Libanius the Sophist: Rhetoric, Reality, and Religion in the Fourth Century 9780801469084

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c LIBANIUS THE SOPHIST

a volume in the series TOWNSEND LECTURES/CORNELL STUDIES IN CLASSICAL PHILOLOGY Edited by Frederick M. Ahl, Theodore R. Brennan, Charles F. Brittain, Gail J. Fine, Michael Fontaine, Kim Haines-Eitzen, David P. Mankin, Sturt W. Manning, Alan J. Nussbaum, Hayden N. Pelliccia, Verity Platt, Pietro Pucci, Hunter R. Rawlings III, Éric Rebillard, Jeffrey S. Rusten, Barry S. Strauss, Michael Weiss A list of titles in this series is available at www.cornellpress.cornell.edu.

LIBANIUS THE SOPHIST

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R HETORIC, REALITY, AND RELIGION IN THE FOURTH CENTURY

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Raffaell a Cribiore

CORNELL UNIVERSITY PRESS Ithaca and London

Copyright © 2013 by Cornell University All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in a review, this book, or parts thereof, must not be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher. For information, address Cornell University Press, Sage House, 512 East State Street, Ithaca, New York 14850. First published 2013 by Cornell University Press Printed in the United States of America Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Cribiore, Raffaella, author. Libanius the sophist : rhetoric, reality, and religion in the fourth century / Raffaella Cribiore. pages cm. — (Townsend lectures/Cornell studies in classical philology) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-8014-5207-9 (cloth : alk. paper) 1. Libanius—Criticism and interpretation. I. Title. PA4228C75 2013 885'.01—dc23 2013006266 Cornell University Press strives to use environmentally responsible suppliers and materials to the fullest extent possible in the publishing of its books. Such materials include vegetable-based, low-VOC inks and acid-free papers that are recycled, totally chlorine-free, or partly composed of nonwood fibers. For further information, visit our website at www.cornellpress.cornell.edu. Cloth printing

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To the two Stefania, most important in my life

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Tychē of Antioch, Roman, 2nd Century AD, bronze overlaid with gold. Courtesy Worcester Art Museum, Worcester, Massachusetts, Stoddard Acquisition Fund.

c Contents

Preface and Acknowledgments

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Introduction

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1. Rhetoric and the Distortion of Reality

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2. A Rhetor and His Audience: The Role of Invective

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3. A Man and His Gods

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4. God and the Gods

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Conclusion: Julian’s School Edict Again 229 Selected Bibliography Index

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c Preface and Ac know l e dg me nts

When A. F. Norman was asked why he had decided to make the study of the works of Libanius a large part of his life’s work, he replied that they occupied a very large portion of a shelf in the library; so much of this writer was preserved that he was intrigued and decided to devote full attention to him. One of the strands that run through this book is indeed the question of why Libanius was and remained so popular in antiquity and afterward but lost much of his appeal in the modern age. Besides the quantity of his extant production, its quality and variety compel one to look at the many faces of a sophist who was a professor of rhetoric, a composer of orations, a public figure, and a man at the center of a complex epistolary network. Libanius has been my daily companion for several years. In the book I wrote in 2007, The School of Libanius in Late Antique Antioch, I was primarily attracted by Libanius the teacher and by the eminence of his school, which aimed to rival rhetoric in Athens. Because of my previous interest in education in antiquity, Libanius and his students offered natural and challenging areas of inquiry. But there is so much of Libanius that still waits to be explored, so many aspects of his personality and activities that can be of use in gaining a better understanding of the world of the fourth century, that I could not let this call go unanswered. Translating and studying Libanius has become ever more rewarding because it is now clear that he was not disengaged from reality but was immersed in the life of his society, fighting corruption and brutality and communicating with pagans and Christians alike. The offer to deliver the Townsend Lectures in the fall of 2010 gave me the occasion to study new material. When Hayden Pelliccia told me that the lectures had to be entirely new, I felt duly impressed and intimidated and immediately got down to work. The time I spent at Cornell University was blissful, and for that I thank, besides Hayden, Charles Brittain, Pietro and Janine Pucci, Kim Haines-Eitzen, and the rest of a friendly and stimulating faculty. I am grateful to Éric Rebillard (who was then on leave abroad) for coming to one of the lectures, reading the rest of them, and offering ix

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suggestions. I thank the graduate students at Cornell who were very receptive of my work and made me feel appreciated. I also thank the scholars who are active at the Centre Libanios in Montpellier, France, and in particular Pierre-Louis Malosse and Bernard Schouler. My gratitude also goes to various colleagues who responded generously to my queries, especially Clifford Ando, Victor Bers, David Levene, James Coulter, Margaret Mitchell, Blake Leyerle, Wendy Mayer, Philip Rousseau, John Matthews, and Maria Wenglinsky.

c Editorial Note Journals and works are abbreviated as in L’Année philologique and the American Journal of Archaeology. Ancient authors and their works are abbreviated according to the Oxford Classical Dictionary and LSJ. Modern works that appear in the Selected Bibliography are cited in the text by author’s name and date of publication. Papyri are cited according to J. F. Oates et al., Checklist of Editions of Greek, Latin, Demotic and Coptic Papyri, Ostraca and Tablets, online at http://scriptorium.lib.duke.edu/papyrus/texts/clist.html. LDAB stands for Leuven Database of Ancient Books, http://www.trismegis tos.org/ldab/. In the book the numbers that follow the name of some people who appear in Libanius’ opus appear in the prosopography in PLRE 1 ( Jones, Martindale, and Morris 1971). I refer to letters of Libanius by citing the numbering in the edition of Foerster 1903–27. When a reference in Foerster is reported by itself, no translations are available. Otherwise, I refer to translations in the collections of Norman 1992 as N, Bradbury 2004b as B, Cabouret 2000 as C, and Cribiore 2007 as R.

Introduction

“I know that you have helped many friends, and many others who were neither enemies nor friends.” So wrote Libanius to the Roman officer Decentius in 365, asking him to help the pagan priest Lemmatius, a man who had fallen into disgrace in the aftermath of the emperor Julian’s death. “Show a change stronger than change: the change that fortune has brought is harsh, and has made an illustrious man miserable; but the change that will come from you will restore someone who has been brought low to his previous condition. . . . Let a better tale spread everywhere: that Decentius pleaded and the emperor assented, that he persuaded and the emperor gave in. For an emperor, kindness is certainly no worse than a trophy. And I have said these things not as if there were no grounds for anger, for there are—we were wrong, we recognize it—but because, although the situation has aroused anger, it would be wonderful for benevolence to prevail, in order that it be possible for poets and sophists to weave garlands of praises from many beautiful flowers.” Although this letter of Libanius, 1504, has never attracted any scholarly attention, it raises a host of questions. The sophist admits that many things had gone wrong under Julian, and that these missteps had resulted in lingering hard feelings, but his desire that poets and sophists could praise people of all religions is not surprising; at many times and under many regimes intellectuals have pleaded for this sort of tolerance. But was Decentius, the 1

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recipient of the letter, really a pagan, as he is generally considered to be? And if so, how fervent a pagan? Or could he possibly have been a Christian? How could he be expected to effect a “change” after history itself had left Lemmatius in such a position? And why should Decentius have such leverage with the new emperor, Valens? Some of these questions will find answers in this book.1 In studying the ancient world, the meadow at our disposal, though hardly unplowed, is still productive, able to bear new fruit;2 new methodologies encourage us to seek a deeper understanding of ancient texts and their authors. Increasingly, we strive to look at these authors as figures existing in their writings. We acknowledge that their texts are not as simple to decipher as was previously thought; such texts do not offer a transparent view of the past but rather need to be read critically. To this end, we should take advantage of all the information available, for example, by attempting to reconstruct as much as possible the mind-set of the audience for which those texts were composed, those listeners who were the first to hear them. Such an approach promises to unlock certain doors that had previously been closed to us. Late antiquity has been the subject of study for some fifty years, but in this field especially, new ground continues to be broken. Our previous perception of this period as an age of decadence and tired imitation has changed; historians, “preferring to live in a world transformed rather than fallen,” have begun to look more closely at the evidence and to concentrate on specific topics.3 Studies have appeared on economic, social, religious, and historical questions; more primary texts are available; and more translations are in preparation—my translations of those orations of Libanius that are still little known, for example—with the result that we can feel increasingly secure as we attempt to understand the period generally and certain issues in particular.4 But even now the boundaries of the field are not well marked. Defining late antiquity chronologically or spatially poses countless problems, and therefore, scholars attempting to do so have yet to reach any consensus. Late antiquity—a world of entangled communities,

1. On this letter (1504) and on Lemmatius and Decentius, see Chapter 3. 2. I am alluding to the rhetorical lamentation of the poet Choerilus of Samos, who claimed in the fifth century BCE that the meadow of literature was desperately overworked; see Supplementum Hellenisticum 317. 3. Ando 2009: 60. 4. I am working on translations of about ten orations that will be published by Liverpool University Press as part of Translated Texts for Historians. Most of them are little known, and some (e.g., Orations 63 and 37) are completely unknown.

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spaces, and temporalities—embraces many diverse phenomena and exhibits plenty of incoherencies that, in turn, lead to many different representations. A definition of the period is in any case outside the scope of this book, which will concentrate on the fourth century and on Roman Syria. The following chapters will focus on a fourth-century sophist, Libanius, who lived and taught rhetoric in the city of Antioch in ancient Syria. Over the past several years Libanius has become an important point of reference for me as I try to untangle the evidence for the fourth century from many angles: cultural, educational, social, and religious. In my previous work I tried to extrapolate, especially from his letters, how Libanius regarded his pedagogic function and how he related to his students, and also how his school came to succeed, achieving fame all over the Eastern Roman Empire.5 His pivotal historical position, however, warrants further investigation. Here I will address various issues that need to be considered if we wish to establish Libanius’s rightful place in the society in which he was a protagonist, his rhetorical discourse, the reasons for his popularity in pagan and Christian circles alike, and the cultural expectations of the audience that crowned him “the sophist of the city.”6 These themes will, like Wagnerian leitmotifs, echo throughout this study with more or less intensity. At the outset, there is one question that haunts anyone studying Libanius’s work: what do we make of Edward Gibbon’s depiction of Libanius as a “recluse student,” deaf to contemporary issues and finding solace only in the study and consideration of the Trojan War?7 Even after decades of scholarship, this damning image of an oblivious composer of epideictic exercises is still influential, as is the image of the venomous laudator temporis acti who used his speeches to stab secretly in the back people with whom he was in friendly correspondence. Even scholars who appreciated his work in some respects and knew it intimately nonetheless took his words at face value, without raising any questions of self-fashioning or of the various ways in which he addressed different audiences. Considering Libanius’s works from a strictly historical point of view cannot but lead an interpreter to question certain of his statements, and indeed, some of his writings have been interpreted as the delirious lucubrations of a pagan mired in exaltation of the

5. Cribiore 2007. 6. As John Chrysostom called him, Liber in Sanctum Babylam 18, Schatkin, Blanc, and Grillet 1990. Although the words were pronounced with bitterness, they referred to the professional position of Libanius, which he describes as en to tou demosieuontos schemati (a public post) in Or. 1.101. 7. Richard Bentley’s words, cited by Gibbon 1946: 1:704.

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past.8 We will have to question the various portraits of Libanius that are still in circulation, preconceptions that prevent us from approaching him with an open mind: Libanius the deceiving sophist, the flatterer, the opportunist, the enemy of the Christians, and finally, the man who had lost contact with reality. The accuracy of these portrayals has been disputed, but I am confident that I can provide further significant corrections. Not only do I think that Libanius deserves more thorough attention than he has received, but also I have done my best to take into account the vast bulk of his literary output, which I have translated, read, and studied. This undertaking alone is significant; given that Libanius left a huge textual production—part of which still awaits translation and which is written in a Greek that presents some challenges—it is not surprising that his work has been only partially studied. In choosing the title of this book, I was tempted to enclose the word “reality” in qualifying quotation marks because it is such a slippery concept, and its definition and application have been so contested.9 The works of Libanius have never been considered detached from history, reality, or external referents; on the contrary, scholars in the past have searched these works for “objective” historical truths and have treated Libanius’s texts as reflecting reality to a great extent. According to this approach, reality was seen as standing on its own, a sequence of unproblematic “truths,” rather than acknowledged as an entity partly constructed of language and consciousness. Most scholarly attention to Libanius’s work, then, has focused on the historical, social, and political aspects of the writing; but the success of this approach has been only partial, and it has created a somewhat distorted image of the sophist. Decades ago, scholars pinned Libanius down like a butterfly and questioned him in the expectation of sure answers that they often thought they then received. We realize now, however, that we cannot expect our author to respond unequivocally to such questions, and indeed, that some of the questions we were asking have limited validity and therefore need to be reformulated. Texts are not so easily deciphered by interpreters. We recognize that a text “is not equal to the work as a whole,” for the “whole” necessarily includes the extratextual context. In decoding the text, we also need to account for its status as a literary artifact and as a social response.10 Pinning

8. See Petit 1955, e.g., 21 and 211. French scholars such as Pierre-Louis Malosse 2010: 125 have started to break rank with those who accepted with no discussion the works of Paul Petit. 9. It does not escape me that “historical reality” figures prominently in the title of Barnes 1998, a book that also issued from the Cornell Townsend Lectures. 10. See Bakhtin 1986: 166–67.

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down the historical content of a speech of Libanius may indeed be a valuable endeavor that is challenging to the scholar, but the real interest—and a more productive line of inquiry—lies in trying to ascertain what meaning the speech had for Libanius and his audience. In trying to construct “literary history,” one has to acknowledge “a series of unrecognized incommensurabilities between the object, task, and goals facing historians and literary scholars.”11 A text does not simply mirror reality but raises questions about it—questions to which readers have always sought answers, both then and now.12 Giving proper heed to the respective concerns of historians and literary scholars is indispensable; an awareness of both history and textuality is essential to interpretation. An inquiry into the form and content of Libanius’s oeuvre must take into account its diversity; such an inquiry can determine the social and cultural space that oeuvre occupied in the world of the fourth century, a world with which it had complex and often contradictory relationships. An attempt to clarify its original meaning (as difficult or even impossible as that may be) will also lead us to a better understanding of the context in which it was produced, the ways in which it was read, and the influence it exercised. The meaning of a text emerges from a dialogue not only between the author and his immediate reader or readers but also with subsequent readers in a long chain of communication. All texts—not only epistolary utterances— have an addressee. This figure can be the immediate interlocutor, as in a dialogue or letter, or the audience may consist of a more or less vast and indistinct public, as in the case of Libanius’s speeches: the emperor and his entourage, a group of opponents or friends, or simply cultivated contemporaries. The author has an audience in mind when he conceives his discourse and shapes it according to the needs of that audience. But an awareness of audience does not influence only the external composition and style of a text; the author also needs to take into account the culture of the receivers. The very existence of a receiving audience powerfully affects both the content of a text and the way in which it communicates. When Libanius formulated a text, he was highly aware of the presence of the reader or listener, and the latter was not a passive entity but an active participant in the dialogue. In his orations, his communication with the reader is evident; he anticipates objections and responds to them. The reader intervenes numerous times, leading to a back-and-forth exchange, and every time the sophist

11. Spiegel 1990: 75. 12. H. White 1971.

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responds to that voice of opposition and tries to silence it. Past studies of Libanius have not taken into account the diversity of the audiences he addressed in his letters and speeches and the different ways in which he tried to conform to what each audience might expect. Identifying the different backgrounds and contexts of epistolary and rhetorical communications helps us distinguish the ways in which these works connected with their addressees; by making such distinctions, instead of considering all the works of Libanius as reaching a uniform public audience, we will be able to address certain perceived inconsistencies that have plagued previous studies of this sophist. Although the historian may presuppose that a reality exists that is different from the imaginary construct, he must acknowledge that the complexities of a text can obscure that reality. Attention to language and formality cannot be dispensed with because “reality” in any text is constructed by means of language. That age of innocence when scholars perceived an ancient author as a historical figure, fleshed out with biographical details and endowed with certain psychological and social characteristics—someone in whom we could identify our modern concerns—is long gone. Today we are more aware that the voice of an author is embedded in a text full of ambiguities, and that no final “truth” can be reached. At times we may have the illusion that we are conversing with our author, hearing his words, and may long to be “the scholar to whom the book is true,” as Wallace Stevens says.13 But even to approach an understanding of a historical and literary figure like Libanius, a figure who emerges from an abundant literary production, we have to discard the easy solutions, even though we may still feel the temptation—as David Harlan puts it—“to trust our nose, like hunting dogs.”14 Indeed, we may “feel” the author in our text, but “we never see him in the way we see the images he has depicted.”15 We will realize that even in Libanius’s Autobiography we will not see the sophist as he was but rather only his depiction of himself, the image of the hero he wished to project. The actual author, the writer who existed at a certain time and conceived and composed the text, is inaccessible to us. We can attempt to perceive objectively both his work and his person, but if there are paths from one to the other, they do not lead us to a true image of that author. Because reaching the writer himself with any certainty is beyond our means, we

13. Wallace Stevens’s poem “The House Was Quiet and the World Was Calm.” 14. Harlan 1989: 583 and 586. 15. Bakhtin 1986: 109–10. See also Whitmarsh 2006: 106–9.

