypriot monk named Alexander. The Greek text (with Latin translation) is found in Acta Sanctorum, Junii Tomus Secundus (Paris: Victorem Palmé, 1867), 431–47. The Latin version is also available in PL 87.3. 56  Acta sanctorum, 443. 57  See the narrative arc in Acts 11:19, 13:4–12, 15:39. Downey, “The Claim,” 227–28. 58  There had emerged likely at the end of the fifth century an expanded narrative of the



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to the exact spot where the saint’s body was found, clutching a copy of the Gospel of Matthew, penned in the Cypriot’s own hand.59 A delegation from the island presented the sacred text to the emperor Zeno, who in 488 recognized the ecclesiastical independence of the island of Cyprus, affirming the right of the bishops of the island to choose for themselves their own metropolitan without the interference or approval of any other patriarch.60 The emperor’s decision is perhaps also the best evidence for the validity of the monk Alexander’s account of the argument made by Peter the Fuller (who enjoyed the favor and support of Zeno), because the emperor went against the claim of the Antiochene patriarch.61 This miraculous discovery was proof positive of Cyprus’s apostolic pedigree, and the island, which had contended confidently at Ephesus about its independence since biblical times, now had its undisputed champion. Just as the other great patriarchs of the Greek East rooted their authority on the life and legacy apostles – Peter for Antioch, James for Jerusalem, Mark for Alexandria – so too could the metropolitan of Cyprus proudly claim Bar­nabas. Thus, in the end Cypriot autocephaly was fully affirmed without qualification, resting on the shoulders of an adopted son, Epi­pha­nius, and a native son, Bar­nabas, both of such immeasurable stature that even today we can find these saints painted together in the churches in Cyprus, a testament to the independent spirit of the island.62

saint’s life in the Acta Barnabae. See Maximilian Bonnet, ed., Acta Philippi et Acta Thomae accedunt Acta Barnabae (Leipzig: Herman Mendelssohn, 1903), 292–302. 59  Alexander Monachus, Laudatio in apostolum Barnabam 38–50; Severus of Antioch, Epistulae 108 (PO 14:266); Theodore the Reader, Historia ecclesiastica 2.2 (PG 86.1:184); George Cedrenus, Historia compendium (PG 121:673); Joel, Chronographia (PG 139:264). On these narratives about the manuscript, see also AnneMarie Luijendijk’s chapter in this volume. 60  The dating of the emperor’s decree and the discovery of the relics of Bar­nabas, however, are a matter of some dispute due to disparities in the sources. See Morini, “Apostolicitá ed autocefalia,” 34 n. 26 (I follow his dating of the event to 488). According to the tradition, Zeno also granted to the metropolitan of Cyprus the right to wear imperial purple, wield a scepter, and sign his name with red ink. 61 Downey, History of Antioch, 485. 62  On the iconography of Bar­nabas and Epi­pha­nius in Cyprus, see Andreas Stylianou and Judith Stylianou, The Painted Churches of Cyprus: Treasures of Byzantine Art (London: Trigraph for the A. G. Leventis Foundation, 1985).

The Gospel of Matthew in the Acts of Bar­nabas through the Lens of a Book’s History Healing and Burial with Books AnneMarie Luijendijk1

Three passages in the Acts of Bar­nabas allude to a manuscript containing the Gospel of Matthew. This chapter contextualizes the Acts of Bar­nabas’s use of this book within the larger function of books in antiquity as texts and as objects, especially in healing and burial practices. It argues that a manuscript, both as imagined and as an actual object, played a distinct role in how the Acts of Bar­ nabas contributed, among other narratives, to arguments for Cypriot ecclesiastical independence.2

Letter from Severus of Gaza to Thomas of Germanicea A few decades after the composition of the Acts of Bar­nabas, in a letter written after the year 518, the prolific Greek author, theologian, and hymnographer Severus of Gaza, former patriarch of Antioch, wrote to bishop Thomas of Germanicea about a text-critical problem.3 The issue is whether a soldier pierced Jesus’s side after Jesus was already deceased (as in the Gospel of John) or while he was still alive. The latter, Severus maintained, was a textual corruption in manuscripts of the Gospel of Matthew. As definite proof for his position, Severus reports his 1  I thank Laura Nasrallah and Brent Nongbri for their generous feedback, my research assistants Jonathan Henry and Nathan Johnson for their excellent help in many different ways, and Shanon FitzGerald for his keen eye in proofreading this. My thanks also go to Susan Falciani Maldonado of the Trexler Library, Muhlenberg College, for sending me the image of P. Oxy. VIII 1077 for publication. 2  On the topic of the Cypriot autocephaly, see also the chapter by Young Kim in this volume. 3  The recipient of the letter is Thomas of Germanicea. The letter can only be tentatively dated between 519–538, between when Thomas was deposed and when Severus died. Jean Maurice Fiey mentions Thomas as one of the bishops deposed in 519; Saints syriaques (Princeton: Darwin, 2004), 189, no. 446. Severus addressed several letters to him. He may be the Thomas who appears among the bishops publishing canons in 535 and died in exile in Samosata in 542. On Severus, see below.

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investigation of a manuscript that he examined while visiting Constantinople a few years earlier during the patriarchate of Macedonius (494–511). Preserved only in Syriac translation, the letter reads: But that our Lord Jesus Christ our God was pierced in the side with a lance by that soldier after he gave up the ghost, and blood and water came forth from it in a miraculous manner, the divine John the Evangelist recorded, and no one else wrote about this. But certain persons have clearly falsified the Gospel of Matthew and inserted this same passage, when the contrary is the fact, in order to show that it was while he was alive that the soldier pierced his side with the spear, and afterwards he gave up the ghost. This question was examined with great carefulness when my meanness was in the royal city, at the time when the affair of Macedonius was being examined, who became archbishop of that city, and there was produced the Gospel of Matthew, which was written in large letters, and was preserved with great honor in the royal palace, which was said to have been found in the days of Zeno of honorable memory in a city of the island of Cyprus buried with the holy Bar­nabas, who went about with Paul and spread the divine preaching; and, when the Gospel of Matthew was opened (‫)ܘ�ܕ ̣ܗ ̣ܘ ܐܘ�����ܢ ܕ��ܝ ܐܬ��ܚ‬, it was found to be free from the falsification contained in this addition, of the story of the soldier and the spear.⁠4

This passage contains much of interest, including text critical issues and theological debates on the nature of Christ (especially the violent and gory details surrounding Jesus’s death). My focus, however, is on the story of the manuscript of the Gospel of Matthew kept in the imperial palace at Constantinople that Severus examined. Severus, the epistolographer, was born in 465 and hailed from Gaza. He served as patriarch of Antioch following his nomination in 512. Because of his monophysite leanings, he was banned from office in 517 or 518. He died in 538 or 539.5 Severus must have seen the Matthean manuscript sometime during the years he spent in Constantinople, from 508–511.6 In his lifetime he witnessed the dispute about and eventual success of the Cypriot church in the movement for ecclesiastical independence, or autocephaly, from Antioch. Severus supports his text-critical position not with just any manuscript. He refers to what he considered an authoritative text: namely, the manuscript buried together with the re4 

67).

Edition and translation: E. W. Brooks, “To Thomas, Bishop of Germanicea” (PO 14:266–

5  On Severus, see Pauline Allen and C. T. R. Hayward, Severus of Antioch (London: Routledge, 2004); Fiey, Saints syriaques, 173, no. 405. See also Enrico Norelli, “Actes de Barnabé,” in Écrits apocryphes chrétiens, ed. Pierre Geoltrain and Jean-Daniel Kaestli, vol. 2 of Bibliothèque de la Pléiade 442 (Paris: Gallimard, 2005), 623 n. 1. 6  Severus indicates that he saw the book during the time when Macedonius was embroiled in controversy. On Severus in Constantinople, see Fiey, Saints syriaques, 173: “En 508 il vint à Constantinople, avec 200 moines, pour demander justice à l’empereur des molestations subies par ses moines. Il resta dans la capitale jusqu’en 511”; and Iain Torrance, Christology after Chalcedon: Severus of Antioch and Sergius the Monophysite (Norwich: Canterbury Press, 1988; repr., Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock, 1998), 4.



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mains of the apostle Bar­nabas, discovered at Cyprus during Severus’s own lifetime. Several other authors also mention this manuscript. In his Church History, sixth-century lector Theodore Anagnostes explains the circumstances around the find: The remains of the apostle Bar­nabas were found in Cyprus [at the time of Zeno I, 474–491] under a carob tree, with the Gospel of Matthew, by Bar­nabas’s own hand, on his chest (ἔχον ἐπὶ στήθους τὸ κατὰ Ματθαῖον εὐαγγέλιον ἰδιόγραφον τοῦ Βαρνάβα). On these grounds, the Cypriots form an autocephalous metropolis of their own and are not subject to Antioch. But Zeno deposited said Gospel in his palace, in [the Chapel of] St. Stephen [478].7

Although Theodore is a lector by profession at the Hagia Sophia in Constantinople, he, unlike Severus, does not indicate whether he saw the manuscript. Around the middle of the fifth century,8 Alexander, a Cypriot Monk from the Monastery of Bar­nabas in Salamis, composed a Laudatio on the apostle Bar­ nabas in which he reports a similar tradition regarding the discovery of this text: The bishop rose, worshipped the Lord, assembled all his holy clergy and the Christ-loving people, and went out to the place which had been shown to him, under the sign of the cross and with great preparation. Then he said a prayer and ordered that the place be dug up. When they had dug a little they found a cave closed with stones. Rolling these away they found the coffin; uncovering it they found the sacred remains of the holy and glorious apostle Bar­nabas, giving forth the fragrance of spiritual grace. They found also the gospel lying on his breast (εὗρον δὲ καὶ τὸ εὐαγγέλιον, ἐπὶ τὸ στῆθος αὐτοῦ κείμενον).9

The story, as we shall see, is that this Gospel book was presented to emperor Zeno as a sign of the primacy of the Cypriot church. As a result, Zeno granted the island its desired independence from Antioch, where, as noted above, Severus had been patriarch. Severus consulted the manuscript for a scholarly reason. But in antiquity, as today, books were artifacts signifying more than just repositories of texts. For 7  Edition:

Günther Christian Hansen, ed., Theodoros Anagnostes Kirchengeschichte, GCS 3 (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1971), 121, Epitome 436. Translation: Hans A. Pohlsander, Greek Texts of the Fourth to Thirteenth Centuries, Vol. 7 of Sources for the History of Cyprus, ed. Paul W. Wallace and Andreas G. Orphanides (Nicosia: Cyprus College, 1990), 45; italics my own. 8  A precise date cannot be established, but the time of composition is between the years 530 and 566. See Peter van Deun and Jacques Noret, eds., Hagiographica Cypria: Sancti Barnabae laudatio auctore Alexandro monacho et Sanctorum Bartholomaei Barnabae vita e menologio imperiali deprompta, CCSG 26 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1993), 15–21, esp. 21. Michel van Esbroeck preferred a narrower date range of 543–553; Michel van Esbroeck, “L’opuscule sur la croix d’Alexandre de Chypre et sa version géorgienne,” Bedi Kartlisa. Revue de la kartvélologie 37 (1979): 102–21, cited approvingly by Van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 16 and 16 n. 10. On this text, see also Bernd Kollmann and Werner Deuse, eds., Alexander Monachus, Laudatio Barnabae. Lobrede auf Bar­nabas, Fontes Christiani 46 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007). 9  Edition: Van Deun, Sancti Barnabae laudatio, 116–17, ll. 758–72. See also Pohlsander, Sources for the History of Cyprus, 7:51–52, no. 37.2; 45, 31.6. Translation: Paul W. Wallace in ibid. On this text, see also Efthymiadis in this volume. Note that the Laudatio mentions “the gospel lying on his breast” but does not identify the manuscript as the Gospel of Matthew.

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the ancients, manuscripts could be relics that possessed healing and apotropaic functions.10 Indeed, as French Medieval historian and paleographer Jean Vezin notes, in the Christian world of late antiquity and beyond, books were held in special regard because of their scarcity, their cost, and the trouble suffered by the scribes who transcribed them.11 It is in this bookish milieu that the author of the Acts of Bar­nabas – writing a few decades earlier than Severus, Theodore, and Alexander – mentions a manuscript featuring the Gospel of Matthew.

The Acts of Bar­nabas12 Pseudonymously narrated by John Mark, Bar­nabas’s cousin (cf. Acts 13:4; Col. 4:10),13 the Acts of Bar­nabas is based loosely upon the canonical Acts of the Apostles but has also major divergences.14 It describes the separation between 10  See, for instance, David Frankfurter, “The Magic of Writing and the Writing of Magic-the Power of the Word in Egyptian and Greek Traditions,” Helios 21 (1994): 189–221.; Frankfurter, “Narrating Power: The Theory and Practice of Magical Historiola in Ritual Spells,” in Ancient Magic and Ritual Power, ed. Paul Mirecki and Marvin Meyer, RGRW 129 (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 455–76, which talks about Gospel codices; Jan Bremmer, “From Books with Magic to Magical Books in Ancient Greece and Rome?” in The Materiality of Magic, ed. Dietrich Bosschung and Jan Bremmer (Paderborn: Wilhelm Fink, 2015), 241–70. On the touching of Medieval manuscripts, see, for instance, Kathryn Margaret Rudy, “Dirty Books: Quantifying Patterns of Use in Medieval Manuscripts Using a Densitometer,” Journal of Historians of Netherlandish Art 2 (2010): 1–44; Kathryn M. Rudy, Piety in Pieces: How Medieval Readers Customized Their Manuscripts (Cambridge: Open Book, 2016). 11  “Dans le monde chrétien de la Basse Antiquité et du haut Moyen Age, le livre était considéré avec une attention particulière à cause de sa rareté, de son prix et de la peine endurée par les scribes qui le transcrivaient;” Jean Vezin, “Les livres utilisés comme amulettes et comme reliques,” in Das Buch als magisches und als Repräsentationsobjekt, ed. Peter Ganz, Wolfenbüttler Mittelalter-Studien 5 (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1992), 101. 12  The full title of the text is: “The Travels and the Martyrdom of the Holy Apostle Bar­ nabas.” The Acts of Bar­nabas, while not unknown, has not received as much scholarly attention as other Acta, even among the “younger” acts. For instance, J. K. Elliott in his monumental book on the apocryphal New Testament, notes only: “The story tells of John Mark’s account of the activities and death of Bar­nabas in Cyprus; the date of the composition is probably fifth to sixth century. No summary is provided here;” The Apocryphal New Testament: A Collection of Apocryphal Christian Literature in an English Translation (Oxford: Clarendon, 1993), 523. See also the overview in István Czachesz, Commission Narratives: A Comparative Study of the Canonical and Apocryphal Acts, Studies on Early Christian Apocrypha 8 (Leuven: Peeters Publishers, 2007), 184 n. 1. 13  In other words, John Mark is the inscribed author, see also Czachesz, Commission Narratives, 194. On possible references to New Testament figures, see Glenn E. Snyder, “The Acts of Bar­nabas. A New Translation and Introduction,” in New Testament Apocrypha: More Non­ canonical Scriptures, ed. Tony Burke and Brent Landau (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2016), 317 n. 3. 14  For a comparison of the two Acts, see Richard Adelbert Lipsius, Die apokryphen Apostelgeschichten und Apostellegenden: Ein Beitrag zur altchristlichen Literaturgeschichte (Braunschweig: C. A. Schwetschke und Sohn, 1884), 285. The Acts of Bar­nabas supplements the ca-



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Paul and Bar­nabas and Bar­nabas’s work converting the population of his native Cyprus to Christianity in dispute with local pagans and Jews. In this text, “the Jews” finally kill Bar­nabas and burn his remains. Mark and several companions manage to secure the ashes and bury them in a cave together with the Gospel of Matthew, a book that Bar­nabas had previously used to heal and teach. Mark then escapes to Alexandria where he founds the Egyptian church. According to this narrative, the Cypriot church predates the Egyptian church founded by Mark in Alexandria.15 While many of the other apostolic acts circulated already in the second century, the Acts of Bar­nabas was composed only at the end of the fifth century.16 Scholars agree that its author is a Cypriot. This is evident not only from the author’s knowledge of geography17 but also his major stake in the text, namely, proving Cyprus’s deep and early apostolic roots, and thus providing grounds for Cypriotic ecclesiastical independence,18 an issue to which I will later return. nonical Acts by providing the information on what happened after Bar­nabas and Mark came to Cyprus, as announced in the Acts 15:39: “Bar­nabas took Mark with him and sailed away to Cyprus;” Czachesz, Commission Narratives, 185. 15  See also Norelli, “Actes de Barnabé,” 642 n. 26: “notre texte se rattache ici à la légende de la fondation de l’Église d’Alexandrie par Marc, attestée pour la première fois par Eusèbe …” 16  See Marek Starowieyski, “Datation des Actes (Voyages) de S. Barnabé (BHG 225; ClAp 285) et du Panégyrique de S. Barnabé par Alexandre le Moine (BHG 226; CPG 7400; ClAp 286),” in Philohistôr: miscellanea in honorem Caroli Laga septuagenarii, ed. Antoon Schoors and Peter van Deun (Leuven: Peeters, 1994), 193–98. Also, most recently, Snyder, “The Acts of Bar­ nabas,” 324. 17  Snyder notes that “many of the most important cities in Cyprus are mentioned explicitly in this unit. … Practically all of these locations are associated with the fifth-century church district of Cyprus and with earlier or contemporary ‘pagan’ sites;” “The Acts of Bar­nabas,” 323. According to Marek Starowieyski, in light of the autocephaly, the author of the Acts of Bar­nabas emphasizes that the apostle visited the places where there are main churches in Cyprus at the time of his writing in the fifth century. But for Alexander the Monk, writing after the composition of the Acts of Bar­nabas, the apostle’s tomb warrants the autocephaly of the island. See also Starowieyski, “Datation des Actes (Voyages) de S. Barnabé et du Panégyrique de S. Barnabé,” 196. Note also the remarks of Philip Young: “the geographical and cultural details of the account in the Acts of Bar­nabas are so specific and different from the story told in Acts that they demonstrate that the writer had a firsthand knowledge of Cyprus and was, most likely, a native of the island himself. We can hypothesize a Christian Cypriot with the text of the New Testament in hand creating a new work based on and suggested by it in which the hero is his fellow Cypriot Bar­nabas instead of the foreigner Paul;” “The Cypriot Aphrodite Cult: Paphos, Rantidi, and Saint Bar­nabas,” JNES 64.1 (2005): 37–38. Already Lipsius noticed this: “Die Genauigkeit, die seine Angaben überall, wo wir sie noch controliren können, auszeichnet, verbürgt uns die Richtigkeit auch der übrigen Notizen, mit denen er unsere topographischen Kenntnisse bereichert …. Die genaue Bekanntschaft des Verfassers mit der Topographie von Cypern und der gegenüberliegenden Küste erweist ihn deutlich als einen Cyprier von Geburt;” Die apokryphen Apostelgeschichten und Apostellegenden, 288, 290. 18  This is commonly noted in scholarship; see, e. g. Lipsius, Die apokryphen Apostelgeschichten und Apostellegenden, 291–93; Aurelio de Santos Otero, “Acta Barnabae (Ps.‑Marcus),” in New Testament Apocrypha, ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher, trans. R. McL Wilson, rev. ed. (Cambridge: J. Clarke & Co., 1991), 2:465–66. On the ecclesiastical independence of the island, see

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Bar­nabas, the main character of the Acts, ranks among the most intriguing figures of the New Testament.19 Paul mentions him as a close companion (1 Cor. 9:6; Gal. 2:1–14), and the Acts of the Apostles features him frequently (4:36; 9:27; 11:22, 30; 12:25; 13:1, 2, 7, 43, 46, 50; 14:12, 14, 20; 15: 2, 12, 22, 25, 35–39). The Acts of the Apostles also specifies Bar­nabas’s connection to Cyprus, introducing him in this way: “There was a Levite, a native of Cyprus, Joseph, to whom the apostles gave the name Bar­nabas (which means ‘son of encouragement’)” (Acts 4:36). Whereas Paul’s voice has been preserved loudly through his many transmitted writings, Bar­nabas’s has not.20 As a consequence of this silence, the Cypriot apostle has not received much attention in modern scholarship. The anonymous fifth-century author of the Acts of Bar­nabas, however, fully realized the significance of his compatriot and used him to provide evidence in support of the independent ecclesiastical statalso Glanville Downey, “The Claim of Antioch to Ecclesiastical Jurisdiction over Cyprus,” APSP 102 (1958): 224–28; Starowieyski, “Datation des Actes (Voyages) de S. Barnabé et du Panégyrique de S. Barnabé”; E. Morini, “Apostolicita ed autocefalia in una Chiesa orientale: la leggenda di S. Barnaba e l’autonomia dell’arcivescovato di Cipro nelle fonti dei secoli V e VI,” Studi e Ricerche sull’Oriente Cristiano Roma 2 (1979): 23–45; Benedict Englezakis, “Epi­pha­nius of Salamis, the Father of the Cypriot Autocephaly,” in Studies on the History of the Church of Cyprus, 4th-20th Centuries, ed. Benedict Englezakis, trans. Norman Russell (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1995), 29–39; Andreas Mitsides, “Τὸ Αὐτοκέφαλον τῆς   Ἐκκλησίας Κύπρου,” in History of Cyprus, Vol. 3: Byzantine Cyprus, ed. Theodoros Papadopoullos (Nicosia: Archbishop Makarios III Foundation, Office of Cypriot History, 2005), 129–54; David M. Metcalf, Byzantine Cyprus 491–1191 (Nicosia: Cyprus Research Centre, 2009), 308–10. See also the chapter by Efthymiadis in this volume. On the aftermath of the autocephaly, see Joseph P. Huffman, “The Donation of Zeno: St Bar­nabas and the Origins of the Cypriot Archbishops’ Regalia Privileges,” JEH 66 (2015): 235–60. 19  See the chapter by James Carleton Paget in this volume. About Bar­nabas as a historical figure, Bernd Kollmann notes: “That Bar­nabas belongs among the truly significant individuals in early Christianity has occasionally been recognized;” Joseph Bar­nabas: His Life and Legacy (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2004), 2. After the relatively frequent mentions of Cyprus and Bar­nabas in Pauline epistles and especially Acts, “we know practically nothing about this history of Christianity in Cyprus during the first three centuries of our era;” Norelli, “Actes de Barnabé,” 622. In the fourth century, the island appears again on the Christian scene with three Cypriot bishops at the Council of Nicaea in 325 and twelve at Council of Sardica in 342– 3. Around the year 400, Cyprus has fifteen bishops (Jerome, Letter 92). See Norelli, “Actes de Barnabé,” 622; Pohlsander, Sources for the History of Cyprus. On the figure of Bar­nabas, see also Bernd Kollmann, Joseph Bar­nabas. Other traditions associate Bar­nabas with the city of Milan, see, e. g., Lipsius, Die apokryphen Apostelgeschichten und Apostellegenden, 305–16; Starowieyski, “Datation des Actes (Voyages) de S. Barnabé et du Panégyrique de S. Barnabé,” 193: “la légende milanaise: du séjour de S. Barnabé à Milan parle un ouvrage tardif, l’Historia Datiana (XIe siècle).” 20  If we want to move “Beyond the Heroic Paul,” as Melanie Johnson-DeBaufre and Laura Nasrallah have advocated, Bar­nabas would be one from whom we could get a different image and different discussion partner. See their “Beyond the Heroic Paul: Toward a Feminist and Decolonizing Approach to the Letters of Paul,” in The Colonized Apostle: Paul through Postcolonial Eyes, ed. Christopher D. Stanley, Paul in Critical Contexts (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2011), 161–74. But there are only writings pseudonymously attributed to Bar­nabas.



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us – autocephaly – for the island.21 The work of the Acts of Bar­nabas in establishing Cyprus’s authority forms part of a larger development. As Claudia Rapp analyzes the broader context, “in the course of the fifth century … the Cypriots were creating a written record of their own Christian traditions that indicates a strong sense of local pride. The vehicle for this articulation is the cult of local saints and the composition of hagiographical works.”22 Rapp observes that the years following the episcopate of Epi­pha­nius were “precedent-setting” at Cyprus – materially, with the building of numerous churches to accommodate a growing body of believers, and ecclesiastically, with the Cypriot ecclesiastical authorities not recognizing the see of Antioch as its superior.23 The Acts of Bar­nabas played a key role in this promotion of Cyprus. The ecclesiastic-political aim of the Acts of Bar­nabas is rather overt: it is the story connected with the successful movement for the autocephaly of Cyprus. Besides the star role assigned to the apostle Bar­nabas himself, the artifact of the manuscript with the Gospel of Matthew plays a decisive role in this quest. In three passages (chs. 15, 22, and 24), the author mentions a special book containing the Gospel of Matthew connected with Bar­nabas. These narratives around the gospel book have three features worth investigation: first, the book as instrument of healing; second, as tool for teaching; and third, as object buried with Bar­nabas’s remains. The Acts of Bar­nabas confronts us with aspects of the materiality of texts, both real and imagined. In what follows, I will analyze and contextualize the three episodes involving this Gospel of Matthew in the Acts of Bar­nabas in which this book serves as a magical healing object, as a grave gift, and as an apostolic relic. 21  See Lipsius, Die apokryphen Apostelgeschichten und Apostellegenden, 290: “Der Zweck der περίοδοι ist im Allgemeinen kein andrer, als der, den Bar­nabas als den Apostel Cyperns darzustellen, die Einrichtung des dortigen Kirchenwesens und die Weihe der ersten Bischöfe auf ihn zurückzuführen, vor Allem aber sein Grab für Cypern in Anspruch zu nehmen.” Lipsius concludes that the Acts of Bar­nabas is not an innocuous legend, but a deliberate and skilled forgery (“keine harmlose Legende, sondern eine planmässige, übrigens mit grossem Geschick ins Werk gesetzte Fälschung”); Die apokryphen Apostelgeschichten und Apostellegenden, 297. On the church-political aim of the Acts of Bar­nabas, see also Czachesz, Commission Narratives, 190–93. But Czachesz argues that the Acts of Bar­nabas have other purposes besides the church-political one, namely around the figure of John Mark and his complex role in the narrative. 22  Claudia Rapp, “Christianity in Cyprus in the Fourth to Seventh Centuries: Chronological and Geographical Frameworks,” in Cyprus and the Balance of Empires: Art and Archaeology from Justinian I to the Coeur de Lion, ed. Charles Anthony Stewart, Thomas W. Davis, and Annemarie Weyl Carr, American Schools of Oriental Research Archeological Reports 20 (Boston: ASOR, 2014), 34. According to Rapp, “What is new and unique to Cyprus is the fact that the vast majority of its saints that are celebrated in Byzantine hagiography had the rank of bishop” Rapp, “Christianity in Cyprus,” 35. 23  Rapp notes about identity that this begins in “the period just after Epi­pha­nius’ episcopate, which was equally precedent-setting in its disregard for the authority of Antioch as in its efforts to accommodate unprecedented numbers of converts in the large basilicas;” Rapp, “Christianity in Cyprus,” 34.

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Aurelio de Santos Otero remarks that for the author, both the gospel given as grave gift and the role of John Mark as the narrator guarantee the genuineness of the apostle’s relics.24 Yet attention to Bar­nabas’s relics seems to me only a secondary aim of the text; note that the Cypriots did not send the apostle’s ashes to Constantinople. The Acts of Bar­nabas’s primary goal was to make a plausible case for Cypriot autocephaly, and that in its very materiality, the manuscript that was sent to Constantinople bolstered that claim in lieu of the apostle’s relics. The Acts of Bar­nabas functioned as more than a literary defense. Indeed, the text apologetically provides a story for the autocephaly of Cyprus and its primacy among churches. The text also functioned as the companion to the artifact it discusses, a book containing the Gospel of Matthew that purportedly possessed magical, healing qualities. The manuscript was sent as a precious gift to Constantinople where Severus claimed to have consulted it several decades later. That artifact is, unfortunately, now lost.25

Healing Manuscript The first reference to the gospel book in the Acts of Bar­nabas appears in chapter 15, where it functions as a tool for healing the sick people whom the apostle encounters. The passage reads: Τίμων δὲ συνείχετο πυρετῷ πολλῷ· ᾧ καὶ ἐπιθέντες τὰς χεῖρας εὐθέως ἀπεστήσαμεν τὸν πυρετὸν αὐτοῦ, ἐπικαλεσάμενοι τὸ ὄνομα τοῦ κυρίου   Ἰησοῦ. ἦν δὲ ὁ Βαρνάβας μαθήματα παρὰ Ματθαίου εἰληφὼς βίβλον26 τῆς τοῦ θεοῦ φωνῆς καὶ θαυμάτων καὶ διδαγμάτων σύγγραμμα· ταύτην ἐπετίθει τοῖς ἀσθενοῦσι Βαρνάβας κατὰ τὴν ἀπαντῶσαν ἡμῖν χώραν, καὶ εὐθέως τῶν παθῶν ἴασιν ἐποίει. And Timon was afflicted by much fever. And having laid our hands upon him, we immediately removed his fever, having called upon the name of the Lord Jesus. And Bar­nabas 24  “Both

John Mark’s role as reporter and that of the copy of Matthew’s Gospel (see cc. 15, 22, 24) are inventions of the author as a guarantee of the authenticity of the relics of the apostle Bar­nabas discovered centuries later in the neighbourhood of the town of Salamis;” de Santos Otero, “Acta Barnabae (Ps.‑Marcus),” 465–66. See also already Lipsius: “die beiliegende Evangelienschrift, … diente zur Legitimation der aufgefundenen Überreste;” Lipsius, Die apokryphen Apostelgeschichten und Apostellegenden, 295. 25  “Es ist klar, dass Pseudo-Markus auf diese Notiz ein besonderes Gewicht legt. An drei verschiedenen Stellen seiner Erzählung erwähnt er dieses von Barnabas mit sich geführte Evangelienbuch. Da nun von einer ächt geschichtlichen Erinnerung keine Rede sein kann so bleibt nur übrig diesen Zug aus der späteren Legende von der Auffindung der Reliquien des Barnabas zu erklären”; Lipsius, Die apokryphen Apostelgeschichten und Apostellegenden, 290–91. 26  A text critical issue presents itself here: one of the Greek recensions, the Parisian manuscript (BNP gr. 1470, dated 890, indicated in the editions with the siglum P), reads βιβλίον, just as the book is referred to later in the text, in chapter 25 in the other recension reconstructed by Bonnet (Σ). See the apparatus in Maximilianus Bonnet, ed., Acta Philippi et Acta Thomae accedunt Acta Barnabae (Leipzig: Mendelssohn, 1903), 297. See also Snyder, “The Acts of Bar­ nabas,” 323 n. 23.