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must be content with analyzing what he has chosen to reveal. Texts are not windows into the mind and soul of an author; we can only register the various signals they send us (contradictions included), filter them, and attempt an interpretation. Libanius lived his long life at a time when Christianity was celebrating its triumph (although its rise to prominence was not as smooth as historians once thought), while paganism attempted some resistance and licked its wounds. It will be necessary for a book such as this, which will engage with different religious affiliations, to define at the start certain terms of reference. To establish these definitions is not an easy endeavor, but we cannot allow vocabulary to bedevil us. The historian of religion is plagued by terms that all seem compromised by past usage and modern debate.16 Terms like “paganism,” “polytheism,” “monotheism,” “pagan monotheism,” and even “religion” (to mention just a few) cannot be defined with clarity so as to satisfy everyone, in large part because these concepts did not have exact counterparts in antiquity.17 Given the choice of spending many pages trying to define and justify my own terminology18 or adopting an established one, with all its known imperfections, I unhesitatingly choose the latter. The term “paganism,” as Christopher Jones has concluded, “by its nature is indestructible,” even though it is an artificial category.19 It has been compromised by its Christian usage and moreover is far from precise, including as it does a constellation of people and their different gods and, as a result, a bewildering number of religious experiences. But terms like “paganism” and “pagan” are still the most ser viceable. We will have to keep in mind, however, the difference between the paganism of the highly educated Libanius and that of those peasants who sacrificed and feasted joyfully in the countryside.20 I will rarely use the term “polytheism,” which is similarly vague, and in Chapters 3 and 4 I will actually discuss the categories of polytheism and monotheism. Although I employ all these terms, I am painfully aware of the gulf between modern terminology—and the assumptions that come with its use—and the reality of the Greco-Roman religious experience. It would seem much more legitimate to use a vocabulary that was recognized by the ancient pagans themselves. Designating that group “Hellenes,” a term that

16. North 2010: 35. 17. The term “religion,” for example, does not have a corresponding word in Greek. 18. See Cameron 2011: 14–32, who opts at the end for the word “pagan.” 19. C. P. Jones 2012. 20. See, e.g., Or. 30.19.

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was also used by Christians, presents a different set of problems, however, and it is particularly troublesome with regard to Libanius. The term “Hellenes” referred to groups of Greeks distinguished by their education and refinement; before Julian, Christians also used the designation to distinguish this group from those practicing Christianity and Judaism.21 But there is no doubt that Julian in his turn used “Hellenism” to mean a religion with regulations, rites, and priests and set the word in opposition to Christianity, giving it an antagonistic connotation and thereby shifting to some extent its meaning. We will see that Gregory of Nazianzus was painfully aware of this distortion, which had important repercussions for culture and education, and fought against it.22 We will also see that Libanius’s “Hellenism” did not have the same belligerent character as that of Julian. Avoiding the term altogether, therefore, should help us avoid ambiguity. Libanius was one of those late antique figures whom Jörg Rüpke called “blue-blooded aristocrats,” guilty of “an enlightened, yet in many ways ridiculous, traditionalism.”23 Rüpke refused to see much drama in the confrontation (if we may call it such) of a handful of conventional pagan thinkers with those he regarded as brilliant Christian innovators, but other scholars have pointed out the difficulty of using literary sources to reconstruct Christian-pagan relations. Although it is a common complaint that the Christian evidence has limited value because of its strongly rhetorical character, the few pagan intellectuals whose works are extant not only have been considered guilty of rhetorical distortions and fabrications but also, as has been said, “cannot safely be taken as representative of anyone but themselves.”24 One of the questions we need to address, therefore, is the extent to which Libanius’s attitude toward the gods and traditional culture reflected that of other late antique intellectuals who were baffled by a world (both on earth and in the heavens) they found difficult to interpret. It is a given that our knowledge of pagan activity and resistance in the fourth and following centuries depends on sources that are lacunose, disconnected, and mostly hostile to non-Christians. The limited evidence and particularly its homogeneous character allow us only a sketchy view of the relationship between pagans and Christians; the sources seem to reflect

21. See Boyarin 2004: 22–24, who refers to Eusebius of Caesarea. 22. See the Conclusion. 23. Rüpke 2007b: 237. 24. Bagnall 2008: 25.

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mutual incomprehension and troubled relations. But in fact, we have made some progress in understanding this conversation between Christian and pagans, which for François Paschoud was only “a deceiving dialogue of the deaf.”25 We see now that this picture needs to be filled out, and that indeed, on closer inspection, its apparently solid colors show many different hues; there is much more detail to the picture than we have ever realized before. The invaluable evidence of Libanius allows us a glimpse of how people adjusted to both tolerance and intolerance, and how some were able to maneuver in and out of pagan and Christian circles. Was it only a question of ability in playing “the religious game,” of adjusting one’s position according to the dictates of opportunism?26 Some may have been better than others at adjusting their behavior to fit the circumstances in order to function in a complex society and, in particular, to manage issues of religious allegiance. But, I will argue, opportunism is only one part of the story. The fourth century was a period of great complexity and of a high degree of social and political tension. It is little wonder that, as Peter Brown has shown, one of the roles of the holy man was to be “an allayer of anxiety.”27 There was no monolithic church dictating firm rules of faith, and Christian congregations were very diverse assemblages.28 Likewise, pagan circles did not coalesce into a homogeneous and steadfast resistance. People did their best to cope with apprehension and lack of certainty, and this struggle in turn favored contacts between seemingly opposed groups and engendered friendship between unlike individuals. After Constantine’s conversion in 312, texts that did not represent the prevailing view were ignored (and so failed to be reproduced) or were destroyed. Origen remarked that pagan poets, unlike the prophet Moses, concealed their meaning, and that their works were neglected and lost because readers did not find them beneficial.29 Judith Herrin has shown that for ancients determined to obliterate material that they considered misleading or dangerous, book burning was a form of purification.30 Christians, who were trying to define their theology precisely, destroyed much heretical writing, but they also attempted to erase the vestiges of paganism and were, to an extent, successful. Porphyry’s works, for example, were denounced by

25. Paschoud 1990: 549. 26. This is what Sandwell 2007: 114–19 and passim maintains. 27. Brown 1971: 97. 28. McLynn 2003: 224. 29. Origen, Contra Celsum 18. 30. Herrin 2009.

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Christian apologists and publicly burned.31 The burning of pagan texts continued in the fifth and sixth centuries, and much of that literature did not survive the fires. Copyists in monasteries were most concerned with preserving the memory of Christianity’s triumphs; as a result, the pagan version of events either disappeared or became diluted and distorted.32

c Survival and Reception of Libanius We are thus confronted with a seeming paradox: why did so many texts of Libanius (the pagan par excellence, the friend of Julian, the supposed opponent of John Chrysostom)33 survive in a city that was two-thirds Christian?34 Was it only a matter of chance, or did other factors come into play? One reason Libanius’s work has survived the centuries is that successive generations continued to see it as a valuable source of answers to questions they still found compelling; his work was continually relevant to their concerns. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, for example, jurists and economists cited Libanius as the first writer in antiquity to promote freedom in exchange of goods, most likely basing this assumption on one oration in which he praises the freedom of circulation under the emperors Constans and Constantius II.35 And when Jacques Godefroy produced the editio princeps of several orations in 1631, he offered them as a gift to an eminent personage involved in politics; Godefroy judged those speeches likely to offer valuable guidelines to politicians of the time.36 But Libanius had another ally in his struggle for continued relevance: the stylistic quality of his work. His bride—as he called rhetoric—helped save him from obscurity. His strongest contemporary critic, Eunapius,

31. Barnes 1994. 32. MacMullen 1997: 2–5. 33. Sozomen, HE 8.2, reported that Chrysostom was a student of Libanius who then became alienated from him because of his Christian faith. Chrysostom, moreover, is notably absent from Libanius’s correspondence and appears very hostile to him in Liber in Sanctum Babylam 18–20; cf. Maxwell 2006: 60. 34. More works of Libanius did not survive, e.g., his acclaimed oration for Strategius, mentioned in Or. 1.111. 35. See Or. 59.169–72 where Libanius gives his view of the Roman empire organized by a Platonic demiurge. 36. Jacques Godefroy, Libanii sophistae orationes quatuor (Geneva, 1631); in the preface he wrote, “Praecepta tamquam gemmae elucent.”

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disparaged his writing, but in doing so he was outside the norm.37 In fact, the passage in which Eunapius compares Libanius to an octopus “that assimilated himself to all sorts of men” calls to mind an expression that Dionysius of Halicarnassus used favorably for the style of Demosthenes, who, as a Proteus figure, adapted all kinds of styles to his needs;38 the remark concords with what Eunapius wrote immediately afterward, that Libanius never followed a specific teacher and did not mimic just one par ticular style of writing. It is possible that Eunapius had Dionysius’s comment about Demosthenes in mind; the texts of Dionysius were well known at the time, and Libanius himself mentions Dionysius several times.39 More surprising at first are Eunapius’s damning remarks that Libanius did not know the most elementary rules of declamation, but in this criticism Eunapius was simply betraying his partisan support for the more turgid rhetorician Prohaeresius. It is true that the sophist from Antioch neglected the common avoidance of hiatus and the use of accentual rhythms in ending clausulae, and that therefore his speeches must have sounded flatter and less inspired to the late antique ear;40 posterity, however, had a predilection for his more austere style, which called to mind that of Demosthenes and Thucydides. A generation later, Socrates Scholasticus, author of a fifth-century Historia Ecclesiastica, showed an unmistakable reverence for Libanius’s rhetorical skills and used his works.41 At the beginning of his section on Julian, Socrates hastens to declare that people should not expect from him, a historian, the kind of rhetorical ability that would match that of the emperor;42 he repeatedly expresses his admiration for Libanius “the celebrated rhetorician” and felt compelled to challenge what the sophist had said against Christians in his Epitaphios on Julian.43 If Libanius had not shared the religion of the emperor,

37. Eunapius, VS 16.1.1–2.10, 495–96. I am adding here to what I wrote in Cribiore 2007: 14. 38. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Demosthenes 8. It is interesting that in the following section (9) Dionysius says that both Demosthenes and Thucydides “did not use straightforward expressions” but employed a language unfamiliar to most writers and divorced from what is natural. It is conceivable that this passage too inspired the criticism of Eunapius that Libanius used strange, obsolete words. However, I give another reading of the passage in Eunapius in Chapter 3. 39. Libanius, Hypothesis Demosthenes,Proem 20 and 24.11, where he reported Dionysius’s opinion on the authenticity of some of the speeches. Cf. Gibson 1999: 180–82. 40. Amato and Ventrella 2009: 1–2 with bibliography. 41. Urbainczyk 1997:156 remarked that Socrates’s mild treatment of Julian was due to the fact that he read many pieces by Libanius. 42. Socrates, HE 3.1. 43. Socrates, HE 3.23; Libanius Or. 18.

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Socrates says in a contrary-to-fact phrase, Libanius would have agreed with Christian criticisms of the emperor and would have magnified every expression of that censure with his art. This claim is a curious one and is noteworthy particularly because Socrates next mentions the sophist’s alleged flattery and changes of opinion—was he questioning the steadfastness of Libanius’s paganism? Other Christians also did not hesitate to acknowledge Libanius’s skills, comparing him with the classical rhetors. In the sixth century Severus, the future bishop of Antioch, who was then studying rhetoric in Alexandria, betrayed such high regard for the sophist that his Christian friends were alarmed and advised him to immerse himself in the works of other powerful writers, such as Basil and Gregory of Nazianzus.44 Despite his reservations about, and criticism of, Libanius, Gibbon too admired “the Syrian sophist who had preserved, in a degenerate age, the Grecian purity of taste.”45 The style is the man himself wrote George-Louis Leclerc de Buffon in 1753.46 Copyists and readers of Libanius must have believed (or feigned to believe) that the pure, Attic style of his works mirrored his mind and that his inclusion of mythological lore was purely conventional. Thus the more controversial aspects of his work could be overlooked if it meant that students could continue to learn perfect Greek rhetoric from him. It is ironic that the sophist’s oratorical dexterity, a factor in the preservation of his work from destruction and obscurity, became in turn a factor in his lukewarm modern reception: scholars give him little credit or attention except for his ability as a technites of the word. The popularity of Libanius in subsequent centuries cannot be disputed; his work continued to find an audience and thus to be copied. As a result of this continual popularity, much of his work has been transmitted and preserved, including his huge epistolary of over fifteen hundred letters, the works he wrote for his students (the Progymnasmata, the Meletai, and the Hypotheseis to Demosthenes), and sixty-four of his orations, all of which are no doubt only a part of his production. He was famous as a letter writer, and even Gibbon, despite having quoted Richard Bentley’s negative opinion of the letters, grudgingly reports, “Critics may praise the [letters’] subtle and elegant brevity.”47 Tradition, therefore, based on the fame and quality

44. Kugener 1903: 13. 45. Gibbon 1946: 1:704. 46. Buffon, Discours sur le style. 47. Gibbon 1946: 1:705.

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of his letters, attributed to Libanius a handbook that classified letters into different types, a work that betrays the pedantry of its compiler.48 It is possible that the subsequent Christian tradition regarded Libanius’s inclusion of mythological lore as a means of protection for him as a pagan, and as a result, this audience was less inclined to be hostile to his work, pagan though he was. Indeed, there were many sides to Libanius, and some might have appeared innocuous: he was the man who had been charmed by Julian but had not shared all his views; he was the official spokesperson for pagans but enjoyed close friendships with some Christians; and he was proud of his philanthropia and sense of justice, exerting himself on behalf of the lower classes and condemning corrupt and violent governors.49 Moreover, he seems to have had amicable relations with Gregory of Nazianzus and Gregory of Nyssa.50 The existing letters are not a certain indication of a correspondence between Libanius and these men because Libanius’s name may have been added later; but even if that is the case, they show a forger’s desire to attenuate the pagan side of the sophist and to enroll him in the company of cultivated, eminent Christians. An exchange of letters between Libanius and Basil has also been handed down from antiquity, although whether the whole collection is authentic is still a matter of debate. I have done my best, in sorting through the letters that are part of the corpus of Basil, to isolate those that seem more likely to be genuine,51 but in any case two letters (501 and 647), which belong in the correspondence of Libanius and are addressed to Basil, present no problems of attribution. The full correspondence (genuine or not) testifies to a courteous relationship based on mutual esteem and a common value of classical paideia and furthermore shows the desire of Christian readers to focus on the aspects of Libanius’s character and biography least offensive to them. Although I will devote much attention to how Libanius’s works were experienced and received in the fourth century, my project does not include an extensive investigation of his reception throughout later centuries. But even the accounts of reception that are readily available are suggestive, indicating different layers of meaning and perception. Readings (ours, as well as those of past centuries) are contingent rather than absolute by nature, being

48. Ps. Libanius, Epistolary Styles, Malherbe 1988: 66–81; Foerster 1903–27: 9:1–47. This work survives in two versions, one of which is attributed to Proclus the Neoplatonist philosopher. 49. Cf., e.g., his attitude in Or. 2.65. 50. Greg. Naz., Epp. 192 and 236; Greg. Nyss., Epp. 13 and 14. 51. Cribiore 2007: 100–103.