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had received teachings from Matthew, a book of the voice of God, and a written composition of miracles and lessons. This (book)27 Bar­nabas laid upon the sick in each place that we came to, and it immediately made a cure of their sufferings. (Acts Barn. 15)28

After healing Timon by the laying on of hands and calling upon the name of the Lord Jesus – similar to healings in the Acts of the Apostles – Bar­nabas abruptly and without explicit motivation begins to perform healings by placing upon the afflicted his book with Matthew’s teaching.29 Apparently that sufficed for the author and the intended audience, because there is no further information on how the healing was done.30 On the narrative level of the text, the short encounter with the Matthean book functions to introduce to the audience the manuscript that will reappear later in the text associated with Bar­nabas’s death and burial, in chapters 22 and 24, and connects the manuscript with Bar­nabas already during his lifetime.31 By introducing the book here as an instrument of healing, the author appeals to a practice attested in many different kinds of sources: written sources – prescriptive and descriptive – and archaeological.32 This is part of a larger, transcultural phenomenon. As sacred objects, books are imbued and infused with holy properties, including the ability to heal. I distinguish two related practices: healing with specific biblical books (the Gospel or Psalter, for instance) and Gospel amulets, especially those with phrases from the Gospel of Matthew. 27 

The antecedent of ταύτην is ἡ βίβλος. Edition: Bonnet, Acta Philippi et Acta Thomae accedunt Acta Barnabae, 297. For a recent translation, see Snyder, “The Acts of Bar­nabas,” 332. See also Pohlsander, Sources for the History of Cyprus, 32, no. 9. Walker’s translation of μαθήματα with “documents” seems unsupported to me; Alexander Walker, “The Acts of Bar­nabas,” in Apocryphal Gospels, Acts, and Revelations, ANF 8 (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1870), 297. See Lampe, PGL s. v. μάθημα B3: “teaching, doctrine of apostles.” See also Czachesz, Commission Narratives, 186 n. 7: “We do not quite see the point in the complicated identification of Bar­nabas’s book, evidently meant to be a copy of the Gospel of Matthew. … In patristic Greek μαθήματα often means Scripture or Gospel … but here it might be a pun on Ματθαῖος (as A. Hilhorst suggests to me).” 29  In the canonical Acts, the apostles heal by the laying on of hands and by calling upon the name of the Lord Jesus. Generally, this passage reminds of Peter and Paul’s “extraordinary miracles” in the canonical Acts of the Apostles – healings with handkerchiefs, aprons, and shadows. 30  The mention of the book here appears almost as an afterthought. Is this a sign of redaction, a passage inserted into an already existing narrative? According to Czachesz, the Acts of Bar­nabas is based on the earlier Acts of Mark; Commission Narratives, 194. Or is it perhaps the clumsy writing style of the author? 31  See also Norelli, “Actes de Barnabé,” 637 n. 15: “l’auteur fait intervenir ici un exemplaire de l’Évangile de Matthieu qui a joué un rôle décisif dans la reconnaissance de l’autocéphalie de l’Église de Chypre. … Il raconte ici que cet Évangile fonctionnait déjà comme une relique du vivant de Barnabé.” 32  By referring to the Matthean teachings as “the voice of God” and as “a written speech of wonders and lessons” (βίβλον τῆς τοῦ θεοῦ φωνῆς καὶ θαυμάτων καὶ διδαγμάτων σύγγραμμα), the author gives us a glimpse of a theology of divine inspiration of a written (not oral) gospel, which fits in its time of writing. 28 

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We find multiple examples of healing with specific biblical books in antiquity. As Rapp has noted, “It was a common belief that the Bible codex could act as a miracle-working object with apotropaic and protective powers.”33 Late antique miracle stories involving books, mainly Gospels or the Psalter, include exorcisms and conversions, especially in monastic literature.34 Books also functioned as artifacts for spiritual healing. Cypriot bishop Epi­pha­nius of Salamis attributed to the “mere sight” of Christian books the capacity to reduce sin and stimulate righteousness, although he mentions neither the Gospel of Matthew nor Bar­ nabas explicitly.35 Such practices were geographically widespread. Several decades before the Acts of Bar­nabas was composed, two influential ecclesiastical leaders – Augustine in Hippo, North Africa and John Chrysostom in Antioch, Syria – both appreciated the healing properties of gospel books.36 As a headache remedy, Augustine advised placing the Gospel of John above one’s bed.37 Augustine preferred the curative capacities of the Johannine Gospel to amulets, although, as we shall see shortly, others thought that the Gospel and the amulet functioned similarly. Closer to Cyprus, Christians in Syria also used gospel manuscripts apotropaically at their bedside. From a homily on 1 Corinthians by John Chrysostom, we glean that his parishioners, too, would hang a gospel manuscript at their bedside, a practice that he discourages in favor of monetary donations.38 It is debated 33  Claudia Rapp, “Holy Texts, Holy Men, and Holy Scribes: Aspects of Scriptural Holiness in Late Antiquity,” in The Early Christian Book, ed. William E. Klingshirn and Linda Safran, CUA Studies in Early Christianity (Washington, D. C.: Catholic University of America Press, 2007), 199. 34  “Hagiographical stories illustrate this; the ‘small book [of the Gospels]’ produced by a traveling monk from his bag was able to exorcise a demon and restore the health of a young girl. In this instance, the power of the gospel codex was effective regardless of the worthiness of its owner, as the guilt-ridden monk admitted that he had just stolen it;” Rapp, “Holy Texts, Holy Men, and Holy Scribes,” 199. The example comes from John Moschus, Pratum spirituale 8, edition by Elpidio Mioni, “Il Pratum spirituale di Giovanni Mosco: Gli episodi inediti del Cod. Marciano greco II, 21,” OCP 17 (1951): 90–91. 35  As quoted by Rapp: “‘The acquisition of Christian books is necessary for those who can use them. For the mere sight of these books renders us less inclined to sin, and incites us to believe more firmly in righteousness;’” “Holy Texts, Holy Men, and Holy Scribes,” 197. In that sense, Rapp interprets the book here “as a reminder of the message it contained.” 36  See also Joseph E. Sanzo, Scriptural Incipits on Amulets from Late Antique Egypt: Text, Typology, and Theory, STAC 84 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 172. 37  “When you have a headache, we commend you if you put the gospel by your head and do not hurry to an amulet. For human frailty has come to this, and men who hurry to amulets must be so lamented that we rejoice when we see that a man, confined to his bed, is tossed by fever and pain and yet has placed no hope anywhere else except that he put the gospel by his head, not because the gospel was made for this but because it has been preferred to amulets.” Augustine, Tract. Ev. Jo. 7.12.1, trans. John W. Rettig, St. Augustine: Tractates on the Gospel of John 1–10, FC 78 (Washington, D. C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1988), 165. 38  “Since not even the Gospel hanging by our bed is more important than that alms should be laid up for you; for if you hang up the Gospel and do nothing, it will do you no such great good. But if you have this little coffer, you have a defense against the devil, you give wings to



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whether Chrysostom refers here to entire gospel codices or to gospel amulets.39 Moreover, the passage leaves also open whether these manuscripts, whatever they were, would be used for healing.40 While Augustine and Chrysostom refer to the practice of hanging a gospel by one’s bed, they do not mention placing the manuscript upon the sick person, as in the Acts of Bar­nabas.41 Such practices of treating sacred texts as healing devices extend past Gospels and the Psalter. The prayers of Daniel the Stylite, the early fifth-century Constantinopolite pillar saint, functioned in a way similar to the Matthean Gospel in the Acts of Bar­nabas. Daniel’s Vita (no. 88) introduces a certain Hippasius, a man so humble in faith that when someone in his household became sick, he felt unworthy to approach the saint in person and instead requested his prayers via letter. Daniel would comply. “On receiving the holy man’s written reply, he [Hippasius] would lay the letter, as if it were the miracle working hand of Jesus, on the sufferer and immediately he received the fruits of his faith.”42 This is thus a case where a manuscript accomplished the healing. your prayer, you make your house holy, having meat for the King there laid up in store.” In Hom 1 Cor 16.9.7 (PG 61.373). Trans. Schaff, NPNF 12:262. See also Sanzo, Scriptural Incipits, 161. About entire gospel codices around necks: Amoun, a hermit, with a biblical codex around his neck; Sanzo, Scriptural Incipits, 164, citing Palladius, Hist. Laus. 8.1–3; Maximus, pupil of Martin of Tours wore a gospel codex, a paten, and a chalice around his neck; Sanzo, Scriptural Incipits, 164, citing Gregory of Tours, Glor. conf. 22. 39 Sanzo, Scriptural Incipits, 162: “I maintain here that there are reasons to believe that Chrysostom and Augustine were not referencing the use of entire Gospel codices, but artifacts with select passages from the Gospels.” 40 Sanzo, Scriptural Incipits, 162, makes the following pertinent caveats: “the relevance of this patristic evidence is questionable for a discussion of the extant amulets from late antique Egypt since this evidence does not come from Egypt. It is by no means certain that ritual practices known to Chrysostom and Augustine in Antioch or North Africa respectively would necessarily correspond to that of Egyptians in the chora.” The issue is whether we can assume the same rituals known from these church leaders in North Africa and Asia Minor for other regions, in this case, Cyprus. Sanzo’s second caveat is also relevant: namely, that both church fathers wrote prescriptive accounts, not descriptive; Scriptural Incipits, 162. “What we have are the testimonies of two men, who would like to eradicate or to domesticate a ritual practice in accordance with their social and theological programs.” Sanzo further notes: “both authors seem to presuppose that the use of these Gospel artifacts was a widespread phenomenon. The implied ubiquity of these artifacts suggests that Chrysostom and Augustine had in mind small collections of passages from the Gospels, analogous to the rather common ritual devices we have discussed in this study;” Scriptural Incipits, 163–64. 41  Maximus, disciple of Martin of Tours, also practiced this. See Sanzo, Scriptural Incipits, 161–64. 42  “Here I think it would be reasonable to make known the faith which lay hidden in Hippasius, the ‘second centurion’ (Matt 7:5–13; Luke 7:2–10). This man was so rich in the great poverty of Christ that the cures performed by Christ’s disciples he accepted as though wrought by the Lord Himself; for if any one of his house, be it son or daughter or man-servant or maid servant, fell ill or suffered from anything, he judged himself unworthy to seek the intercession of the Saint, but would send letters asking for the Saint’s prayers;” Elizabeth A. S. Dawes and Norman Hepburn Baynes, eds., Three Byzantine Saints: Contemporary Biographies Translated from the Greek (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1948), 88. See also Rapp’s comment on this story: “Clearly,

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Placing biblical texts or saint’s prayers was not only considered efficacious for sick humans; animals too could benefit. The Corpus Hippiatricorum Graecorum (fourth or fifth century, so roughly contemporary with the Acts of Bar­nabas) instructs that a papyrus with Ps 48 (“trembling took hold of them there, pains as of a woman in labor,” Ps 48:6) should be placed upon a horse experiencing difficulties giving birth.43 By portraying Bar­nabas with this iatro-magical Gospel book, the author of the Acts of Bar­nabas expects the readership to be familiar with these practices of healing through physical contact with sacred texts, broadly construed. Yet we also find evidence of the healing powers of the Gospel of Matthew in particular. Amulets preserved in the Egyptian sands provide one part of the answer as to why the Acts of Bar­nabas feature the Gospel of Matthew in particular as a healing text. As Theodore de Bruyn has shown, one particular phrase from the Gospel of Matthew, Matt 4:23/9:35, is frequently quoted in Late Antique amulets.44 De Bruyn collected seven amulets that cite Matt 4:23–24 (in a slightly abbreviated form):45 “And Jesus went about all of Galilee, teaching and preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing every disease and every infirmity among the people. And his fame spread into all of Syria, and they brought him those who were ill, and Jesus healed them.”46 it was the combination of the holy man’s prayer and his handwriting that wrought the healing;” “Holy Texts, Holy Men, and Holy Scribes,” 215. 43  Eugen Oder and Carl Hoppe, eds., Corpus hippiatricorum Graecorum. Hippiatrica Parisina, Cantabrigiensia, Londinensia, Lugdunensia. Appendix 2 2 (Stuttgart: Teubner, 1971), 2:141.   Ἐὰν μὴ δύναται γεννῆσαι ἵππος. Γράψον εἰς τὰς δύο πλευρὰς αὐτῆς τὸν τεσσαρακοστὸν ἕβδομον ψαλμὸν ἕως τοῦ ἐκεῖ ὠδῖνες ὡς τικτούσης. (no. 3). See also Christoph Markschies, “Heilige Texte als magische Texte,” in Heilige Texte, Religion und Rationalität. Geisteswissenschaftliches Colloquium 1, ed. Andreas Kablitz and Christoph Markschies (Berlin, Boston: De Gruyter, 2013), 113. 44  Theodore De Bruyn, “Appeals to Jesus as the One ‘Who Heals Every Illness and Every Infirmity’ (Matt 4:23, 9:35) in Amulets in Late Antiquity,” in The Reception and Interpretation of the Bible in Late Antiquity. Proceedings of the Montréal Colloquium in Honour of Charles Kannengiesser, 11–13 October 2006, ed. Lorenzo DiTommaso and Lucian Turcescu, The Bible in Ancient Christianity 6 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 65–82. De Bruyn notes that “among Greek papyri amulets that incorporate Christian motifs, Jesus’ power to heal is often epitomized in the language of Matt 4:23/9:35. Only a few other passages of scripture, specifically the opening verses of Psalm 90 LXX (Psalm 91) and the Lord’s Prayer, appear more frequently in amulets;” “Appeals to Jesus as the One,” 69. 45  From De Bruyn, “Appeals to Jesus as the One,” 66–69. 1.  P. Oxy. VIII 1077, sixth cent. 2.  P. Berl. Inv. 6096, sixth cent. 3.  P. Oxy. VIII 1151, fifth cent. 4.  P. Turner 49, late fifth, early sixth cent. 5.  P. Coll.Youtie II 91, late fifth, early sixth cent. 6.  BGU III 954, sixth cent. 7.  P. Köln VIII 340, fifth or sixth cent. 46  The Greek of these verses in the New Testament (NA28) is: Καὶ περιῆγεν ἐν ὅλῃ τῇ Γαλιλαίᾳ διδάσκων ἐν ταῖς συναγωγαῖς αὐτῶν καὶ κηρύσσων τὸ εὐαγγέλιον τῆς βασιλείας καὶ



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One of these amulets is especially relevant for the passage in the Acts of Bar­ nabas about healing with the Gospel of Matthew. The amulet, paleographically dated to the sixth century, was found at the Middle Egyptian city of Oxyrhynchus. Written on the flesh side of a piece of vellum of 11.1 by 6 cm, the text is divided in cross-shaped sections around the drawing of the bust of a male figure; and then for added decoration, the corners are cut off while it was folded (P. Oxy. VIII 1077).47 It reads:   Ἰαματικὸν εὐαγγέλιον κατὰ Ματθαῖον· καὶ περιῆγεν ὁ   Ἰ(ησοῦ)ς ὅλην τὴν Γαλιλέαν, διδάσκων καὶ κηρύσσων τὸ εὐαγγέλιον τῆς βασειλείας καὶ θεραπεύων πᾶσαν νόσον ⟦καὶ πᾶσαν νόσον⟧ καὶ πᾶσαν μαλακίαν ἐν τῷ λαῷ καὶ ἀπῆλθεν ἡ ἀκοὴ αὐτοῦ εἰς ὅλην τὴν Συρίαν, καὶ προσήνενκαν αὐτῷ τοὺς κακῶς ἔχοντας καὶ ἐθεράπευσεν αὐτοὺς ὁ   Ἰ(ησοῦ)ς. Healing Gospel according to Matthew. And Jesus went about all of Galilee, teaching and preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing every disease {and every disease} and every infirmity among the people. And his fame spread into all of Syria, and they brought him those who were ill, and Jesus healed them.48

For the medicinal Matthean manuscript featured in the Acts of Bar­nabas, this amulet’s opening words, “Healing Gospel according to Matthew” with the adjective ἰαματικόν added to the Gospel title claiming the text’s healing power, is particularly relevant. The rest of the document cites Matt 4:23–24 in abbreviated version.49 Furthermore, the number of contemporaneous Christian amulets quoting these phrases from the Matthean Gospel is significant for Bar­nabas’s claim; the healing capacities of the Gospel of Matthew are soundly established, both textually and historically. How much more so, then, the copy that Bar­nabas reportedly received from Matthew himself? θεραπεύων πᾶσαν νόσον καὶ πᾶσαν μαλακίαν ἐν τῷ λαῷ. Καὶ ἀπῆλθεν ἡ ἀκοὴ αὐτοῦ εἰς ὅλην τὴν Συρίαν· καὶ προσήνεγκαν αὐτῷ πάντας τοὺς κακῶς ἔχοντας ποικίλαις νόσοις καὶ βασάνοις συνεχομένους [καὶ] δαιμονιζομένους καὶ σεληνιαζομένους καὶ παραλυτικούς, καὶ ἐθεράπευσεν αὐτούς. 47  Editio princeps: Arthur S. Hunt, “1077. Amulet: St. Matthew’s Gospel iv,” in The Oxyrhynchus Papyri, vol. VIII, ed. Arthur S. Hunt (London: Egypt Exploration Society, 1911), 10–11, no. 1077 and plate I = PGM 2:211, no. 4; Joseph Van Haelst, Catalogue des papyrus littéraires juifs et chrétiens, Série Papyrologie 1 (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 1976), 341; TM 61805; Theodore S. De Bruyn and Jitse H. F. Dijkstra, “Greek Amulets and Formularies from Egypt Containing Christian Elements: A Checklist of Papyri, Parchments, Ostraka, and Tablets,” BASP 48 (2011): 186–87, no. 19; Sanzo, Scriptural Incipits, 96–97. 48  ACM, 33, no. 7 (modified). Images in Christian amulets written in Greek are rare: only five (perhaps six) out of a corpus of 188 amulets have them; see Jitse Dijkstra, “The Interplay between Image and Text on Greek Amulets Containing Christian Elements from Late Antique Egypt,” in The Materiality of Magic, ed. Jan N. Bremmer and Dietrich Boschung, Morphomata 20 (Paderborn: Wilhelm Fink, 2015), 287. Dijkstra discusses this amulet and concludes that the image depicts the person who commissioned the amulet; “The Interplay between Image and Text,” 285–86. 49 Compared to the NA28 text, omitted are the words ποικίλαις νόσοις καὶ βασάνοις συνεχομένους [καὶ] δαιμονιζομένους καὶ σεληνιαζομένους καὶ παραλυτικούς.

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Despite this interest in the Gospel of Matthew as an instrument of healing, the author of the Bar­nabas Acts does not quote these verses, Matt 4:23–24, explicitly, but perhaps alludes to them, writing: “This Bar­nabas laid upon the sick in each place that we came to, and it immediately made a cure of their sufferings.”50 As a matter of fact, the Acts of Bar­nabas has very few biblical quotations – especially compared to contemporary monastic tractates that are liberally larded with biblical quotations and allusions. In not explicitly quoting the passage from Matthew, the writer of the Acts of Bar­nabas is not alone. De Bruyn found “only a few allusions to the phrase [in Christian apocrypha].”51 Or was, perhaps, the positive mention of Syria in the Matthean verses distracting for our Cypriot author, who was after all intent on providing a context for the independence of Cyprus from exactly that Antioch, Syria? In addition to the well-documented curing properties of the Gospel of Matthew, I propose that this gospel may have been chosen for two other reasons. Current New Testament scholarship generally accepts that the Gospel of Mark is the oldest gospel text, used by the author of the Gospel of Matthew to compose its text. Thus, for modern readers there is some irony in having John Mark introduce Matthew’s Gospel. The early Church, however, maintained the primacy of Matthew. Therefore, in promoting the primacy of Cyprus, the author of these Acts paired Bar­nabas with what was then considered the most authoritative Gospel.52 Furthermore, I suspect that the emphasis on this one Gospel may also constitute a subtle polemic against the elevated status of the Four Gospel harmony in Syria, just at the time that this became contested. Theodoret, bishop of Cyrrhus, near Antioch, in the first half of the fifth century, writes that he destroyed no fewer than two hundred copies of the Diatessaron in his diocese.53 By virtue of Matthew’s primacy-authority and polemic value, then, the Cypriot apostle Bar­nabas finds a powerful ally in the Matthean text.

50  ταύτην ἐπετίθει τοῖς ἀσθενοῦσι Βαρνάβας κατὰ τὴν ἀπαντῶσαν ἡμῖν χώραν, καὶ εὐθέως τῶν παθῶν ἴασιν ἐποίει. On Jesus’s disciples as traveling physicians, see Giovanni Battista Bazzana, “Early Christian Missionaries as Physicians: Healing and Its Cultural Value in the GrecoRoman Context,” NovT 51 (2009): 232–51. 51  De Bruyn, “Appeals to Jesus,” 74. 52  Czachesz argues that the current version of the Acts of Bar­nabas deliberately downplays John Mark, observing: “It is … remarkable that the ABarn never identifies John Mark with the writer or the gospel wearing his name, but pays much attention to the Gospel of Matthew, referring to the ties between its author and Bar­nabas;” Commission Narratives, 203. According to Czachesz the Acts of Bar­nabas incorporate stories originally about Mark to supplement the sparse sources about Bar­nabas; Commission Narratives, 204. 53  Theodoret of Cyrrhus, Haer. fab. 1:20 (PG 83:372). See William Lawrence Petersen, Tatian’s Diatessaron: Its Creation, Dissemination, Significance, and History in Scholarship (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 41–42.



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Teaching with the Book The second mention of this book comes in Acts Barn. 22, in which Bar­nabas uses the Gospel “to teach the Jews.” 22 Ἀναχθέντων δὲ ἡμῶν ἐν πλοίῳ ἀπὸ τῆς Κιτιέων, ἤλθομεν ἐπὶ Σαλαμίνῃ, καὶ κατήχθημεν ἐν ταῖς λεγομέναις Νήσοις, ἔνθα κατείδωλος ὁ τόπος ὑπῆρχεν· κἀκεῖ γὰρ πανηγύρεις καὶ σπονδαὶ ἐγίνοντο. εὑρόντες δὲ κἀκεῖ πάλιν Ἡρακλείδην, ἐδιδάξαμεν αὐτὸν πῶς κηρύσσειν τὸ τοῦ θεοῦ εὐαγγέλιον καὶ καθιστάναι ἐκκλησίας καὶ λειτουργοὺς ἐν αὐταῖς. εἰσελθόντων δὲ ἡμῶν ἐν Σαλαμίνῃ, κατηντήσαμεν εἰς τὴν συναγωγὴν τὴν πλησίον τῆς ἐπιλεγομένης βιβλίας· κἀκεῖ εἰσελθόντων ἡμῶν ἀναπτύξας ὁ Βαρνάβας τὸ εὐαγγέλιον ὅπερ ἦν λαβὼν παρὰ Ματθαίου τοῦ συνεργοῦ ἤρξατο διδάσκειν τοὺς   Ἰουδαίους. And after we embarked on a ship from Citium, we went on to Salamis, and we disembarked on the so-called islands, where the place was idol-ridden, for it was there also that festivals and libations occurred. There, having found Herakleides again, we taught him how to proclaim the gospel of God and to station churches and (establish) officials in them. And when we entered into Salamis, we arrived at the synagogue nearby the chosen book. There, after we entered and he opened it, Bar­nabas began to teach the Jews the gospel that was taken from Matthew, the co-worker. (Acts Barn. 22)54

This transitional passage, with its detailed use of geography, accomplishes a lot within the text: The apostles’ itinerary leads the small group to encounter pagan idols and celebrations, a bishop who founds churches and ordains clergy, and Jews in their place of worship. It ends with Bar­nabas teaching Jews from his Matthean gospel book in that synagogue, which will soon cause the apostle’s death. Thus, in just a few lines, this passage touches on all the major themes of the Acts: pagans and Jews (the two opposition parties), the establishment of Christian institutions, the martyrdom of Bar­nabas, and the Matthean gospel book. The description of this artifact in the three passages in the Acts of Bar­nabas is of interest from a book-historical perspective. In the first passage (ch. 15), the author used the word βίβλος for it, probably imagining a book in codex format.55 The fact that the opening of the book is indicated in chapter 22 with the verb ἀναπτύσσω actually supports this contention. Indeed, as Roger Bagnall has shown, this verb signifies the unfolding or opening of any text  – not, as previously assumed, the unrolling of a scroll.56 Bar­nabas uses the gospel codex to teach the Jews.57 54  Edition: Bonnet, Acta Philippi et Acta Thomae accedunt Acta Barnabae, 300. Translation: Snyder, “The Acts of Bar­nabas,” 334 (modified). See also Walker, “The Acts of Bar­nabas,” 299. 55  According to Lampe, PGL 297a, it is a “written roll or papyrus codex; hence book, whether roll or codex, irrespective of its material.”Christians early on preferred the codex format and, by the fifth century, the papyrological record indicates that Christian books were produced almost exclusively as codices. Czachesz argues that the author imagines a scroll and not a codex; Commission Narratives, 204 n. 62. See also the text critical note above. 56  See Roger S. Bagnall, “Jesus Reads a Book,” JTS 51 (2000): 577–88. Bagnall concludes: “There are no passages in which ἀναπτύσσω refers clearly to unrolling a book-roll or any other

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This passage expounds on the canonical Acts of the Apostles, in which Paul’s preaching in synagogues provokes the hostility of local Jews. In particular, this section exegetically develops Acts 13:5, which mentions multiple synagogues at Salamis: “When they arrived at Salamis, they proclaimed the word of God in the synagogues of the Jews.”58 Although the passage in the Acts of Bar­nabas is unlikely to represent actual encounters either in the first century or at the time of its writing in the fifth century, Jews and Jewish synagogues are attested at Cyprus in the Hellenistic and Roman period and probably also at this time.59 rolled object; indeed the evidence points strongly to the use of ἀναπτύσσω to refer to the unfolding hinged or codex-style objects;” “Jesus Reads a Book,” 586. On the frescoed walls of their churches, Byzantine Cypriots encountered Bar­nabas portrayed with a codex in his left hand, but these depictions are much later than the sources discussed here. Many other saints are depicted equally with codices. A fresco in the apse of the Church of the Holy Apostles at Perachorio in Cyprus depicts Bar­nabas next to Epi­pha­nius of Salamis, their names written to the right of the portrait. Both have a nimbus and are donned out in episcopal vestments. And they each hold a codex in their left hand. See A. Megaw and E. Hawkins, “Church of the Holy Apostles at Perachorio, Cyprus,” DOP 16 (1962), 309–10, fig. 19, and also mention in the Index of Medieval Art. For a severely damaged portrait of Bar­nabas, see S. Boyd, “Church of the Panagia Amasgou, Monagri,” DOP 28 (1974), 287, figs. 10–11. Similarly, at the church of Panaghia tou Arakos in Lagoudhera, Cyprus, Bar­nabas is depicted next to Epi­pha­nius as a nimbed bishop holding a draped codex in his hand (just as Epi­pha­nius; other figures in this apse hold scrolls with prayers). See A. Nicolaides, “Église de la Panagia Arakiotissa à Lagoudéra, Chypre: Étude iconographique des fresques de 1192,” DOP 50 (1996), figs. 7–8; and David Winfield and June Winfield, The Church of the Panaghia tou Arakos at Lagoudhera, Cyprus: The Paintings and Their Painterly Significance, Dumbarton Oaks Studies 37 (Washington, D. C.: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 2003), 92–98, figs 23–40; color pl. 8. In short, in this period, Bar­nabas was imagined with a codex, in line with the contemporary format for a gospel book. 57  It is also noteworthy, as Czachesz points out, that according to Eusebius, Mark “preaches the gospel that he also wrote down. Consequently, the use of the notable book in the ABarn (and the silence about Mark being the writer of a Gospel) might be also a sign of the blending of two traditions – which in this book happens to the benefit of Bar­nabas and at the expense of Mark;” Commission Narratives, 204–5. 58  Acts 13:4–6 (NA28): Αὐτοὶ μὲν οὖν ἐκπεμφθέντες ὑπὸ τοῦ ἁγίου πνεύματος κατῆλθον εἰς Σελεύκειαν, ἐκεῖθέν τε ἀπέπλευσαν εἰς Κύπρον καὶ γενόμενοι ἐν Σαλαμῖνι κατήγγελλον τὸν λόγον τοῦ θεοῦ ἐν ταῖς συναγωγαῖς τῶν   Ἰουδαίων. εἶχον δὲ καὶ   Ἰωάννην ὑπηρέτην. Διελθόντες δὲ ὅλην τὴν νῆσον ἄχρι Πάφου εὗρον ἄνδρα τινὰ μάγον ψευδοπροφήτην   Ἰουδαῖον ᾧ ὄνομα Βαριησοῦ. 59  On evidence for Jews at Cyprus, see Pieter W. van der Horst, “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,” ed. S. Berger, M. Brocke, and I. Zwiep, Zutot 3 (2003): 110–120; van der Horst, “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,” in Jews and Christians in Their Graeco-Roman Context: Selected Essays on Early Judaism, Samaritanism, Hellenism, and Christianity, WUNT 196 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 28–36. Van der Horst concludes that “The literary evidence combined with the epigraphical material shows that throughout the Hellenistic, Roman, and early Byzantine periods, Jews lived on Cyprus. … In spite of the devastating blow they received from the Romans, it is certain that the Jews were able to re-establish themselves on the island after some time. … The evidence from the third through seventh centuries CE leaves no doubt about that,” and that inscriptions attest to a Jewish presence in six towns: Salamis, Paphos, Kourion, Golgoi, Constantia, and Lapethos, and others; “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,” 35–36. Van der Horst mentions the Acts of Bar­nabas in passing as legendary; “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,”, 31 n. 19. For the epi-



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The use of the phrase πλησίον τῆς ἐπιλεγομένης βιβλίας to modify the word synagogue in the Acts of Bar­nabas is puzzling, and scholars have wrestled with its meaning.60 “Biblia” is not an otherwise known Cypriot place name.61 In my interpretation, the phrase does not so much provide information about the synagogue as it does about Bar­nabas and his book. “Biblia” at once refers back to the book mentioned in Acts Barn. 15 and anticipates its burial with the martyred apostle in Acts Barn. 24 and its eventual, implicit discovery.62 In the Acts of Bar­ nabas, just as in the canonical Acts, “the Jews” do not accept the gospel, and Bar­ nabas’s proclamation of it leads to his death.63 The burial of the apostle with the gospel book is our next point of interest.

Burial with a Book The third mention of the Matthean gospel book in the Acts of Bar­nabas comes at the very end of the narrative. After “the Jews” kill Bar­nabas and burn his body to dust, they wrap his ashes in linen and place them in a lead container, intending to discard it in the sea. But Bar­nabas’s companions, John Mark, Timon, and Rhodon, intercept the vessel and bury it in a cave, together with his gospel book: ἀποκεκρυμμένον δὲ τόπον εὑρόντες ἐν αὐτῷ ἀπεθέμεθα σὺν τοῖς μαθήμασιν οἷς παρέλαβεν παρὰ Ματθαίου. graphic evidence, see Hanswulf Bloedhorn and David Noy, eds., Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis III: Syria and Cyprus, TSAJ 102 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004). 60  Scholars have rendered the passage in different ways: Walker translated it as “the synagogue near the place called Biblia;” “The Acts of Bar­nabas,” 299. Snyder “at the nearby synagogue of the Chosen Scroll;” “The Acts of Bar­nabas,” 334. Czachesz wonders whether “Biblia” is an epithet of the synagogue, referring to Acts 6:9: ἐκ τῆς συναγωγῆς τῆς λεγουμένης τῶν ἀπὸ Κιλικίας, admitting that “this makes the grammatical structure clumsy;” Commission Narratives, 188 n. 14. On the terminology of the book, see discussion below. Czachesz remarks that this is also the place of Bar­nabas’s martyrdom. In the next section (Acts Barn. 23) Bar­nabas is dragged by the neck from the synagogue outside of the city; Commission Narratives, 188. 61  One solution is to emend the text to read Byblia for Byblos in Phoenicia, taking it as an epithet of Aphrodite; so Usener, quoted in Bonnet, Acta Philippi et Acta Thomae accedunt Acta Barnabae, 300. See also Norelli, “Actes de Barnabé,” 640 n. 22. This modification, however, seems far-fetched and has not found current supporters. 62  See also Snyder; “The Acts of Bar­nabas,” 323 n. 23: “It is difficult to determine, even within the historical narrative of Acts Barn., whether the synagogue referenced was understood to have its name prior to the narrated event or whether it received its name later; perhaps in reference to the ‘scroll’ Bar­nabas received from Matthew …. For, by reading Acts Barn. 7:2 [AML 15] and 8:1 [AML 22] together, it is normally inferred that the ‘scroll’ (Σ) or ‘book’ (P) in question is some form of extant Gospel of Matthew. In any case, Matthew’s gospel is ‘rolled out’ by Bar­nabas like a scroll.” 63  On the negative construction of Jews in Acts, see Lawrence M. Wills, “The Depiction of the Jews in Acts,” JBL 110 (1991): 631–54; Shelly Matthews, Perfect Martyr: The Stoning of Stephen and the Construction of Christian Identity (Oxford University Press, 2012).

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And after finding a place that was hidden [in the cave], we put him away in it, with the teachings which he had received from Matthew. (Acts Barn. 24)64

This is the last we hear about this Matthean book in the Acts of Bar­nabas. The narrative concludes shortly after this: John Mark and his companions narrowly escape “the Jews” and flee to Alexandria, where Mark establishes the church. In describing the burial of Bar­nabas’s remains with a book, the Acts of Bar­ nabas appeals to the practice of giving books as grave goods.⁠ We should distinguish between actual books found in graves and the role of the discovery of buried books in the literary imagination. Archaeologically attested book burials are rare in the Greco-Roman world, but narratives about book discoveries from graves become a well-known genre in antiquity that proved long lasting. Books were precious objects in the ancient world.65 Few people had access to them, and even fewer possessed books.66 The high cost of producing books as well as the magic of fleeting words preserved on a material page plays a role in the concept of books as funerary gifts. Obviously, a buried text cannot be reproduced anymore. The exemplar is required to reproduce the text and the process of copying is time intensive. Their high value and irreplaceability make books striking – and rare – burial gifts. An expensive book as funerary gift could be compared to tools buried with craftspeople or experts. For instance, multiple physicians, at Cyprus and elsewhere, were interred with their surgical instruments.67 A buried book could thus represent a professional tool. Indeed, some ancient scholars, long before the composition of the Acts of Bar­nabas, expressed the wish to be accompanied by books in their final resting place, and occasionally Jewish sages were interred with obsolete scrolls.The third-century BCE Cynic philosopher Cercidas of Megalopolis wanted to be buried with the first two books of the Iliad.68 And the first-century BCE Latin poet Sextus Propertius specified in one of his carmina that, in contrast to the customary funerary pomp for a man of his stature, he preferred to 64  Edition: Bonnet, Acta Philippi et Acta Thomae accedunt Acta Barnabae, 301. Translation (modified): Snyder, “The Acts of Bar­nabas,” 355. 65  On the costs of book production, see Roger S. Bagnall, Early Christian Books in Egypt (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009), 50–69. 66  Harry Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of Early Christian Texts (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995); George W. Houston, Inside Roman Libraries: Book Collections and Their Management in Antiquity (Chapel Hill: UNC Press Books, 2014); Anne­ Marie Luijendijk, “A New Testament Papyrus and Its Documentary Context: An Early Christian Writing Exercise from the Archive of Leonides (P. Oxy. II 209/𝔓10),” JBL 129 (2010): 575–96. 67  For a Cypriot example of an instrumentarium, see Demetrios Michaelides, “A Roman Surgeon’s Tomb from Nea Paphos I,” Report of the Department of Antiquities of Cyprus (1984): 315–32; G. V. Foster, K. Kanada, and D. Michaelides, “A Roman Surgeon’s Tomb from Nea Paphos. Part 2: Ancient Medicines: By-Products of Copper Mining in Cyprus,” Report of the Department of Antiquities (1988): 229–34. 68  Wolfgang Speyer, Bücherfunde in der Glaubenswerbung der Antike: Mit einem Ausblick auf Mittelalter und Neuzeit (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1970), 57.



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be brought to his grave with just three books, intended as a gift to the chthonic goddess Persephone.69 The express desire for being buried with a book, however, suggests that this was not a self-evident practice; if it were, these authors would not have to ask for it in their funerary arrangements. Indeed, as Wolfgang Speyer argues, books as grave gifts are not part of Greek and Roman burial rituals.70 More contemporaneous with the Acts of Bar­nabas, rabbinic sources contain this motif of a book as grave gift, but then specifically an out-of-use scroll: In a discussion about the sacrality of synagogue objects in the Babylonian Talmud, we read: “And Rava said: A Torah scroll that has become worn may be interred (‫ )גונזין‬by the side of a Torah scholar, and in this regard, even one who studies halakot” (Meg. 26b).71 A deceased scholar is thus interred with a defunct book roll as a respectful way of discarding the sacred material. That (rabbinic) Jews do not commonly bury Torah scrolls with corpses is clear from a passage in B. Qam. 17a. It states that a Torah scroll was put on King Hezekiah’s casket as a sign of his obedience to the Law: “[In the case of Hezekiah] they placed the scroll of the Law upon his coffin (‫ )על מטתו‬and declared: ‘This one fulfilled all that which is written there.’ But do we not even now do the same [on appropriate occasions]? We only bring out [the scroll of the Law] but do not place [it on the coffin].” The sacred text is part of the rabbinic funerary service, but not the burial. Placing a scroll on a bier was the exception rather than the rule. Instead of book burials, it seems that certain scholars donated their books after death. According to Jerome’s Life of Hilarion, the Cypriot saint bequeathed his meager possessions, including “a gospel (euagelium),” to Hesychius.72 And 69  “So, whenever death shall close my eyes, let me tell the arrangements you are to observe at my funeral … Enough, yes grand enough, will be my funeral train, did it amount to three rolls of verse for me to present to Persephone as my most precious gift” (sat mea, sat magnast, si tres sint pompa libelli, quos ego Persephonae maxima dona feram). Propertius, Carmen 2.13 (Goold, LCL). See also Speyer, Bücherfunde in der Glaubenswerbung der Antike, 45. 70  Speyer (Bücherfunde in der Glaubenswerbung der Antike, 47) concludes: “Wir können also feststellen, daß für Griechen und Römer das Buch als Grabbeigabe nichts bedeutet hat.” And ibid., 45–46: “Ein solcher Brauch wird weder von irgendwelchen glaubwürdigen Schriftstellern bezeugt, noch wird er durch den archäologischen Befund erwiesen.” This is clear also from archaeology. For instance, when Bernard Grenfell and Arthur Hunt arrived at the Egyptian city of Oxyrhynchus in 1896, they began digging for papyri in the necropolis because they expected to find book rolls in graves. However, these Greco-Roman graves did not yield any texts. It was when they turned to the city’s ancient rubbish heaps that they discovered the largest manuscript find of Greco-Roman antiquity. See Bernard P. Grenfell and Arthur S. Hunt, “Excavations at Oxyrhynchus (1896–1907),” in Oxyrhynchus: A City and Its Texts (London: Egypt Exploration Society, 2007), 347. 71  ‫ואמר רבא ספר תורה שבלה גונזין אותו אצל תלמיד חכם ואפילו שונה הלכות‬. (The root ‫ גנן‬also forms the noun genizah; in this respect, the Cairo Genizah is particularly relevant). Bavli texts and translation from Isadore Epstein, ed., The Babylonian Talmud, 18 vols. (London: Soncino, 1978). I thank Eric Jarrad for the translation of this passage (that I slightly modified). 72  The Latin reads: “igitur octogesimo aetatis suae anno, cum absens esset hesychius, quasi testamenti uice breuem manu propria scripsit epistulam, omnes diuitias suas ei derelinquens, euangelium scilicet et tunicam sacceam, cucullam et palliolum;” Jerome, Vit. Hil. 32 (SC

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in Antinoë, Egypt, Palladius’s anonymous ascetic neighbor willed her copy of Clement of Alexandria’s Commentary on Amos to him on her deathbed.73 Rarely have books been found in Graeco-Roman graves through documented archaeological expeditions. A famous example of book burial is the so-called Derveni papyrus, a carbonized roll with an Orphic text from the fourth century BCE, found near Thessaloniki, Greece.74 Most instances of buried books come from Egypt, because the practice was part of Egyptian funerary ritual and, of course, Egypt’s climatological circumstances are favorable for the preservation of organic materials such as papyrus and parchment.75 Indeed, giving books as grave gifts is best known from Pharaonic Egypt’s Book of the Dead, a practice that continued into the Roman period.76 These books-as-grave-gifts are intended for use in the afterlife. In that sense, the text was not considered lost, but preserved as a necessary companion for the deceased. Few cases of books buried in graves are attested from late antiquity, the period that concerns us here. In God’s Library: The Archaeology of the Earliest Christian Manuscripts, Brent Nongbri analyzes what we can know securely about the archaeology and date of the earliest surviving Christian manuscripts from Egypt through meticulous archival research. One of his conclusions is that Christian books are seldomly discovered with bodies: “While there is some evidence for this practice among Christians in Late Antique Egypt, it is not nearly as widespread as is sometimes claimed.”77 In fact, according to Nongbri, there are just three instances of Christian books as grave gifts that have a somewhat secure ar508:294). For a translation, see “Life of Hilarion by Jerome,” in Early Christian Lives, ed. Carolinne White, Penguin Classics (London: Penguin Books, 1998), 114: “In the eightieth year of his life, then, while Hesychius was absent, Hilarion wrote him a short letter in his own hand, as a kind of will, leaving all his wealth to him (that is, his copy of the Gospels and the sackcloth tunic, hood and cloak), for his servant had died a few days earlier.” 73  Hist. Laus. 60. Robert T. Meyer, trans., Palladius: The Lausiac History, ACW 34 (Westminster, MD: Newman Press, 1965). 74  See Gábor Betegh, “Papyrus on the Pyre,” ActAnt 42.1–4 (2002): 51–66; Gábor Betegh, The Derveni Papyrus: Cosmology, Theology, and Interpretation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 56–59. See also Colin H. Roberts, Buried Books in Antiquity: Habent Sua Fata Libelli (London: Library Association, 1963); Speyer, Bücherfunde in der Glaubenswerbung der Antike. 75  According to Speyer it is a religious difference, not a climatological one, that books are not preserved in Greek and Roman graves: “Zu Unrecht würde man einwenden, daß die Feuchtigkeit des Bodens in den griechisch-römisch besiedelten Gebieten die Rollen aus Papyrus und Pergament schnell zerstört haben könne;” Bücherfunde in der Glaubenswerbung der Antike, 47. 76  See Burkhard Backes and Jacco Dieleman, eds., Liturgical Texts for Osiris and the Deceased in Late Period and Greco-Roman Egypt: Liturgische Texte für Osiris und Verstorbene im spätzeitlichen Ägypten; Proceedings of the colloquiums at New York (ISAW), 6 May 2011, and Freudenstadt, 18–21 July 2012 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2015). 77  Brent Nongbri, God’s Library: The Archaeology of the Earliest Christian Manuscripts (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2018), 91. Nongbri also emphasizes how the working of the (illicit) antiquities market obscures our knowledge. Most Christian manuscripts with a securely known archaeological provenance were actually discovered on ancient trash heaps; see Anne-



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chaeological provenance: “the Akhmim Enoch and Peter codex, Budge’s Coptic Deuteronomy codex, and the Mudil Psalter.” He concludes: “Aside from these three cases … I am not aware of other credible reports of early Christian books being found in tombs in Egypt.”78 These exceptional cases of books-as-grave-goods merit a brief discussion, because, as it turns out, some of their modern discovery stories bear striking similarities to the narratives around the Matthean codex associated with Bar­nabas. That is in particular the case with the earliest example, the Budge codex, a Coptic codex from the fourth to fifth century with Deuteronomy, Jonah, and the Acts of the Apostles.79 Its editor, E. A. Wallis Budge, relates that in 1911 certain Egyptians (“natives,” in his words, whom he leaves anonymous)80 had found the codex wrapped in linen at the feet of a corpse laying in a wooden coffin placed in a tomb near el-Ashumein, ancient Hermopolis.81 Upon visiting this tomb, Budge made several sweeping inferences, namely that the corpse in the tomb was that of an ascetic, who had not only owned the codex, but also had handwritten it and had been buried by his disciples.82 To state the obvious, these assumptions have no basis in the archaeological evidence as we would interpret it with our current scholarly methods. It does make for an appealing narrative.83 But the story is eerily reminiscent of the narratives of Bar­nabas and his codex, especially TheoMarie Luijen­dijk, “Sacred Scriptures as Trash: Biblical Papyri from Oxyrhynchus,” VC 64 (2010): 217–54. 78 Nongbri, God’s Library, 97–98. 79  Edition: E. A. Wallis Budge, Coptic Biblical Texts in the Dialect of Upper Egypt (London: British Museum, 1912). H. I. Bell established the date post quem for the codex from a small cache of fifteen fragmentary papyrus documents from Hermopolis and dating to before the year 320 that had been reused to stiffen the codex’s cover; “Mr. Bell’s Description of the Papyrus Fragments which Formed the Cover of the Ms. Oriental No. 7594,” in Coptic Biblical Texts, xvii. 80  See also Eva Mroczek who ends her essay with an analysis of the Orientalizing stereotypes prevalent in many modern manuscript origin stories; “Batshit Stories: New Tales of Discovering Ancient Texts,” Marginalia Review of Books, 22 June 2018, https://marginalia.lareviewofbooks. org/batshit-stories-new-tales-of-discovering-ancient-texts/. 81  E. A. Wallis Budge, By Nile and Tigris: A Narrative of Journeys in Egypt and Mesopotamia on Behalf of the British Museum between the Years 1886 and 1913 (London: John Murray, 1920), 2:372–73. See here especially the discussion by Nongbri, God’s Library, 93–95. As Nongbri also notes, the provenance narrative is problematic. 82 Budge, By Nile and Tigris, 2:373: “I questioned the finder of the MS. (manuscript) very closely, and then went at once with him to look at the tomb and the coffin in which he had found the MS., and I was convinced that the coffin was made in the Roman Period. From what I could see in and about the tomb I assumed: (1) That the man who was in the coffin with the MS. was a Christian, and probably a ‘solitary’ or anchorite of especial holiness; (2) that the MS. found between his feet was his own property; (3) that he had copied it with his own hands, and valued it highly, and always had it with him or near him during his lifetime; (4) that he had been buried by his disciples, who either found the coffin empty … or had turned out its occupant to make room for their master; (5) that the man with whom the MS. was buried lived either towards the end of the fourth or early in the fifth century of our Era at the latest.” 83  As Mroczek remarks, “there is always an element of fictionality, of story-telling, in how we recount the provenance of ancient sources;” “Batshit Stories.”

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dore Anagnostes’s assertion, quoted at the beginning of this chapter, that Bar­ nabas had written it himself. Budge’s discovery narrative thus forms part of a longstanding literary topos.84 The second example of a Christian book found in a grave is the al-Mudil codex, a manuscript with the Coptic Psalter from the fourth or fifth century found buried beside the head of a young girl in a cemetery in middle Egypt.85 Thirdly, the Codex Panopolitanus, also known as the Akhmim Codex (respectively the ancient and modern name of its find place), containing Greek fragments of Enoch and of both the Gospel and Apocalypse of Peter, was found in 1886–7 by the French archaeologist Urbain Bouriant, who claimed that it was a monk’s grave, also without conclusive evidence.86 The codex dates from the eighth century and is thus significantly more recent than our chronological focus. Both Bouriant and Budge concluded that the book was the property in life and death of a monk,87 assumptions that cannot be sustained. Perhaps these three examples of Christian manuscripts from Egyptian graves attest to a continuation of earlier Egyptian practices.88 But in spite of the enduring connections between Cyprus and Egypt, these practices are too poorly attested even in Egypt to be of significant influence for the composition of the Acts of Bar­nabas. 84  For this larger topic, see also Mroczek’s publications on manuscript discovery stories, especially “True Stories and the Poetics of Textual Discovery,” BSR 45 (2016): 21–31; and “Batshit Stories.” 85  See Gawdat Gabra et al., Der Psalter im oxyrhynchitischen (mesokemischen/mittelägyptischen) Dialekt (Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag, 1995). This find is unfortunately not well documented. Gabra is respectfully skeptical about the “excavations” (“Ausgrabungen,” in brackets); Der Psalter im oxyrhynchitischen Dialekt, 23. The archaeologists did not preserve any human remains or other organic material besides the codex from the grave, he complains, nor were pictures taken during the excavations. Gabra interprets the Christian copy of the psalter in the Egyptian grave as a continuation of Egyptian practices; Der Psalter im oxyrhynchitischen Dialekt, 24. 86  Urbain Bouriant, “Fragments grecs du livre d’ Énoch,” in Mémoires publiés par les membres de la Mission archéologique française au Caire, IX 1 (Paris: Leroux, 1892), 93–147, at 93–94. As Peter van Minnen notes, the deceased person was not necessarily a monk; “The Greek Apocalypse of Peter,” in The Apocalypse of Peter, ed. J. N. Bremmer and István Czachesz, Studies on Early Christian Apocrypha 7 (Leuven: Peeters, 2003), 17–18. 87  In his Pratum spirituale, John Moschus recounts an anecdote about an anchorite called John, who lay dead in his cave for many years, “holding a gospel-book 〈enhanced with〉 a silver cross.” The anchorite, however, is not buried with the book. The implication of the story seems that he was reading the book until he died, emphasizing his intensive Bible study. See John ­Moschus, The Spiritual Meadow, trans. John Wortley, Cistercian Studies Series 139 (Kalamazoo, MI: Saint Joseph’s Abbey, 1992), 70. 88  Martin Krause, “Das Weiterleben ägyptischer Vorstellungen und Bräuche im koptischen Totenwesen,” in Das römisch-byzantinische Ägypten, Akten des internationalen Symposions 26.– 30. September 1978 in Trier (Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1978), 85–92 (especially at 90). Krause presents, however, only the example of the Achmim codex. There is a current discussion about whether the Nag Hammadi codices were intended as funerary gifts for a private person; so Nicola Denzey Lewis and Justine Ariel Blount, “Rethinking the Origins of the Nag Hammadi Codices,” JBL 133 (2014): 399–419. This is disputed by Lance Jenott and Hugo Lundhaug, The Nag Hammadi Codices and Late Antique Egypt, STAC 97 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015).



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Returning to Cyprus, its climate does not tolerate the preservation of organic materials, so it is difficult to ascertain whether books were buried there. A recent study of eighty early Christian burials from the fifth through the mid-seventh century at Cyprus concluded that few of them contained associated artifacts.89 The absence of books in graves would fit the larger evidence base we have discussed above. To take stock: we have seen that books as funerary gifts are attested only sparsely in the archaeological record, even in Egypt. Although the Acts of Bar­ nabas’s depiction of the burial of the writings of Matthew with the ashes of Bar­ nabas could correspond roughly with contemporaneous practices, which could lend it an air of credibility, the interpretative context for this passage turns out to be not archaeology but literature. The literary representation of buried books and their discovery – what Eva Mroczek calls the “poetics of textual discovery” – provides insights into the motifs of the composer.90 As Mroczek notes, the discovery of a special manuscript is a well-known literary trope in antiquity, just as it is today. In several publications, Mroczek demonstrates that ancient and modern discovery stories share certain genre-specific features, operating around such issues as veracity, fear of losing the past, the thrill of discovery, historiography, and Orientalism.91 In that sense, manuscript discovery stories function as “paratexts.”92 Although the Acts of Bar­nabas ends with the burial of the manuscript and does not tell of its subsequent finding, I argue that the concept of the eventual discovery motivates its composition. The prologue to the Apocalypse of Paul and its larger literary milieu constitutes a model for the composer of the Acts of Bar­ nabas.93 89  See Sherry C. Fox et al., “The Burial Customs of Early Christian Cyprus: A Bioarchaeological Approach,” in Bioarchaeology and Behavior: The People of the Ancient Near East (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2012): 60–79. From these remains it appears that the people buried in these cemeteries were not necessarily or likely the ones who would own books. 90  Mroczek, “True Stories and the Poetics of Textual Discovery.” 91  Mroczek is not only interested in the historicity of these stories, “getting it right” – because find stories then and now have larger implications – but also in the stories as stories. She notes: “Read as such, these stories – whether or not they are true – can tell us a great deal about ourselves as heirs to a literary and scholarly tradition. Not only telling such stories, but also questioning their veracity, are narrative practices with a history;” True Stories and the Poetics of Textual Discovery, 22. 92  See also Eva Mroczek, “Batshit Stories.” 93  The discovery story of the Apocalypse of Paul itself stands in a larger literary tradition of the miraculous finding of texts, especially the books of King Numa and the Ephemeris belli Troiani by Dictys of Crete; so Speyer, Bücherfunde in der Glaubenswerbung der Antike, 51 f. Speyer shows that these three narratives share the same literary scheme, that Dictys’s preface is aware of the Numa story, and the prologue of the Apocalypse of Paul of the Dictys story or a similar narrative; Speyer, Bücherfunde in der Glaubenswerbung der Antike, 65. On Dictys’s preface as literary fiction, see also Nicholas Horsfall, “Dictys’s Ephemeris and the Parody of Scholarship,” Illinois Classical Studies 33–34 (2009): 41–63.

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The Apocalypse of Paul is a late fourth-century text that supposedly narrates the heavenly visions the apostle Paul alludes to in 2 Cor. 12:1–5.94 A prologue, preserved in multiple manuscripts, describes how the text, together with the Apostle’s sandals, was miraculously discovered in a marble chest within the foundation of Paul’s house in Tarsus during the reign of emperor Theodosius I, its location revealed in a dream by an angel.95 In this case, the text narrates its own discovery with a story that functions to legitimize it as a long-lost first-person account of the apostle Paul. The Apocalypse of Paul and the Acts of Bar­nabas, among others, are what Paul Dilley calls narratives of the “invention of Christian tradition.” According to Dilley, “these texts were presented as lost but recovered ‘official documents’ of an earlier age, and widely circulated, in a bid to influence imperial policy and public opinion.”96 These invented Christian foundation stories, including the Acts of Bar­nabas, also are characterized by anti-Judaism.97 While it is difficult to prove, it is likely that the composer of the Acts of Bar­ nabas knew other Christian invention narratives.98 Compared to other invention stories, however, the Acts of Bar­nabas diverges on two points: First, as noted above, it does not narrate the actual discovery of the relics of the apostle and a long-lost text. Acts of Bar­nabas 24 is the last we hear about the book in the text. But although this passage does not mention the finding of the buried remains explicitly, it anticipates the inventio. Indeed, as we have seen at the beginning of this chapter, subsequent authors do in fact supply this information. Here we see the composer’s ingeniousness, for by ending the narrative with the book burial, he 94  An excellent study of this text is the dissertation by Kirsti Barrett Copeland, “Mapping the Apocalypse of Paul: Geography, Genre and History” (Ph. D. diss., Princeton University, 2001). 95  Pierluigi Piovanelli, “The Miraculous Discovery of the Hidden Manuscript, or the Paratextual Function of the Prologue to the Apocalypse of Paul,” in The Visio Pauli and the Gnostic Apocalypse of Paul, 2007, 23–49. This is part of a literary trope. Also, the location of Saint Stephen’s relics was similarly said to be revealed in a dream; see Piovanelli, “The Miraculous Discovery of the Hidden Manuscript,” 38. Piovanelli provides other examples. See also Speyer, Bücherfunde in der Glaubenswerbung der Antike. The supposed discovery of the book with the apostle’s footwear recalls 2 Tim 4:13: “When you come, bring the cloak that I left with Carpus at Troas, and my scrolls, especially the parchments.” 96  Paul C. Dilley, “The Invention of Christian Tradition: ‘Apocrypha,’ Imperial Policy, and Anti-Jewish Propaganda,” GRBS 50 (2010): 588. 97  Dilley, “The Invention of Christian Tradition,” 588–89. 98  Rapp discusses whether the inventio of the Apocalypse of Paul influenced the Acts of Bar­nabas: “We might well ask whether the inventio of Bar­nabas’s body only a few decades later, also accompanied by a relevant codex, was more than just coincidence, especially in view of the geographical proximity of Cyprus to Cilicia and the fact that Bar­nabas was accompanied on his first missionary journey to the island by Paul, who was a native from Tarsus;” “Holy Texts, Holy Men, and Holy Scribes,” 32. She presumes (ibid., 32–33), plausibly, that “A tale of this nature would have traveled fast, regardless of distance and language barriers. It might have made the Cypriots receptive to an analogous miraculous discovery on their now soil that would enable them to press the advantage of their apostolic roots.”



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subtly presupposes the manuscript discovery. This is what later church authors such as Severus of Gaza, Alexander the Monk, and Theodore Agnostes believed. Second, the narrative does not involve the revelation of a long-lost text, such as in the Apocalypse of Paul, but rather the Gospel of Matthew, an authoritative, familiar gospel. Again, this is a deliberate and shrewd move on the part of the composer: Instead of introducing a text supposedly written by Bar­nabas himself, for instance, the composer chose the Gospel of Matthew. This choice of text, as well as the attribution of the Acts of Bar­nabas to John Mark and a deep reliance on the canonical Acts, all lend easy and widely shared credibility to the narrative and its underlying claim for Cypriot autocephaly. Thus, in its story of Bar­nabas’s use of Matthew and burial with the book, the Acts of Bar­nabas employs a well-known literary motif, adapting it skillfully to lend the story plausibility and acceptance.

Conclusions This chapter examined the Acts of Bar­nabas through the lens of book history, showing that its author used the image of a book as one way to legitimize the ecclesial-political argument for autocephaly behind his text and connect it firmly to an artifact. These are not the only means of arguments in the Acts; anti-Judaism and antedating contemporary bishoprics to the apostolic age are among the others. But as we have seen, references to the Matthew manuscript run as a red thread through the text. Books are not just for scholarly activities such as reading and teaching. They are also objects, for a text cannot exist without a material carrier. It is the combination of words and materiality that makes books so effective. The author of the Acts of Bar­nabas understood that books are powerful instruments, as he exploits the image of a book with Matthew’s teachings in three sections of his text. In doing so, he endows this book with multiple forms of authority and appeals to multiple bookish practices. Writing in the first person as John Mark, the supposed author of the eponymous gospel, he traces the genealogy of the book to Matthew, traditionally understood as the author of the first gospel, and to the apostle Bar­nabas as owner and user. This apostolic lineage endows the book with power. The Acts of Bar­nabas portrays this book as a healing instrument and as a grave gift. Ritual practices with books in medical and funerary contexts are more widely attested in ancient Mediterranean society, which lends the description in the Acts of Bar­ nabas credibility and by extension also the larger purpose behind the text. Whereas in the canonical Acts, the apostles heal by calling on the name of Jesus and laying on of hands, in the Acts of Bar­nabas, the apostle uses the book to perform the healing, using especially the power of the Gospel of Matthew as a “healing gospel” as it is also known from numerous contemporary amulets.

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In describing the burial of the saint’s remains with a book, the author may draw on an actual, albeit elite and fairly rare, practice of giving as funerary gifts manuscripts as precious or professional objects. But more likely, it improvises on the literary trope of the imagined discovery of a new text. The burial signifies the distinctiveness of the manuscript and underlines that the person receiving the manuscript in death had a special relationship with it in life. The mention of the manuscript burial at the end of the text also functions to hint at the possibility of its discovery in a later time. This indeed is what we found in later authors such as Alexander the Monk. Theodore Anagnostes augments the claim by stating not only that it was Bar­nabas’s own book, but also that the apostle had copied it himself. This brings us back to the letter of Severus of Gaza discussed at the beginning of this chapter. Severus’s comment to Thomas of Germanicea about checking a manuscript in Constantinople with the Gospel of Matthew attributed to Bar­nabas provides extra historical depth to the Acts of Bar­nabas and its time of composition in the fifth century. Based on Severus’s claim of the presence of such a manuscript in Constantinople, one can imagine that a Cypriot delegation to the imperial capital advocating for their island’s autocephaly presented multiple forms of evidence, physical and textual, that all traced back to the authoritative apostolic age. We can assume that they donated a codex with the Gospel of Matthew that the apostle Bar­nabas supposedly had used during his own life time. But in order to appreciate this codex, they also needed to present the Acts of Bar­nabas, which claimed to be an eyewitness account narrated by John Mark, the author of the second gospel. These Acts were essential to contextualize and appreciate that manuscript. The codex functioned as tangible evidence for the narrative recounted in the Acts of Bar­nabas. As we know, eventually the Cypriots were successful and the island gained its desired independent ecclesiastical status.