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a part of the linguistic context of consciousness. They are determined by the respective historical situations of the various interpreters and generate different interpretations, if rarely absolute answers.52 These various readings can include strong reactions: Richard Foerster, an editor of Libanius’s work, has preserved two hostile comments written in the margin of manuscripts by medieval Christian copyists. In one, for example, found in a manuscript of Oration 17 (7), the copyist, reacting to the sophist’s lamentations that Christianity worshipped a dead man’s tomb but stopped the joyful sacrifices, overthrew the altars, and profaned the temples, burst out: “Shut up, impious man, and don’t spit out your stupid nonsense.” Various receptions of Libanius can also be divided according to the perception, varying through the centuries, of his relations with Julian, a figure consistently seen in a negative light. When the Christian tradition portrays Libanius as the emperor’s friend and close adviser, it inevitably emphasizes the sophist’s hostility to Christians. In contrast, when the focus is on Julian’s cruelty and the sophist’s apparent moderation, the Christian mitigation and appreciation of Libanius is more evident. The question of Libanius’s reception by the later Christian tradition reaches even the Latin West. In the thirteenth century many collections of the miracles of the Virgin Mary were compiled, in prose and verse, in Latin and in early French or Italian;53 some contain historical details, such as the siege of Chartres by the Normans. Libanius appears in the collection called Miracles de Notre-Dame, set to music in the style of the ballads of northern French troubadours by the French abbot, poet, and musician Gautier de Coincy.54 The abbot sought to please his congregation by narrating edifying tales with such roguish protagonists as thieves, adulterers, pregnant nuns, liars, and eloping monks, all of whom were saved by Mary—Libanius was in good company. Most of the tales end with the repentant rascals on their way to heaven, but in one such collection, the story that includes Libanius portrays him as continuing to be an obdurate worshipper of the gods and thus deserving brutal punishment.55 The tale portrays Julian and Libanius stopping at Caesarea on their way to Persia.

52. See Martindale 1993 and 2006; Martindale and Thomas 2006. 53. See P. Kunstmann, Vierge et merveille: Les miracles de Notre-Dame, narratifs au Moyen Age (Paris, 1981), 11–35. More than two thousand miracles were in Latin. 54. They are one of the most popular works of Marianist literature. 55. The brothers Jérôme and Jean Tharaud edited the stories in Les contes de la Vierge (Paris, 1940); see “Le miracle de Saint Mercure,” 33–56. See also V. F. Koenig, Gautier de Coincy (Paris, 1961).

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The emperor, who claims that he cannot tolerate blood and violence,56 reminisces about a previous stay in the city some fifteen years earlier, when he was received with full pagan pageantry. Libanius, however, reminds him that times have changed: temples have become churches, and the populace has destroyed the beautiful statue of Zeus, made by Praxiteles, that Julian had donated to the city. Apparently the composer knew Libanius’s Oration for the Temples, for in this passage he lifts and transforms certain details from that work.57 This time, instead of being greeted by dancing virgins throwing roses, Julian and Libanius meet Basil, who offers the emperor loaves of bread. Full of rage, Julian refuses the gift and announces that he will destroy the city on his way back if it has not returned to the worship of the gods. Before following the emperor to Persia, the sophist lingers for a while with Basil to ask him certain questions regarding the divine and human nature of Christ. The tale continues with a vision of the Virgin Mary sending Saint Mercurius to the battlefield in Persia to kill Julian.58 After a few days Libanius returns to Caesarea covered in dust and announces that a disgruntled soldier killed Julian; he refuses to believe in the intervention of the saint. The populace attacks him, but the sophist does not heed Saint Basil’s advice to turn to the true God and instead defiantly offers the blood of his wounds to Zeus. It is both instructive and amusing to see which layers of the tradition struck the imagination of the storyteller: although this medieval tale draws on the Christian tradition hostile to pagans, it nevertheless contains some elements that point to a softened view of Libanius’s paganism, such as the sophist’s closeness to Basil and his curiosity about the Christian faith and its controversies. In a similar way, some readers over the centuries may have focused on Libanius’s moderate religious allegiance and on the generosity of his efforts on behalf of others, as well as obviously emphasizing the correspondence with Basil; these readers may have been able to see through his different modes of communication with his audience. Other collections of the miracles contain similar stories of Basil and Mercurius killing Julian but omit the presence of Libanius;59 but the sophist

56. His presentation is different from the version mentioned below that points to the emperor’s cruelty. 57. Or. 30; cf. Chapter 4 on the statue of Asclepius supposedly made by Pheidias. 58. The saint had died in Diocletian’s persecution. 59. See P. Kunstmann, Treize miracles de Notre-Dame (Ottawa, 1981), 17–18 and 95–102. There were also many Latin versions of this story. Another popular version in prose portrayed Mary killing Julian.

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is still part of one such medieval tale that dates to about 1300.60 This miraculous story emphasizes the role of Basil as the Christian who, together with the Virgin Mary, saved Libanius, and Julian appears as a bloodthirsty emperor who tormented Christian martyrs and those who did not observe “the pagan law.” The story is similar in its initial lines to the one in the Miracles described above, depicting Julian and Libanius together in their travels, but includes more characters (Satan and other demons and singing angels) and longer sermons and discourses. When Julian, Libanius, and some courtiers stop in a castle on the Euphrates during the Persian expedition, the emperor goes to sleep, and so does Libanius, who (curiously) asks the other men not to tell Julian that he is sleeping.61 Saint Mercurius goes to the castle and kills Julian with a spear, and a group of demons take the emperor directly to hell. Libanius, still asleep, has a dream in which he sees Julian’s fate and contemplates a vision of the Virgin Mary. When Libanius awakes, he asks Basil to baptize him, chooses Libanius as his Christian name (another curious detail), and professes the Christian faith. The sophist then becomes a hermit in the desert, longing to see Mary again; he is allowed to see her once more in all her glory but at the price of losing one eye, and then a second time at the cost of the other.62 The story ends with the Virgin placing her hands on the sophist’s eyes, healing him, and taking him up to heaven. Interpretations of Libanius’s work by readers over the centuries can show us the factors that inspired their responses, as well as how obliquely a text can operate. No doubt the epistolary exchange between Libanius and Basil inspired the medieval storytellers; it is not surprising, therefore, that the fabula (rumor) of Libanius’s conversion to Christianity continued to circulate in later times.63 Caesar Baronius in 1654 reported the story that seven days after Julian’s death Libanius went to see Basil and received baptism. Although Baronius wisely called the tale haec plane digna risu, a “very laughable” story, other less discerning and cultivated readers may have accepted the tale of the miracle of the Virgin. By revealing such prejudices and

60. See Kunstmann, Treize miracles, 19, and the collection Miracles de Notre-Dame par personnage (Paris, 1877), 71–226, miracle no. 13. 61. The detail concerning sleep is needed because Libanius is going to have a vision, but it may refer to the sophist’s and the emperor’s usual neglect of sleep. Cf. Cribiore 2007: 28–29. Showing his desire to indulge in sleep, Libanius starts putting himself at some distance from the pagan emperor. 62. Because Libanius’s Or. 1 was popular at all times, I wonder whether the section 197–204, where Libanius’s brother lost one eye first and then the second eye and caused the sophist’s utter desperation, inspired this storyteller. 63. C. Baronius, Annales ecclesiastici 4 (1654) 143 e–144a. Cf. Misson 1914: 4.

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opposing judgments, our study of the reception of Libanius’s work alerts us to the fact that some readers of Libanius in later antiquity struggled to explain the fact that Libanius, though a pagan himself, was reasonably comfortable with many Christians.

c The Oeuvre of Libanius It will be beneficial here to include a chart of all the works of Libanius so that the reader will at least be able to place them according to their various categories and content. My subdivisions are only relative and do not have an absolute value; several other systems of division are possible.64 I distinguish texts mostly on the basis of their content and consider rhetorical genres only to a limited extent. Texts such as encomiums or monodies fall rather neatly in the epideictic genre; others, for example, those included in the group of political orations against individuals, may have relied to a degree on the rhetoric of blame (psogos) but are not full orations for display—they are works in which issues of flawed government are at the forefront, including examples of cruel punishment, greed, and corruption. When editors have been able to ascertain with a reasonable amount of certainty a date of composition for a given oration, I have included it; for some texts, however, dating is tentative, imprecise, or very difficult. The orations range in date from 344 to 393, but the majority of the works occur late in that range;65 there is a preponderance of orations composed under Theodosius, when Libanius’s eloquence was again well respected. Letters: 1,544 genuine: 355–65 and 388–93 CE plus those gathered from previous years

Pedagogic works (difficult to date) Preliminary exercises (authenticity of some doubted) Declamations: 51 (44 genuine) Hypotheseis to Demosthenes Orations (64) Orations concerning school matters

64. Cf. the lists of works only by date of composition in Norman 1969: l–liii and Schouler 1984: 40–46. Future work on some of the speeches may provide more precise dates for them. 65. Tradition preserved the works of a mature Libanius and not the numerous orations with which he competed in his youth.

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3 (Refusing the speech at the end of the school year, after 387); 31 (On behalf of his assistants, year 361); 34 (Against the slanders of a pedagogue, year 387); 35 (On former students who were silent in court and in the council, year 388); 36 (On magical practices, year 386); 42 (For his secretary Thalassius 4, year 390); 43 (On the agreement with other teachers, year 385/86); 55 (To the student Anaxentius, who intends to leave, probably an early work); 58 (On the students’ punishment of a pedagogue, year 390); 62 (Against critics of his educational system, year 382) Autobiographical 1 (Autobiography: part I, 1–155, year 374; part II, 156–285, memoirs composed at intervals) Epideictic speeches Dialexeis: 6 (On greed); 7 (On riches acquired unjustly); 8 (On poverty); 25 (On slavery, after 387/88) Encomiums: 9 (Praise of the Kalends); 11 (Praise of Antioch, year 356); 44 (Praise of Eustathius’s rhetorical skills, before 389); 59 (Panegyric of the emperors Constantius II and Constans, years 344 to 349); 64 (For the dancers, year 361) Hymn: 5 (to Artemis, after 364) Monodies: 60 (For the temple of Apollo at Daphne, November 362); 61 (For Nicomedia, after the earthquake, year 358) Julianic orations: 13 (Address to Julian, July 362); 12 (Address to Julian as consul, January 363); 14 (Apology of Aristophanes presented to Julian, fall 362); 15 (Embassy to Julian, March 363); 16 (Reproaching the Antiochenes, March 363); 17 (Monody on Julian, year 364/65); 18 (Funeral oration, Epitaphios, for Julian, before 368); 24 (On avenging Julian, year 378/79) Consolations: 39 (To the rhetor Antiochus, against Mixidemus, early 380?); 41 (To the governor Timocrates, against the mob in the theater, after 382) Political orations on individuals 4 (Against Eutropius, a corrupt governor, year 389/90); 10 (Against Proclus’s proposal to enlarge the plethrion in Antioch, year 383/84); 26 (Advice to the governor Icarius, mid-384); 27, 28 (Against Icarius, year 385); 29 (About the wife of Antiochus, against Icarius, late 384); 32 (To Nicocles against Thrasydaeus, year 388); 33 (Against the governor Tisamenus,

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on prisons, year 386); 37 (Against Polycles, concerning a rumor about Julian, after 365); 38 (Against a former student, the governor Silvanus, after 388); 40 (Against the governor Eumolpius for unjust behavior, year 366?); 46 (Against Florentius, an oppressive governor, year 393); 54 (Against the governor Eustathius, convicted of corruption, year 389); 56 (Against the harsh rule of the consularis Lucianus, year 388); 57 (Against the violent governor Severus, his former student, year 389/90); 63 (Defending Olympius, who had made him his heir, year 388/89) Speeches on public issues 2 (To those who call him tiresome, against incompetence and corruption, year 380/81); 23, 19, 20, 21, 22 (Riot of the statues, spring 387); 30 (For the temples, late 386); 45 (On the prisoners, late 386); 47 (Against protection systems, year 391); 48, 49 (On the city council, fall 388); 50 (On forced labor, year 385); 51, 52 (On the visits to officials as reasons for corruption, spring or summer 388); 53 (Against invitations of young men to banquets, between 380 and 383) The huge corpus of Libanius is far from uniform and addresses various audiences: emperors, the public in Antioch, governors and various officials, circles of friends, and Libanius’s students and their families. Therefore, I argue that we should not consider his body of work as homogeneous, conveying an undifferentiated message. Furthermore, Libanius was writing in a tradition for a public that had certain cultural expectations and also recognized distinctions of genre more keenly than modern readers are able to do; we must at least, therefore, attempt to gather what extratextual information is available to us. As we try to sort through Libanius’s production, untangling its strands and verifying its consistency, we are better positioned in dealing with Libanius than with many other ancient writers because we can establish at least the contours of his activities from his early years of teaching until his old age. His 1,544 letters have been dated with seeming certainty and belong to two periods: 355–65 and 388–93 CE.66 Many of his 64 orations can be assigned to definite years (sometimes even specific months) because they refer to historical events, such as the earthquake at Nicomedia, the reign

66. Of course, he wrote more letters; a few gleanings from different years were preserved and were placed at the beginning of the corpus.