The Cyprus Treasures since their Discovery A Re-Evaluation Ioli Kalavrezou

The Cyprus or Lambousa treasures, as they are often called, are two finds that have brought to light extraordinary objects in metalwork of the highest quality and craftsmanship. Τhey were deliberately hidden to avoid destruction, possibly from an invading army such as that of the Arabs in 649 CE, as is suggested by the production date of some of the objects.1 Their discovery and find history are complicated, and rumors and truth have become much entangled. Their history offers a number of versions as to the find spots, the contents, the number of objects found, and the people involved. This is especially true for the first of the Lambousa treasures.2 With this paper, I would like to reexamine these two exceptional treasures, which came to light through two accidental finds on Cyprus at the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth centuries. There is no need to present the treasures in their entirety here, since they are well known and well documented.3 I would, however, like to mention some salient details briefly, if only to recall the extraordinary rarity, value, and quality of the finds. Next, through a few selected items, I suggest that a reassessment is overdue to see if it is possible to propose a probable type of owner 1  Denis

Feissel, “Jean de Soloi, un évêque chypriote au milieu du viie siècle,” Travaux et Mémoires 17 (2013): 219–36. For the date given earlier to the Arab invasions see: Philip Grierson, “The Kyrenia Girdle of Byzantine Medallions and Solidi,” NumC 15 (1955): 55–70, esp. 69–70. 2  The complete find is listed in Andreas Stylianou and Judith Stylianou, The Treasure of Lambousa (Nicosia: Zavallis, 1969), in Greek with English preface and summary. The history of the first find and all that has been revealed since its discovery in 1897 is retold by Robert Merrillees, “The Modern History of the First Lambousa Treasure of Byzantine Silverware from Cyprus,” AJ 89 (2009): 389–403. For an overall evaluation of the finds, see David M. Metcalf, Byzantine Cyprus, 491–1191, Texts and Studies in the History of Cyprus 62 (Nicosia: Cyprus Research Centre, 2009), Appendix, “Conspicuous Wealth in 6th and 7th century Cyprus. The Lambousa Treasures, including the David Plates,” 51–59. 3  The first publications of the silver objects were by O. M. Dalton, “A Byzantine Silver Treasure from the District of Kerynia, Cyprus, now preserved in the British Museum,” Archaeologia 67 (1900): 159–74; O. M. Dalton, Catalogue of Early Christian Antiquities and Objects from the Christian East in the Department of British and Mediaeval Antiquities and Ethnography of the British Museum (London: British Museum, 1901); see also the bibliography of this treasure in Merrillees, “The Modern History of the First Lambousa Treasure.”

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or household that might have possessed these objects during the sixth and seventh centuries. In recent years through study of archival documentation, particularly official and private letters, the history of these treasures has become clearer, especially when one realizes that they seem to have been found not very far apart from each other.4 Briefly, the two treasures, found a few years apart in 1897 and 1902, come from an area not precisely identified but described as part of the ruinous buildings of the Roman town of Lambousa, the ancient town of Lapithos on the northern coast of Cyprus, one of the fourteen bishops’ sees of the early Christian period. In both cases the hoards were discovered by laborers from the nearby village of Karavas, the harbor of Lambousa, who were quarrying the ruins of this town for building materials and treasures. The silver dishes of the second treasure were walled-in in a niche and the gold jewelry was found in a jar buried under the pavement of a structure.5 Both treasures had been divided up among the discoverers and, like many clandestine finds, they were sold to various antiquities dealers and other individuals. All the objects from this treasure found their way to Paris, and from there most pieces of the first find were bought by the British Museum in London in 1899.6 A large part of the second treasure was sold to J. P. Morgan, which then was given by his son to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York in 1917.7 A smaller part of the second treasure was impounded by the local government of Cyprus before it could be taken out of the country and is now in the Cyprus Museum in Nicosia.8 Additionally, a number of objects circulated independ4  See Merrillees, “The Modern History of the First Lambousa Treasure,” and note 2 above. The second treasure and the history of the find was first published by O. M. Dalton, “A Second Silver Treasure from Cyprus,” Archaeologia 60 (1906): 1–24. See also H. Evans, The Arts of Byzantium (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2001), 34–36. 5 Stylianou, The Treasure of Lambousa, 65–66, n. 13a. 6  See Merrillees “The Modern History of the First Lambousa Treasure,” 389–402. 7  For the history of the second treasure see: C. Entwistle, “‘Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth’: The British Museum and the Second Cyprus Treasure,” in Through a Glass Brightly: Studies in Byzantine and Medieval Art and Archaeology Presented to David Buckton, ed. C. Entwistle (Oxford: Oxbow, 2003), 226–35. 8  P. Dikaios, A Guide to the Cyprus Museum, 3rd ed. (Nicosia: Department of Antiquities, Republic of Cyprus, 1961). In Cyprus are three of the silver dishes belonging to the series of David plates: one of the middle-sized ones with the Marriage scene, and two small ones with the representations of David killing the bear and David fighting the lion. Beyond these three David dishes in the hands of the Cyprus authorities there were still in 1904 several other objects that have been described by O. M. Dalton in a confidential memorandum, now in the archives of the British Museum. These are listed by Entwistle, “The Second Cyprus Treasure,” 229: “one large gold or silver gilt buckle, two non-figural plates, one with a cross monogram and nielloed scroll, the other with a cross and similar scroll, five coins, two bronze lamps, a lamp stand, two one-handled jugs and three ewers”. Further there are additional pieces not mentioned by Dalton either in his publication or the memorandum but listed in the British Museum Central Archives, Colonial Office Correspondence (1904) and in the British Museum Department of Medieval and Modern Europe, Archives, Trustees Reports, vol. 3, 181–82. However, they are now in unknown



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ently. They found buyers in a variety of places and are now housed in different museums, mainly in the United States.9 Of the two hoards the second treasure, mostly now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art with the additional pieces in the National Museum of Nicosia, has been given more attention because of the exceptional set of nine plates with representations of the life of David, the king of the Old Testament. These plates have become famous in the art history world not only because of their extraordinarily great value but mainly for the unique subject matter and remarkable craftsmanship.10 Between them, the plates depict a series of events from the early life of David as related in 1 Kings 16:12–18:27 (LXX), from his anointment by Samuel and confrontation with and victory over Goliath, to David’s marriage to Saul’s daughter. The set of plates (fig. 1, p. 302) consists of three different sizes: one large single piece almost fifty cm in diameter, which also depicts the most important event of the narrative: The Battle of David and Goliath. Four medium-sized plates of twenty-six cm in diameter, almost half the diameter of the large one, display scenes of a more ceremonial nature: David’s anointment by Samuel, the introduction of David to Saul, Saul arming him for the battle, and David’s marriage to Michal, a reward for his victory, over which Saul is presiding. The ceremonial and official nature of these scenes is created by an architectural element set behind the figures: a colonnade, with an open central arch where the main characters are set, is repeated in all four scenes. It also creates a symmetrical organization to the scenes. The last group consists of four small plates of fourteen cm diameter depicting secondary or background scenes. In one, David fights a lion; in another, he kills a bear; both display his natural gift of physical strength (cf. 1 Sam 17:34–35; LAB 59–60). A third depicts David playing the harp, another of his talents, while a messenger summons him to be anointed; and a fourth fealocations. See the list in Entwistle, “The Second Cyprus Treasure,” 230. Important to mention here are the pieces that have not been mentioned in the literature: one golden scepter, one golden helmet, four large gold buckles, and twelve small gold buckles and additional gold necklaces. See also A. Stylianou and J. Stylianou, The Treasures of Lambousa. They mention three silver plates with nielloed ivy leaf scrolls and the monogram ΘΕΟΔΩΡΟΥ, (not those in the National Museum of Nicosia) which, it is assumed, are now at Dumbarton Oaks and the Walters Art Museum in Baltimore, in addition to the one in the Metropolitan Museum. In other words, the treasure is much richer than previously realized. 9  Specifically, these are the silver dishes with the monogram ΘΕΟΔΩΡΟΥ mentioned in footnote 8. In addition, the medallion mentioned in the Dalton letter was purchased in 1955 by Dumbarton Oaks (BZ.1955.10.1); see Erica Dodd, Byzantine Silver Stamps, Dumbarton Oaks Studies 7 (Washington, D. C.: Dumbarton Oaks Publications, 1961), 126–27, nos. 33, 37–39, 54. Also Marvin Ross, “A Byzantine Gold Medallion at Dumbarton Oaks,” DOP 11 (1957): 247–61, and Philip Grierson, “The Date of the Dumbarton Oaks Epiphany Medallion,” DOP 15 (1961): 221–24. 10  Kurt Weitzmann, “Prolegomena to a Study of the Cyprus Plates,” Metropolitan Museum Journal 3 (1970): 97–111.

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tures David in conversation with a soldier.11 These scenes are set in the open landscape. What has become important for understanding these plates and for establishing the possible owner of all these objects are the five control stamps that all plates have on their backside. These stamps are very important and guarantee the quality of the silver. One of them has the portrait of the emperor Herakleios (610–641), more precisely, a portrait from the years 613–629/30 when he still wore a short beard before adopting a long beard in the later years of his rule.12 The workmanship of these silver plates is of exceptionally high quality. This can be especially seen in the formation of the figures, as well as the careful detail, and the surface treatment of the scenes (fig. 2, p. 303). Since their discovery on Cyprus in 1902, the set of nine plates, although often referenced in histories of Byzantine art, had not been carefully studied until detailed research began in the 1970s. A number of independent articles by different authors gave similar interpretations to the scenes depicted on the plates. They were interpreted as objects belonging to the tradition of the official imperial largitio or largesse of large silver missoria given by emperors when commemorating the success of their rule.13 Since the silver stamps identify the emperor Herakleios, several scholars, for example Susan Spain and Steven Wander, who were the first scholars to interpret the representations of these plates, saw in the narrative sequence of scenes a correspondence between the reign of David and that of the present emperor.14 They associated the figure of David with Herakleios and his war victories and especially with a specific event: his single combat with the Persian general Razatis in 627.15 A parallel was thus established with the battle of David and Goliath. In 2000, however, Ruth Leader questioned this very specific identification of the emperor Herakleios as David on a number of grounds.16 For example, she argued that Missoria, as these plates would have to be identified if they were imperial gifts, usually have an inscription or a portrait of the emperor who is being commemorated, which is absent here. This had also been pointed out by Marlia 11  The scene is often interpreted as the Confrontation of Eliab, who accused David of pride and insolence, but this is not a satisfying explanation in my opinion. 12 Dodd, Byzantine Silver Stamps, 58–66. 13  As for example that of the emperor Theodosius found in Spain, now in Madrid, Jutta Meischner, “Das Missorium des Theodosius in Madrid,” Jdl 111 (1996): 389–432. 14  Steven Wander, “The Cyprus Plates and the Chronicle of Fredegar,” DOP 29 (1975) 345– 46; Susan Spain Alexander, “Heraclius, Byzantine Imperial Ideology, and the David Plates,” Spec 52 (1977): 217–37. 15  According to the stamps the last possible date for the production of the plates would be the year 629/30. Therefore, the date of the battle, 627, is too close, in my mind, to the last possible production date of the David plates to actually commemorate this event and having the inspiration and time for the plates to be produced. 16  Ruth Leader, “The David Plates Revisited: Transforming the Secular in Early Byzantium,” The Art Bulletin 82 (2000): 407–27.



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Mango.17 The large number of plates – nine making up a set – would not have been a typical gift of largess. In addition, one could also argue that the choice of scenes from the life of David are from his youth, before his becoming king, which would be inappropriate for a missorium. Although the anointment scene is included, it is in order to show God’s selection of David until the time would come for his kingship. Leader instead understands the David plates to continue the tradition known from other silver ensembles from the mid-fourth century, as for example, the Achilles plate of the Kaiseraugst treasure, which forms part of a hoard of domestic silver.18 On that plate a series of scenes from the life of Achilles are exclusively concerned with his life before he went to fight in the Trojan war. It differs from the David plates in that the eleven scenes are all depicted on a single large plate, in a central medallion and on the rim and not on nine individual plates. But it is similar in concept, in that it focuses on the early life of the hero rather than his mature stage.19 Leader concludes that the choice of David can be seen as a Christianized form of the ancient educational tradition of the hero myth. Emphasis is given to the formation of the hero/leader in preparation for his future successes.20 This can be seen as part of paideia, a word carrying the dual meanings of culture and education. In the late antique period the elite continued to value paideia as an important part of their self-definition.21 This kind of expression is to be expected, especially amongst the local aristocracy of a province, for example, when a provincial governor would display his social standing and connections to the capital and the throne. A presentation of other portions of the Lambousa treasure will make this connection to paideia and power clearer. Most of the gold jewelry from the second treasure is now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.22 There are two gold necklaces with pendants, another with emeralds and pearls, a pair of wide openwork bracelets of the same design, and several sets of earrings. These are pieces of great value, belonging to an affluent household. Although they are jew17  Marlia Mundell Mango, “Imperial Art in the Seventh Century,” in New Constantines: The Rhythm of Imperial Renewal in Byzantium, 4th–13th Centuries, ed. Paul Magdalino (Aldershot, Eng.: Variorum, 1994): 109–38, esp. 131. 18  Leader, “The David Plates Revisited,” 421–23. 19  The series of images of young David in the Paris Psalter manuscript in the Bibliothèque nationale (ms. gr. 139), suggest a very similar reading since it depicts the talents and characteristics of a hero and leader before he reveals himself to the world. I argue this in Images of Legitimacy: the Paris Psalter (in preparation). 20  It is very similar to the idea that the literary genre of “Mirrors of Princes” was part of the educational readings for the young children of the imperial family. See Dimiter Angelov’s discussion in “Three Kinds of Liberty as Political Ideals in Byzantium, Twelfth to Fifteenth Centuries,” in Proceedings of the 22nd International Congress of Byzantine Studies. Sofia, 22–27 August 2011, vol. 1: Plenary Papers (Bulgaria: Bulgarian Historical Heritage Center, 2011): 311–31. 21  Leader, “The David Plates Revisited,” 421, 423–24. 22  Metropolitan Museum list of objects in Entwistle, “The Second Cyprus Treasure,” 229, although several other pieces seem to have emerged and are now in different collections.

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elry, they were not all necessarily pieces for the women of the household. One of the gold necklaces was most likely to be worn by a man, as well as two other objects of great rarity. These two gold objects of the second treasure might help in reconstructing the type of owner or household that all these precious objects might have belonged to in the years between the end of the sixth and the first half of the seventh centuries. The first is a large medallion pendant of solid gold, now at Dumbarton Oaks, which has a representation of the enthroned Virgin and Child on one side and the Baptism of Christ on the other, often referred to as the “Epiphany” medallion.23 The second important object is a belt or girdle composed of massive gold medallions of the emperor Maurice Tiberius, as well as a number of solidi (fig. 3, p. 304).24 Unfortunately, the belt is not complete. What is missing is the central clasp/buckle and possibly additional solidi to bring it to a length (ca. ninety cm) that would fit around the waist of an adult male (it currently measures only 67.5 cm).25 In the part that survives, there are four large medallions depicting the emperor Maurice (r. 582–602), which are set in the center, the most prominent place of a belt. These medallions seem to be the last such type celebrating the consulship of an emperor that were struck specifically, according to Philip Grierson, to be presented as gifts to high officials and nobles, each weighing around 26.5 grams.26 It is important to realize that these are struck, meaning that they are issued by the imperial mint and are not imitation medallions, as often the case, which are usually poured. They depict Maurice in a quadriga, illustrating the pompa circensis of the consular games. Beyond these medallions in the center of the belt, on either side of the missing clasp there are an additional thirteen solidi, all also unusual and quite rare. There are nine solidi of Maurice, again of great rarity, one of Theodosius II (r. 402–450), and four of the brief joint rule of Justin I and Justinian in 527, which are also very rare. The selection of these rare solidi is in sharp contrast to the ordinary run of late Roman and early Byzantine coin ornaments. According to Grierson, the solidi of Maurice are probably like the four consular medallions which would have formed part of an imperial gift made to a member of the bureaucracy when the emperor took the office as consul. As such, there would be few of these to com23  Ross, “A Byzantine Gold Medallion at Dumbarton Oaks”; A. H. S. Megaw, “Early Byzantine Art in Cyprus,” Kypriaka Grammata 21 (1956): 171–82, fig. 6; Grierson, “The Date of the Dumbarton Oaks Epiphany Medallion,” 221–24; Handbook of the Byzantine Collection (Washington, D. C.: Dumbarton Oaks Publications, 1967), 51, no. 181; A. Stylianou and J. Stylianou, The Treasures of Lambousa, 45–49, figs. 33–34 (see n. 2). 24  Gift of J. Pierpont Morgan, 1917; 17.190.147; 1991.136 ca. 583, reassembled after discovery. Grierson, “The Kyrenia Girdle of Byzantine Medallions and Solidi,” 55–70, pls. VI–VIII; Kurt Weitzmann, ed., Age of Spirituality: Late Antique and Early Christian Art, Third to Seventh Century (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1979), 71–72, no. 61. 25  One coin was bought and added to the belt in 1991. Coin (acc. no. 1991.136) joined with additional coins and medallions to make a girdle (acc. no. 17.190.147). 26  Grierson, “The Kyrenia Girdle of Byzantine Medallions and Solidi,” 58.



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memorate this event. These would be part of the gift of the medallions. Originally Grierson believed that the medallions and consular solidi were to be dated in the year 602, the year when Maurice assumed the office of consul for a second time. Recognizing the closeness of the workmanship between the four large consular medallions of the girdle and the “Epiphany” medallion, which Grierson dates to 6 January 584, he re-evaluated the arguments and placed them in 583, the year of Maurice’s first consulship.27 Imperial medallions such as these were often mounted into jewelry by their recipients to boast of their highly favored status in society. They were pieces for display on the front of the wearer either as belts or as jewelry in a variety of chain assemblages. They were also recognized as part of the insignia of a high office since they were personally given by the emperor. As a distinguishing honor, the belt very likely belonged to the owner of the treasure who, as a high official, would have received these special medallions and solidi from the emperor. Such objects were not available to private citizens. Additionally, these large consular medallions are quite unusual because of their weight. Each medallion consists of the gold of six solidi in weight.28 Six solidi pieces would go to officials of one of the highest ranks, that of vir illustris, within the senates of Rome and Constantinople, which would also include provincial governors.29 In the case of the girdle (and “Epiphany” medallion; here I am talking only of the girdle), the recipient presumably received the four medallions of a weight of six solidi because of his very high position. Since this object was found on Cyprus, it is most likely that the owner was a provincial high official on the island. Few dignitaries in the empire could show a girdle weighing more than a pound of gold, “the equivalent of a quarter of a year’s salary of an average provincial governor.”30 Thus, with this object we have a hint of the kind of social environment to which these objects belonged. The additional consular coins of Maurice also help with dating: according to Grierson, they are very rare, because Maurice held this consulship only for five days between Christmas and the new year, putting them in the last days of the year 583.31 To possess several of them shows that the owner rose to a very high rank during the reign of Maurice. Since the 27  Grierson changed his mind about the date to 583 in 1961 (“The Date of the Dumbarton Oaks Epiphany Medallion,” 233 n. 18). Wolfgang Hahn, Moneta imperii Byzantini: Rekonstruktion des Prägeaufbaues auf synoptisch-tabellarischer Grundlage, vol. 3: Von Heraclius bis Leo III / Alleinregierung (610–720) (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1981) agrees with the date of 583 for the large medallions and suggests 602 for the solidi on the evidence of legend variations. 28  A. Sambon, “Trésor d’orfèvrerie et d’argenterie trouvé à Chypre et faisant partie de la collection de M. J. Pierpont Morgan,” Le Musée 3 (1906): 121–29. 29  B. Näf, Senatorisches Standesbewusstsein in spätrömischer Zeit (Freiburg: Freiburg Universitätsverlag, 1995), 21–22. 30  Grierson, “The Kyrenia Girdle of Byzantine Medallions and Solidi,” 69. 31  Grierson, “The Kyrenia Girdle of Byzantine Medallions and Solidi,” 60.

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silver dishes that were found in the same structure are of a slightly later date, a decade later, we can probably assume that the same individual who had served under Maurice was still alive and had continued his career under Herakleios. Three additional solidi on the belt depict Justin together with Justinian seated frontally on thrones. They are of an issue that was struck for a period of only five months in 527.32 Two of them have been given a more distinct setting. Beyond the mount of a flat gold band wider than those of the coins, they have an additional circle of beaded wire, which enlarges the diameter and gives further relief. They are attached in the central section of the girdle connecting the two central medallions (see fig. 4, p. 304). Next to the second pair of medallions on the outer sides, two of the consular solidi of Maurice have received the same distinct mount. Clearly these were chosen to be visible in the front of the belt because of their rarity. Although they now might not be in the exact original position, they are distinguished from the remaining solidi of the belt. The two solidi of Justin and Justinian were a dynastic issue, chosen, in my opinion, because of their unusual iconographic theme: the two emperors seated frontally on the throne next to each other. After almost two hundred years of no direct male heir born to an emperor, Maurice had a son just born, a Porphyrogennetos. Now there was an heir, a successor to the throne.33 Just as Justin on his solidi was presenting Justinian as his designated successor, these coins in my view should be seen as an allusion to Maurice’s son. The name chosen for this boy was Theodosius, recalling Theodosius II, the son of Arcadius, the last Porphyrogennetos of 401, which was not accidental. The second object that connects this individual and probable owner of the treasures with the imperial court in Constantinople is the exceptionally large gold medallion and its chain from the same jewelry find mentioned above, now at Dumbarton Oaks (fig.  5, p. 304).34 On the front the medallion has the enthroned Virgin and Child between two adoring angels, which occupies the upper two thirds of the obverse side of the medallion. Below are two smaller scenes, one of the Nativity without the Virgin and only the infant in the manger, and the Adoration of the Magi, where the Virgin is shown seated holding the Christ child on her lap. It bears the inscription, “Christ, our God help us” (“Χ[ΡΙCΤ]Ε Ο Θ[ΕΟ]C ΗΜWN ΒΟΗΘΙCΟΝ ΗΜΙΝ”).35 On its reverse is the representation 32 

Grierson, “The Kyrenia Girdle of Byzantine Medallions and Solidi,” 67. Grierson, “The Date of the Dumbarton Oaks Epiphany Medallion,” 222. 34  Ross, “A Byzantine Gold Medallion at Dumbarton Oaks,” 261, confirms from x-ray evidence that the medallion was struck, not cast. Cf. Grierson, “The Date of the Dumbarton Oaks Epiphany Medallion.” 35  Heinrich Karpp, “‘Christus, unser Gott,’ Erwägungen zu den Inschriften und dem Bildprogramm eines byzantinischen Goldmedaillons aus der Zeit um 600,” in Studien zur spätantiken und byzantinischen Kunst: Friedrich Wilhelm Deichmann gewidmet, Monographien Römisch-germanisches Zentralmuseum. Forschungsinstitut für Vor- und Frühgeschichte 10 (Bonn: Habelt, 1986), 121–36, at 121 and fig. 39. Karpp discusses the theological significance of 33 



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of the Baptism of Christ, with the inscription in Greek, “This is my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased” (ΟΥΤΟΣ ΕΣΤΙΝ Ω ΥΕΙΟΣ ΜΟΥ Ο ΑΓΑΠΙΤΟΣ ΕΝ Ω ΕΥΔΟΚΗΣΑ, Matt 3:17 [with several spelling mistakes]).36 This medallion, like the medallions of the belt, was struck and not cast, and its weight is more than one hundred grams, both facts that make it most unusual. Commonly, only coins and commemorative medallions with monetary value were struck by imperial privilege, so it is plausible that this medallion was made for an imperial occasion commemorating a personal event. Marvin Ross and Philip Grierson both agree that such an event could be the baptism of Theodosius, the Porphyrogennetos son of Emperor Maurice, who was baptized on the Feast of Epiphany, 6 January 584.37 The image of the enthroned Virgin and Child on the front introduces the themes relevant to the recent historical family events. The quoted inscription on the back makes the subjects depicted – the Birth and the Baptism – relevant in several respects to Theodosius’s birth, to his baptism, and in another dynastic sense the father-son relationship. Such objects are very rare in at least two ways. First, such occasions do not occur very often, and second, the workmanship of this object is impressive in its detail, especially considering that it was struck. To have received such a personal gift from the emperor Maurice places the destined receiver very close to the emperor and the court in Constantinople. Who was he?

Finding the Owner: Theodore and his Objects At this point we have to turn to a few other pieces from the two treasures, where the name Theodore appears on different silver objects. It is the only reference to an individual that can possibly be associated with and proposed as the owner of at least some of these rich vessels. A great part of the first Lambousa treasure is today in the British Museum. It consists of twenty-eight different objects, all made of silver. It includes a bowl with a half-length portrait of a saint, most likely a military saint judging from his garments. This bowl can be dated by the five control stamps between 641 and 651 from the reign of Emperor Constans II.38 A hexagonal censer or lamp with medallions of Christ, the Virgin, and four saints dates from the reign of Phokas the inscriptions, especially the phrase “Christ our God,” which he sees playing a role in the theological discussions regarding the nature of Christ in the sixth and seventh centuries. He misidentifies, however, the seated figure of Joseph who pensively raises his arm towards his head as the prophet Balaam, who has no place in the iconography of the Nativity, when trying to connect it to the political climate in relation to Persia. 36 Karpp, “‘Christus, unser Gott,’” 122. 37  Grierson, “The Date of the Dumbarton Oaks Epiphany Medallion,” 223. 38 Dodd, Byzantine Silver Stamps, no. 78; Weitzmann, Age of Spirituality, 548–49, no. 493.

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(602–610).39 A  flat plate with a central medallion with a leaf pattern in niello and a cross in the center can also be dated by its control stamps to the reign of ­Tiberius  I (578–582), which makes it the oldest object of the treasures, except the solidi of Justin and Justinian used in the belt.40 In addition, there are twenty-five pear-shaped spoons, eleven of which have leaping animals of great variety.41 The leaping animals are most unusual. We know of spoons with inscriptions of various wise sayings, virtues, apostolic names, or which were possibly used for communion, but the animals are quite atypical. The animals are all within the pear-shaped bowls of each spoon, which are also engraved on the underside with a foliate pattern and are attached by means of a disc to an elaborate baluster handle. The running animals include a griffin, panther, lion, lioness, stag, bear, boar, bull, hare, and horse. This combination of animals probably alluded to the hunt and would have been an appropriate subject for high-status domestic cutlery, since hunting was one of the pastimes of that society. Among the spoons without decoration, there is one that stands out because on the hexagonal part of the handle it has an engraved inscription, filled in with niello. It reads ΘΕΟΔWΡΟΥ, of Theodore, suggesting the owner or user of that spoon.42 Several plates, mentioned above, have in their center a cross monogram with the name of ΘΕΟΔWΡΟΥ in the genitive, in niello surrounded by a vine.43 39 Dodd,

Byzantine Silver Stamps, no. 35. Byzantine Silver Stamps, no. 28. There is a second plate in Nicosia in the Cyprus Museum of Antiquities that is identical to this one in the British Museum with the same vine leaf design and a cross in its center. It has also the same outer border and the thin frame around the vine and central cross. Thus, these two silver plates were produced by the same workshop. In the museum in Nicosia unfortunately the silver plates are all displayed together and given one date, that of the three David plates that through the control stamps fall into the years 613– 29. The plate with the cross should, however, be dated to the reign of Tiberius II Constantine between 578 and 582. In the Nicosia Cyprus Museum there are two additional plates: one with a cross but of completely different wreath design and workmanship, and another with a cross monogram that can be read as ΑΝΤΩΝΙΟΥ that is, “of Antony.” They are considered to be part of the Lambousa treasure. 41  However, these are not all the objects found in this first treasure, since not all were bought by the museum. Additional pieces are mentioned in some of the records and letters in the archives of the museum; see the history of the find in Merrillees, “The Modern History of the First Lambousa Treasure.” 42  Stefan R. Hauser, Spätantike und frühbyzantinische Silberlöffel. Bemerkungen zur Produktion von Luxusgütern im 5. bis 7. Jahrhundert, JACErg 19 (Münster: Aschendorff, 1992), Spoon Group 8.1. 43  They are mentioned here and there in the various lists of these finds. Although considered as part of the larger plate in the British Museum through a comparison of the niello vine in the framing of the medallions on the plates, the dates of these plates with the cross monograms with the name Theodore are of a later date and cannot be seen as a set with the one in the British Museum with the cross in its center. The name Theodorou in the genitive is clearly readable; however, within the letter Δ (delta) at the bottom of the monogram, there seems to be a further stroke that could be read as an additional letter, that of an A (alpha). Until now this has not been explained and remains an open question. It could simply be a matter of design. 40 Dodd,



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These have been variably assigned to the first or second Lambousa treasure. Three of these plates are now in the United States, two supposedly from the second find and possibly one from the first. They were bought at different times during the 1950s.44 Although of different sizes, these plates all have the same control stamps on their underside, giving them a date between 610 and 613, the early years of Herakleios’s reign, when he still wore a short beard.45 Although sometimes described as patens, these plates are clearly domestic and continue a type of Roman dish with a rosette or other emblem at the center, often even a small cross by the sixth and seventh centuries, like the one in the British Museum, mentioned above. Flatter than the explicitly dedicated church patens with a large cross, none of these plates can be directly associated with a church, either by inscription or by provenance.46 Helpful in grounding these treasures in a specific environment is the bowl of 24.3 cm diameter with the representation of the military saint in its center, now housed in the British Museum. From an iconographic point of view, compared to an approximately contemporary icon with two military saints from Sinai, now in Kiev, he can be possibly identified as one of them, Sergius, a fourth-century Christian martyr who was officer in Galerius’s army at the time of his co-reign with Maximianus.47 He wears the traditional chlamys with a tablion in the front and a prominently displayed torque around his neck, a type of necklace of a design made of a central large medallion and four coins, of which we have similar examples. This torque indicates his high position in the army. Sergius together with Bacchus and a number of other military saints were very popular throughout late antiquity, especially favored by high officials in the Byzantine military hierarchy. Theodore, who bore the name of a military saint, surely would have favored an image of a military saint. Several details hint at an early stage of the development of the iconography of military saints. No name is assigned to the 44  Marlia Mundell Mango, The Silver from Early Byzantium: The Kaper Koraon and Related Treasures (Baltimore: Trustees of the Walter Art Gallery, 1986), nos. 103–105. See also Walters Art Museum acq. no. 57.652, Metropolitan Museum of Art acq. no. 52.25.2; Dumbarton Oaks Museum BZ 1960.60. See also Merrillees, “The Modern History of the First Lambousa Treasure,” 395 with details. Although sometimes they are mentioned as possibly belonging to the first Lambousa treasure because of the similarly decorated larger silver plate with the medallion with the cross, these plates have different dates of production according to their control stamps. Thus, they are not the same set. 45  The plates at Dumbarton Oaks and the Metropolitan plate have the same dimensions of 13.4/5 cm diameter. The one at the Walters has a diameter of 25.5 cm. 46  The British Museum is still describing it as a church treasure, since in the original sale it was claimed that it was found near the monastery church of Acheiropoietos three miles outside of Lambousa. At that time, almost all Byzantine silver was claimed to be part of church treasures, and it was easier to label it as such. Now, it is becoming clearer that this treasure too was of secular use. 47  Acquisition no. 1899,0425.2; Dodd, Byzantine Silver Stamps, no. 78; D. Buckton, Byzantium: Treasures of Byzantine Art and Culture (London: Published for the Trustees of the British Museum by British Museum Press, 1994), no. 135.

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figure. The saint holds his tunic with his left hand, in an unusual and delicate gesture. He places the cross away from his body to his right side, while the cross in depictions of martyrs is usually held in front of the chest, not to the side. This cross is instead placed on top of a pole, more like a military standard than a martyr’s cross. This bowl should be seen as part of the household, possibly a military family of a highly positioned officer, Theodore, to whom all these objects from the first Lambousa treasure belonged. Of all the objects found in this first find this is the latest acquisition in that home, dating from the reign of Emperor Constans II (641–651).48 According to S. R. Hauser, this treasure is to be considered as belonging to a household and not to a church.49 The name of Theodore as the owner of the spoon and the plain silver plates connects these objects, as well as the two treasures. In my search to identify the individual Theodore, who might have owned at least part of these treasures, I was able to locate another object that has the same cross monogram with the name ΘΕΟΔWΡΟΥ in the genitive, as seen in the plates (fig. 6, p. 305).50 The buckle, now in the collection of the Walters Art Museum, dates to the sixth or early seventh century and is supposedly from Syria. Since there is no archaeological documentation or evidence of its discovery, I suspect that it is one of those objects that disappeared from the second treasure but which was described in the early list of the objects of the find in the British Museum archives.51 A large gold buckle is among them but is missing from the actual belt. The belt itself, when sold, had been separated into its individual parts and later reassembled in the form in which it is now displayed. The objects of the second Lambousa find, especially the gold and jewelry pieces, changed hands and were distributed among finders and various dealers who were specializing in bringing objects from Syria, Egypt, and Palestine to Europe and the United States. I would like to see this buckle as part of the original belt, a very distinguished type of belt, worn only by very prominent individuals in the hierarchy of governmental officials of the Byzantine administration. This would tie the belt to the other objects with the name Theodore, to the individual who served under Maurice and was honored for his distinguished service by receiving from the 48  The dates of production of all these objects begin with the reign of Maurice in 583 and continue to the early years of the reign of Herakleios. The silver bowl with the military saint falls right before the first Arab invasion in 649 which would suggest a date before that year between 641–649. If the invading Arab army was the cause for hiding all these treasures the date is very close indeed. 49  See Hauser, Spätantike und frühbyzantinische Silberlöffel, 49–55. 50  This object (Walters Art Museum acc. no. 57.545) is 2.9 x 7.9 x 0.9 cm and may have been found near Hamas, Syria. It was bequeathed to Walters Art Museum by Henry Walters. See Dorothy Miner, ed., Early Christian and Byzantine Art. An Exhibition held at the Baltimore Museum of Art, April 25–June 22, [1947] (Baltimore: Trustees of the Walters Art Gallery, 1947), no. 468. 51  See note 8.



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emperor the belt. He may have held the position of Governor of Cyprus, a position that an illustris could hold. We can also assume that this individual was still in an economically, if not administratively, high position under Herakleios about twenty-seven years later, to have had silver dishes made with a monogram of his name in their central medallions. The belt with the four medallions and consular solidi dates from Maurice’s consulship of the year 583 and the plates with the monogram from 610 to 613, thus a chronological span between these objects stretches close to three decades. The individual who could have owned at least some of these objects would have had to be around sixty years of age at that time. Among the number of individuals named Theodore in John Martindale’s Prosopography of the late sixth and seventh centuries there is a Theodore recorded on an inscription who is on Cyprus, probably in the late sixth century. He is honored in an acclamation as comes.52 Beyond this information, we do not know anything further about this individual. There is, however, another Theodore,53 who, according to the Anthologia Gr. I. 36, seemed to have had himself depicted in the narthex of the church of John the Theologian in Ephesos thanking the archangel (Michael) for his career. This Theodore, according to the dedicatory inscription, is recognized as illustris (or illustios in the Greek) and possibly twice gained the title of proconsul (anthypatos). As a military figure, to have approached the archangel Michael for assistance and acknowledgement makes obvious sense, but to have his image depicted in that great church suggests that he was a very distinguished person. He is described in vv. 3–6 to be wearing the belt of a magister (officiorum), an honorary title that makes him an illustrios, while also proconsul. I mention him here for two reasons: first, because the belt was clearly the visible evidence of his high standing in the painting, which was specifically mentioned, and secondly because Ephesos is clearly an important city, especially in that period and is on the way if one would travel from Cyprus to Constantinople for any official business. The Theodore of the Lambousa treasures thus had to be an individual of similar standing and honors. It is very likely that he is the Theodore of this wall painting as mentioned in the Anthologia. The belt makes this case most probable since there cannot be many individuals named Theodore with this honorary distinction in this period and this area. In the early decades of the seventh century, several momentous events took place. In the year 602 Maurice and his son Theodosius, whose baptism was commemorated by the “Epiphany” medallion, were murdered by Phocas, who through this murder managed to usurp the throne in Constantinople. In the meantime, Herakleios the Elder, the exarch of Africa, began a revolt against Phocas, placing his son Herakleios at the head of the revolting troops. After taking 52  John Robert Martindale, Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire (527–641 AD), vol. 3 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), no. 94. 53 Martindale, Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire 3, no. 54.

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over Egypt, Herakleios, the son, succeeded over a period of two years (608–610) to march into Constantinople, where he was declared emperor on 5 October 610, following the murder of Phocas the previous day.54 The preparation and organization of this strategic plan took some time and needed to be well structured. His first move was to settle for a while on the island of Cyprus to prepare his campaign towards Constantinople.55 Evidence for his longer stay on Cyprus, rather than a brief passing through with his troops, is the establishment of a mint to strike coins with his name and the title Δεσπότης (Despotes) and the building of additional arches to the aqueduct in the city of Constantia, the ancient town Salamis on the east coast of Cyprus.56 One key person on Cyprus with whom Herakleios would have had to be in contact and possibly plan and organize his next moves would have been the governor of Cyprus, conceivably the Theodore we have encountered. We can assume that he was a supporter of Herakleios who wanted to remove the usurper Phocas, his benefactor’s murderer. The silver plates with his monogram are dated to immediately after Herakleios succeeded to the throne and were possibly acquired when visiting the new emperor in Constantinople.57 But how can the set of David plates be connected to the same household or even individual? After all, with the exception of the golden belt, they are the most valuable and impressive silver objects of the treasure. It is very probable that these plates, with their particular subject matter, were a gift from the newly settled emperor in Constantinople, given in recognition of the help and support he received while on Cyprus preparing to gain the throne. The successful Herakleian coup d’état of 608–610 was after all launched via Cyprus. Typically, the plates have been given the latest date of production within the possible range of the control stamps, which span from 613 to 629. The reason for this late date was the parallel reading of the battle of David with Goliath with the combat of Herakleios and the Persian general Razatis that took place in 627. This does not need to be the case. They may have been produced nearer to the earlier date of 613, bringing them closer to the years when Herakleios was preparing his advance from Cyprus to reach the throne in Constantinople. Considering the times and historical events, the subject chosen for their decoration – that of the young David – is relevant to the situation and presents the stages of 54  Evangelos Chrysos, “Ὀ Ἡράκλειος στην Κύπρο (609/610)” (=Herakleios on Cyprus), in Πρακτικά Συμποσίου Κυπριακής Ιστορίας, Λευκωσία 2–3 Μαΐου 1983 (Ioannina: University of Ioannina Press, 1984), 53–62. 55  Chrysos, “Herakleios on Cyprus,” 61. 56  Chrysos, “Herakleios on Cyprus,” 53–57; P. Grierson, “The Consular Coinage of ‘Heraclius’ and the Revolt against Phocas 608–610,” The Numismatic Chronicle (1950): 71–93; C. Morrisson, Catalogue de monnaies byzantines de la Bibliothèque nationale, vol. 1 (Paris: Bibliothèque nationale, 1970), 251. 57  Merrillees reports that “We now know that it evidently contained an additional seventeen pieces of silver, some of which were probably plates;” “The Modern History of the First Lambousa Treasure,” 395.



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preparation for a future ruler. Most importantly, the idea and literary topos of an apparently unassuming individual, who nourishes his virtues and talents until the time is ready for them to be revealed, could have been part of the intellectual spirit of the time that Herakleios spent on Cyprus. It is a subject relevant to the period of Herakleios’s own preparations to realize his designed plan to reach the imperial throne. The idea of a future leader chosen by God, predestined to save the empire, may have been part of the imperial ideology already developed by this period. Herakleios or Theodore might have had common discussions and seen parallels between the God-appointed David and Herakleios’s beliefs and goals to gain the throne. This understanding of these objects fits nicely with Ruth Leader’s interpretation. It reflects the shift to an Old Testament figure of great strength and potential leadership, thematically continuing the classical tradition of edification by example, such as Achilles in the Iliad, but shifting it to a biblical hero.

Conclusions This chapter demonstrates that it is possible that both Lambousa treasures were owned by one household, which included a high government official, Theodore, among its members. Theodore was closely associated with Constantinople, a fact supported by the evidence of the belt and the Dumbarton Oaks medallion, not to mention all of the other objects of the highest quality of craftsmanship and value, which were probably all produced in Constantinople. The figure of the military saint on a personal dish is an additional indication that the owner may have belonged to the military aristocracy on Cyprus in the late sixth and early seventh centuries. The David plates should also then be placed in their role as luxury and display items within this secular context. The luxurious spoons, with their running animal imagery, referencing the hunt, would also nicely connect to the theme of the young warrior David hunting and killing wild animals until his final victory over Goliath. Any object from these treasures should be considered and studied not only as an isolated object, but also as part of a treasure with the variety of items belonging to one household. The belt as much as the silver plates can be understood as part of the life of the elite society in which honor and wealth were displayed. All this material should be studied in the context of all the other evidence from late antique Cyprus, especially the great display of the mosaic floors from the various villas, intended to show both wealth and culture.

The Cult of Saints in Late Antique Cyprus and the Apostolicity of its Churches The Testimony of Greek Hagiography Stephanos Efthymiadis

Whether it was slow and lingering or sudden and unexpected, the end of polytheism in Cyprus came about in a religious landscape marked by diversity. This pluralism featured the coexistence of a large number of cults of pagan deities, including the Aphrodite of Amathous and Palaipaphos, Zeus Olympius at Salamis, the Apollo at Kourion and Keryneia, or the less prominent Greek and Phoenician cults observed in small sanctuaries scattered all over the island.1 This pluralism emerges from Cyprus’s identity as a crossroads that has had a variety of spiritual and secular creeds regularly grafted upon it, which have then become an integral part of its geographical and cultural identity. Moreover, this religious plurality clearly bears the marks of the distribution and division of its soil into separate units which, despite any obvious interlocking and interdependence, must each have claimed their right to autonomy and independent existence in the religious, political, and other spheres. This chapter examines the cult of saints in late antique Cyprus as reflected in the hagiographies of the period, and to what extent this picture remained unchanged, or at least retained some of its basic features, in the transition from Roman to Early Christian Cyprus. More importantly, I shall discuss the institutional and intellectual contexts within which this literature on saints was composed, as well as the issues underlying its composition. As I will try to show, diversity and plurality were properties that marked the 1  For these cults, see Terence B. Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” ANRW 2.18.3, 2178– 2211. A notable case of a non-Greek cult is that of Eshmun, the Phoenician counterpart of Asclepius, worshipped at Kition (Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” 2187). For the question of transition from paganism to Christianity in Cyprus see Marcus Rautman, “From Polytheism to Christianity in the Temples of Cyprus,” in Ancient Journeys. A Festschrift in Honour of Eugene Numa Lane, ed. Cathy Callaway (The Stoa: A Consortium for Electronic Publication in the Humanities, 2002; available online http://www.stoa.org/hopper/text.jsp?doc=Stoa:text:2001. 01. 001 4); and Georgios Deligiannakis, “The Last Pagans of Cyprus: Prolegomena to a History of Transition from Polytheism to Christianity,” in Church Building in Cyprus (4th to 7th Centuries) – a Mirror of Intercultural Contacts in the Eastern Mediterranean, ed. Marietta Horster, Doria Nicolaou, and Sabine Rogge, Schriften des Instituts für Interdisziplinäre Zypern-Studien 12 (Münster: Waxmann, 2017), 29–50.

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religious landscape of Cyprus well after the expansion and prevalence of Christianity on the island. To this end I shall chiefly explore a body of texts that recount the adventures and achievements of saints, who, apart from the apostle Bar­nabas, were all bishops, that is, they corresponded to a single paradigm of sanctity. In this period their cults, along with those of saints of universal acclaim, like St. Andrew and St. Thecla, were also attested in epigraphic material. Relatively few Christian inscriptions that bear the name of a saint, dedicatory or otherwise, are known. Other evidence is found in sigillography, i. e., the inscriptions on lead seals owned by the clerics of the island, where they bear either the names of known saints or other signs of devotion to some saint or saints.2 Although contradictory and conflicting as historical documents, the Lives of local saints and the inscriptions found in a precise geographical milieu intersect at one crucial point: they both provide insights into the local domain. Hagiography and epigraphy both attest to the local situation. In an empire as highly centralized as the late Roman, historical sources tend to be “centralized” too, paying little attention to the provinces, and, if they do venture into the hinterland, most of the references are to major urban centers and the frontier zone. By contrast to other literary sources, hagiography was one of the rare forms of literature to be implanted and grown in the periphery.3 What constitutes the hagiography or rather the hagiographies of late antique Cyprus is far from easy to define. A  comprehensive survey would encompass a wide spectrum of texts ranging from those pertaining to local saints (those whose pious activities were wholly or mainly carried out on the island), to those who excelled elsewhere, yet received the praise of local hagiographers. In what follows I shall concentrate on the former, inasmuch as it is mainly thanks to their hagiographical dossier that we gain an insight into several issues that must have preoccupied ecclesiastical circles in late antique Cyprus. This hagiography celebrating local saints must have gained momentum from the late fifth to the seventh century, a time when hagiographical writing became fashionable, especially in the eastern Mediterranean. The Bollandist Hippolyte Delehaye was certainly right when he introduced his extensive study on the saints of Cyprus with the statement that there were few provinces of the Eastern Roman Empire 2  For the scanty evidence about the cult of saints in Cyprus that we obtain from extant epigraphic material, see Doria Nicolaou, “H κυπριακή επιγραφική κατά τον 4ο έως τον 7ο μ. Χ. αιώνα,” in Epigraphy, Numismatics, Prosopography and History of Ancient Cyprus: Papers in Honour of Ino Nicolaou, ed. Demetrios Michaelides (Uppsala: Åströms förlag, 2013), 245–272. For sigillographic evidence see David M. Metcalf, Byzantine Lead Seals from Cyprus (Nicosia: Cyprus Research Centre, 2004), 340–380; and David M. Metcalf, Byzantine Lead Seals from Cyprus, vol. 2 (Nicosia: Cyprus Research Centre, 2014), 243–300. 3  See the points made in Stephanos Efthymiadis, “Introduction,” in The Ashgate Research Companion to Byzantine Hagiography, vol. I: Periods and Places, ed. idem (Farnham/Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2011), 9–10.



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that were so well represented in Byzantine hagiographical collections as Cyprus.4 Trying to slot Cyprus’s hagiographical production into the grand scheme of things and bring out the links it might have had with the general flourishing of the genre in that period can be misleading, however. To make this move too quickly risks glossing over the rather introverted and self-referential character of Cypriot hagiography. In other words, relating Cypriot hagiography to the overall pattern of production at that time and to contemporary trends may show its external literary influences, but it ignores its inner world, namely its commitment to debates that must have preoccupied the ecclesiastical elite of the region for a considerable period of time. Cypriot hagiography is intertextual but extremely diverse in terms of narrative structure and models of writing. This results in an overall lack of literary uniformity and thematic homogeneity. In some cases, the language and style match the status of the celebrated saint. For example, the linguistic and stylistic sophistication that characterizes the Life of St. Tychon, Bishop of Amathous, is entirely appropriate for extolling the achievements of a bishop. Yet sophistication is absent from other texts in which it would have been more natural to expect it, namely, those dedicated to more eminent prelates such as the theologian bishops Epiphanios and Spyridon. In their extant biographies, the fictional element is strong and the narrative is filled with episodes (miraculous or not) that have been stitched together but hardly present a coherent whole.5 Cypriot hagiographic literature is unified, however, in its overwhelming enthusiasm for 4  Hippolyte Delehaye, “Saints de Chypre,” AnBoll 26 (1907), 161. Apart from Delehaye’s seminal but now partially dated study, comprehensive surveys of the late antique hagiography of Cyprus include Vera von Falkenhausen, “Bishops and Monks in the Hagiography of Byzantine Cyprus,” in Medieval Cyprus: Studies in Art, Architecture, and History, ed. Nancy PattersonŠevčenko and Christopher Moss (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 21–33; Claudia Rapp, “Christianity in Cyprus in the Fourth to Seventh Centuries: Chronological and Geographical Frameworks,” in Cyprus and the Balance of Empires: Art and Archaeology from Justinian I to the Coeur of Lion, ed. Charles A. Stewart, Thomas W. Davis, and Annemarie Weyl Carr, ASOR Archaeological Reports 20 (Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research, 2014), 29–38; Claudia Rapp, “Cypriot Hagiography in the Seventh Century: Patrons and Purpose,” in Κυπριακὴ Ἁγιολογία. Proceedings of the First International Conference, ed. Theodoros Yangou and Chrysostomos Nassis (Agia Napa-Paralimni, 2015), 397–411; and Bernard Flusin, “L’hagiographie chypriote et le modèle de la sainteté épiscopale,” in Le saint, le moine et le paysan: Mélanges d’histoire byzantine offerts à Michel Kaplan (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2016), 213–228. 5  For the Life of Epiphanios, divided into two parts, the one authored by John, a disciple of the saint (BHG 596), the other by Polybius of Rhinokouroura (BHG 596), see PG 41, cols. 24– 112. For a new but still unpublished edition by Claudia Rapp, “The vita of Epi­pha­nius of Salamis: An Historical and Literary Study,” 2 vols. (D. Phil. thesis, Oxford University, 1991). The Life of St. Spyridon by Theodore of Paphos (BHG 1647–1647b) is largely based on earlier disparate material; see Paul van den Ven, ed., La légende de S. Spyridon évêque de Trimithonte (Louvain: Publications universitaires, 1953), 1103. According to its editor, this Life was completed in 655: van den Ven, La légende de S. Spyridon, 86*–88*.

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the legendary. This is primarily manifested in the recurring appropriation of accounts, themes, and scenes that hark back to biblical leitmotifs.

The Laudatio of Saint Bar­nabas the Apostle as a Historical Document It is no accident that the only piece that can be read as a historical document, in the sense that it provides information about persons with a historical presence and events of wider importance, is the oft-quoted Laudatio of Saint Bar­nabas the Apostle by Alexander the Monk (BHG 226/CPG 7400).6 Significantly, this piece is unique in that it is not pseudepigraphic, that is, the name of the author is neither invented, nor suspected of being a pen-name. It is not by chance that, of all the late antique hagiographers writing about Cypriot saints, Alexander the Monk was the most determined to leave us some hints about his project. The title itself specifies that the piece was commissioned by the presbyter and incumbent of the church of St. Bar­nabas, built for the purpose of receiving the saint’s relics, once lost but now found.7 For this edifice the author reserves a detailed description, thereby implicitly acknowledging his familiarity with the place.8 Divided into two sections, referring to two quite different periods, the apostolic age and the decades following the Council of Chalcedon (451), this text has a double generic identity. The first part traces the genealogy and relates the biography of St. Bar­nabas, in an apocryphal/hagiographical account, whereas the second chronicles “recent events” in a fashion peculiar to the genre of ecclesiastical history.9 By virtue of these two thematic entities, the author achieves the dual purpose of re-assessing the predominantly Cypriot background of St. Bar­nabas and of providing full justification for the detachment of the Church of Cyprus from the Antiochene see. The Laudatio’s first and more legendary part attributes to Bar­nabas the initiative of visiting Rome, the capital of the empire, before anyone else (πρὸ παντὸς ἑτέρου). By this, the encomiast presumably means that Bar­nabas went to Rome before any of the other apostles, and thus raises Bar­nabas’s profile as an evange6  Peter van Deun, ed., Hagiographica Cypria: Sancti Barnabae Laudatio auctore Alexandro Monacho et Sanctorum Bartholomaei et Barnabae Vita e menologio imperiali deprompta, CCSG 26 (Turnhout-Leuven: Brepols, 1993), 83–122. 7 Van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 83: Ἀλεξάνδρου μοναχοῦ ἐγκώμιον εἰς τὸν ἅγιον Βαρνάβαν τὸν ἀπόστολον, προτραπέντος ὑπὸ τοῦ πρεσβυτέρου καὶ κλειδούχου τοῦ σεβασμίου αὐτοῦ ναοῦ, ἐν ᾧ ἱστορεῖται καὶ ὁ τρόπος τῆς ἀποκαλύψεως τῶν ἁγίων αὐτοῦ λειψάνων. 8  See vv. 826–843; Van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 119. 9  The first section ends in v. 569 (Van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 107) whereas the second begins with a short reference to the healing powers of St. Bar­nabas’s relics located in the socalled “place of health” in the city of Salamis and continues with chronicling the events which occurred in the reign of the emperor Zeno.



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list.10 What is more, Bar­nabas’s links with Paul are downplayed and Bar­nabas is depicted as being similarly linked with Peter. According to the Laudatio, once Bar­nabas had suffered martyrdom in Salamis at the hands of some Syrian Jews (perhaps a hint of Cypriot anti-Antiochene sentiments of a later time period!), John Mark took care of his body and then left to meet first Paul and then Peter. As to the historical element, considerable space is allotted in the second, more historical portion of the narrative to presenting the controversy between Antioch and Cyprus over the issue of autocephaly as having been initiated by the “sinister figure” of the miaphysite Peter the Fuller (ca. 469–488). He, once established in the patriarchal see of Antioch, anathematized the Council of Chalcedon and reclaimed all the previous rights of his patriarchate. The ensuing discovery of the apostle’s grave and relics, brought about thanks to the revelatory dreams of the bishop of Salamis, is the necessary precursor to the Church of Cyprus being granted autocephalic status by the emperor Zeno (474–491) in a synod held in Constantinople.11 The manuscript copy of St. Matthew’s Gospel found with St. Bar­nabas’s relics is given to the emperor as a present and, in the author’s words, “has been kept in the imperial palace until the present day.”12 The wording suggests that the monk Alexander and his composition belong to a period somewhat later than these events, which nevertheless, as has convincingly been argued,13 cannot be far removed from the mid-sixth century. As can 10 The passage reads as follows: ἐκεῖθεν, ὑπὸ τοῦ ἁγίου Πνεύματος ὁδηγούμενος, ἐξελθών, διῆλθεν εὐαγγελιζόμενος τὰς πόλεις πάσας καὶ χώρας, ἕως τοῦ ἐλθεῖν αὐτὸν εἰς τὴν μεγίστην   Ῥώμην· αὐτὸς γὰρ πρὸ παντὸς ἑτέρου τῶν τοῦ Κυρίου μαθητῶν ἐκήρυξεν ἐν Ρώμῃ τὸ εὐαγγέλιον τοῦ Χριστοῦ; see vv. 365–69; Van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 98. 11  For the historical circumstances which laid the groundwork for the grant of autocephaly to the Church of Cyprus see, inter alia, Glanville Downey, “The Claim of Antioch to Ecclesiastical Jurisdiction over Cyprus,” APSP 102/3 (1958): 224–228; Enrico Morini, “Apostolicità ed autocefalia in una Chiesa orientale: la leggenda di S. Barnaba e l’autonomia dell’arcevescovato di Cipro nelle fonti dei secoli V e VI,” Studi e Ricerche sull’Oriente Cristiano 2 (1979): 23–45; Benedict Englezakis, “Epi­pha­nius of Salamis, the Father of the Cypriot Autocephaly,” in Studies on the History of the Church of Cyprus, 4th–20th Centuries, ed. Benedict Englezakis, trans. Norman Russell (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1995), 29–39; Andreas Mitsides, “Τὸ Αὐτοκέφαλον τῆς   Ἐκκλησίας Κύπρου,” in History of Cyprus, vol. 3: Byzantine Cyprus, ed. Theodoros Papadopoullos, (Nicosia: Archbishop Makarios III Foundation, Office of Cypriot History, 2005), 129–54; and David M. Metcalf, Byzantine Cyprus 491–1191 (Nicosia: Cyprus Research Centre, 2009), 308–10. 12  See v. 815–816 (Van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 118). 13  For a pertinent analysis undertaken by Michel van Esbroeck of another text by the same Alexander, the Treatise on the Invention of the Holy Cross, see “L’opuscule sur la croix d’Alexandre de Chypre et sa version géorgienne,” Bedi Kartlisa. Revue de la kartvélologie 37 (1979): 102–21. This mid-sixth-century dating was accepted also by the text’s editor, van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 14–21. While considering that its date is not indicative of the time when this author was active per se, John W. Nesbitt, the translator of this work into English, also considers Alexander a sixth-century author; see “Alexander the Monk’s Text of Helena’s Discovery of the Cross (BHG 410),” in Byzantine Authors: Literary Activities and Preoccupations; Text and Translations Dedicated to the Memory of Nicolas Oikonomides, ed. John W. Nesbitt (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 29–33. For another English translation of the same text see Roger Scott, “Alexander the Monk, Discovery of the True Cross,” in, Metaphrastes or Gained in Translation, ed. Marga-

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be inferred from its patristic excerpts and other elements, the Laudatio is certainly a learned endeavor. It is perhaps the single piece of hagiography written in late antique Cyprus that appears to have aspired to appeal to an audience beyond the locals. Should the mid-sixth-century dating of the Laudatio prove correct (and there are no serious arguments against it), it may be legitimately asked what triggered the commissioning of this hagiography. What was happening during the reign of Justinian, in, say, the 540s or 550s, that prompted its composition? Unlike all the other texts dedicated to local saints, this is a work totally devoid of anti-pagan polemic. In addition, the Laudatio was very concerned to emphasize the strong ties of its founder with Salamis, which served as the focus of his missionaryapostolic activity on the island and the epicenter of his post mortem cult. This focus, of course, serves to support contemporaneous arguments for the autocephaly of the Church of Cyprus. Several details of the Laudatio indicate this recurring concern about Bar­ nabas’s missionary-apostolic activity at Salamis in particular and the usefulness of this story for supporting the Cypriot church’s autocephaly. One example is found at the end of the second section of the text, where Alexander gives the date of the annual commemoration of Bar­nabas in three different dating systems: the first according to the Romans, the second according to the Cypriot citizens of Constantia-Salamis, and the third according to the Asians, namely the Paphians.14 Listing the latter two dating systems indicates regional rivalry, if not hostility. The author implicitly discredits the way in which the other bishoprics attempt to settle the Cypriot claim to autocephaly, and assigns this success exclusively to the see of Salamis. A second example, found in a digression that the author inserts into his narrative at the point where he makes detailed reference to Peter the Fuller, also reveals an agenda regarding Bar­nabas and the priority of Salamis’s bishopric. Alexander reproaches “those among us” (ἐκ τῶν ἡμετέρων) who unscrupulously accept “this novelty,” meaning the introduction of the words “the crucified for our sake” (ὁ δι’ ἡμᾶς σταυρωθεὶς) at the end of the Trisagion hymn. For all its vagueness, this reference to “us,” repeated towards the end of this digression, seems to hint at a part of the Cypriot popularet Mullett (Belfast: Belfast Byzantine Enterprises, 2004), 157–84; Scott opts for a dating of this work before 614, see Scott, “Alexander the Monk,” 158. For a dating of the Laudatio between 518 and 648, see Marek Starowieyski, “Datation des Actes (Voyages) de S. Barnabé (BHG 225; ClAp 285) et du Panégyrique de S. Barnabé par Alexandre le Moine (BHG 226; CPG 7400; ClAp 286),” in Philohistôr: Miscellanea in honorem Caroli Laga septuagenarii, ed. Antoon Schoors and Peter van Deun (Leuven: Peeters, 1994), 193–98. 14  See v. 844–850 (Van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 120): τὴν δὲ ἡμέραν τῆς ἐνδόξου μνήμης τοῦ τρισμακαρίου ἀποστόλου καὶ γενναίου μάρτυρος Βαρνάβα ἐδικαίωσαν γίνεσθαι καθ’ ἑνιαυτόν, κατὰ μὲν   Ῥωμαίους τῇ πρὸ τριῶν εἰδῶν   Ἰουνίων, κατὰ δὲ Κυπρίους Κωνσταντιεῖς μηνὶ Μεσωρὶ τοῦ καὶ δεκάτου ἑνδεκάτῃ, κατὰ δὲ Ἀσιανοὺς ἤτοι Παφίους μηνὶ Πληθυπάτῳ τοῦ καὶ ἐννάτου ἐννεακαιδεκάτῃ.