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of Julian, or the riots of the statues in 387. Other speeches remain difficult to date precisely but can be assigned at least to the early, intermediate, or late period of his activity. The fact that we are able to date with some confidence most of Libanius’s production (an unusual circumstance), including the two phases of the narrative of his life (the Autobiograhy, Oration 1), allows us to establish a biographical sketch that is, if we take into account certain misrepresentations by Libanius himself, reasonably secure.

c Synopsis of Chapters In this book I will not consider the pedagogical works of Libanius (the Progymnasmata, the Declamations, and the Hypotheseis to Demosthenes), which he wrote to serve as models for students in his classes of rhetoric; I have chosen to focus instead on the rest of his production, which illuminates how he functioned in the society and culture of the fourth century. Although scholars usually approach these texts comprehensively as uniform testimony of his activity, this book focuses on the distinction between his letters and orations, categories of work that present different and sometimes contrasting sides of this author. This distinction helps account for certain seeming inconsistencies and contradictions in his oeuvre that have plagued the modern perception of Libanius. In Chapter 1, I use considerations of genre and of the different audiences that the sophist addressed to establish that Libanius’s correspondence and speeches are not equally “public” texts; in order to do this, I also attempt to refute the common assumption that letters from antiquity should be considered public because of the likelihood of misdelivery. Further, the intrinsic difference between rhetorical speeches and letters (although the latter are also rhetorical specimens) allows us to use the correspondence to verify incongruities and ambiguities in the orations, in hopes of coming a little closer to “reality.” Here I focus on Libanius’s Autobiography, a controversial and uneven text that benefits from juxtaposition to the contemporary letters. In the second part of Chapter 1, in order to place Libanius’s narrative of his life within the biographical tradition, I look at common motifs in Philostratus’s Life of Apollonius of Tyana and in the biographical works of certain Neoplatonist philosophers. My main aim is to reclaim the Autobiography as a narrative within the context of “the life of the holy man,” pointing out common elements in similar pagan and Christian texts. For this purpose, I also look at the Greek Vita Antonii attributed to Athanasius of Alexandria to show the similarities between this text and the Autobiography of Libanius. The possibility that the sophist knew Athanasius’s

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Vita and took it into account when he was composing his text is strengthened by the fact that Evagrius of Antioch, a former student of Libanius, translated it into Latin; in Chapter 1 and also in Chapter 4, I investigate the intriguing figure of Evagrius, an official who became a priest and then bishop of Antioch. Chapter 2 focuses on certain of Libanius’s orations, returning to consideration of his correspondence only at the end but considering the same issues of credibility and “reality.” Although Chapter 2 is not concerned with religion, as are later chapters, it is an integral part of the book, showing how careful and sophisticated we must be in reading Libanius. In this chapter I concentrate on those of the sophist’s speeches that contain marked elements of invective (especially sexual slander). My main contention is that Libanius did not have to “hide” these (or other) virulent speeches, as has been claimed, because his audience was able to evaluate, and understand as conventional, elements of invective that may startle the modern reader. I investigate the public and private venues where the sophist delivered his speeches and consider the general circulation of oratorical works in late antiquity, noting the fact that delivery before a “live audience” was only one of the ways in which speeches were “published.” A large part of this chapter deals with character assassination in the oratory of the fourth century BCE in an effort to determine whether audiences in classical antiquity accepted sexual slander uncritically. Here I take into account evidence from the fourth century BCE, a time several centuries earlier than Libanius’s period, for two main reasons: Demosthenes and Aeschines were the authors with whom the Second and Third Sophistic67 vied and whom they attempted to surpass in brilliance—even after their own time, these writers remained the models for oratory of blame; moreover, there is insufficient evidence for comparison from the intervening centuries. With this background in mind, I look at satire and invective in Libanius alongside other examples of pagan and Christian invective in the fourth century CE and consider the audience of Libanius’s speeches containing sexual slander and that of Christian sermons. This type of rhetoric was not necessarily expected to persuade but rather to entertain its audience, and the public must have been aware of this on some level. The chapter ends with a discussion of the expected framework of courtesy in letters. Considerations of genre and audience help explain why Libanius sent seemingly courteous messages to some of the same people he abused in his orations. In

67. On this contested term, see Chapter 1.

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this light, a portrait of Libanius emerges that is no longer stark black and white but shows instead subtle gradations of shading that will become ever more apparent as the examination progresses. Chapters 3 and 4 delve into Libanius’s religious allegiance and revolve again around the distinction between letters and orations. In Chapter 3, after some general observations on the traditional worship of the old gods, as well as on myth, I turn to the rare instances of orthopraxis (standardized rituals and cult acts, including prayer) that occur in Libanius’s work. A general sense of his everyday religious practice is missing; most of the time he appears only as an observer in religious contexts. In this and in the following chapter I report information gathered from all his letters regarding the frequency and characteristics of references to the gods in general and to single divinities in particular. I am fully aware that that there are some risks inherent in my standards of inclusion and classification; the evidence itself may not be fully objective and may be contaminated by rhetorical and personal issues. Moreover, some of the categories into which I place these references may be somewhat subjective; for example, the simple exclamation “by the gods!” that I class as “formulaic” may in fact have been multifaceted in use and meaning. The failures of positivism, compounded with the arrogance and insensibility of some of its claims, have left us wary and suspicious of similar ideologies. Moreover, when we attempt to investigate the richness of the human past in its more recondite aspects, such as religious beliefs, we must be even more cautious. Positivism looked for verifiable, objective knowledge and for documents that had universal value; its theoretical formulations were rigorous and valid in principle but ultimately could not make history an exact science.68 All that said, I do think that an overall look at the data emerging from the vast epistolary of Libanius is worthwhile, provided that we do not give it an absolute value, that is, that we place our observations in the context from which the evidence comes and in juxtaposition to considerations of a different nature (stylistic, rhetorical, or historical). An analysis of stark historical data does not establish a final truth, but in connection with other interpretive elements it can offer a richer understanding and help illuminate our picture of an author. It will be the combination of all the signals that the texts send that will give us some sense of the nature of the sophist’s religious allegiance and its variations over time, a collection of “symptoms” that, although it will not give us a sure diagnosis, will help us toward a better understanding of the case. Such an approach

68. Cf. the valid observations of Marrou 1954: 122–26.

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will allow us to look at Libanius from many angles and to have new categories of evidence at our disposal, although much caution and flexibility will be needed. The overall testimony of those letters that contain references to religion, when they are divided into the various periods of Libanius’s lifetime, allows us to investigate attentively the evidence concerning the reaction of pagans during and after Julian’s tenure and the conflicts among them in confronting his death. Libanius’s epistolary reveals two distinct groups of pagans: those who supported paganism with some energy and those more moderate pagans (I call them “gray pagans”) for whom paganism was a way of life rather than a cause to sustain. Here I argue against the view that hypocrisy was mainly to blame for the weak reactions of those who were not embattled pagans (or Christians). To declare that people simply adapted conveniently to the circumstances, following whatever religion was advantageous, is not legitimate in my view because it fails to take into account the effects on one’s religious convictions of such elements as confusion, dissatisfaction, habit, and acquiescence in a multiplicity of faiths. The religious reality of the fourth century was nuanced and complex. To show just one element of this complexity that, in my view, has the power to change some of our easy assumptions, in Chapter 4 I investigate in detail the relationship of Libanius with his intimate friend Olympius. To do so, I adduce the evidence of an oration that is not widely known (63), which presents Olympius as a committed Christian who left his property to the pagan sophist in spite of the fact that his brother Evagrius was then bishop of Antioch. In the second part of the chapter I consider Libanius’s references to the individual gods and look at the distribution of these references over the course of his life. Whereas in the orations there is no perceptible difference, the letters show that, by and large, the individual gods, with the exception of Zeus, disappear from his writing over time. I investigate next the instances in which Libanius mentions “god” in the singular versus the “gods”; I do not, however, regard the trends in these usages as an indication that he drifted toward pagan monotheism. The sophist was not, of course, deaf to the concert of voices of his century, but forcing him into a single discrete category is misleading. We can only register the interest he took in the various aspects of his society where a number of his friends and acquaintances were Christian. In the orations he continued to play the role of official spokesperson of paganism, not only upholding the gods of Homer but also dealing with such controversial issues as sacrifice and the destruction of pagan temples; he was reinforcing the collective memory of those who worshipped the traditional gods and trying to create a sense of historical continuity.

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The Conclusion of the book, rather than recapitulating issues treated earlier, attempts to enrich our understanding of the position of moderate pagans confronted with Julian’s extremism. I will consider again the edict and the subsequent imperial letter that Julian wrote with regard to teachers of higher education. Whereas the traditional view imagines only Christian professors as the target of those measures, I suggest that moderate pagans were also included in the intended audience. The reality of a paganism that included many lax and apathetic worshippers must not have escaped the burning zeal of Julian, sensitized by his recent conversion; to succeed, his plans demanded more committed worshippers of the old gods. The edict sent a shiver of concern through those whose allegiance to paganism was more moderate, like Ammianus and Libanius. Whereas Ammianus hurried to write that the measure should be passed over in silence, Libanius responded rather with a charged silence.

c Ch a p ter 1 Rhetoric and the Distortion of Reality

Rhetorical strategies of self-fashioning in the ancient world are particularly evident in those authors who have left a huge literary output, such as Cicero, Libanius, and Augustine. These writers often present themselves differently in different contexts as they try to project the persona that is most suitable to the circumstances. Augustine, for example, appears as tormented and doubtful in the Confessions but shows himself as a confident and dogmatic polemicist in the works against heretics.1 Over the centuries his readers have responded to this second persona, the rigorous defender of the Christian faith, and have conferred on him an undisputed authority, while the torn, insecure individual has receded and at times been forgotten. Through self-fashioning, an author presents himself in the way he wants to be read, projecting that part of himself he wants others to see as authentic at a particular moment in time. How he perceives the needs of his readers at that particular moment is therefore crucial. Some scholars have argued that the inherent contradictions and incongruities of a text may be a function of the author’s perceived rapport with his audience: a writer embraces a certain persona (confident, dubious, virtuous, polemic, or even abusive) to foster a certain reading of his work.

1. For the self-fashioning of Augustine in his various works, see Pollmann 2010.

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With the help of both genre theory and reception theory—that is, by considering both the genre of Libanius’s various works and the type of audiences he was addressing—we can attempt to sort through apparent inconsistencies in his vast production. While I was working on my previous book, The School of Libanius in Late Antique Antioch, I realized that authorial self-fashioning and considerations of genre were fundamental if I wished to make sense of certain difficulties in the sophist’s oeuvre. I became aware, in fact, that two different figures emerged from the letters, on the one hand, and from the orations on education, on the other.2 Libanius’s burning passion for rhetoric and paideia feature in both, but the man who emerges from the correspondence is a concerned, caring individual, a teacher who supports his students on every occasion and accommodates their needs. The man who wrote the orations, however, suffers from acute resentment toward young men, convinced that they are indolent, distracted by the allure of other disciplines, and interested only in quick monetary gain. Alhough I recognized this discrepancy fairly early on, I did not bother to pursue it at the time. Instead, I focused my attention on understanding Libanius through the biographical and historical record, an approach that I believe was only moderately successful. Recently, however, I have returned to Libanius with a different agenda—to understand the professor of rhetoric, his relationship with the contemporary world, and the nature of his worship of the gods. Not surprisingly, similar difficulties with respect to his letters and orations arise here. How do we reconcile the affable attitude he displays toward certain persons in the letters with the violent attacks he simultaneously levels at those same persons in some of his speeches? Is it enough simply to accuse him of devious, Machiavellian behavior, or is there more to it than that? And what about his attitude toward the gods? Is there a difference in attitude when one compares the letters with the speeches, wherein presumably he takes a more public stance? Nowadays genre theory is not at the forefront of the literary critical agenda, especially in interpreting ancient prose, but it is still a valuable tool for uncovering an author’s intentions and expectations with respect to his readers and listeners. By looking at Libanius’s production with an eye to genre—something that surprisingly has not been done before—I hope to gain a better appreciation of the forces that shaped it, organized it, and helped it convey meaning to his contemporaries. The claim of some con-

2. Cribiore 2007: 6–7.

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temporary critics that genre should be treated as a common dimension of textuality is especially valid when one is discussing ancient writers.3 Even though genres are not constant and identical in every period, they seem to have been fairly stable in antiquity, when generic considerations influenced writers and critics more than we may realize. It is essential, of course, not to reduce genres to little more than labels that can be deployed purely for purposes of classification. Rather, we must see generic considerations as embodied in a work, as guidelines that shape without stifling an author’s energy and creativity. Moreover, we must see the resulting work as the product both of the creating author and of the receiving audience.4 Because we are embedded in our own historical tradition, we approach a work with inevitable preconceptions, but texts can be illuminated by trying to detect and distinguish the “then” versus the “now” meaning.5 I will argue that some of the accusations leveled against Libanius’s character and behavior may be tempered by considering his deference (but also his reaction) to generic constraints. We are in a position inferior to that of the ancient, educated consumer of literature who had an intimate knowledge of shared literary conventions and expectations. When we encounter texts that appear incomplete, contradictory, or even incoherent, we must take into account that ancient readers and listeners might have been able to recognize more logical connections.6 Features that seem at first to be signs of internal inconsistency or, worse, proofs of duplicity of character may belong to a more nuanced scenario on closer inspection. We cannot take the letters and orations of Libanius (or other authors) as works of literature that were intended to communicate an identical message to identical audiences.

c Epistolary Writing: Public or Private? Libanius left a huge correspondence. The letters that are considered genuine number 1,544, but he undoubtedly wrote many more that have not been preserved. The extant collection derives from the duplicates (often men-

3. Frow 2006: 2; see Cairns 1972, especially 32, who considers antiquity “a time-free zone in comparison to the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.” 4. See Fowler 1982: 37: “In reality genre is less than a pigeonhole than a pigeon, and genre theory has a different use altogether, being concerned with communication and interpretation.” Texts do not “belong” rigidly to genres; see Frow 2006: 2–3, 25. 5. Mullet 1992: 243. 6. See Cairns 1972: 6–7.

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tioned by Libanius) that his secretary kept; he did not publish the letters himself (as Foerster showed, contradicting Otto Seeck).7 The sophist was regarded in his day as an excellent letter writer, and it is likely that not long after his death someone compiled the collection. The most notable gap in the correspondence spans the years between 365 and 388. Most modern scholars are inclined to believe that Libanius destroyed the duplicate letters from that period, when the emperors (Valens especially) were hostile to him. Sections 175–78 of the Autobiography reveal that letters could be a powerful means of indicting someone, and that Libanius was in fact under suspicion during the reign of Valens because of letters he had written. But the situation is quite complicated: the sophist kept the letters addressed to Julian and other pagans and did not destroy them after Julian’s death. Even though it is quite possible that the situation became worse later, he could easily have eliminated the most compromising letters written under Valens without destroying the bulk of a correspondence that included many innocuous messages, such as students’ report cards. It does not seem to me that the question of the huge gap in the collection can be regarded as conclusively solved; mechanical loss in the manuscript tradition cannot be ruled out and actually seems more likely. Only painstaking work on the manuscripts may clarify this issue.8 There was a constant flow of letters from and to Antioch,9 and the sophist was a significant contributor to the tide, averaging one letter every three days.10 I will consider Libanius’s correspondence with an eye toward differentiating it from the testimony of his orations. To what extent can one employ the correspondence as a touchstone of authenticity? First, however, it is necessary to revisit certain practical issues of letter writing and dispatching that, in my view, require some clarification. Ultimately, I want to tackle the vexed question of Libanius’s letters as public versus private documents. Did Libanius write his letters with the assumption that they were for public consumption, as is usually maintained? Put another way, are we entitled to

7. Seeck 1906: 23; Foerster 1903–27: 9:49–52. On the textual tradition of the letters, see most recently Cabouret 2009: 259–66. 8. In her good and nuanced article, Cabouret 2009 does not claim to be able to solve this issue. Jean Martin, who knew Libanius’s works very well, thought of a lacuna in transmission, and I am inclined to agree with him. The palaeographer Guglielmo Cavallo told me that he also thinks that an error in transmission is responsible for the loss. 9. See Epp. 498.4 and 92. 10. Bradbury 2004a: 73 calculates that two thousand more letters would be extant if Libanius maintained the same rate of composition in the years 365–88. He argued that Libanius stopped having his letters copied, perhaps for reasons of safety, but this is not a simple question to determine.

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use Libanius’s epistolary and oratorical material as uniform evidence that can be treated homogeneously in light of its supposed public character? Epistolary writing was shaped by specific occasions that prompted the correspondent’s desire to communicate—for example, a happy event about which the writer was sending congratulations or the receipt of goods for which he was expressing gratitude. Even so, we would be mistaken to consider Libanius’s letters solely as a response to daily circumstances. They followed structural and rhetorical conventions that imposed certain constraints. The absence of clear formulaic expressions in Libanius’s letters can be attributed not only to the fact that the initial address and concluding farewell were left out when his texts were copied into a copybook, but also to the fact that his refined rhetorical skills made each letter a unique communication. A comparison with everyday letters from Roman Egypt shows that Libanius’s epistolary texts had transformed “a fact of life into a fact of literature,” as Yuri Tynyanov remarked of the letters of Turgenev and Pushkin, which emphasized the literary nature of the genre and went beyond previous communications that were mostly intimate and nonliterary.11 Whereas the letters of the Cappadocian fathers are often prolix, repetitive, and convoluted and sometimes contain no more than platitudes,12 Libanius’s letters often show strong ties to events of a historical or personal nature. It is a commonplace among those who study ancient epistolary writing that letters of authors such as Cicero were documents intended for public consumption.13 Therefore, they argue that the epistolary and oratorical evidence can be placed side by side and on the same level as the uniform production of an author. In his book on Cicero’s letters, Peter White touches on this subject.14 He recognizes that although some letters were public, some were undoubtedly private family messages; nonetheless, he continues to consider the hazards of delivery as a crucial factor in shaping the letters. Those who claim that letters belong fundamentally within the public sphere consider the hazards of mail in antiquity as essentially compromising its privacy. In this view, ancient authors, who were highly aware of the accidents of delivery, shaped their letters knowing that they could fall into the hands of anyone. This claim requires further examination.

11. Tynyanov 2000: 41–43. 12. Van Dam 2003: 132–33. Christian letters of the period are stilted and uniform and sometimes give the impression of being educational exercises; see Kustas 1973: 53–54. 13. Steel 1995: 16 and 43–47; Sandwell 2007. 14. P. White 2010: 11–15.

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Of course, we know that concepts of private and public do not exist in binary opposition. They evade definition and are not discrete entities but relative categories.15 We can attempt to define them at every step of the way, but we must also acknowledge their variability. The private does not stand out as such in and of itself but appears in juxtaposition to the public. The private and public aspects of correspondence are not fixed entities that exist within a message per se; rather, to what extent we apply such designations can vary at any point in the process from composition to delivery. Thus an intimate letter, meant for one pair of eyes only, loses some of its privacy when the addressee shows it to someone else; or the receiver of a communication may withhold the contents of a letter that was meant for a larger public. These are such slippery concepts that I will be forced at times to use the words “public” and “private” in quotation marks. Consideration of the contents and the types of epistolary texts is essential in identifying the character of an author’s writing. It is equally important to determine the primary audience an author had in mind when he shaped his letter. Did he mean to address it to a specific person, a family circle, a group of educated individuals, or a larger assemblage of people? Several factors, in my view, prevent us from regarding the whole of Libanius’s correspondence as “public” documents—that is, texts every bit as “public” as his orations—as has been proposed.16 As I will show, many of his letters are highly personal, with content such as recommendations, report cards, notes to parents, and messages to family members or to intimate friends. Some, moreover, are utterly confidential. Even among those directed to officials and governors, many were meant only for the eyes of the addressee and were not intended to be shared and divulged.17 A factor that complicates and clouds this issue is the fact that when scholars allege the generally “public” nature of Libanius’s letters, they take into account largely those that exist in modern translations. Most of the letters that have been privileged for translation attracted the attention of the translator because they address conspicuous personages; such selection magnifies the official character of the correspondence. There are, however, messages of every tenor and length among those still awaiting formal translation.

15. See Bowes 2008: 12–15 and passim. 16. Sandwell 2007: 226; see also 230–31, 236, and 258. Cabouret 2009 views Libanius’s letters as texts existing between private and public but does not expand on this subject and does not cover in any detail their different character from orations. 17. See, e.g., Epp. 399 B86, 617 B73, and 1222 B103.

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c Delivery of Letters It is important to clarify certain pervasive assumptions about how letters were sent and received because they have a bearing on our understanding of their composition. If one maintains that letters in circulation were at very high risk of being manipulated by others, the epistolary evidence loses some value on the assumption that the writer was adjusting for the possibility of tampering, and, therefore, the letters were, at least in part, the result of precautionary restraint. There is evidence to suggest, however, that sending letters in antiquity was not as dramatic an affair as it is usually presented to have been, even if we take into account the differences between Cicero’s and Libanius’s times and between the letters of common and highly educated individuals. In examining this question, I will investigate certain material aspects of letter writing that are not generally known, guided by evidence from papyrology. This investigation will help dispel the feeling of alienation that some modern students of antiquity still experience with respect to certain aspects of ancient life. People in antiquity coped quite well with what appear now to be inconvenient and even insurmountable circumstances. It is a given that letters in antiquity were not as confidential as they are today. The corpus of letters on papyrus from Greek and Roman Egypt testifies that their delivery was subject to some mishaps. People’s protestations that they had sent letters in vain or that they had not received letters sent to them can sometimes be taken as signs of problems with mail delivery. But not all such declarations should be taken at face value. The modern reader of ancient letters sometimes suspects that the attribution of lack of contact to failures of mail delivery hides something else, a suspicion that is supported by the dry response of Libanius to a friend who claimed to have written many letters: “If, as you say, your one letter is many, I would not have received this one letter only.”18 Letters from Egypt are certainly not of the same caliber as the letters of Libanius. Their content is less sophisticated, and they generally involve individuals of greatly inferior social and cultural standing. Nonetheless, the Greeks of Egypt tried to protect the privacy of their correspondence in various ways, even when their messages were fairly innocuous. The most secure way to protect a papyrus letter after it was rolled up was with a seal (a simple lump of clay or a more sophisticated hallmark displaying the image

18. Ep. 139 R2. On people “thirsty” for letters, see Libanius, Ep. 1398.1. The same expression appears in a personal letter from Egypt, P. Kellis 71.37.

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of a god or the personal features of an important correspondent19) that joined the two ends of the binding.20 The presence of seals is not usually taken into account in discussions of the privacy of letters because the seals that closed correspondence (or certain other private forms of writing, such as Roman wills) have not been preserved in large numbers; when letters were opened, the seals were broken and usually lost.21 Still, sealed documents were not always opened, and we have enough examples of unopened documents with seals intact (e.g., contracts and receipts) to know that seals were commonly used. The point of the seal was to discourage a carrier from tampering with a letter because a broken seal would be proof of transgression. Another way to protect correspondence was the so-called saltire pattern. These ink marks were in the shape of an X or a cross and were drawn over the string after the letter was tied. When a letter was opened, the ink marks that were not on the letter itself were removed, so the missing central part of the pattern would reveal unauthorized opening.22 Saltires were used not only to protect business correspondence and letters containing urgent or sensitive material but also for innocuous family messages. Toward the end of the Roman Empire and in the early Byzantine period, the simple saltire pattern was discontinued and was replaced by a more elaborate ink design.23 This suggests that from the fourth century on, the desire to secure the privacy of one’s letter, far from declining, gave rise to an even stronger method for detecting and discouraging tampering. If individuals of every economic and social status made every attempt to protect the privacy of their letters, an eminent figure such as Libanius, who was in the public eye and had contacts with important and controversial personages, must have taken even more drastic measures to protect his correspondence.24 Some of his letters 19. See the seals of two papyri from the third century BCE: P. Cair. Zen. with a representation of Athena Promachos and P. Col. 4.122 with a portrait of Lysimachos, a high official of the central financial bureau of Egypt. 20. See Vandorpe 1995 and 1997, with eleven figures. See also Wassiliou 1999. Demotic, Coptic, and Arabic letters found in Egypt show seals and saltires; see, e.g., P. Kell. Copt. 15, 16, and 19, dated to the fourth century. Demotic letters were closed with a string of papyrus, and clay was repeatedly applied over the tie. A signet ring or a finger impressed a mark on the humid clay. 21. Libanius describes the opening of the will of his friend Olympius, when the straps were cut with a knife and the seal was broken, in Or. 63.17.5. See Chapter 4. 22. It would have been hard to match the original design exactly. The method was somewhat similar to the modern way of securing discretion in sending school recommendations. 23. Sets of parallel lines were inked in and around the address in various patterns, such as diamonds or rectangles, which were even more difficult to match than before in case of improper manipulation. 24. He may have possessed a signet ring and a seal with that design, or at least his scribe must have applied some clay over the closed letter or may have adopted the saltire method. In Ep. 513.1, where

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also mention the fact that they were enclosed in attractive and costly parchment envelopes, which must have been secured in some way.25 In addition to these precautions, the best possible assurance of a letter’s safe delivery was to choose carefully the person who would be carrying it to its destination. A handful of Libanius’s letters contain stories recounting the vicissitudes of letters in transit,26 but I take these stories with a grain of salt. I suspect, for example, that the figure of the wandering carrier was something of a rhetorical trope, joining such other well-worn clichés as those regarding epistolary length (was it preferable to write long or short letters?) and complaints about people’s reluctance to write.27 Libanius did not select his carriers randomly; quite the contrary, he even had a choice among them, as he wrote once to the Neoplatonist Maximus of Ephesus.28 At times Libanius received correspondence through the imperial post and took advantage of official couriers (agentes in rebus) he knew personally.29 Furthermore, he was not always limited to professional carriers. Letters were entrusted to friends, students’ fathers, former students, teachers, and reliable acquaintances,30 and anyone for whom Libanius had written a letter of recommendation took that letter safely to its destination.31 We should not take the very few letters that show a breach of confidentiality as a sign that public dissemination was commonly accepted.32 When Libanius mentions twice that he is withholding the name of an individual in a letter, this is a matter of etiquette rather than security.33 People were

Libanius says that his friend Aristaenetus “did not put the finishing touch to his letter” (epitheinai), he may have meant that he did not seal it to dispatch it. Of course, there is no way to verify how his letters were closed because they were copied in a copybook. 25. See, e.g., Epp. 347, 399, and 1066. 26. See, e.g., Epp. 88 N45, 494, and 504. 27. See, e.g., Epp. 491 and 502; 561 and 314; and 387 and 505. 28. Ep. 694 N80. 29. He sent eleven letters to Milan with Clematius: Epp. 1036 N181 and 1221 N121. See Ep. 435 B25. 30. His relative Spectatus often took letters for him from the East to the West. “I got hold of Miccalus, that is, of my very self ” (Ep. 704.5 B179), shows his trust in the carrier. The grammarian Alexander 9, who was going to Constantinople, received seven letters to deliver; see Epp. 1193–99, especially 1196 B161. 31. The expression “this man here,” which opens recommendations, means that the recommendee visited personally the man who was going to write a letter and then took it to its destination. For a brother carrying a recommendation, see Ep. 1336 B170. 32. See Ep. 565, an isolated experience. 33. In Ep. 1307 the man referred to had disappeared and was probably dead; in Ep. 148 R196 Libanius is gratifying a student’s father.

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allowed to violate the etiquette of correspondence only with the consent of the writer. If we examine evidence from an earlier period, we see that in the second Philippic Cicero calls Marc Antony a homo et humanitatis expers et vitae communis ignarus (a man who ignores decency and the conventions of civility) because Antony had read out one of Cicero’s letters publicly. A person acting in accordance with those conventions would respect what Cicero called the consuetudo bonorum (custom of good men) that private letters were to remain confidential even after a friendship was broken.34 Similarly, Libanius was furious at the misconduct (amartanein) of an influential former student who had disclosed the contents of a letter without authorization.35 It appears, in fact, that permission was needed for a personal letter to be made public, and therefore, Libanius read aloud a certain letter only when the writer had asked him to.36 Because such mundane details were not made an integral part of a letter—which was a self-contained work—permission for dissemination or a request for confidentiality might have been conveyed orally by the carrier. I have referred to the etiquette and delivery of correspondence in Cicero’s time because that period (the first century BCE) is usually considered paradigmatic for the state of correspondence throughout antiquity. It should be clear, however, that this comparison helps us only to a limited extent because much had changed by the time of Libanius. In late antiquity there was a prodigious increase in long-distance travel as elites established communication networks that went beyond single provinces.37 Of course, never before have letters been as confidential and secure as they are today, but we must be cautious in assessing the mishaps of delivery in antiquity. Although we should not rule out, of course, the possibility that a letter might disappear or that a breach of confidence might take place, I regard these occurrences as exceptions (which deserved and attracted some comment) when the status of correspondents was high. If their correspondence had been at such risk, the ancients would not have written with such gusto. On the contrary, it is in the fourth century that we see the formation of many important letter collections.

34. Cicero, Phil. 2.7. In Ep. 1480 Libanius says that he showed a letter to a friend, but this happened because he could not determine who the sender was. 35. Ep. 477 N17. See also Ep. 476 N16, which testifies that Themistius had read a letter in the public square without Libanius’s permission, causing another rift in their troubled relationship; see Cribiore 2007: 61–66. 36. Ep. 19.1 N40. 37. See Ellis and Kidner 2004 and, on Libanius in particular, Bradbury 2004a.