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tion which sided with the “heresy” and which disputed the primacy of the see of Bar­nabas.15

St. Herakleidios and St. Auxibios: Localizing Hagiography Similarly, it is worth looking at some other hagiographical texts from late antique Cyprus which, for all their poverty of historical veracity, invite us to investigate not just their surface but their underlying argument and message. The lengthiest is an apocryphal account referring to St. Herakleidios, bishop of Tamassos and a disciple of St. Bar­nabas (BHG 743).16 It is presented as the work of the saint’s legendary disciple Rhodon. In his words, he took on the task of writing it at the behest of a certain holy father Theodore and in line with the hypomnēmata of their common father-in-Christ, St. Mnason, apparently St. Paul’s host and disciple in Palestine mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles (21:16).17 Hypomnēmata is a technical term exclusively used in association with the apostles and their biographies.18 This terminology is especially interesting since the text takes the form of a travelogue, resembling the narrative of the Acts of the Apostles, but describing journeys restricted to the island. Despite having the usual title of Life and Conduct (Βίος καὶ πολιτεία) in the codex unicus in which it has been preserved (Parisinus gr. 979), this text does not follow the normal biographical model, but unfolds as a continuous first-person account introduced in medias res and filled with dialogues, many personal names, and toponyms. The concatenation of successive miraculous stories filled 15  See vv. 639–664 (Van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 110–11): ἐνταῦθα δὲ γενόμενος τοῦ λόγου, ἡδέως ἂν ἐροίμην τοὺς ἐκ τῶν ἡμετέρων ἀβασανίστως παραδεξαμένους τὴν καινοτομίαν ταύτην, ἁπλότητι λογισμοῦ καὶ οὐ κακίᾳ γνώμης. Τίνος χάριν, ἀδελφοί μου, καταλιπόντες ἐν τούτῳ τῷ μέρει τὴν τῶν πατέρων ὀρθόδοξον διδασκαλίαν, τὴν ἐφευρεθεῖσαν ὑπὸ τῶν αἱρετικῶν καινοτομίαν κατεδέξασθε. 16  Edition of the Greek text by François Halkin, “Les actes apocryphes de saint Héraclide de Chypre disciple de S. Barnabé,” AnBoll 82 (1964): 133–69; edition of the Armenian text by Michel van Esbroeck, “Les actes arméniens de saint Héraclide de Chypre,” AnBoll 103 (1985): 115–62. Van Esbroeck argues in favor of the priority of the Armenian legend, which must have drawn on an earlier Greek model: see Esbroeck, “Les actes arméniens,” 118–23. Notably, in the Armenian version Heraklides is introduced as a former priest of idols: Esbroeck, “Les actes arméniens,” 128–29. 17  No biography of St. Mnason survives; a brief entry can be found in the Synaxarion of Constantinople on Oct. 19: see Hippolyte Delehaye, Synaxarium Ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae, Acta Sanctorum, Propylaeum ad Acta Sanctorum Novembris (Brussels: Apud Socios Bollandianos, 1902), col. 150. 18 For attestations of this term and an inquiry into its meaning see Elisabeth Schiffer, “Ὑπόμνημα als Bezeichnung hagiographischer Texte,” in Wiener Byzantinistik und Neogräzistik. Beiträge zum Symposium Vierzig Jahre Institut für Byzantinistik und Neogräzistik der Universität Wien. Wissenschaftliches Symposion im Gedenken an Herbert Hunger (4.–7.12.2002), ed. W. Hörandner et al. (Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2004), 397–407.

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with violence consistently conveys the impression of a Cyprus in the process of conversion from paganism to Christianity. The saint confronts the followers of the old gods, though he does not always succeed in effecting their conversion. What is more, he faces a great deal of hostility and, as a result, is forced to move from one place to another. The author reserves a whole section in the narrative for Paphos,19 where the holy man’s mission met with failure; yet he refrains from going into details about this, contenting himself instead with offering snapshots of the antique world, such as the young girls with loose hair Herakleidios encountered at Kourion, perhaps an allusion to the phenomenon of ritual prostitution.20 These local allusions present a complete contrast with the usual narratives of the lives of Christian holy men, whose activity is generally set in an utterly natural, quasi-biblical environment. In this text, instead, the author conjures local details: the saint and his disciples dwell in a cave on the outskirts of Tamassos, reside by the fountains, and – once Herakleidios has become a bishop – baptize in the island’s river water. These elements implicitly conjure up the idea of a Cyprus on the borderline between the ancient and the new world and an island divided in two: the one part receptive to Christian teaching, the other stony ground for the new religion. In keeping with the Bollandists’ scholarly tradition, which was primarily concerned with proving and disproving the historicity of saints, François Halkin cast serious doubts on the existence of this martyr-bishop who, as a follower of the apostle founder of the Church of Cyprus, twice receives a passing mention in the Acts of St. Bar­nabas (BHG 225).21 There is no doubt that, having been portrayed as an apostolic figure in the sense of a missionary and a wonderworker, Hera­ kleidios is inscribed in the apocryphal/hagiographical tradition of St. Bar­nabas in order to bolster the authority of the church of Salamis-Constantia and, by extension, that of his see of Tamassos too. The same tenets prevail in the much more realistic reconstruction of Cyprus in the apostolic age as it emerges from the Life of St. Auxibios (BHG 204), which 19  Reference to Paphos starts with a passage which looks corrupt; ch. 7, Van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 147. It continues in a longer, though still relatively short, one; ch. 9, Van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 151. 20 See ch. 9, Van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 151–52: εἶπε πρὸς Μνάσωνα ὁ πατὴρ Ἡρακλείδιος· “Δῶμεν αὐτοῖς (i. e., the Paphians) τὸ λουτρὸν τῆς ζωῆς.” Γεναμένης δὲ πάσης τῆς ἀποκρίσεως, ἐβαπτίσθησαν ἄνδρες ὡσεὶ ιε΄. Εἷς δὲ ἐξ αὐτῶν τὴν χεῖραν ἔχων ξηρὰν ὑγιὴς ἐγένετον. Τῶν δὲ πολιτῶν ἀκουσάντων τὸ γεγονός, ἐλθόντες πλήθει ἐδίωξαν ἡμᾶς ἀπὸ τὸν τόπον ἐκεῖνον. Καὶ ἤλθαμεν ἐν τόπῳ Κουρίῳ· καὶ δὴ εἰσελθόντες, ἦσαν λυσίκομαι κόραι τρέχουσαι καὶ πλήθη πολλά. Λαβὼν δὲ ἡμᾶς ὁ ὅσιος πατὴρ Ἡρακλείδιος ἐξήλθαμεν ἐκεῖθεν. 21  See chs. 17 and 22, ed. R. A. Lipsius and M. Bonnet, Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha, vol. 2, part 2 (Leipzig: Apud Herrmannum Mendelssohn, 1903), 298 and 300. It will suffice to cite the following words at the end of his introduction: “si l’autorité d’un apocryphe du Ve siècle ne suffit manifestement pas pour garantir l’apostolicité du saint évêque, elle ne suffit pas davantage pour démontrer qu’il a jamais existé;” Halkin, “Les actes apocryphes de saint Héraclide de Chypre,” 138.



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we owe to a Cypriot hagiographer writing in the first half of the seventh century.22 Various intratextual references point to a dating in the first half of the seventh century. As shown by its editor Jacques Noret, the Life displays quite a few borrowings from the Life of St. Epiphanios (BHG 596–597) and the Life of St. Malchos (BHG 1015–1016), the latter a Greek reworking of the homonymous work by St. Jerome.23 St. Auxibios is referred to as a contemporary of St. Bar­nabas as well as of Herakleides, Archbishop of Cyprus, and St. Mark. The beginning of the biography of St. Auxibios harks back to the similar stories of St. Alexios Homo Dei and of St. John Kalybites (the Hut-Dweller), as Auxibios too escapes from home and his pagan parents in Rome to travel to the East. After stopping off at Rhodes and sailing off Pamphylia, he disembarks at Limnetes, a village four miles from Soloi. Thereupon he meets in quick succession St. Mark, Timon, and Rhodon, all three hiding from the Jews. To Mark’s question, “Which town do you originate from?” Auxibios readily replies: “From the great city of Rome and I came here to become a Christian.” There follows his baptism by St. Mark, his ordination, his initiation into preaching the Gospel, and, most significantly, some counselling as to how to cope with the inhabitants of Soloi, a city that, according to the story, appears to have been the last bastion of pagan religion on the island. In what follows in the rest of his biography, which thereafter unfolds exclusively in Cyprus, the saintly bishop takes up the task of preaching and the evangelization of his see, which, unlike in previous cases, proves altogether successful. Despite the author’s insistence that the saint actively won over the enemies of the faith, the transition from paganism to Christianity seems to have been affected without much opposition. However, what is most noteworthy in this piece of hagiography is that we discern a new, more reconciliatory, approach to the treatment of episcopal cities as compared to the previous paradigm. We are thus told that, once St. Bar­nabas had suffered a martyr’s death in Salamis, St. Paul sent two holy men, Epaphras and Tychicos, to Herakleides, the archbishop of Cyprus, to take over the Christian leadership of Paphos and Neapolis, respectively. The same Herakleides was entrusted with establishing Auxibios in the see of Soloi.24 We also hear of forty Paphians suffering from demonic possession who left home to come to be healed by the saint at Soloi.25 Evidently, a shift in perspective is visible in this reconstruction, which brings together the episcopal sees in the East of the island and

22  Ed. Jacques Noret, Hagiographica Cypria: Vita sancti Auxibii, CCSG 26 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1993), 177–202. For its dating see Noret, Hagiographica Cypria, 158; and, prior to that, Noret, “L’expédition canadienne à Soli et ses résultats pour l’intelligence et la datation de la Vie de S. Auxibe,” AnBoll 104 (1986): 445–52. 23  See Noret, Hagiographica Cypria, 163–66. 24  See ch. 13, Noret, Hagiographica Cypria, 184–85. 25  See ch. 16, Noret, Hagiographica Cypria, 199.

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those in the West under the auspices of St. Paul and of St. Herakleides, who is presented as St. Bar­nabas’s successor.

The Saints of Cyprus and their Categorization In her short but important study of the “bishops and monks in the Byzantine hagiography of Cyprus,” Vera von Falkenhausen divided saintly Cypriot bishops into two categories: (a) bishops of the fourth and fifth centuries; and (b) bishops of the apostolic age all of whose names – apart from one (that of Auxibios) – appear in the canonical Acts of the Apostles as well as various apocryphal Acta.26 The dividing line is drawn chiefly on the basis of the ecclesiastical affiliations of the saintly heroes and their links with the past apostolic age, on the one hand, and the more historical Constantinian and post-Constantinian age, on the other. Having so far dealt only with the latter, I shall devote some words to the former. The theme of the island’s conversion to Christianity is central in the Life of St. Tychon, Bishop of Amathous (Ἀμαθούντων). In the introductory chapters of this Life (BHG 1859), ascribed to St. John the Almsgiver, Patriarch of Alexandria, the bishop confronts his pagan accusers but in far more adverse circumstances than those encountered in earlier texts placed in the apostolic age.27 Tychon himself is persecuted just as much as he persecutes the pagans. He baptizes the priestess of Aphrodite and reintroduces viniculture into his bishopric, as if it were an unknown practice. The description of this particular activity, which is portrayed as being completely distinct from the cult of Bacchus, takes up considerable space in the narrative for two reasons: on the one hand, it shows the spread of viniculture across the island,28 and, on the other, it establishes the ecumenical identity of the wonderworker saint. Notably, Tychon’s biographer dates his death and commemoration (16 June) using the three different dating systems that we encountered in the Laudatio of St. Bar­nabas, namely, according to the citizens of Constantia, according to the Paphians, and according to the Romans.29 26  Vera von Falkenhausen, “Bishops and Monks in the Hagiography of Byzantine Cyprus,” 23–24. 27  Edited in Hermann Usener, Leben und Wunder des heiligen Tychon (Leipzig: Teubner, 1907), 111–49. 28  For the saint as a holy figure introducing viniculture to the island, see Ilias Anagnostakis, “Noms de vignes et de raisins et techniques de vinification à Byzance. Continuité et rupture avec la viticulture de l’antiquité tardive,” Food and History 11 (2003): 42–48. 29  See ch. 12, Usener, Leben und Wunder, 122–123: ἐν οὐ καιρῷ τῆς σταφυλῆς ἡ πανήγυρις τῆς αὐτοῦ πανυμνήτου κοιμήσεως γίνεται· ἑξκαιδεκάτην γὰρ τοῦ δεκάτου μηνὸς κατὰ Κωνσταντιέας ἐφίσταται, ὅτε Παφίων ὁ ἔνατος τέτταρας ἔχειν τὰς ἡμέρας πρὸς ταῖς εἴκοσι λέγεται·   Ῥωμαῖοι δὲ τοῦτον   Ἰούνιον κατὰ τὴν Λατίνων φωνὴν ὀνομάζουσι. Καὶ δεκαέξ φέρειν αὐτὸν καὶ αὐτοὶ τὰς ἡμέρας ψηφίζουσι.



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Perhaps somewhat oddly, legendary elements also appear in the Life, or rather Lives, of an eminent historical figure such as St. Epiphanios (BHG 596– 97). A former ascetic in Palestine, he sailed to Cyprus to visit St. Hilarion in his anchorite’s cave in Paphos. Disregarding the prophetic advice of the famous ascetic, he tried to leave the island, but, forced by adverse winds, ended up in Salamis, the city with which he would be eternally associated. He went on to be consecrated bishop by Pappos, who for no less than fifty-eight years had been the bishop of Kythria, a “deplorable city,” in the words of Epiphanios’s biographer.30 The last work of hagiography that deserves attention comes from the dossier of Spyridon of Trimithous, another bishop-saint of the Constantinian age. His seventh-century biographer, Theodore of Paphos, a serious and learned author, gives an eye-witness report about how the saint was commemorated in his church at Trimithous on 12 December 655, his anniversary day. We are told that, because the saint’s vita was read aloud, the congregation was able to identify an episode recounted in the text with a scene depicted on an icon found on an apsidal door of the church, over the place where the holy relic of the saint lay. Interestingly, the story also tells that the archbishop of Crete happened to stop by the island on his way from Alexandria to Constantinople and was present in the panegyris of the church of the archbishop of Salamis-Constantia, and the story also mentions some other local prelates such as the bishops of Trimithous, Kition and Lapithos.31 The realistic terms with which a Cypriot bishop chose to speak about a religious community from outside his own episcopal see contrast with the allegorical approach and regionalism that prevailed in previous hagiographical literature. It no doubt points to a reconciliatory attitude, not different from that which we discerned in the Vita Auxibius. As Theodore of Paphos must have been writing around the year 655, this attitude probably also reflects the endangered situation in which the island found itself after the 640s and the first Arab devastations. This situation no doubt called for solidarity.

Conclusions From the exiguous sample of texts commented on here, we can observe different ways of promoting the apostolicity of the episcopal sees of Cyprus. There is not one single model and the variety of versions is symptomatic of the overall significance of the idea of apostolicity in late antique and medieval times, which relates to issues such as: claims of a higher status for patriarchal and episcopal sees, separation and division of areas of influence, rapprochement of membra disiecta, 30 See PG 41, col. 68C: ἦν δέ τις τῶν ἐπισκόπων ὅσιος ἀνὴρ χειροτονηθεὶς ἀπὸ σημείων κε΄ τῆς Σαλαμηνέων πόλεως ἐν πόλει οἰκτρᾷ Κυθρίᾳ καλουμένῃ … ἦν δὲ τὸ … ὄνομα αὐτοῦ Πάππος. 31  See ch. 20, ed. Paul van den Ven, La légende de S. Spyridon, 88–90.

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and conflation of traditions. Hagiography contributes to all of this with its literary elaboration of old and new legends, its reshuffling of certain apocryphal stories, and its subtle codification of underlying tensions fleshed out by longlasting or temporary crises. The texts briefly discussed here were not stricto sensu meant to serve the cult of their subjects. Had they been predominantly designed for this end, they would have surely accommodated more details about the places where these cults were centered and have spoken extensively about the veneration of relics and its beneficial results in the form of miraculous cures. None of these texts seem to foster interest in pilgrimage or arouse the believers’ curiosity about a precise center of cult. Despite the details it provides about the relics of the saint, the Laudatio of St. Bar­nabas too has other priorities. The cult of saints is a multi-faceted phenomenon with historical, religious, social, and political dimensions. The anthropological perspective and the paradigm that has gained much currency in recent scholarship will not necessarily be instructive in studying the phenomenon in all areas of the late Roman Empire.32 A survey of the hagiographies of late antique Cyprus has shown that the island was a case apart, a conclusion confirmed by other factors too. The relatively large number of bishoprics in proportion to the island’s size that came to form the ecclesiastical κοινὸν τῶν Κυπρίων (twelve, later fifteen) was a clear sign of a long-established and still flourishing urban culture and, as has been pointed out, the necessary prerequisite for claiming autocephaly.33 Though undoubtedly, as proof of the continuity between ancient and Christian Cyprus, this plurality of cities and episcopal sees was the island’s trump card against the claims of external ecclesiastical authorities, it was also a problem in itself. Autocephaly, at first sight a victory for the bishop of Salamis and seemingly all thanks to the new Bar­nabas legend, did not mean that the bishop could act autocratically but simply increased his overall influence over the island’s churches. This increased influence must have entailed the marginalization of Paphos, no doubt the historic center for the reception of Christianity on the island, which for various reasons had started losing its primacy and power in the course of the fourth cen32  The argument regarding the saint being the mediator between the powerful and the weak in society was first launched by Peter Brown in his seminal article, “The Rise and Function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity,” JRS 61 (1971): 80–101; reprinted with updated footnotes in idem, Society and the Holy in Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982), 103–52. Subsequent studies have since applied this anthropological perspective to different areas of the vast Roman empire: see, inter alia, Raymond Van Dam, Saints and their Miracles in Late Antique Gaul (Princeton, NJ: 1993), and several contributions to James Howard-Johnston and Paul Antony Hayward, eds., The Cult of Saints in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages. Essays on the Contributions of Peter Brown (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999). 33  Evangelos Chrysos, “Cyprus in Early Byzantine Times,” in The Sweet Land of Cyprus: Papers Given at the Twenty-Fifth Jubilee Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, Birmingham, ed. Anthony A. M. Bryer and George S. Georghallides (Nicosia: Cyprus Research Centre; Birmingham: University of Birmingham, 1993), 5.



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tury. Its decline in terms of the ecclesiastical hierarchy and otherwise is clearly illustrated in such texts as the Laudatio of Bar­nabas and the Life of Herakleidios. This new fifth-century ecclesiastical landscape cried out for new alliances and shifts in perspectives. The apostolic origins of the principal sees had to be brought out, and hagiography had by then become a common channel for filtering and disseminating all kinds of legends. The elites of episcopal sees entered into a competition which favored a type of hagiography which was in essence allegorical; revisiting the past through the lens of current issues, in light of these important agendas, the cult of bishop saints was enacted or reenacted outlining a precise sacred geography for Cyprus. This was a hagiography that could be adapted to suit each particular see and the claims made on its behalf.

The Representation and Memory of Saints Paul, Bar­nabas, Epiphanios, and Others on Wall Paintings of Byzantine and Medieval Cyprus Marina Solomidou-Ieronymidou and Giorgos Philotheou

Cyprus not only represents the border of Europe to the East, but it is also the gate to the East for Europe. Geography has deeply influenced the history of Cyprus.1 Its geographical location, at the center of the eastern Mediterranean Sea and only a small distance from the coasts of Syria, Palestine, Israel, Egypt, and Asia Minor, was an important factor for the spread of Christianity.2 The influential Jewish communities that lived on the island, and mainly in Salamis, played some part in the communication between and in the transport of the first Christians. Acts 11:19 seems to suggest as much when it states: “Now those who were scattered because of the persecution that arose over Stephen traveled as far as Phoenicia and Cyprus and Antioch, speaking the word to none except Jews.” Hagiographic evidence associated with Cypriot saints has been introduced by Stephanos Eftymiadis in the present volume. This chapter surveys iconographic evidence in wall paintings for honoring of various apostles and saints in Cyprus, from the earliest time period of the Acts of the Apostles and other literature in the Christian Testament up to the twentieth century.

Traditions of Lazarus and Andrew Cypriot Christianity associates several disciples or apostles with the island. Traditions about Lazarus, the friend of Christ who was raised from the dead (John 11), say that he was later consecrated as the first bishop of Kition and that he came to Cyprus during the first persecutions. According to tradition, Lazarus was visited by the Virgin Mary herself en route to Mount Athos.3 1  André Guillou, “Ιστορικογεωγραφική εισαγωγή (Δʹ-ΙΒʹ αιών),” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου, vol. III, Βυζαντινή Κύπρος, ed. Theodoros Papadopoullos (Nicosia: Archbishop Makarios III Foundation, 2005), 1–22. 2  Christos K. Oikonomou, Οι απαρχές του Χριστιανισμού στην Κύπρο (Nicosia: Archbishopric of Cyprus, 1991) and Oikonomou, “Η εισαγωγή του Χριστιανισμού και η θεμελίωση της Κυπριακής Εκκλησίας,” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου, vol. III, Βυζαντινή Κύπρος, ed. Theodoros Papadopoullos (Nicosia: Archbishop Makarios III Foundation, 2005), 23–105. 3  This tradition is mentioned by the Greek ecclesiastic and writer Damaskinos Stoudi-

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Among the apostles, Cypriots long ago sought to indicate that Andrew must have had a special relationship with Cyprus. Although there is no direct written evidence that he visited Cyprus, there is a persistent local tradition in the Church of Cyprus that Andrew came to the island at least as a traveler. In the eastern part of Cyprus in the Karpasia peninsula, a famous center of pilgrimage (monastery) is dedicated to Andrew, and a nearby spring on the rocks by the sea is linked to Andrew’s passage. Saint Andrew appears on a mosaic medallion, amongst other apostles, that until 1974 decorated the arch of the sanctuary of the sixth-century Panagia Kanakaria church at Lythrankomi in the Karpasia peninsula.4 During the Frankish period he appears in the painted decoration of many churches in a place of honor, on his own, in a row of saints. This most likely reflects the honors attributed to Andrew during the Frankish period, also supported by the fact that there is a chapel at the Apostolos Andreas Monastery dedicated in his name with prominent Gothic elements that is considered to be the oldest architectural phase of the monastery. In hagiography and Cypriot tradition, Bar­nabas played an important role in the Christianization of Cyprus. According to one interpretation of Acts, Bar­ nabas, Paul, and Mark perhaps arrived in Salamis (Acts 13:4–5) around 46 CE. In Cyprus, they travelled from east to west until Paphos, where Acts portrays even the Roman proconsul embracing Christianity. After the disagreement between Bar­nabas and Paul, the apostles went their separate ways: Bar­nabas and Mark returned to Cyprus, while Paul and Silas fled to Syria and Cilicia (Acts 15:36–41). According to apocryphal Acts of Bar­nabas5 (fourth century) and   Ἐγκώμιον (Laudatio) to Saint Bar­nabas by the Cypriot monk Alexander6 (sixth century), Bar­nabas and Mark continued to assist in the spread of the Christian faith, and tis (sixteenth century), see Damaskinos Stouditis, “Λόγος εἰς τὴν ἔγερσιν τοῦ Λαζάρου,” in Θησαυρὸς Δαμασκηνοῦ τοῦ ὑποδιακόνου καὶ Στουδίτου τοῦ Θεσσαλονικέως (Thessaloniki: Vas. Rigopoulou, 1983), 81–97, esp. 96–97. According to modern Cypriot historiography, this tradition also refers to an Athonite manuscript of the eighteenth century and to a nineteenth-century Russian reference. Regarding modern Cypriot historiography’s sources on this topic, see Charalampos G. Chotzakoglou, “Ὁ Ἅγιος Λάζαρος, οἱ μαρτυρίες γιὰ τὸν βίο του καὶ ἡ σχέση του μὲ τὸ Κίτιον, Ξαναδιαβάζοντας τὶς πηγές,” Κυπριακαὶ Σπουδαὶ 66 (2002): 33–42. See more discussion of Lazarus below. 4  A. H. S. Megaw and E. J. W. Hawkins, The Church of the Panagia Kanakaria at Lythrankomi in Cyprus: Its Mosaics and Frescoes, Dumbarton Oaks Studies 14 (Washington: Dumbarton Oaks, 1977), 42–43, plates 53, 55, 141. 5  R. Al Lipsius and M. Bonnet, eds., Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha: Acta Philippi et acta Thomae accedunt Acta Barnabae, vol. 2.2 (Leipzig: Mendelssohn, 1903; repr. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1959), 292–302 (301, § 24). 6  Peter van Deun, ed., Hagiographica Cypria: Sancti Barnabae Laudatio auctore Alexandro Monacho et Sanctorum Bartholomaei et Barnabae Vita e menologio imperiali deprompta, CCSG 26 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1993), 83–122 (esp. 105–106). For collected information on Apostle Bar­nabas’s life, acts and his death, see Archimandrite Photios Ioakeim, Οἱ ἅγιοι μάρτυρες καὶ ὁμολογητὲς τῆς   Ἐκκλησίας τῆς Κύπρου κατὰ τοὺς πρώτους χριστιανικοὺς αἰῶνες (1ος–5ος αἰ.) (Thessaloniki: Ostracon Publishing, 2017), 93–141, see 126–27 n. 125.



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Bar­nabas encountered a martyr’s death in Salamis and was buried in a cave located west of it. Today, he is considered the founder and patron of the Apostolic Autocephalous Church of Cyprus. Given the authority associated with Bar­nabas, one would expect his image to dominate all the iconography in the churches of Cyprus, but this is not the case. Unfortunately, the decoration of the church that is built on the ruins of the early Christian basilica which was built next to the tomb of the apostle Bar­nabas is completely destroyed. Nonetheless, many churches still preserve his image, such as the Church of Panagia Phorbiotissa, Asinou, near Nikitari (1105/6), the Church of Holy Apostles at Pera Chorio, Lefkosia District (1060–1080), and the Church of Panagia tou Arakos at Lagoudera (before 1192). In these churches, he occupies an important place in the sanctuary, next to Saint Epiphanios. In the katholikon of the Monastery of Antiphonitis in Kalogrea his figure appears in the nave (late fifteenth century). Yet, in other Cypriot churches, the apostle Bar­nabas’s position in the iconography is not as consistently deployed, in comparison with other Cypriot bishops such as Epiphanios, Spyridon, and Herakleidios. There is only one case, in the conch of the sanctuary of the katholikon of the Monastery of Timios Stavros tou Agiasmati in Platanistasa (1494), where Bar­nabas appears as an officiating hierarch along with Epiphanios, Triphyllios, Spyridon, and Herakleidios.7 In contrast, in the narthex of the katholikon of the Monastery of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis in Kakopetria he is depicted as an apostle and not as a hierarch (thirteenth or fourteenth century) (fig. 1, p. 306). One of the most important facts directly linked to the apostle Bar­nabas is the tradition of the discovery of his holy relics in 488 CE in Salamis by Archbishop Anthemios of Cyprus, along with a manuscript of the Gospel of Matthew. These were later transported to Constantinople and offered to the Emperor Zeno, who granted the archbishop the three imperial privileges: to wear a red mantle, to sign his name in cinnabar (a red ink), and to hold an imperial scepter. It was through this act that the status of the Church of Cyprus as autocephalous was confirmed,8 although the right had already been granted during the Third Ecumenical Council of Ephesus in 431 CE. Until the sixteenth century, the Church of Cyprus was ranked in the Diptychs as the first Autocephalous Church after the five patriarchates.9 7  Christos Argyrou and Diomidis Myrianthefs, The Church of the Holy Cross of Ayiasmati (Nicosia: Bank of Cyprus Cultural Foundation, Bishopric of Morphou, 2006), 16; Chara Konstantinidi, “Αρχιερατικά συλλείτουργα σε εκκλησίες της Κύπρου: Η απεικόνιση και η σύλληψη του χρόνου,” Eikonostasion 7 (2016): 128–46, esp. 139. 8  Andreas Mitsides, “Το Αυτοκέφαλον της Εκκλησίας Κύπρου,” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου, vol. III: Βυζαντινή Κύπρος, ed. Theodoros Papadopoullos (Nicosia: Archbishop Makarios III Foundation, 2005), 129–54. See also the chapters by Young Kim and AnneMarie Luijendijk in this volume. 9  On diptychs, see Robert F. Taft, Alexander Kazhdan, “Diptychs, Liturgical,” in The Oxford

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The pictorial representation of this event in the history of the Church of Cyprus is not as well established in the iconographic programs of Byzantine and post-Byzantine churches in Cyprus as one might expect, given its importance to Cypriot history and authority and its direct links to the founder of Cypriot Christianity, the apostle Bar­nabas. Iconography related to the story is found only in an eighteenth-century wall painting in the cathedral of Saint John in Lefkosia, which was the seat of the archbishop of Cyprus during the eighteenth century, the Ottoman period. Another wall painting dating to the twentieth century at the katholikon of the Monastery of Apostolos Bar­nabas in Salamis depicts the event, but it is unknown if it had replaced an earlier, similar representation.

Bar­nabas’s Travel Companions According to the Acts of the Apostles, Bar­nabas’s travel companion, Paul, followed a completely different path after his separation from Bar­nabas. He undertook longer journeys that established him as the “apostle to the gentiles.” In the iconography of Cyprus and more broadly, he and the apostle Peter are considered the two great apostles;10 they are often depicted together on the central pillars of churches. In the Church of the Holy Apostles in Perachorio (1060–1080) Paul is depicted in the conch of the sanctuary along with the Virgin Mary in a rare representation for the iconography of Cyprus. Mark, although he is given considerable credit for contributing to the spread of Christianity in Cyprus with his uncle Bar­nabas in the Acts of the Apostles, is not particularly honored on the island. In extant iconography, he is presented as one of the four evangelists, and is always positioned in one of the pendentives under the dome. Up until 1974, he was also depicted in a medallion on the mosaic in the apse of the sixth-century Church of Panagia Kanakaria in Lythrankomi.11 Only one chapel – a chapel in ruins in the village of Giolou in Paphos District – is dedicated to his name.12 Dictionary of Byzantium, ed. Alexander Kazhdan, 3 vols. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), 1:637–38. 10  According to the tenth-century Synaxarion of Constantinople both saints are celebrated together on 29 June, see Hippolyte Delehaye, ed., Synaxarium ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae e codice Sirmondiano nunc Berolinensi. Propylaeum ad Acta Sanctorum Novembris (Brussels: Polleunis & Ceuterick, 1902), 777–80. 11  Megaw and Hawkins, The Church of the Panagia Kanakaria, 45, plates 67, 68, and 140. 12  In his 1971 book on the history of the Paphos church, Ioannis Tsiknopoullos is the only one who mentions ruins of the church dedicated to Saint Mark in Giolou. Recently, during construction works for the erection of the new village church, an underground building was located, confirming Tsiknopoullos’s references. See Ioannis Tsiknopoullos,   Ἱστορία τῆς   Ἐκκλησίας Πάφου (Nicosia, n. p., 1971), 164, 166 (fig. 239). However, it was not possible to further investigate this building archaeologically or date it.