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For the various reasons I have highlighted, I will therefore regard letters and orations as texts of fundamentally different natures that convey disparate meanings and address different audiences. I am not suggesting, however, a value judgment, such as that letters contain trustworthy information, whereas speeches are naturally deceptive or obfuscatory; each genre constructs reality in a different way. In letters and orations we have a story, the way the author shapes it, and the way a reader (or a listener) receives it and reconstructs it, then and now. I will try to show that the story, as it appears in each genre, is not necessarily the same and is in need of interpretation. I will then offer my version of the story.

c Libanius and the New Sophistic To classify the speeches of Libanius is a complex task, even with the three basic categories of oratory ( judicial, deliberative, and epideictic) already established in antiquity. Libanius did not produce judicial speeches per se, although a jury is imagined as present in cases where he indicts a political figure for corruption or cruelty. At one point he confesses his lack of expertise in forensic oratory, claiming that when he was writing such speeches, he was “out of his territory and on unfamiliar ground,” with the result that he cut a pitiful figure and had to resort to a simple, naive appeal to the judges to respect justice.38 His orations, therefore, belong rather in the deliberative or epideictic categories. We should, however, take into account the fact that for the ancients these three categories of oratory were not mutually exclusive but overlapped: various elements of each might appear in the others.39 This potential for overlap is particularly evident in Libanius; difficulties inevitably arise from trying to force his work into discrete categories. These difficulties derive from the fact that he used the guidelines of genre but also reacted to them as he shaped his interaction with the audience. For example, the political speeches against individual governors, in which he engages in important social discussion, combine issues of public interest—and a crusade in favor of citizens oppressed by brutality and corruption—with elements of epideictic character, such as invective. Furthermore, amid the Julianic orations, generally considered epideictic, Oration 15 (the embassy to Julian) is not simply an encomium of that emperor but also includes

38. See Or. 1.277, where Libanius writes that that line of conduct was not his usual one. 39. See Quintilian 3.7.28.

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elements of deliberative oratory as Libanius tries to dissuade Julian from harming the interests of Antioch.40 Therefore, in listing Libanius’s works in the Introduction, I have made subdivisions that go beyond the canonical ones and reflect both the content of the speech and the nature of the audience. Speeches that concern scholastic matters, for example, stand out as a discrete group, and orations that address issues of general import should be seen as fundamentally different from those that attack individuals. It can be just as difficult to classify the works of other orators, even speeches of eminent politicians; a clear distinction between forensic and deliberative speeches is often impossible in, for example, Demosthenes or Aeschines.41 A good writer often makes use of material from other genres that can affect and inform the primary material; a good reader must look out for these shifts in genre and try to interpret them when possible. It may come as a surprise that the works of Libanius typically considered epideictic constitute less than half of his speeches. In spite of excellent recent work that offers a more nuanced view, rhetors of the second and third centuries and of late antiquity in general continue to be regarded as spokespersons for empty issues, athletes of the word, who found much favor in a period of peace when the game of rhetoric attracted great crowds. It has been argued that rhetoric can thrive only in times of democracy, when people want and need to be heard, whereas under imperial rule people supposedly accepted and were satisfied with epideictic speeches that depended on ornament at the expense of argument. This view is still pervasive enough that oratory for display is regarded by some scholars as one of the few forms of oratory still available to postclassical rhetors. Although the vigor of epideictic oratory in the Roman period is rightly recognized, issues of public policy were in fact still debated, as, for example, the works of Dio Chrysostom show.42 Laurent Pernot describes what he calls “the triumph” of epideictic oratory in the second and third centuries CE and asserts that the genre was again extensively cultivated in the fourth century by such orators as Libanius, Themistius, Himerius, and others. Some of these sophists, Libanius among them, are part of the literary tradition of the Second Sophistic but lived in a different cultural world, sometimes designated as “Third Sophistic,” in which rhetoric became less epideictic and more en-

40. Schouler 1984: 39. 41. Bers 2009: 3. 42. Ma 2000. On Dio’s civic activity and commitments, see Salmieri 2000.

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gaged with reality.43 There is no doubt that the so-called Third Sophistic was closely tied to its predecessor; therefore, the phrase “Third Sophistic” is less than ideal, implying as it does a gulf between the two periods and failing to acknowledge the bridge between them. Nonetheless, the term is serviceable because it acknowledges certain differences between the two movements and allows us to include Christian sophistic.44 In this book we will encounter other imprecise and contested terms, especially in the field of religion; although it is necessary to consider carefully how and when to use such terms, lingering on the pros and cons of each seems a bit “sophistic.” Malcolm Heath has argued that in the late Roman period many forms of oratory were in use; nonetheless, the fact that orators engaged in deliberative and forensic oratory, as well as epideictic, has not attracted much attention.45 In fact, most late antique orators devoted their energy to forensic and deliberative speeches; only a few (Himerius, for example) practiced epideictic oratory exclusively. The issues—political, social, moral, and humanitarian— that they handled are the same as those that appear in Libanius. “If we in our mock battles in the contests of declamations know how to speak to Pericles, Cimon, and Miltiades,” wrote the sophist to the emperor Julian, “it would be indecent if we neglected the rules in real life.”46 Philostratus, who coined the term “Second Sophistic” to refer to the works of his predecessors of the second century, remarks that the Second Sophistic movement did not have a philosophical character like that of the first but rather “sketched the types of the poor man and the rich, of princes and tyrants.”47 Malosse and Schouler have shown how the Third Sophistic gave names and faces to those tyrants, whose behavior was as cruel as that of imaginary tyrants of old but was a historical reality.48

43. See Pernot 1993, 2000: 27, and 2006–7; Swain 2004; Quiroga 2007; and Malosse and Schouler 2008. There are some hesitations in accepting this terminology; see Van Hoof 2010 and Westberg 2010: 19. Penella 2013 could accept it in spite of some ambiguities but prefers to call the period “imperial sophistic” early and late including the so called Second Sophistic. 44. The term might even look forward to a later period, for example, to the Byzantine rhetoric of the school of Gaza; see, e.g., Amato 2010 but it is probably better to make the period start on the third century and end in the fourth, as Penella 2013 suggests. 45. M. Heath 2002. Many of the sophists who are the subjects of the lives in Philostratus’s Vitae sophistarum were active in court or handled deliberative issues. The fame of Menander Rhetor rested on theory of issues (i.e., argumentation) and not on his extant epideictic treatises. 46. Ep. 369.4 N30. 47. Philostratus, VS 1.3. 48. Malosse and Schouler 2008: 165–66. For Libanius, the tyrants are, for example, the usurper Maximus, who threatened Theodosius (Or. 4.13.8), and the usurper Magnentius, whose revolt broke out in the West in 350 (Or. 18.16.5). The most odious tyrant is always Constantius II.

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One reason that these concrete examples of late Roman oratory have attracted scant attention may be that the theatrical character of the epideixis of the Second Sophistic has obscured other, less flashy forms of rhetoric. Moreover, the old crusade against rhetoric, which started at least as early as Plato’s Gorgias, found renewed appeal among Christians, who attacked rhetoric as technique devoid of content, a deceiving art that did not aim at the truth. The sophists depicted in the correspondence of Gregory of Nazianzus, for example, are all garrulous individuals who care only for appearances, holding forth on the battle of Marathon and similar topics disconnected from reality.49 The educated Christians who appropriated rhetoric (Gregory among them) argued that they were using it for more legitimate, concrete purposes, and modern patristic scholars seem to have accepted this.50 Libanius has been neglected in the past because of this prejudice; scholars have deemed his work unworthy of attention because they have considered it scholastic and divorced from reality. Recent scholarship, however, has begun to change this image, recognizing that in spite of his early refusal to participate directly in the administration of the city and the empire,51 Libanius was actively concerned with safeguarding the freedom and honor of cities both from the pressure and corruption of the imperial administration and from the incompetence of local officials.52

c Libanius’s Life: The Letters and the Autobiography

The use of the first person in an autobiography creates and maintains the illusion of direct communication between the narrator and his audience.53 Such an account may also offer the illusion that it presents a reliable account of the author’s life. But even when we carry out several steps to verify the

49. See, e.g., Ep. 233. 50. E.g., Schatkin, Blanc, and Grillet 1990: 39, who argue that John Chrysostom’s discourses were oratorical but more concrete than those in rhetorical schools. 51. J. Martin 1988: 248–50 visits the whole question of the refusal of honors from Julian mentioned by Eunapius, VS 16.2.8–9, 496. Sometime after 363 Libanius was offered the prefecture but refused. He was, however, quaestor under Theodosius, a title that was mostly honorary but also involved some responsibilities. 52. See Casella 2010, especially 19–26, who translates and comments on Orations 56, 57, and 46, which show the full involvement of Libanius in Antioch’s life. 53. Lejeune 1975.

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information presented (e.g., assemble all the facts at our disposal in the Autobiography, compare them with accounts elsewhere in Libanius’s oeuvre, review them with the help of historical information, make some corrections, and introduce some order), an accurate picture of Libanius’s life remains somewhat elusive. Most of the material comes from the author himself, who has shaped it to such a degree that in the Autobiography “how he acts upon the narrative often overshadows how he acts in it.”54 There is no doubt that Libanius at times treats his life as if it were a fictional narrative; he tells his stories in such a way as to impose some order on the untidiness of reality and furthermore uses the repeated interventions of the goddess Tyche (Fortune) as a framework into which he neatly fits the events. But one of the merits of the Bios is that the narrator and the protagonist of the events are the same. Before Libanius, literary lives were often composed by writers who were not contemporary witnesses or who used sources according to uncertain criteria that create difficulties for the modern reader. In the case of Libanius, however, even if rhetoric is at work, the general canvas is more intact. A similar identification of writer and protagonist is found in the work of Gregory of Nazianzus, a contemporary whose autobiographical output is larger than that of Libanius.55 What further unites these biographical accounts—one in prose and the other in poetry—are certain elements present in each: the driving passion, the quest for perfection, and an account of the author’s perennial struggle with enemies. Is Libanius’s text a historical document? Momigliano, who questioned the historicity of biography, would have found the Bios’s connection with reality at times rather thin.56 But the historical value of the work is clear. Libanius’s narrative spans many decades, embracing a period fraught with political and religious controversies that also appear in other writers; the account mentions many protagonists of those controversies and describes events to which the author was an eyewitness and in which he participated. Provided we sift through the facts carefully, the Autobiography is, with some qualifications, a historical work and has rightly been used as such.57 This oration belongs in the genre of biography, specifically as an epideictic work. Libanius declares at the beginning that he is writing it in order to clarify to his contemporaries whether in the course of his life he had been happy or

54. Howarth 1974: 365 55. McLynn 1998. At a later time a similar situation is present in Augustine’s Confessions. 56. Momigliano 1971. 57. Sievers 1868; Wintjes 2005 has corrected some imprecisions.

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wretched; thus the categories of praise and blame are present in the background. The fact that the work is epideictic, however, does not prevent us from considering it historical because, in fact, the ancients saw historiography in terms of epideixis. But distinguishing what Anthony Woodman has called the “hard core” (the true kernel) from the superstructure (its elaboration, required to be at least plausible) is often an enterprise in itself.58 One of the advantages that the letters of Libanius offer versus the Autobiography (particularly its first part) is the time of their composition and thus the immediacy of their message. Letters are usually sent shortly after being written and therefore record the reaction of a writer to contemporaneous events and his point of view at the time. Libanius dictated his letters to a secretary with a minimum of restyling (in fact, there is no evidence that letter writers in antiquity were accustomed to write multiple drafts). Nonetheless, Libanius’s letters are literary specimens of the genre, in which he excelled. The two parts of Libanius’s Autobiography offer a complex set of interpretive problems; they present different degrees of immediacy and therefore need to be considered separately. The first part (sections 1–155) dates to 374 and was composed as a finite project when Libanius was sixty years old. During his life an author is rarely alert to the continuity of his experiences and the overarching cause and effect of events, but in writing a narrative of that life, confronting a mass of memories and details, he can artfully shape and define them; Libanius did just that. Thus we can consider the first part of the narrative factual only with certain reservations. We must be constantly alert to the ways in which the narrative may deviate from the original model, his life. The situation is different and still more complex for the second part of this oration (sections 156–285), which was written between 380 and 393. In these sections Libanius seems to lose control not only of his life but also of his telling of it. He composed various portions of it at different times, closer in time to the actual events. With all their frantic and occasionally even delirious-seeming comments and their repetitions and disjointed sections, these chapters appear not only to reproduce more realistically the mood and attitude of the author in those years but also to reflect some of the violence and intolerance of the society around him. Although the writer dealt with events that affected him personally, he also grappled with issues that appealed to a broader public, such as religion, memory, and death. It is commonly believed that this second part of the Autobiography was found and published after Libanius’s death (although we cannot positively exclude that

58. Woodman 1988: 83–98.

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he had read parts of it to friends and collaborators) and was appended to the first part. Another issue that we need to take into account is the effect of an audience on a literary work. Libanius’s life was part of Antioch; he was a prominent figure there as the sophist of the city and was in touch not only with the people who were shaping social and political events but with the working class as well. He wrote the first part of the narrative of his life for an audience and apparently delivered it.59 It is difficult to establish the size of his audience; I disagree with Norman that it necessarily consisted of a small group of friends.60 In any case, large or small, the audience was a group of his contemporaries who would notice and react to any deliberate distortions or falsifications; anticipation of his audience’s reactions would make Libanius less likely to modify the truth duly. Although we do not know the details of the composition of the second part of the Autobiography, I suggest that Libanius intended to append it to the first, but his death prevented him from reviewing and polishing its content. I will argue in Chapter 2 that the suggestion that Libanius sometimes composed only for his own edification and deliberately hid his work is not tenable.61 Norman has examined how, in the first part of Oration 1, Libanius orchestrated his theme. This scholar underlines the intellectually unifying persona of Tyche as a benevolent deity, a supportive agent who dispenses good and bad to Libanius and whose interventions he periodically reassesses, often fairly optimistically.62 Tyche is still present in the second, more pessimistic part of the account, but she appears less frequently and acts only to console Libanius when he faces adversity or to support him when he takes revenge; furthermore, she no longer acts alone but in concert with Zeus and the gods of rhetoric. The inclusion of the goddess Tyche, together with the text’s moralizing outlook, has caused scholars to compare the Autobiography with the moralizing epideictic compositions (dialexeis) that Libanius wrote on different themes, such as friendship or poverty. The theme of

59. See Lejeune 1974: 338–39. 60. Norman 1992: 9–10 mentions the sophist’s statement in Or. 2.12 that he does not tire his fellow citizens out with remarks on his merits and successes as proof that the Autobiography was delivered before a small audience and was not widely known. But I think that Libanius there is alluding to spoken, casual, and repetitive remarks (such as those he makes to his students) and not to published comments of many years before. See Or. 2.12: “Did I ever mention such things unnecessarily [ouk ouses anagkes]?” This does not preclude his mentioning his merits in the narrative of his life to a large audience. 61. But see J. Martin and Petit 1979: 30. 62. Norman 1965: xviii–xx and 1992: 11–16; see also Wolf 1967: 25–27.

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Fortune and her dispensations must have been popular in the Second Sophistic; three compositions that include this theme have been transmitted under the name of Dio Chrysostom.63 I will return later to the issue of evaluating properly the presence and role of Fortune. Most critics of past and modern autobiography regard the profession of an author as an important factor in the values and outlook he displays in the narrative;64 according to this line of thinking, Libanius the sophist could write only a sophist’s autobiography. We will see that Oration 1 is a complex work that shows influences from more than one genre. The style of Libanius’s Autobiography is noticeably different from that of his other epideictic works and from the rhetorical tone of Oration 2, which is also a work of memory. Although there are sections in Oration 1 that are quite rhetorical (for example, the full ethopoiia of Tyche in section 155 and other imagery elsewhere in the poem), overall Libanius uses very sparingly all those rhetorical figures that are part of a sophist’s tool kit.65 A distinct genre of autobiography did not exist at the time, and there is no evidence that the schools taught the existence of such a genre or that writers had models of it at their disposal. Several authors, however, beginning with Hesiod and culminating with Aristides, and later Augustine, used autobiography in various parts of their work;66 Augustine in his Confessions produced a more oratorical work than Libanius, in which he sought to show the paradigmatic value of his life as that of a sinner illuminated by divine grace.67 The fact that he wished his life to serve as an idealized pattern of human behavior also affected his presentation of the chronological order of events. The narrative covered only his first thirty-three years with variable depth and focus: the first four books treated twenty-eight years, the next five only four, and then any attempt to follow a chronological order was abandoned. In telling his story, Libanius was interested in creating a kind of public monument of his personal life—as we will see in more detail—even though he used Tyche as a buffer between himself and his audience. As a rule, he presents the events chronologically, and as a narrator, I suggest, he must have conceived of his story as history.68 Considered in this light, his use of

63. Dio, Orations 63–65. 64. See, e.g., Delaney 1969: 1–5. 65. Rother 1915: 104. 66. Baslez, Hoffmann, and Pernot 1993. 67. Fredouille 1993. 68. For autobiography as discourse-history, see Starobinski 1971.