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According to church fathers of the eighth century, John of Euboea and Theodoros Stouditis, Lazarus was consecrated as bishop in Cyprus after his resurrection.13 Lazarus is depicted as a hierarch in the conch of the sanctuary in the Church of the Holy Apostles at Pera Chorio (1060–1080), in the sanctuary of the Church of Panagia Phorbiotissa, Asinou (1105/6, subsequently covered by a later apse), and in the narthex of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis, where he appears much younger in age (early twelfth century). The most interesting representation of Lazarus is found in the sanctuary of the Church of Panagia tou Arakos at Lagoudera (1192). In this wall painting, Lazarus appears bald, wearing episcopal vestments, and his appearance strongly resembles a funerary portrait. Evidently the hagiographer wanted to offer a realistic depiction of a Lazarus who was raised from the dead (fig. 2, p. 307). Although there is no evidence that the apostle Silas passed through Cyprus, he nonetheless has traditionally been connected to the island. A monastery in ruins between Lemesos (Limassol) and Kourion is dedicated to Saint Silas. The site is currently being excavated and the archaeological research conducted to the present day has brought to light a basilica probably dating to the fifth century. We believe that this research may in the future strengthen our understanding about traditions relating Silas with Cyprus. In addition, a depiction of the apostle Silas can be seen in the north parabema of the Church of Saint Herakleidios in the Monastery of Agios Ioannis Lampadistis at Kalopanagiotis, where a bust of him (ca. 1400) is depicted along with many of the seventy apostles.14 According to the fourth-century apocryphal Acts of Bar­nabas, attributed to Mark, during Bar­nabas’s second visit to the island, Bar­nabas and Mark consecrated new bishops and thus established the Church of Cyprus.15 In Kition, as mentioned earlier, they are said to have consecrated Lazarus, as well as Herakleidios in Tamassos, Aristoklianos in Amathous, Philagrios in Kourion, Epaphras in Paphos, Tychicos in Neapolis (Lemesos), and Auxibios in Soloi. The apocryphal acts of Saint Herakleidios depict him as the Cypriot guide for the apostles Bar­nabas and Mark during their second vist.16 According to tradi13  John of Euboea, “Εἰς τὸν τετραήμερον Λάζαρον,” AnBoll 68 (1950): 19–26, esp. 26; Theodoros Stouditis, “Kατήχησις 28, Περὶ τῆς κρατίστης διαγωγῆς ἡμῶν, ρηθεῖσα ἐν τῇ   Ἑβδομάδι τῶν Βαΐων,” Φιλοκαλία των νηπτικών και ασκητικών 18 (1996): 452–57 (esp. 456–57). The underground tomb of Saint Lazarus is found in Larnaka, over which the Church of Saint Lazarus was erected in 900 CE after a donation from Emperor Leo VI. For the Church of Saint Lazarus see Athanasios Papageorghiou, “Ο ναός του Αγίου Λαζάρου στη Λάρνακα,” RDAC 33 (1998): 205–24. Also, Paraskevas S. Agathonos, Ο Άγιος Λάζαρος ο Τετραήμερος (Nicosia: Holy Church of Saint Lazarus in Larnaka, 1997), and Stavros S. Fotiou, Saint Lazarus and his Church in Larnaca (Larnaka: Ecclesiastical Committee of the Holy Church of St. Lazarus, 2016). 14  In Greek: ἑβδομήκοντα. The title of the twelve apostles extended to other personages, in this case to the seventy apostles. According to Luke 10:1–24, Jesus chose them and sent them out in pairs into the world to preach the gospel. 15  See Lipsius and Bonnet, Acta Philippi et Acta Thomae accedunt Acta Barnabae, 292–302. 16  Saint Herakleidios is commemorated on September 17. For the liturgical service and an

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tion, Herakleidios was baptized in the river Setrachos in the Marathasa valley. It was on that location that the katholikon dedicated to Saint Herakleidios at the Monastery of Agios Ioannis Lampadistis at Kalopanagiotis was built during the tenth century. In this location, Herakleidios is depicted twice on the south side of the north-west pier in frescoes of the thirteenth century and above the west entrance from narthex to nave in a fresco that dates to ca. 1400 (fig. 3, p. 308). He is also represented in the sanctuaries of the katholikon of the fourteenth-century Monastery of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis at Kakopetria, the Monastery of Panagia tou Arakos at Lagoudera (before 1192) and the Monastery of Timios Stavros tou Agiasmati at Platanistasa (1494). In Tamassos, a monastery dedicated to him was built above his tomb.

Episcopal Saints Saint Tychicos, Bishop of Neapolis, has a very important church dedicated to his name that is located north of modern Lemesos (Limassol) and built above the ruins of an early Christian basilica.17 Saint Tychicos is also depicted on a wall painting in the Church of Panagia Phorbiotissa at Nikitari (1105/6) (fig. 4, p. 309), on the narthex of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis at Kakopetria (early twelfth century), and in the Church of Agios Sozomenos at Galata (1513). The rest of the bishops, Saints Auxibios, Zenon, and Philagrios, are depicted in medallions in the sanctuary of the Church of Panagia tou Arakos at Lagoudera (before 1192) (fig. 5, p. 310), while in the conch of the sanctuary of the Church of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis, Saints Auxibios and Zenon are depicted once again in medallions (fourteenth century). Saint Auxibios, bishop of Soloi,18 holds a special position, as he is often depicted as an officiating bishop, as is the case in the Church of Panagia at Mοutοullas (1280). Representations of Epaphras, Philaextended bibliography see Theocharis Schizas, ed., Κύπρια Μηναία, vol. I (September) (Nicosia: Archbishopric of Cyprus, 1994), 51–66. For the life of Saint Herakleidios see François Halkin, “Les Actes apocryphes de saint Héraclide de Chypre, disciple de l’apôtre Barnabé,” AnBoll 82 (1964), 133–70. Also Georgios Kakkouras, “Άγιοι της μητροπολιτικής περιφέρειας Ταμασού και Ορεινής,” in Ιερά Μητρόπολις Ταμασού και Ορεινής: Ιστορία – Μνημεία – Τέχνη, ed. K. Kokkinoftas (Nicosia: Cultural Foundation of Bank of Cyprus and Holy Bishopric of Tamassou and Oreines, 2012), 75–82. 17  Saint Tychicos is commemorated on 8 December. For the liturgical service and an extended bibliography see Theocharis Schizas, ed., Κύπρια Μηναία, vol. 4 (December) (Nicosia: Archbishopric of Cyprus, 1997), 68–81. 18  Chariton Stavrovouniotes, “Οι Άγιοι της μητροπολιτικής περιφέρειας Μόρφου,” in Ιερά Μητρόπολις Μόρφου: 2000 χρόνια τέχνης και αγιότητος (Nicosia: Cultural Foundation of Bank of Cyprus, 2000), 207–28; Athanasios Papageorghiou, “Η επισκοπή Σόλων,” in Ιερά Μητρόπολις Μόρφου: 2000 χρόνια τέχνης και αγιότητος (Nicosia: Cultural Foundation of Bank of Cyprus, 2000), 37–50.



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grios, Zenon, and Ariston are found in the Church of Panagia Amasgou at Monagri (late twelfth century).

Hierarchs Spyridon and Epiphanios The hagiography of the Church of Cyprus is sealed by the presence of two prominent hierarchs who were active in the fourth century: Saint Spyridon, bishop of Tremithous, who lived between 270 and 348, and Saint Epiphanios, Archbishop of Konstantia, who was born in 315 and died in 403, and was archbishop between 367/8 and 403. According to hagiographic tradition, Saint Spyridon, an illiterate and humble farmer, became the bishop of Tremithous and shined with his presence at the First Ecumenical Council in Nicaea in 325 CE, in which he defended trinitarian arguments against the alternate propositions of Arius.19 Benedict Englezakis reports the following on Saint Epiphanios: “During the forty years he was high priest, Cyprus became, for the first time in its history, one of the most important centers of the Christian world.”20 These two important saints, Spyridon and Epiphanios, are depicted in almost all the churches in Cyprus. In the Church of Panagia tou Arakos at Lagoudera (before 1192) the hagiographer painted Bar­nabas and Epiphanios between the triple window of the sanctuary and further down he painted Spyridon in a medallion. The representation of these two important Saints continued uninterruptedly in all iconographic programmes of the churches of Cyprus until the Ottoman period. One such example is the Cathedral of Saint John in Lefkosia (Nicosia), dated to the eighteenth century. In the iconography of the twelfth century, Saint Spyridon is typically represented in a medallion in the sanctuary; examples include the Church of Panagia Phorbiotissa, Asinou, near Nikitari (1105/6), the Church of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis at Kakopetria (fourteenth century) (fig.  6, p. 311) and the Church of the Holy Apostles at Pera Chorio (1060–1080). In the Church of Panagia tou Arakos he is depicted in a medallion in the conch of the sanctuary (before 1192) under the triple window along with saints Bar­nabas and Epiphanios, while in the Church of Panagia Amasgou at Monagri (1564) he is depicted in the niche of the triple window. Most of the time, however, Saint Spyridon is depicted as an offici19  Saint Spyridon is commemorated on 12 December. For the liturgical service and an extended bibliography see Κύπρια Μηναία, vol. 4 (December), 93–112. For the life of Saint Spyridon see Paul van den Ven, La légende de S. Spyridon, évêque de Trimithonte (Leuven: Publications universitaires, 1953), 1–103. 20 Benedict Englezakis, “Επιφάνιος Σαλαμίνος, πατήρ του Κυπριακού Αυτοκεφάλου,” in Είκοσι μελέται διά την Εκκλησίαν της Κύπρου (Athens: National Bank of Greece Cultural Foundation, 1996), 60; see also discussions by Young Richard Kim and Andrew Jacobs in this volume.

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ating hierarch, as in the case of the Church of Archangelos Michael at Pedoulas (1474) and the Church of Panagia Amasgou at Monagri.21 In the Church of Archangelos Michael or Panagia Theotokos at Galata (1514),22 and in the Church of Panagia Chrysokourdaliotissa at Kourdali (early sixteenth century),23 Saint Spyridon is shown performing his famous miracle with a tile, where the saint takes a clay tile in his left hand and holds it tight, fire rises up in the air, water pours to the ground whilst the clay remains in his hand. This miracle is said to have occurred during the First Ecumenical Council in Nicaea (325), a narrative intended to prove his defense of the consubstantiality of the Trinity. However, this is probably a later folk narrative that was invented during the Frankish period in Cyprus and passed on to the iconography in the late fifteenth or early sixteenth century.24 Spyridon continued to have an important role as officiating hierarch together with Epiphanios until the Ottoman period in Cyprus, as shown in the Cathedral of Saint John in Lefkosia (Nicosia), which to this day is the seat of the archbishops of Cyprus. A special place in the hagiography and iconographical programmes of Cyprus is the unique representation of the daughter of Spyridon, Irene, which is located in the narthex of the Church of Panagia Phorbiotissa, Asinou at Nikitari (1333). Saint Epiphanios is represented as the officiating hierarch in almost all the iconographic programmes of the sanctuary of the churches of Cyprus.25 Some examples include the Church of Panagia at Moutoullas (1280) (fig.  7, p. 312) along with Saint Auxibios, the Church of Archangelos Michael at Pedoulas (1474), the Church of Timios Stavros at Pelendri, the Church of Panagia Chrysokourdaliotissa at Kourdali, and many other churches in Cyprus. Particular attention must be drawn to the representation of Saint Epiphanios in the Church of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis at Kakopetria as the officiating Hierarch in the conch of the sanctuary (fourteenth century), and in the narthex next to the main entrance where he is depicted with Basil the Great (end of the twelfth century). The hagiographer apparently wants to demonstrate Epiphanios’s importance, since the saint is depicted in the main entrance of the church opposite Saint Basil the Great.

21  Andreas Stylianou and Judith A. Stylianou, The Painted Churches of Cyprus: Treasures of Byzantine Art, 2nd ed. (Nicosia: The A. G. Leventis Foundation, 1997), 244, fig. 138. 22  Stylianou and Stylianou, The Painted Churches, 93, fig. 41. 23  Stylianou and Stylianou, The Painted Churches, 148, fig. 76. 24  This miracle is only mentioned by the Cretan monk Agapios Landos (seventeenth century). See Ioanna Bitha, “Παρατηρήσεις στον εικονογραφικό κύκλο του αγίου Σπυρίδωνα,” Δελτίον της Χριστιανικής Αρχαιολογικής Εταιρείας 19 (1996–1997): 251–84, esp. 275. 25 Saint Epiphanios is commemorated on 12 May. See Theocharis Schizas, ed., Κύπρια Μηναία, vol. 7 (May) (Nicosia: Archbishopric of Cyprus, 2000), 78–94.



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Saints Triphyllios, Philon, Tychon, and Nikon Other important ecclesiastical personalities of the fourth century were Saints Triphyllios, Philon, Tychon, and Nikon. Saint Triphyllios, the bishop of Ledra (present-day Lefkosia) and a disciple of Saint Spyridon,26 is depicted in a medallion in the conch of the sanctuary in the Church of Panagia Phorbiotissa, Asinou near Nikitari (1105/6), in the Church of Panagia tou Arakos at Lagoudera (before 1192) and in the Church of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis at Kakopetria (fourteenth century) (fig.  8, p. 312). Philon was the disciple of Saint Epiphanios and bishop of Karpasia,27 and he is depicted on an eleventh-century wall painting in the sanctuary of the Church of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis (fig.  9, p. 313). Saint Epi­ phanios also consecrated Tychon as the bishop of Amathous after 367; he is represented in a medallion in the conch of the katholikon of the Monastery of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis (fourteenth century). He is also depicted as an officiating hierarch in the conch of the katholikon of the Monastery of Panagia tou Arakos at Lagoudera (before 1192). Makedonios, bishop of Tamassos, who signed the Acts of the Synod of Serdica (Sophia) in 343, is also depicted in the same church in a medallion in the conch. Saint Nikon is depicted in the sanctuary of the Church of Panagia Phorbiotissa, Asinou near Nikitari (1105/6) and of the Church of Panagia tou Arakos at Lagoudera (before 1192). He was the bishop of Arsinoe, which is known today as Polis Chrysochou, and he lived in the late fourth and beginning of the fifth century. Even though Saint Nikon is not mentioned at all in the synaxaria, he is referred to by Saint Neophytos the Recluse.28

Hierarchs and Saints Together We should emphasize here the particular importance in Cypriot hagiography of the wall paintings of the katholikons of the Monasteries of Panagia Phorbiotissa Asinou near Nikitari, Panagia tou Arakos in Lagoudera (fig.  10, p. 313) and Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis in Kakopetria (fig. 11, p. 314). They depict a panorama of Cypriot saints, visually representing the apostolicity of the Church of Cyprus. An even more comprehensive composition is that in Lagoudera, where Epiphanios, Bar­nabas, Spyridon, and Demetrianos are depicted in prominent positions, and Zenon, Nikon, Philagrios, Auxibios, Herakleidios, Makedonios, and Tri26 Saint Triphyllios is commemorated on 13 June. See Theocharis Schizas, ed., Κύπρια Μηναία, vol. 8 (June) (Nicosia: Archbishopric of Cyprus, 2000), 95–112. 27 Saint Philon is commemorated on 24 January. See Theocharis Schizas, ed., Κύπρια Μηναία, vol. 5 (January) (Nicosia: Archbishopric of Cyprus, 2000), 46–59. 28 Saint Neophytos the Recluse, “   Ἐγκώμιο στὸν ἅγιο Ἀρκάδιο Ἀρσινόης,” in Ἁγίου Νεοφύτου τοῦ   Ἐγκλείστου, Συγγράμματα, vol. III (Paphos: Holy, Royal and Stavropegic Monastery of Saint Neophytos, 1999), 302–16 (14:13, 17, 19).

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fyllios are depicted in seven medallions. Amongst the officiating hierarchs, the Cypriot saints Tychon and John the Merciful, bishop of Alexandria, emphasize the character of the local church and promote various ideological messages.29 Apostle Bar­nabas and Saint Epiphanios are depicted in a prominent position in the churches of Panagia Phorbiotissa and Panagia tou Arakos, since Apostle Bar­ nabas is credited as the founder of the Church of Cyprus, while Saint Epiphanios established the autocephalous status of the Church of Cyprus (fig. 12, p. 314). In the Church of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis, sixteen hierarchs are depicted, eight as officiating and eight in medallions. Amongst the officiating hierarchs, the figures of the Cypriot saints Epiphanios, Triphyllios, and Saint John the Merciful stand out, while in the eight medallions the Cypriot hierarchs Spyridon, Herakleidios, Lazarus, Auxibios, Hypatios, Tychon, and Zenon are depicted.30 Certainly, the display of Cypriot hierarchs in the apses of these two churches cannot be coincidental. The wall paintings of the Church of Panagia tou Arakos were completed in 1192, one year after the conquest of Cyprus by the English King Richard the Lionheart, while the Monastery of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis was the seat of the Orthodox Archbishop of Cyprus after the abolition of the Orthodox Bishops and their limitation to four Bishops by the Latins in 1260 with the promulgation of the Bulla Cypria by Pope Alexander IV. It appears that the hagiographers consciously tried to depict almost all the Cypriot hierarchs in an attempt to show the apostolic succession and the apostolicity of the Cypriot Orthodox Church.

Saint Athanasios Pentaschoinitis Next to those great hierarchs, whose figures adorn the churches of Cyprus, such as Saints Bar­nabas, Epiphanios, Herakleidios, Auxibios, Lazarus, Tychicos, Spyridon, Zenon, and Philagrios, we encounter the figure of a young deacon: Saint Athanasios Pentaschoinitis.31 He is a Cypriot saint who lived for twenty years, between 620 and 640 CE. The stability and peace that prevailed during the sixth century was disturbed by the first Arab invasion, and the year 649 is often used to mark the end of the preceding era of late antiquity and the early Byzantine 29 

Chara Konstantinidi, “Αρχιερατικά συλλείτουργα σε εκκλησίες της Κύπρου,” 133. Perdiki, “L’iconographie des saints Iocaux à Chypre (Xe–XVe siècles)” (PhD diss., Aix-Marseille Université, École Pratique des Hautes Études, 2016). See Doula Mouriki, “The cult of Cypriot Saints in Medieval Cyprus as attested by church decorations and icon painting,” in The sweet land of Cyprus, ed. A. A. M. Bryer and D. S. Georgallides (Nicosia: Achilles Ghinis, Ltd., 1993), 237–77. 31 Georgios Philotheou, “The Church and Tomb of Agios Athanasios Pentaschoinitis: A Significant Place of Pilgrimage on Cyprus,” in Routes of Faith in the Medieval Mediterranean, Proceedings of an International Symposium, Thessaloniki 7–10/11/2007, ed. Evangelia K. Chatzitryphonos (Thessaloniki: University Studio Press, 2008), 227–42. 30  Ourania



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period. The figure of this young Saint Athanasios who lived during the beginning of the seventh century and died just before the first Arab invasion in 649 is prevalent in a large number of churches in Cyprus. Although this saint is little known, detailed testimonies about him are written by his near-contemporary, Anastasios of Sinai the Blessed.32 Testimonies referring to the birthplace (Πεντάσχοινον) of Saint Athanasios and to his tomb coincide with those of archaeological research; these brought to light the underground tomb of the saint and the church which was built over the tomb. These testimonies also connect with the rich iconography seen in a great number of churches in Cyprus, such as the Churches of Metamorphosis tou Soteros in Sotira (thirteenth century), Agios Mamas at Louvaras (1495), Agios Sozomenos at Galata (1513), Metamorphosis tou Soteros in Palaichori Oreinis (sixteenth century), Agios Nikolaos at Galataria (1560) in the Paphos District, and the oldest wall painting found in the ­katholikon of the Monastery of Panagia Amasgou at Monagri dating to the beginning of the twelfth century (fig. 13, p. 315).

Conclusion Tradition declares 49 CE to be the date of Bar­nabas’s second visit to Cyprus and counts as the establishing of the Orthodox Church of Cyprus. From that date until 649 CE, when the first Arab invasion took place, orthodox tradition celebrates six centuries of glorious ecclesiastical life in Cyprus. This chapter, by focusing on wall paintings, has detailed the churches, monasteries, and iconographic evidence that helps us to trace the Cypriot celebration of these apostles, saints, and hierarchs.

32  Vaticanus Graecus 2592, fol. 123v (Fol. 132r–v), see Charalampos M. Bousias, Ἀκολουθία τοῦ Ὁσίου καὶ Θεοφόρου Πατρὸς ἡμῶν Ἀθανασίου τοῦ Πεντασχοινίτου, μετὰ παρακλητικοῦ κανόνος καὶ χαιρετιστηρίων οἴκων ἐν οἷς προσετέθη καὶ ὁ ἀνέκδοτος βίος τοῦ Ὁσίου Ἀθανασίου, συγγραφεῖς ὑπὸ τοῦ Ὁσίου Ἀναστασίου τοῦ Σιναΐτου τοῦ Κυπρίου (Larnaka: Holy Bishopric of Kition, 2001), 65–68. For Anastasios of Sinai see Bernard Flusin, “Démons et Sarrasins: l’auteur et les propos des Diègèmata stériktika d’Anastase le Sinaïte,” Travaux et Mémoires 11 (1991): 381–409.

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Figures

Map of Cyprus

Map of Cyprus

272

Sea Routes and Cape Drepanon

Figure 1: Topographical map of Agios Georgios tis Pegeias.



273

Figure 2: Plan of the Basilica A (After A.H.S. Megaw).

274 Charalambos Bakirtzis



Sea Routes and Cape Drepanon

Figure 3: Bathhouse.

Figure 4: Basilica B.

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Charalambos Bakirtzis

Figure 5: Plan of the Basilica C and annexes.

Figure 6: Marble table.



Sea Routes and Cape Drepanon

Figure 7: Plan of the rock-cut tombs.

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278

Charalambos Bakirtzis

Figure 8: Stone quarry at Drepanon.

Figure 9: Sea route of the Annona.



Sea Routes and Cape Drepanon

Figure 10: Thin-walled cooking pot.

Figure 11: Agios Georgios tis Pegeias.

279

Figure 1: Paphos, House of Dionysos, mosaic floor in the dining room, detail: the triumph and the vine of Dionysos.

280 Henry Maguire



The Gods, Christ, and the Emperor in the Late Antique Art of Cyprus

Figure 2: Paphos, House of Aion, floor mosaic, detail: Hermes and Dionysos

281

Figure 3: Nea Paphos, Christian basilica, floor mosaic, detail: “the true vine”

282 Henry Maguire



The Gods, Christ, and the Emperor in the Late Antique Art of Cyprus

Figure 4: Kiti, Panagia Angeloktistos, apse mosaic, detail: the Virgin and Child.

283

284

Henry Maguire

Figure 5: Kourion, Episcopal Basilica, northeast chapel, wall mosaics: saints.



The Gods, Christ, and the Emperor in the Late Antique Art of Cyprus

Figure 6: Jerusalem, burial chapel near the Damascus Gate, detail of floor mosaic: ­Orpheus with Pan, centaur, and eagle.

285

286

Henry Maguire

Figure 7: Copenhagen, National Museum, centre portion of floor mosaic from a church in Syria: Adam clothed.



The Gods, Christ, and the Emperor in the Late Antique Art of Cyprus

Figure 8: Antioch, Striding Lion mosaic, detail of border: cross as a flower.

287

Figure 9: Kourion, complex of Eustolios, floor mosaic: “signs of Christ”

288 Henry Maguire



The Gods, Christ, and the Emperor in the Late Antique Art of Cyprus

289

Figure 10: Bronze coin of Magnentius, mint of Lyons, obverse: portrait of the emperor.

Figure 11: Bronze coin of Magnentius, mint of Lyons, reverse: Chi Rho.

290

Henry Maguire

Figure 12: Gold coin of Justinian II, obverse: icon of Christ.

Figure 13: Gold coin of Justinian II, reverse: portrait of the emperor

Mosaic Workshops in Cyprus from the Fourth to the Seventh Centuries CE

Figure 1: The presentation and first bath of Dionysos, House of Aion, Paphos



291

292

Demetrios Michaelides

Figure 2: Bema of the late 4th century basilica of Chrysopolitissa, Paphos

Figure 3: Nave of the 5th century phase of the basilica of Chrysopolitissa, Paphos



Mosaic Workshops in Cyprus from the Fourth to the Seventh Centuries CE

Figure 4: The birth and first bath of Achilles, Villa of Theseus, Paphos

Figure 5: The motif of scalloped squares in the basilica of Agia Trias, Gialousa

293

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Demetrios Michaelides

Figure 6: The motif of scalloped squares in the building of Eustolios, Kourion

Figure 7: Mosaic with Biblical quotations, basilica of Agioi Pente, Geroskipou

Mosaic Workshops in Cyprus from the Fourth to the Seventh Centuries CE

Figure 8: Mosaic in the basilica of Agioi Saranda, Tympou



295

296

Demetrios Michaelides

Figure 9: Latchkey pattern of swastikas with single returns, “Byzantine house,” Paphos



Mosaic Workshops in Cyprus from the Fourth to the Seventh Centuries CE

297

Figure 10: Latchkey pattern of swastikas with single returns, north portico of atrium, basilica of Chrysopolitissa, Paphos

Figure 11: Latchkey pattern of swastikas with single returns, Katalymata ton plakoton at Akrotiri

298

Demetrios Michaelides

Figure 12: Opus sectile floor, baptistery of Agios Philon



Ritual Specialists and the Curse Tablets from Amathous, Cyprus

299

Figure 1: BM 1891,4–18.59(1). Selenite tablet, likely third century CE, from Agios ­Tychon, ancient Amathous, Cyprus. Holes for suspending the tablet are visible at the top of the artifact. Image credit: ©The Trustees of the British Museum.

300

Andrew T. Wilburn

Figure 2: BM 1891,4–18.1 Lead tablet, likely third century CE, from Agios Tychon, ancient Amathous, Cyprus. In the tablet, Soterianos, also called Limbaros, curses A ­ riston. The tablet was found by locals excavating a deep shaft sometime before 1890. In the lower part of the tablet, it is possible to see an inscribed line and then a series of magical symbols. Image credit: ©The Trustees of the British Museum.



Ritual Specialists and the Curse Tablets from Amathous, Cyprus

301

Figure 3: BM 1891,4–18.58. Selenite tablet, likely third century CE, from Agios ­Tychon, ancient Amathous, Cyprus. The enlarged detail above shows a line of ­magical symbols. Image credit: ©The Trustees of the British Museum.

302

Ioli Kalavrezou

Figure 1: The Set of David Plates from the Lambousa treasure. (Photo: After S. Wander, “The Cyprus Plates” Metropolitan Museum Journal 8 [1973]: Fig. 1.)



The Cyprus Treasures since their Discovery: A Re-Evaluation

Figure 2: David, detail from the scene of the battle. (Photo: Joseph Connors.)

303

304

Ioli Kalavrezou

Figure 3: Golden Belt with Medallions of Maurice and other solidi, Metropolitan Museum of Art. (Image in the public domain.)

Figure 4: Golden Belt, Central Section, Metropolitan Museum of Art. (Image in the public domain.)

Figure 5: Gold medallion with Virgin and Child and Baptism of Christ, Dumbarton Oaks Collection. (Photo: Dumbarton Oaks Collection.)



The Cyprus Treasures since their Discovery: A Re-Evaluation

Figure 6: Gold belt buckle with the cross-monogram ΘΕΟΔWΡΟΥ, Walters Art Museum. (Image in the public domain.)

305

306

Marina Solomidou-Ieronymidou and Giorgos Philotheou

Figure 1: Kakopetria, Church of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis, Apostle Barnabas.



The Representation and Memory of Saints Paul, Bar­nabas, Epiphanios, and Others 307

Figure 2: Lagoudera, Monastery of Panagia tou Araka, Saint Lazarus.

308

Marina Solomidou-Ieronymidou and Giorgos Philotheou

Figure 3: Kalopanagiotis, Monastery of Agios Ioannis Lampadistis, Saint Herakleidios.



The Representation and Memory of Saints Paul, Bar­nabas, Epiphanios, and Others 309

Figure 4: Nikitari, Church of Panagia Forviotissa (Asinou), Saint Tychico.

Figure 5: Lagoudera, Monastery of Panagia tou Araka, Saint Auxibios.

310 Marina Solomidou-Ieronymidou and Giorgos Philotheou



The Representation and Memory of Saints Paul, Bar­nabas, Epiphanios, and Others 311

Figure 6: Kakopetria, Church of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis, Saint Spyridon.

312

Marina Solomidou-Ieronymidou and Giorgos Philotheou

Figure 7: Moutoullas, Church of Panagia, Saint Epiphanius.

Figure 8: Kakopetria, Church of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis, Saint Triphyllios.



The Representation and Memory of Saints Paul, Bar­nabas, Epiphanios, and Others 313

Figure 9: Kakopetria, Church of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis, Saint Philon.

Figure 10: Lagoudera, katholikon of Monastery of Panagia tou Araka.

314

Marina Solomidou-Ieronymidou and Giorgos Philotheou

Figure 11: Kakopetria, Church of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis.

Figure 12: Lagoudera, Monastery of Panagia tou Araka, Apostle Barnabas and Saint Epiphanios.



The Representation and Memory of Saints Paul, Bar­nabas, Epiphanios, and Others 315

Figure 13: Monagri, katholikon of Monastery of Panagia Amasgou, Saint Athanasios Pentaschoinitis.