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a less rhetorical style finds an explanation. Two centuries earlier, Lucian in his work How to Write History had sketched the necessary features of historical writing, features that he believed his contemporaries often neglected in their clumsy treatment of the genre. History’s aims and rules could not be improvised but needed attentive cultivation. It had to be different from poetry and could not introduce falsehoods at the expense of general truth; it had to reject poetic embellishments and stay away from panegyric and excessive flattery. Spending excessive time in lauding rulers and generals or in slandering the enemy was not permitted. Interestingly, Lucian also mentions the audience of a historical work and its behavior and distinguishes the taste of the majority from that of the cultivated.69 The cultivated audience, who had eyes keener than Argus, scrutinized and tested everything; only their criticism had any value, whereas the applause of the majority had to be disregarded. Libanius must have wished to give his Autobiography a historical appearance as a touchstone for truth. Traces of the principal facts of Libanius’s life appear in his correspondence, but we must keep in mind that most of the extant letters were written over a total of fifteen years, the first ten years of his literary activity (355–65) and the last five years before his death (388–93). Only a few letters from before 355 remain. From the years 365–88 only a few letters, appended with the few early letters to the beginning of his correspondence, have been preserved. Therefore, the veracity of some of Oration 1 cannot be compared with or confirmed by evidence from contemporary letters. The surviving letters allow us to listen in on the exchanges of Libanius with friends, relatives, and acquaintances through the turmoil and reigns of several emperors. His words, passion, and pain reverberate through the years; one has the impression of an interminable conversation with one voice and many actors. Whereas the Autobiography describes the contours of the events of his long life, the letters, which contain echoes of these events,70 inform us rather of his social and professional relationships, the ups and downs of his health, and his satisfactions and sorrows; in these accounts we catch glimpses of the author that make him seem less inaccessible. After the journeys of his youth and with the exception of some periods spent in Constantinople, Libanius resided constantly in Antioch; the letters make him appear, against the background of the travels of his addressees, even more stationary than does the narrative of his life. His

69. Lucian, Hist. conscr. 11. 70. See, e.g., Ep. 391 N4.

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correspondents traveled to Bithynia, to the Tigris and the Euphrates, or to Rome, but Libanius did not move; he could only read about and imagine their journeys, the rivers and lands they crossed, the people they met in those countries, and those people’s way of life.71 The letters often find Libanius in the city square or on his way to school, a small journey for which, in his last years, he was carried on a litter.72 He visited friends in the evening and brought gifts to them, strolled with others through gardens, went to the baths and recited Homer, and admired with a friend a book written in a fine hand.73 Sometimes the letters suddenly reveal an unexpected image of the author sitting at a table and writing in the evening: he asked his slave for a lamp but fell asleep and dreamed while waiting for it.74 Little by little, as the years go by, the picture becomes darker and tears flow more profusely as illness, old age, the death of those surrounding him, and the troubles of his profession override everything else. On the surface, the letters and the Autobiography complement each other in depicting their author’s sense of self, place, and time. Both present a firstperson narration with an exclusive affirmation of the “I.” On closer inspection, the resulting image is not always uniform. The letters (together with some literary references) sometimes allow us to distinguish in the Autobiography the narrator, who controls vision and memory, from the protagonist. It is essential, however, to point to at least two areas where Libanius’s vision is always consistent; I will often return to these themes in his oeuvre. The authentic passion he felt for rhetoric cannot be questioned; his pleasure and enthusiasm at composing, his unflinching dedication, and his terror that the situation was changing such that his discipline might have less appeal and effect pervade all his work with unchanging intensity. I will also argue later that his devotion to the emperor Julian uniformly permeates all his production. Although theirs was a complex relationship intertwined with the destiny of rhetoric and Hellenism, and although Libanius’s loyalty at times had its dark side, I strongly resist the recent depiction of his dedication to the emperor as a skillful game of opportunism that was but one facet of his ability to play “the religious game.”

71. See, e.g., Epp. 494, 191, 391 N4, and 352 B7. On his reluctance to travel because of his health, see Ep. 48 B38. 72. E.g., Epp. 88 N45 and 1066 N190. 73. Epp. 34 N48, 1113 B47, 1221 N121, 430 N11, and 580 N25. 74. Ep. 243.

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As we consider those parts of Oration 1 in which the author’s manipulation of his material might be a factor, two episodes in particular deserve to be examined again: Libanius’s accounts of being struck by lightning.75 He says (1.9–10) that as he was reading Aristophanes as a student, a thunderbolt hurtled down from the darkened sky, blinding his eyes and setting his head ringing.76 The consequences of this incident accompanied him for the rest of his life: he suffered continually from severe migraines. Almost twenty years later, in 351, when he was on his way to Constantinople, a mass of clouds sent forth a thunderbolt, “and from this flash, I suffered my usual trouble” (1.77). Scholars have interpreted this passage as a second occurrence of the incident but doubt its veracity. Has the content of the narrative been transformed into fiction? Was Libanius guilty of poetic license? Norman commented ironically, “Libanius outdoes his Philostratean models. He was twice so blasted with Homeric force.”77 The first occurrence should not be doubted; lightning strikes do occur frequently, and Pliny the Elder mentions them as a fact of life, in addition to considering them an answer to prayers or a sign from heaven.78 The original incident can be verified by a letter (727) that Libanius wrote to a devoted friend about his constant headaches; but the fact that he does not mention here the second incident strongly suggests, in my view, that it was not comparable in gravity with the first. The text of Libanius’s description of the second incident indeed does not assert that the lightning struck Libanius; it may simply imply that Libanius’s migraines came back when he saw the lightning strike. However we view the second incident, in considering both we should remember that thunderbolts were associated with divine intervention at that time. Philostratus wrote that when lightning came down to the cradle where the future sophist Scopelianus lay with his twin brother, striking the latter and even those nearby, Scopelianus miraculously was not affected and remained healthy for the rest of his life. His avoidance of the consequences meant for Philostratus that “he was reared under the protection of the gods.”79 Libanius was not so blessed. The passage of the Iliad he quotes when

75. See Wintjes 2005: 65 and n23 with bibliography. 76. Cf. Ar., Nub. 393–97, where lightening from Zeus reduces men to ashes. 77. Norman 1992, Or. 1 ad loc. 78. Pliny the Elder, Natural History 2.135–46; see also 28.13–14 on the peculiar episode of King Tullus Hostilius struck by lightning because he had done a certain ritual incorrectly. 79. Philostratus VS 516.

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he mentions the lightning at 1.77 depicts the lightning bolt as a terrifying manifestation of Zeus’s anger.80 Moreover, in a little-known passage of his late Oration 63 he again reflects on those hit by lightning: “We must in fact think that those who are struck by lightning strike themselves since they attract Zeus’s fire with their unjust behavior, but they would not be ablaze if they were just and pleased the gods” (63.34). The implications of Zeus’s thunderbolt were so dreadful in the view Libanius states here that he would hardly feign to have been hit twice. Toward the end of his life, when, as we will see, he felt that the gods were abandoning him, that single incident when he was twenty years old must have acquired an even more terrifying significance. And there is one more aspect of this episode that needs to be considered. Although Libanius suffered some health consequences as a result of being hit by lightning, he did not die, as did the doomed twin of Scopelianus and many others.81 Surely the gods had spared Scopelianus because he was meant to become a master of words and to attain glory; thus we may also regard the episode in Libanius’s Autobiography as a sign of divine protection, a sort of miracle. The daimon that had saved Libanius from harm up to that point tested him (and the consequences of that test would accompany him forever) but chose to save Libanius’s life for future triumphs.82 But even if in this case we absolve Libanius of manipulating the narrative, some letters and literary references reveal that he did often shape his material into a self-portrait slightly different from the model. It is difficult to evaluate the significance of omissions in the Autobiography because such a text could hardly be expected to cover its author’s every step. Nevertheless, omissions can sometimes be charged gestures. Thus, for example, the reasons that in 342 Libanius was expelled from Constantinople, where he had been teaching for two years, are not completely clear; struggling to explain Libanius’s expulsion, Eunapius even ventures to suggest a rumor of pederasty that is not supported by any other source.83 In his Autobiography Libanius fails entirely to report a seemingly pertinent factor, riots between Orthodox and Arian Christians that were raging at that time; he views and depicts the

80. Or. 1.77; Iliad 8.134. 81. On the death of people struck by lightning, which occurs frequently but not invariably, see Pliny, Natural History 2.145. 82. Cf. Or. 1.9. See below for other “miracles” in his life. The concept of “miracle” was not Greek, but an epiphany can be considered an equivalent, for example, signs of a god’s protection; see Parker 2011: 10. 83. Eunapius, VS 16.1.7–8, 495. Other sources mention the version of Libanius, e.g., Socrates HE 3.1. On the limited sources of Eunapius, see Watts 2005: 343–52.

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disturbances that affected him in Constantinople as exclusively scholastic in nature and due to sophistic rivalry.84 Keeping the attention focused entirely on himself, in his account he says that he was forced to flee the city as the victim of a conspiracy that involved accusations of magic and torture. A later letter written in 357 to an influential courtier who had supported him against his “persecutors” does not help us verify this account because it offers a similarly incomplete version of the facts.85 Why Libanius chose to withhold pertinent information in this case is not entirely clear; what is clear is that he does omit relevant facts, choosing to focus disproportionately on the persecution directed specifically at him. Another such omission occurs when Libanius presents his relationship with the prefect Strategius Musonianus as an example of a perfect friendship with a higher authority. In fact, the correspondence shows that their rapport had cooled at a certain point; Libanius even declares in one letter that the governor had become his worst enemy and was trying to damage Libanius with his great power.86 But Libanius needed for his Autobiography an example of complete harmony to set against his numerous conflicts with other officials, so he omitted certain information about the later course of this relationship to create an account that would fit that need, crafting a narrative markedly different from the one depicted in the letters. In the Autobiography a close imitation of a literary passage, a deliberately changed order of events, or an undue focus on his personal role in the circumstances can all signal manipulation of material by the narrator; a few examples taken from Libanius’s account of his first years as a sophist will suffice to illustrate this point. In a series of chapters about his life before his installation at Antioch (62–72), Libanius discusses his violent and longlasting conflict with a certain professor in Bithynia who repeatedly accused him of magic and even alleged that he had bewitched a superior official.87 The friendship with this (allegedly bewitched) official is confirmed by a letter Libanius wrote a few years later, but the eloquent story of the whole affair in Oration 1 betrays some confusion.88 Martin and Petit remark:

84. Or. 1.44–47. 85. See Ep. 57 N23 and Wintjes 2005: 85. 86. Or. 1.81–82, 106–13. Cf. Epp. 476 N16, 515 N21, 506 B54, and 529 B28; see Bradbury 2004b: 85. Ammianus 15.13.2 and 16.9.2 confirms the prefect’s greed. On Strategius, see Chapter 4. 87. Philagrius 5 in PLRE 1, vicar of Pontus, 348–50. 88. Ep. 372, written in 358, after Philagrius had died.

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“Ce récit est un petit chef d’oeuvre littéraire,”89 but they fail to notice that Libanius was in fact imitating a passage of Aeschines. In that text Aeschines reports with relish the tale of a defeat of Demosthenes when the latter, during the first embassy to Philip, suddenly lost his memory and could not continue speaking in spite of the encouragement of the king.90 In similar fashion, the governor of Bithynia tried to assist Libanius’s rival in every way, but in vain; the man could not remember the text of his speech.91 Libanius uses the Aeschines passage as a model in imitating the delight of Aeschines at his opponent’s defeat (despite the fact that generally, of the two, he preferred Demosthenes). In another passage Libanius employs a literary reference to make the report of one of his victories more thrilling.92 In 353 Libanius obtained leave from Constantinople to go after years of absence to Antioch, where he delivered a public declamation, his dokimasia.93 In my previous book I noted that the narrative had “the visionary and illusory texture of a literary dream,” but I failed at the time to identify a precise reference; it was only later that I noticed and found illuminating the similarity with a passage in Aristides’ Sacred Tales.94 In addition to sharing individual details with Libanius’s account of his return to Antioch, Aristides’ tale of his triumph when he returned to Smyrna in 167 exudes the same passion and Bacchic frenzy that pervade Libanius’s story. A letter Libanius wrote in 355, two years after his triumphant return, confirms the actual success of his homecoming, but the passage’s reminiscence of Aristides confers on it the power of a sophistic investiture.95 In my final example, it is the order of events that Libanius manipulates in order to craft his material into the desired narrative. He was in a vulnerable position in his initial years in Antioch when he wished to take the place of his old teacher, the sophist Zenobius, and defeat his own opponents. Manipulation of the order of these events in the Autobiography allowed him to cast his behavior toward Zenobius in a more noble light, covering up the crude haste with which he had tried to supplant him. In this case, however, letters

89. J. Martin and Petit 1979: 222. 90. Aeschin. 2.35. 91. Or. 1.71–72. See Cribiore 2010: 168. 92. Or. 1.86–89. 93. Cribiore 2007: 84–88. 94. Cribiore 2008: 269–71. 95. Ep. 390.6 N3.

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can be used as correctives; they indicate the actual order of events and illuminate the estrangement of master and pupil that Libanius had tried to conceal.96

c Libanius’s Autobiography: Main Lines of the Narrative

Bernard Schouler considers Libanius’s Autobiography a work monumental and heroic, Aristotelian and Hellenistic, and furthermore a work that had no pretense to sincerity.97 It presents the tragic spectacle of an exceptional individual, deeply conscious of the bitterness of life, who aspired to some sort of immortality. According to Schouler, this tragic autobiography should be considered an epideictic work with moral overtones. We have seen that the style of this oration also includes elements of historical narration, even though, like all ancient rhetors, Libanius also used criteria of probability and propriety in sifting his memories. The letters reveal the use of some creative license in the Bios, but on the whole they confirm the integrity of its main historical fabric. Contemporary sources, such as Ammianus and certain Christian writers, as well as historical details drawn from other orations of Libanius, show that he did “not always behave as we would, certainly,” but was accurate enough, as Christopher Pelling said of Plutarch as a writer of biographies.98 I first examine the outline of the first part of the Bios, a text that Libanius originally intended to stand by itself; then I will compare it with other models of the biographical tradition of the imperial period.99 After the death of his father, Libanius lived his early years under the vigilant eyes of his mother; a prudent but indulgent woman with no desire to remarry, she allowed Libanius to pay little attention to his studies. Then at age fifteen a quasi-conversion occurred: “I started to burn with fire, and a fierce passion for the logoi began to possess me” (5). A radical transformation overtook him: he bade good-bye to the pleasures of the countryside, avoiding playthings, chariot races, spectacles in the theater, and gladiatorial

96. Or. 1.96–106; see Norman 1992 1:161 and Cribiore 2007: 93. Cf. Epp. 391 N4, 405 N6, and 15. See below on Libanius’s attempt to ennoble his conduct. 97. Schouler 1993. 98. Pelling 1990c, especially 41, maintained that Plutarch was more scrupulous in his “historical” lives than in the literary ones, but that overall he was committed to the truth. 99. I will be covering the main lines and not particular episodes, such as the advent of Julian and his death.