Subject Index Achilles 16, 100–101, 199, 209 – Christ and 67–68 Acts of the Apostles 1, 18, 35, 174, 177, 189, 217 – Acts of Barnabas and 59, 172–73, 183– 84, 193 – Apocalypse of Paul and 191–92 – Bar Jesus 43–46 – Jews 50–51, 184 – Paul and Barnabas 39–43, 48–51, 58– 59, 184, 228, 226–27 – Sergius Paulus 46–50 Acts of Barnabas 21, 35, 51–54, 59–61, 193–94, 218 – Bar Jesus, Elymas 51n113, 52, 59–60 – Gospel of Matthew 21, 170–72, 175–77, 180–86, 189–90 – Healing 176–78 – John Mark 172–73, 176, 182, 193–94 Adam 82–83 Agios Georgios of Pegeia 25–28, 31–32 Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis at Kakopetria 227, 229–35 Agios Tychon 115, 129–30 Aion, House of 67, 88–89, 91, 96–97, 101 – Dionysos 8, 19, 77 Alassa 19, 67, 77, 101–2 Alexander I of Antioch 158, 162, 166 Alexander the Monk 173n17, 193–94, 214– 17 Alexandria 30–31, 32 – Christianity 62, 71–72, 173, 186 – Library 139, 140–41 Allegory 81, 82–83, 91, 99 Al Suadi, Soham 45–46n78 Amathous 17, 20, 60, 61, 69, 115, 119, 130 – Agios Tychon 115, 129–30 – Magical texts 17, 20 Amulets 123, 177–81 – Egyptian 179n40, 180–81

Andreas, apostle, promontory of Cyprus 32 Andreas, apostle, monastery 226 Annex of Eustolios 5–8, 27, 55–56 – Christianity 12–13 – Eustolios 9–10, 16, 55, 73 – Mosaics 6–7, 8–14, 17, 66, 90, 102–4 Antioch 8, 86–87 – Autocephaly 20–21, 51, 153–54, 215 – Barnabas 33–34, 165–67 – Christianity 71–70, 89 – House of the Phoenix 106 – House of the Red Pavement 95–96 – Library 141, 144 – Meletian Schism 158–59 – Mosaics, mosaic production 95–96, 99–100 Aphrodite 2, 70, 185n61 – Apollo, Adonis 70, 119, 211 – Cult of 50–51, 61–62, 68, 72, 220 – Mosaics 19, 67, 77 – Shrines, temples 42, 53, 69, 130 Apocalypse of Paul 191–92, 193 Apocalypse of Peter 190 Apollinarius of Laodicea 159, 162 Apollo 6, 77, 211 – Aphrodite and 70, 119, 211 – Christ and 10, 15n70, 16, 55–56, 103, 148n101 – Mosaics 76, 103 – Phoibos 9–10, 13, 103 – Temples 41, 60, 68, 72 Apollonius 85 Apollos 34n8 Apophthegmata Patrum 137 Aquileia, Italy 81 Arab invasions 32, 79, 109–10, 195, 206n48, 211, 234–35 Arius, Arians 142, 156, 158, 161, 231

318

Subject Index

Arsinoe 41n53, 233 Art, Greco-Roman 65–68, 87–88 Athanasios Pentaschoinitis 234–35 Athanasius of Alexandria 142, 157–58, 161, 162, 164 Augustine of Hippo 178–79 Augustus 37, 42, 85 Aupert, Pierre 119 Ausonius 15n70 Autocephaly 58, 64, 74 – Antioch 20–21, 51, 153–54, 215 – Cypriot 33–34, 153–54, 165–66, 170–71, 174–76, 193–94, 215–17, 222, 227 Auxibios of Soloi 22, 25, 70–71, 230 – Life of St. Auxibios 218–20, 221 Agia Trias of Gialousa 103–4 Agioi Pente of Geroskipou 109 Agios Giorgos of Pegeia Basilica A 106, 109–10 Bagnall, Roger 10, 11, 12–13, 103n53, 183 Bar Jesus, Elymas 20, 36–37, 41n48, 42– 47, 49 – Acts of Barnabas 51n113, 52, 59–60 – As magos 44–46 Barnabas 53–54, 184n56 – see also Acts of Barnabas – Antioch 33–34, 165–67 – Burial 21, 154, 166–67, 177, 185–86, 191 – Constantinople 176, 227 – Cypriot autocephaly 33–34, 153–54, 165–66, 170–71, 174–76, 215–17, 222, 227 – Epistle of Barnabas 1–2 – Gospel of Matthew 21, 170–72, 175–77, 180–85 – Healing 176–77 – Iconography 226–28, 233–34 – John Mark and 34–35, 40, 51, 52–53, 59–60, 172–73, 176, 226–30 – Kourion 59–60 – Martyrdom 51–52, 53, 58–61, 70, 183, 185, 215 – Laudatio 22, 34n7, 35, 51, 52, 53–54, 214–17, 220, 222–23 – Paul and 33–35, 36, 39–43, 48–51, 174, 58–59, 184, 228, 226–27 – Rome 214–15 – Salamis 36, 60, 215, 216–17, 218

Barrett, C. K. 42n56, 48n91, 50n101 Basil the Caesarea, the Great 88, 142, 232 Basilicas 63–64, 68–69, 94 – Agios Georgios of Pegeia 27–29, 31–32 – Chrysopolitissa, Paphos 73, 78, 89, 98– 100 – Mosaics 98–100, 104–5, 107–9 – Pagan temples and 68–69 Bauer, Walter 134 Bell, H. I. 189n79 Belting, Hans 88 Bishops, see Autocephaly Blänsdorf, Jürgen 126 Books 21, 135–38, 140–41, 144, 151–52, 178 – see also Gospel of Matthew; Libraries – Burial with 185–87, 188–91, 192–93 – Donating 187–88 – Healing 172, 177–80, 193–94 Boskoy, Andrea 9, 10 Bouriant, Urbain 190 Bowersock, Glen 77, 88 British Museum, London 115, 196, 203–6 Brown, Peter 222n32 Budge, E. A. Wallis, Budge codex 189–90 Building of the Tablets, Corinth 124–25 Burials 29–30, 64–65, 130 – Barnabas 21, 154, 166–67, 177, 185–86, 191 – With books 185–87, 188–91, 192–93 – Christian 188–91 – Jewish 186–87 Byzantine Empire 104, 184n56, 205–6 – Imperial medallions 200–203 Cameron, Alan 7n28, 88–89 Cape Drepanon 17–18, 29–31 Carriker, Andrew 140 Carter, Howard 123 Carthage 121–22 Cassius Dio 38, 54n120, 73 Cathedral of Saint John in Lefkosia ­( Nicosia) 228, 231, 232 Cemeteries, see Burials Christianity 53–54, 155–56 – Allegory 81, 82–83, 91, 99 – Art, Greco-Roman and 65–68, 87–88 – Earthquakes 64–65, 72–73



Subject Index

– Greek traditions, culture and 12–14, 15–16 – History, foundation 146–48, 191–92 – Pagan religions and 6–7, 15–16, 16–18, 65–68, 70–74, 211–12, 217–18 – Symbolism 12–13, 19, 89, 91 – Triumphalism 9, 14, 148, 152 – Truth 150–52 Christ Jesus – Achilles and 67–68 – Adam, new 82–83 – Apollo and 10, 15n70, 16, 55–56, 103, 148n101 – Dionysos and 14, 77, 78, 88–89, 96–97 – Emperors and 87–88 – Healing 176–77, 179–81, 193–94 – Mosaics, floor 76–77, 78, 80–83, 88, 90–91 – Name, chi rho 82, 90 – Nativity 67–68, 80, 101, 202–3 Christianization of Cyprus 6–7, 15–18, 55– 57, 65–68, 70–74, 211–12, 217–18 – Hagiographies 58–63, 70–72, 212–14, 220–21 Chrysopolitissa of Paphos 73, 78, 89, 98– 100, 105–7, 109 Church of Archangelos Michael at Pedoulas 231–32 Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem 80–81 Church of Panagia tou Arakos at Lagou­ dera 229, 231, 233, 234 Cicero 16, 39, 42, 139–40 Cilicia 39, 50, 62–63, 226 – Misis Mopsuestia 84 Claudius 46–47 Clement of Alexandria 11n52, 52n116, 188 Cleopatra III 37 Cnidus 127, 129 Constania, Salamis – see also Salamis – Agios Epiphanios 108 – Campanopetra 108–9 Constans II 203, 206 Constantine I 10, 31, 68, 85, 87, 93, 140n49, 156 Constantine II 73 Constantinople 31–32, 161–63, 170–71, 201–3, 207–9, 215

319

– Barnabas at 176, 227 – Council of Constantinople (381) 133, 159 – Council of Constantinople (553) 86 – Severus 170–71, 194 – Synaxarion of Constantinople 63, 228n10 – Trade 28, 31–32, 107 Constantius 86 Constantius II 65, 73, 94 Corinth 124–25, 129 Council of Chalcedon (451) 214–15 Council of Constantinople (381) 133, 159 Council of Constantinople (553) 86 Council of Ephesus (431) 51–52, 153–54, 162–66, 227 Council of Jerusalem 33, 61 Council of Milan 161 Council of Nicaea, first (325) 35, 64, 93, 156–59, 164, 231–23 – pro-Nicene orthodoxy 155, 157–58, 160–62 Council of Nicaea, second (787) 86 Council of Serdica (342/3) 64, 157–58, 164, 233 Crosses 81, 89–90 Curses 114–15, 117–22, 127–29 – see also Spells – Gods, underworld, diamones, demones 4, 116–20, 130 – Tablets 111–12, 115–23, 124–26, 127–29 Cyrenaica 8 Cyril of Alexandria 163 Cyril of Paphos 93, 156 Czachesz, István 183n55, 184n57, 185n60 Daniel the Stylite 179 Daszewski, Wiktor 77, 88, 96 David, king 21–22, 83–84 – David plates 21–22, 196n8, 197–99, 208–9 Davis, Timothy 50–51 de Bruyn, Theodore 180, 182 Delehaye, Hippolyte 212–13 Deligiannakis, Georgios 15–16 Demeter 113, 124–25, 127, 129 Demosthenes 114 Diatessaron 182

320

Subject Index

Dilley, Paul 192 Diocletian 62, 139n40, 141n54, 153 Dionysius, Flavius 153–54n4, 163–64 Dionysios 8, 76–77, 82, 101 – Christ and 14, 77, 78, 88–89, 96–97 – House of Aion 8, 19, 77 – House of Dionysios 8n37, 19, 76, 95–96 Downey, Glanville 153–54m 163 Drew-Bear, Thomas 10, 11, 12–13, 103n53 Dumbarton Oaks medallion 197n8, 197n9, 200, 202, 205n44, 209 Earthquakes, fourth century (331, 342) 9, 68, 94, 97 – Christianity and 64–65, 72–73 Edict of Milan (313) 68, 73, 93–94, 96 Egypt 30–31, 37, 39 – Alexandria 30–32, 62, 71–72, 139–41, 173, 196 – Amulets 179n40, 180–81 – Burials with books 188–90 – Christians, church 162, 172–73, 186 – Great Magical Papyrus of Paris (PGM IV ) 120–21, 122 – Isis 119, 124–25 – Osiris 20, 118–19, 121 – Ritual specialists, manuals 120–23, 129, 131 – Thebes 120–21, 123n47 Eidinow, Esther 128 Elymas, Bar Jesus 20, 36–37, 41n48, 42– 46, 47–53, 58–60 Emperor images 84–88, 90–91 England – British Museum, London 115, 196, 203– 6 – Frampton mosaic 82 – Hinton St. Mary, Dorset 82 – Temple of Sulis, Bath 125 Epaphras 219, 229–31 Ephesus 49 – Council of (431) 51–52, 153–54, 162–67, 227 Epiphanius of Salamis 2, 17, 35, 71, 184n56 – Bishop 154–55, 160–62, 164, 165 – Books, interest in 135–38, 178 – Citations of 138–39, 142–44, 145–46, 148–50

– On Faith 139, 148–49 – Hagiography 213, 221 – Hilarion and 25, 136n16, 137n27, 160, 221 – Iconography of 227, 232, 234 – On images 19, 65–66, 78, 80, 91, 98 – Jews, Judaism 145–46 – Libraries 138–44, 145–52 – Life of Epiphanius, Vita Epiphanii 137, 160, 213, 221 – Palestine 155, 160, 221 – Panarion 4–5, 20, 133–34, 135–36, 139, 143–44, 160–61 – Rufinus 137, 148n100 Episcopal Basilica (Kourion) 79–80 Epistle of Barnabas 1–2 Eusebeia 11–12 Eusebius of Caesarea 10, 38, 135, 143–45, 184n57 – Library 20, 140, 146–49, 150–51 Eusebius of Nicomedia 142 Eusebius of Vercelli 161 Eustolios 9–10, 16, 55, 73 – see also Annex of Eustolios Evagrius of Soloi 137n27, 164 Falkenhausen, Vera von 220 Felix and Drusilla 37, 43 “From Roman to Early Christian Cyprus” conference 1, 23 Gabra, Gawdat 190n85 Gaius 46 Galerius 62, 205 Gelasius of Salamis 93, 156 Germany, Mainz 124–25, 129 Gnosticism, Gnostics 135–36 God 4–5 Gods, see individual gods Gods, underworld, daimones, demones 4, 116–20, 130 Gospel of Matthew, see Matthew, Gospel of Great Magical Papyrus of Paris (PGM IV ) 120–21, 122 Greece, Corinth 124–25, 129 Greek epic poetry 10, 11–12, 13–14, 16 – Dactylic hexameter 13–14, 15 Greek magic, cursing 113–14, 118 – Magical Papyri 118



Subject Index

Greek traditions, culture 12–14, 15–16 Greek philosophy 148–49 Grierson, Philip 200–202, 203 Hadrian 1, 16, 30, 42n59, 46 Hagiographies 17–18, 57–63, 70–72, 178n34, 222–23 – Christianization and 58–63, 70–72, 212–14, 220–21 – Laudatio of St. Barnabas 22, 34n7, 35, 51, 52, 53–54, 214–17, 220, 222–23 – Life of St. Auxibios 218–19, 221 – Life and Conduct, Life of Herakleidios 217–18, 223 – Life of Epiphanius, Vita Epiphanii 137, 160, 213, 221 – Life of St. Tychon 213, 220 – Cypriot 212–14, 220–21 Halkin, François 218 Hanson, R. C. P. 133 Hauser, S. R. 206 Healing – Amulets 177–81 – Barnabas, Acts of Barnabas 176–78 – Books 172, 177–80, 193–94 – Christ Jesus 176–77, 179–81, 193–94 – Gospel of Matthew 175–77, 180–82 – Spells 122–23 Herakleidios 22, 61, 223, 227, 229–30 – Life and Conduct, Life of Herakleidios 217–18, 223 Herakleios the Elder 207–8 Herakleios 22, 198, 202, 205–9 Heretics, heretical texts 20, 135–36, 142– 43, 146, 148–52 – Archontics 161 – Arians 142, 156, 158, 161, 231 – Euzoius 159 – Gnostics 135–36 – Montanism 134–35 – Paulinus 159, 162 – Texts 142–43, 146, 148–52 Hermes 77, 120 Herod the Great 37 Hezekiah 187 Hilarion 137n25, 187–88 – Epiphanius and 25, 136n16, 137n27, 160, 221

321

Hippolytus 143–44 Homer 10–11, 16 – Odyssey 11, 13 Hornbury, William 38n30 House of Aion 67, 88–89, 91, 96–97, 101 – Dionysos 8, 19, 77 House of Dionysos 8n37, 19, 76, 95–96 House of the Four Seasons 95–96 House of the Red Pavement 95–96 House of Theseus 67, 97, 100–101 Huarte, North Church 82–83 Iconoclasm, iconophobia 78, 98–99 – Epiphanius 19, 65–66, 78, 80, 91, 98 Icons, iconography 19, 22, 67, 88, 91, 227– 35 – Barnabas 226–28, 233–34 – Epiphanius 227, 232, 234 – Episcopal saints 230–31 – Military saints 205–6 – Nativity of Christ 101 – Paul 228 – Spyridon 227, 231–32 , 233–34 Innocent I 158, 162 Inowlocki, Sabrina 147, 149, 150 Irenaeus 20, 138n34, 139n35, 142–43, 150 Isis 119, 124–25 Italy 81 – Rome 121–22, 125–26, 139, 214–15, 219 Jaeger, Werner 15n73 James, Jamie 6–7, 9–10 Jerome 20, 78, 140n47, 145n83, 219 – Library 135, 136–37, 141, 144n73, 146–49 – Life of Hilarion 187–88 Jerusalem 36, 72, 78, 116 – Christian churches in 34, 80–81 – Council of 33, 61 – Libraries, books 140–41, 144 – Portrait images 78, 80–81 Jews, Judaism 50–52, 145–46, 215 – Authors 145–46 – Bar Kokhba revolt 1, 52, 54n120 – Blindness 44–45 – Burials 186–87 – On Cyprus 18, 36–38, 50, 53–54, 59– 60, 73–74, 183–85

322

Subject Index

– Magicians, magos 37–38, 43–46, 50, 129–30 – As persecutors 51–52, 53–54, 58–60 – Salamis 39, 49, 50–51, 52 – Synagogues 19, 39–40, 47n85, 60, 83– 84, 184–85 John the Almsgiver 62, 220 John of Antioch, patriarch 162–63, 166 John Chrysostom 162, 178–79 John of Euboea 229n13 John of Jerusalem 78, 162 John Mark 34–35, 40, 51, 52, 53, 59–60, 70, 219, 228 – Acts of Barnabas 172–73, 176, 182, 193– 94 – Barnabas and 34–35, 40, 51, 52–53, 59– 60, 172–73, 176, 226–30 – Egyptian church 172–73, 186 John the Merciful 234 Jonah 81 Jones, A. H. M. 163 Jordan, David 116, 119–20 Joseph of Tiberias 160–61 Josephus 36, 37, 43n67, 44n71, 145–46 Josiah, King 116 Julian the Apostate 96 Justice 127–28 Justin 200, 202 Justinian I 31, 104, 107, 200, 202, 216 Justinian II 90 Justin Martyr 15n73, 54n120 Kallimachos 12n57, 13 Katalymata ton Plakoton at Akrotiri 89– 90, 105–6 Keener, Craig 41n47, 49n99, 50n103 Kilgallen, John J. 45n74 Kindt, Julia 113 Kiti 79 Kition 60–61, 229 Kitzinger, Ernst 75 Koester, Helmut 23 Kondoleon, Christine 8n34 Kourion 5–7, 9, 13, 55–56, 61, 115, 229 – Barnabas at 59–60 – Curse tablets 115, 129–30 – Episcopal Basilica 79–80 – Mosaics 67, 89

– Philonides 63 Krause, Martin 190n88 Κτίσις 8 Lambousa treasures 21–22, 195–96 – David plates 21–22, 196n8, 197–99, 208–9 – Dumbarton Oaks Epiphany medallion 200–201, 202–3, 207, 209 – Imperial medallions 200–203 – Military saint medallion 205–6, 209 – Theodore 203–7, 208–9 Lampe, G. W. H. 183n55 Laudatio 22, 34n7, 35, 51, 52, 53–54, 214– 17, 220, 222–23 Lazarus 225, 229 Leader, Ruth 198–99, 209 Lefkosia, see Nicosia, Lefkosia Levi, Doro 99–100 Libanius 86–87 Libraries 122–23, 141, 144, 151–52 – Alexandria 139, 140–41 – of Epiphanius 138–44, 145–52 – of Eusebius 20, 140, 146–49, 150–51 – of Jerome 135, 136–37, 141, 144n73, 146– 49 – Villa of the Papyri, Herculaneum 139– 40 Life of St. Auxibios 218–19, 221 Life and Conduct of Herakleidios 217–18, 223 Life of Epiphanius, Vita Epiphanii 137, 160, 213, 221 Life of St. Tychon 213, 220 Licinius 62–63, 96 Lipsius, Richard Albert 134n5, 135n11, 173n17, 175n21 Livadia 79 Lythrankomi 79 Magi 37n28, 43–44, 80, 112n5 Magic 114–15 – Greek 113–14, 118 Magical texts 2, 20 – Amathous 17, 20 – Gods, underworld, daimones 4–5 – Great Magical Papyrus of Paris 120–21, 122



Subject Index

– Greek Magical Papyri 118 – Symbols 119–21 Magicians, magos 20, 112–13 – Jewish 37–38, 43–46, 50, 129–30 – Priests, priestesses 113–14 Magna Mater 124–25, 126 Magnentius 90 Maguire, Henry 8n33, 13 Mahatt el Urdi 81 Mainz 124–25, 129 Mango, Marlia 198–99 Marcion 134–35, 150 Mark, Gospel of 182, 184n57 Mark, see John Mark Martindale, John 207 Martyrdom 51–52, 53, 58–61, 62–63 – Barnabas 51–52, 53, 58–61, 70, 183, 185, 215 Mastora, Pelli 16 Mathews, Thomas 87–88 Matthew, Gospel of – Acts of Barnabas 21, 170–72, 175–77, 180–86, 189–90 – Healing 175–77, 180–82 Maurice 21–22, 200–203, 206–8 Maximinus II Daia 62–63 Megaw, A. H. S. 27, 79 Meletius, Meletian Schism 158–59, 162 Methodius 142, 150 Michaelides, Demetrios 2, 6–7, 16 Miguélez-Cavero, Laura 8n36 Misis Mopsuestia 84 Mitford, Terence B. 6, 9–13, 35n12, 39, 130n53, 129–30 Mitsides, Andreas 154 Mnason 34, 61, 217 Monastery of Agios Ioannis Lampadistis at Kalopanagiotis 229–30 Montanism 134–35 Morini, Enrico 154 Mosaics, floor 18–20, 75–76 – Anionic 98–99 – Annex of Eustolios 6–7, 8–14, 17, 66, 90, 102–4 – Christian portraits 81–83, 87, 91 – Christian symbols 18–19, 56, 78–81, 89, 91, 98 – Christ Jesus 76–77, 78, 80–83, 88, 90–91

323

– Chrysopolitissa, Paphos 73, 78, 89, 98– 100, 105–7, 109 – Crosses 81, 89–90 – House of Aion 8, 19, 67, 77, 88–89, 91, 96–97, 101 – Mythological representations 66–67, 77, 88, 91, 96, 100–102 – Opus sectile, marble 107–9 – Pagan gods 76–78, 80–81, 84–85, 87– 88, 90–91 – Rainbow style, motifs 99–100, 103–5 – Roman 66–67 – Synagogues 19, 83–84, 87 – Syria 82–83, 96 Mosaics, production, workshops 19, 94–95 – Antioch 95–96, 99–100 – Paphos 95, 100, 107–8 Mosaics, wall 79–80 Moschus, Martin 190n87 Mroczek, Eva 191 Mythological representations 66–67, 77, 88, 91, 96, 100–102 Nea Paphos 8, 30, 31, 42, 59–60 – see also Paphos, Paphos Constantia – Achilles 16, 100–101 Nero 37, 43 Newton, C. T. 127 New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 196–97, 199 Nicolaou, Ino 6–7, 15 Nicosia, Lefkosia 107, 227, 233 – Cathedral of Saint John 228, 231, 232 – Cyprus National Museum 196–97, 204n40 Noah 84 Nongbri, Brent 188–89 Nonnus of Panopolis 8, 14, 16 Noret, Jacques 219 Öhler, Markus 33n1, 34n8, 48n91, 48n93 Opus sectile, marble 107–9 Origen 137, 140, 142, 145, 150 Orpheus 81, 82, 84 Osiris 20, 118–19, 121 Pagan religions, so-called 68–69 – see also individual gods

324

Subject Index

– Christianity and 6–7, 15–16, 16–18, 65– 68, 70–74, 211–12, 217–18 – Mosaics 76–78, 80–81, 84–85, 87–88, 90–91 – Mythological representations 66–67, 77, 88, 91, 96, 100–102 Paideia 10, 15n73, 17, 199–200 Palestine 34n8, 206, 217 – Bishops 144n77, 157 – Cyprus and 37–38 – Epiphanius 155, 160, 221 Pamphilus 140 Pan 81 Panarion 4–5, 20, 133–34, 135–36, 139, 143–44, 160–61 Papadopoullos, Theodoros 2 Papageorghiou, Athanasios 99 Paphos 42–43, 58, 72 – Chrysopolitissa 73, 78, 89, 98–100, 105–7, 109 – House of Aion 8, 19, 67, 77 – House of Dionysios 8n37, 19, 76, 95–96 – House of the Four Seasons 95–96 – House of Theseus 67, 97, 100–101 – Mosaic production 95, 100, 107–8 – Old 42, 59 – Roman empire 50–51 – Salamis and 41–42, 93–94, 222–23 – Sea travel 25, 30–32 – Tombs of the Kings 30, 65 Pappos of Kythria 160, 221 Paul, apostle 148n100, 215, 219–20, 228 – Apocalypse of Paul 191–92, 193 – Bar Jesus and 44–46, 49 – Barnabas and 33–35, 36, 39–43, 48–51, 174, 58–59, 184, 228, 226–27 – Sergius Paulus and 46–50 Paulinus of Antioch 159, 162 Paulinus of Nola 15n70 Persecution 62–63 – By Jews 51–52, 53–54, 58–60 – Martyrdom 51–52, 53, 58–61, 62–63 – Roman empire 62–63 Persia, Persian empire 32, 39, 80, 109n87, 198, 208 – Magi 37n28, 43–44, 80, 112n5 – Razatis 22, 198, 208 Personifications 8–9, 102–3

Pesch, R. 48n91 Peter, apostle 49–50n101, 167, 177n29, 215, 228 – Apocalypse of Peter 190 Peter the Fuller 166–67, 215, 216 Philo 36, 38, 44n68, 145–46 Philon 58, 233 Philonides of Kourion 63 Philostratus 85 Phoibos Apollo, see Apollo Pilgrimage 31–32, 69, 222, 226 Pisidian Antioch 47 Pliny the Elder 37, 43, 47n84, 85 Plutarch 114 Polyllitos 13–14 Portrait images 78, 80–83, 87, 91 Pourkier, Aline 133–34, 142n63, 143 Procopius 31 Prokonnessos 32 Prophets 44–45 Psematismenos-Trelloukkas 3 Ptolemies 30 Ptolemy I 30 Ptolemy IX Soter II Lathyrus 37 Pyla-Koutsopetria 3 Quarrying 29–31 Rainbow style, motifs 99–100, 103–5 Rapp, Claudia 175, 178 Razatis 22, 198, 208 Rheginus of Constantia 163–65 Rhodon 59, 61, 185–86, 217, 219 Ritual specialists, practitioners 112–14, 117–18, 120–26, 127–31 – Egyptian 120–23, 129, 131 – Ritual manuals 122–23 – Rites the dead 120, 130 “From Roman to Early Christian Cyprus” conference 1, 23 Roman empire 33–35, 36, 39, 50, 211–12 – Art 65–68, 87–88 – Christianity 155–56 – Emperor images 84–88, 90–91 – Greek literature 10 – Libraries 139–40, 151–52 – Persecution 62–63 – Procouncils 39–40, 42, 46



Subject Index

– Roads 41–42 – Sergius Paulus 34–36, 39, 41n49, 46– 50, 53, 58–59 – Traditional cults 18–19, 50–51, 68–70, 72–73 Rome 121–22, 139, 214–15, 219 – Anna Perenna 125–26 – Barnabas 214–15 Ross, Marvin 203 Rufinus 137, 148n100 Saints 230–31 – see also Hagiographies; individual saint names – Cults 222–23 – Military 205–6 Sakellarios, Athanasios 29 Salamis 36, 40–42, 68, 94, 208 – see also Constantia, Salamis – Barnabas 36, 60, 215, 216–17, 218 – Baths 65–66 – Christianity 65–66, 69, 72–73 – Gymnasium 56, 65 – Jews 39, 49, 50–51, 52 – Paphos and 41–42, 93–94, 222–23 – Tombs 64–65 – Trajanic revolt 38, 40, 53–54, 73–74 Samson 84 Sanders, Jack T. 41n48, 45n74 de Santos Otero, Aurelio 176 Sanzo, Joseph E. 179n40 Schott, Jeremy 150 Sea travel, trade 25, 30–31 Seneca 85, 148n100 Sergius 205 Sergius Paulus 34–36, 39, 41n49, 46–50, 53, 58–59 Severus of Gaza 169–72, 193, 194 Sextus Propertius 186–87 Silas, apostle 229 Snyder, Glenn E. 173n17 Socrates, historian 156–57 Soloi 42n80, 58, 70–71, 90n66, 219 Solomon’s knot 80, 89 Soren, David 6–7, 9–10, 11 Source criticism 134–35 Spain, Susan 198 Spanoudakis, Konstantinos 14n69

325

Spells 126 – see also Curses – Gods, underworld, diamones, demones 4, 116–20, 130 – Healing 122–24 Speyer, Wolfgang 187, 188n75 Spyridon of Tremithous 2, 25, 64, 71, 93 – Council of Nicaea (325) 156–57 – Hagiography 213, 221 – Iconography 227, 231–32 , 233–34 – Persecution of 62–63 Strabo 25, 37 Suetonius 43, 85, 148 Symbols, symbolism 12–13, 19, 89, 91 – Christian 12–13, 19, 89, 91 – Christian mosaics 18–19, 56, 78–81, 89, 91, 98 – Magic 119–21 Synagogues 39–40, 47n85, 60, 184–85 – Mosaics 19, 83–84, 87 Syria 39, 50, 206, 226 – see also Antioch – Christians 178, 182 – Jews 52, 215 – Mosaics 82–83, 96 Tacitus 43n66, 85 Tamassos 61, 217–18, 229–30 Tertullian 51n112, 52n116 Thebes 120–21, 123n47 Theodore Anagnostes (Lector) 80, 171, 189–90, 193, 194 Theodore of Paphos 221 Theodoret of Cyrrhus 182 Theodosius Porphyrogennetos, son of Maurice 21–22, 202–3, 207–8 Theodosius I 73, 78, 86–87, 192 Theodosius II 80, 85–86, 89, 98, 102, 200, 202 Theodotos of Keryneia 63 Theseus, House of 67, 97, 100–101 Thessaloniki, Roman Agora 66–67 Thessalos 123n47 Tiberius 43, 85 Tiberius II Constantine 204 1 Timothy 11–12 Titus, emperor 38n32, 72 Tombs of the Kings 30, 65

326

Subject Index

Trajan 38, 40, 72, 85 Trajanic revolt 38, 40, 54n120, 73–71 Trinitarian debates 159, 161–62, 232 – Pro-Nicene orthodoxy 155, 157–58, 160–62 Triphyllios 227, 233–34 Triumphalism, Christian 9, 14, 148, 152 Truman, Harry 75 Tsiknopoullos, Ioannis 228n12 Tychicos 229–30, 234, 309 Tychon of Amathous 61–62, 64, 213, 220, 230 Valentinian 85–86 Valentinians 142, 150 van der Horst, Peter W. 184n59 Versnel, Henk 128 Vespasian 72

Vessey, Mark 147 Vezin, Jean 172 Virgil 16 Virgin Mary 79–80, 202–3, 225, 228 Virtues 11–12, 102–3 von Harnack, Adolf 134n6 Wall paintings 22, 78–80, 87, 184n58 – see also Icons, Iconography Wander, Steven 198 Williams, Megan 141, 144n73 Woolf, Greg 152 Zeno, emperor 166–67, 170–72, 215, 227 Zeno of Kourion 164–65 Zeus 76, 85, 211 – Temples 40, 53, 68–70