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combats, and instead spent his time studying, memorizing everything he judged useful (11). This transformation changed the course of his life. Great amazement seized all those, young and old, who witnessed his obsessive work, and the fame of his labors and self-control soon began to spread. He was firm and persistent in his study not because of the vigilance of attendants but because of an inner strength that also allowed him to help others. After years of instruction and of committing classical literature to memory, Libanius wished to travel, particularly to Athens to perfect his rhetoric. His virtues, however, had attracted the attention of many fathers of eligible daughters, who offered substantial dowries to his uncles.100 Again Libanius was incorruptible; he was never concerned with wealth or property, and this lack of interest in material possessions continued for the rest of his life.101 Disregarding the advice and warnings of his family, he finally started his journey. In Athens the devotee of rhetoric distinguished himself from the other students by avoiding the company of others and the carousing and acts of immorality they engaged in, remaining steadfast in his study (22, 24). Lacking, he says, a living teacher who could serve as his model, he did what others after him would also do: he used the classical authors as models.102 Libanius’s apparent lack of desire to establish for himself a scholastic family tree similar to the one that Eunapius mentions in connection with almost all his biographical subjects deserves attention.103 Philosophic or sophistic competence was generally expected to arise from reliance on a line of predecessors; in emphasizing his isolation at the beginning of his career, his self-sufficiency, and his choice to model himself exclusively on authors of the past, accessible to him only through further study, Libanius intended to project himself as a figure of monumental proportions. We will see that the monk Antony learned from God and depended only on him, but Libanius soared in his autonomy. After this period of intensive work in Athens, he embarked on further travels together with a friend, presenting his declama-

100. This motif (the temptation of married life and sex) is absent from the pagan biographies that I will examine next but is present in the Vita Antonii when the devil appears to the monk in the guise of a beautiful woman. 101. See Or. 1.61 for a description of his nonchalance when his slave runs away with a huge amount of money. 102. Richard Wagner, for example, copied the scores of the old masters incessantly until he could make them his own. Wagner 1911: 42–43. I thank Kim Haines-Heitzen for the information. By appropriating the skills of classical models, Libanius distanced himself from contemporary influences. 103. On the common intellectual lineage in Eunapius and the other individuals of his Lives, see Watts 2010: 37.

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tions to a wider public. Rhetoric was his only driving concern. He declined the offer of another bride, declaring, “My bride is my art,” and this exclusive devotion to his studies was further confirmed by the death of a cousin who had been promised to him.104 As Libanius’s rhetorical feats multiplied, he attracted praise and blessings (29); his fame continued to increase, and he began to acquire students of his own. His fundamental stance, that devotion to study that marked his early career, did not change in various circumstances over the years, as he proudly asserted: “My pleasures were not those of eating and drinking, but derived from the excellent progress of my oratory.”105 These traits that we can call “ascetic”—compulsive work and indifference to food and sleep—were integral components of his character, at least as he presented it to an outside audience.106 Such qualities, however, could not fully protect him from the enmity of less gifted rhetors, who were envious of his success; his struggles with such rivals occupy much space in the text. These competitors were ferocious and persistent in trying to damage his career and reputation; they resorted to calumnies and accusations of magic but could not prevail against him. Indeed, not only did his self-imposed virtue protect him, but Libanius also increasingly practiced the exercise of philanthropia, helping people who needed his rhetorical expertise—even spending nights in this activity—and thereby attracting general goodwill (106–8). The number of his pupils gradually increased in Antioch, and his school became one of the most renowned in the eastern empire. At the end of the first part of the Autobiography, Tyche reassures the sophist that his orations have become models for students and teachers everywhere to such an extent that there are not enough copyists to satisfy the demands of his admirers (155). It is essential at this point to make some observations about the role of Tyche as Libanius’s personal goddess in the narrative, and on the “miraculous” interventions of the gods on his behalf; I will return to the role of Tyche later, after considering the role of God in other lives of holy men. We have seen that most of the facts in Libanius’s life can be verified, at least in part, by his letters and by other contemporary sources; but in Oration 1, their interpretation, the mise-en-scène, the general design, and Libanius’s self-fashioning, which emphasizes certain details, give flavor to the events, framing them as parts of a life of great significance. As mentioned earlier,

104. The daughter of Crispinus, Or. 1.54; death of his cousin, Or. 1.95.. 105. Or. 1.53; for his ascetic attitude, see Cribiore 2007: 16–19. 106. Cribiore 2007: 16–17.

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from the beginning of the Bios, Libanius depicts his life and work as carried out under the auspices of the gods in general and of Tyche in particular. Tyche was the goddess who personified and guarded the fortunes of Antioch, and she was present there in many guises;107 therefore, Libanius’s frequent appeals to her, her presence beside him in moments of dejection and triumph, and the fact that he constantly measures events by her favor or disfavor may at first seem only natural and expected. But the goddess seems to have a distinctive, unique role in this first part of the narrative of his life; one would imagine that Tyche might have an analogous place of privilege in the other works of the sophist, but in fact, not only does she appear far less in the second part of the Bios, but also she is present only sporadically in the rest of his works, with only one exception: Oration 6, a contrived epideictic piece that offers a short moral dialexis on greed.108 Oration 6 is likely to have been a composition addressed to students, as the vocative “young men” suggests.109 The piece revolves around people’s dissatisfaction: they continually complain about their lives and blame Fortune when they feel deprived, failing to recognize the favors that the goddess has in fact granted them. Paradoxically, Libanius argues, even people who have everything are bound to complain, either because they will have to die one day or because they will never acquire the stature of a god and thus will never have altars and sacrifices dedicated to them. It would be more appropriate, therefore, for people to recognize how good Fortune has been to them. This summary, brief as it is, is sufficient to indicate the artificiality of the piece, in which the injustice perpetrated against Tyche is only the trigger for the main subject of the oration. As in the first part of Oration 1, here too the goddess is omnipresent, and people’s choices and destinies are evaluated in light of what Tyche grants them. Scholars have never assigned a date to this dialexis because of the lack of internal evidence; the text makes no mention of historical events and contains no references to events in the sophist’s life. I suggest that its date of composition may have not been far from 374, the date of the first part of the Bios. In Oration 1, the emphasis on the interventions of Tyche establishes a

107. Many statuettes were found in the city that approximated the statue made by Eutychides of Sicyon around 300 BCE; see that on page vi of this book, with her head tilted, legs crossed, and the gold-inlaid irises of her eyes. Coins also bore the image of the goddess; see Kondoleon 2000a: 116–18 and passim. For a thorough and still-valid treatment of Tyche in Libanius, see Misson 1914: 50–66. 108. Cf. Misson 1914: 52. 109. Or. 6.6; see the introduction in J. Martin 1988: 155–57.

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powerful divine framework for the events in Libanius’s life. The sophist uses the figure of the goddess for rhetorical reasons, as a literary gesture that confers unity on his oration as a whole. In this respect the employment of Fortune functions as a sort of technical device, as in the work of Ammianus.110 A few episodes in the narrative also show that Libanius was concerned with presenting himself as a sort of superhuman being; in each case he either was protected by miraculous interventions or performed divine actions himself. I mentioned earlier that he may have interpreted (and thus reported) the accident of the thunderbolt that occurred when he was very young as a sign from heaven that he had been tested but spared, but this is not the only example; he suggests that he benefits from special divine protection at other points in the narrative as well. In describing a journey back to Constantinople after his sojourn in Antioch, where the fame of his discourses “reached heaven” (91), he reports that an accident nearly cost him an eye when he was struck in the head by the whip of the carriage driver (93). Although his eyelid was gashed, Fortune saved his eye. He notes that he was then near Phlegrae, “where, according to the tale, the giants who were fighting against the gods were burned to death.” But unlike the giants, Libanius did not contend with the goddess Fortune; on the contrary, for him she was a benevolent presence, protecting her virtuous protégé through a “miraculous” intervention. At another point in the first part of the Autobiography, Libanius himself figures in the narrative as a benign spirit, performing exceptional deeds. When he returned to Antioch for the second time in 354, the emperor Gallus was raging with anger in the city and had arrested many people, among whom was the sophist Zenobius.111 The emperor was threatening everyone with execution (96). Libanius reports that he went to visit the prisoners and wept among them. He presents himself as “a kindly spirit” (daimon) who stilled the waters of Gallus’s anger. The expression “to still the waves” occurs in the Homeric Hymn to the Dioscuri and in the bucolic poet Theocritus; it also appears in the Gospels and was used several times by John Chrysostom.112 Perhaps more significantly, Julian, who was the product of a Christian

110. On Ammianus using Fortune as part of the equipment of a historian, see Matthews 1989: 427–28. 111. On the crisis of 354, which was caused basically by a famine, see Ammianus 14.7.2 and 14.7.5–6. Cf. Petit 1955: 235–38. 112. Homeric Hymn 15; Theocritus, Idyll 7.57; New Testament, Matt. 8:24–27, Luke 22–25, and John 16–21; and Chrysostom, e.g., Expositiones in Psalmos PG 55:281.63.

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upbringing, had employed the phrase in Oration for the Departure of Salutius 8, attributing this action of calming the waters to Zeus Xenios and Philios, the god of friendship and hospitality. We should note, however, that Libanius the “kindly spirit,” emulating benevolent Zeus, was only a fabrication. At that point his relationship with his former teacher Zenobius was irreparably compromised by Libanius’s attempts, mentioned earlier, to take Zenobius’s place with indecent haste.113 It is appropriate in this context to mention another episode of divine protection, even though Libanius reports it in the second part of the Bios.114 He writes there that the events in question had occurred many years before, although he had never mentioned them.115 In the section immediately preceding his description of the episode, he asserts that the reason for the protection the gods bestowed on him was the one he mentions elsewhere: “They granted eloquence to me and will take care that it will be victorious.”116 He then recalls how, when a certain artisan in Antioch, having apparently gone insane, became obsessed with Libanius and repeatedly tried to kill him by hurling stones in his direction, the stones always missed their target because of “divine providence.” Later, one summer’s day, the same man came to Libanius’s gate holding a large, deadly stone as the sophist was reading “at the foot of my usual pillar.” Libanius held his breath, and the man, although he looked everywhere, did not see him and retreated. There was nobody to help, but the gods were there.

c The Biographical Tradition To be sure, when Libanius offers both personal and historical details, he introduces a degree of artificiality by following more than one narrative model. His private concerns, presented in philosophical and religious terms, could thus appeal to a larger public. The richness of his literary references has attracted little attention so far. In unraveling all the strands of the text, it is necessary to keep in view the complexity of the tensions present in the background. Libanius was affected by the agenda of pagan rhetors and phi-

113. In section 97 the fiction continues, and Libanius paints himself as a generous helper of Zenobius. 114. Or. 1.235–38. 115. J. Martin and Petit 1979 ad loc. say that it is impossible to date this episode. In any case it reveals that Libanius continued to regard himself as a special human being, worthy of the gods’ attention. 116. Or. 1.234.

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losophers but subject to the influence of Christian narratives as well. The chief purpose of this section is to show how permeable the boundary between pagan and Christian could be, and how willing we must be to accept that not only did pagan and Christian literary traditions not ignore each other, but each consciously drew on elements common to both. This situation is paralleled in eighth-century Syria. Thomas Sizgorich has shown that the traditions of Islam were not discrete from those of the world preceding it, and some of its stories draw on those of hagiographers and virtuous storytellers.117 Thus the postconquest Arab community presented hybrid narratives of pious and ascetic Muslim warriors together with figures of Christian monks. Such narratives of remembrance must be in touch with, and tied to, cultural and social communal narratives. Libanius continues to be viewed as a parochial figure, entirely enclosed within a narrow cultural, social, and political world; but in fact, he was susceptible to and receptive of suggestions and voices coming from many quarters outside this narrow world. Certainly his Autobiography did not exist in vacuo; several models of biographies (though not autobiographies) were in circulation. Philostratus in the third century and Eunapius in the fourth wrote collections of lives of philosophers and orators that were intended to highlight the achievements of their subjects. These sketches were relatively brief and anecdotal and preserved historical traditions that circulated in specific circles. Eunapius in particular focused on figures who were part of his intellectual circle and whom he regarded as his intellectual ancestors.118 One of these was the philosopher Iamblichus. Eunapius provides stories that highlight Iamblichus’s teaching of theurgy as a means of coming closer to the gods. Libanius himself praises Iamblichus highly, saying that he was the head of the school of Apamea and “resembled the gods”; it is possible that he knew the works of Iamblichus that roused the emperor Julian’s admiration.119 Although we should be aware of the Lives of Philostratus and Eunapius in the literary background, they were not in fact direct models for Libanius’s narrative of his life, nor do I detect any recognizable influence from Plutarch’s Lives, which may not have been available to Libanius.120

117. Sizgorich 2004. In these stories a Christian monk was the first to recognize the Prophet. 118. See Watts 2005 and 2010: 37–45. On the principles regulating collective biographies, see Cox Miller 2000; on the Lives of Eunapius, see Penella 1990. 119. Or. 52.21. Cf. G. Clark 1989: xi–xii. 120. Cf. Foerster 1903–27: 6:370.

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c The Life of Apollonius of Tyana Before the Lives, Philostratus wrote a biography of Apollonius of Tyana (the longest biography extant from antiquity) that portrays Apollonius’s life as that of a miracle worker. Philostratus’s narrative can be described as a work of philosophical autobiography in that it reveals a great deal about its author, but on the whole it is a monumental biography of a larger-than-life personage.121 The account of Apollonius’s birth includes suggestions that Proteus appeared to Apollonius’s mother and disclosed that she was going to give birth to the god Proteus himself or that Apollonius was the son of Zeus. There is no doubt that Libanius knew Philostratus’s Life of Apollonius of Tyana, and it may have impressed him and inspired his desire to present himself as a hero in his account of his own life. But it is difficult to find explicit traces of this sensational work in the Autobiography; the reasons for this will become apparent in what follows. Libanius passed through Tyana in Cappadocia during his journey to Athens, and when, established in his profession, he received students of rhetoric from that city, he called it “blessed.”122 In Oration 16.56, where he rebukes the Antiocheans for their hostile and irreverent attitude toward Julian, Libanius mentions Apollonius as a pagan hero and suggests that the emperor was similar to Apollonius in his manner of life—the utmost compliment. Libanius refers to both men’s religious devotion and ascetic habits123—a universal characteristic of biographies of holy men, including that of Libanius— but he also presents traits that both Apollonius and Julian shared but that were alien to his own personality: Julian and Apollonius were men of action and of great power who crossed rivers and moved swiftly from country to country, but after the limited travels of his somewhat adventurous youth, Libanius spent most of his life in Antioch. His reference to Apollonius, moreover, betrays some tongue-in-cheek polemic; he calls Apollonius “the man from Tyana who branded our city in a couple of lines,” a comment that shows that he knew Apollonius from Philostratus’s text.124 In section 16 of his work, Philostratus relates the visit of Apollonius to Antioch to the myth of Apollo and Daphne. The narration of this myth, Philostratus says, is not just

121. See Billault 1993 and 2009: 16. 122. See Or. 1.14 and Ep. 1014 R132. 123. See, e.g., Or. 16.18. 124. Apollonius’s fame preceded Philostratus, and Lucian mentioned his disciples in Alex. 5; see C. P. Jones 2005–6: 17.

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a “scholastic” reference but introduces some facetious, albeit dry, comments of the philosopher: Apollonius admired the temple of Apollo but could not find any serious pursuits in the city, “only some semibarbarous and uncultivated folk,” so he asked Apollo to change the dumb creatures who inhabited the place into trees. Philostratus’s Life shows that Apollonius often used temples as venues for teaching disciples and priests, and thus he might have expected to find a school of higher learning in the temple of Apollo, but it was not used for this purpose even in later times.125 Libanius may have resented Apollonius’s argumentative comments as reported by Philostratus, but he could nevertheless use them in this oration to upbraid his fellow citizens. That Libanius held Apollonius in high esteem is also clear from a second reference to him in a late oration. To defend himself from the accusation that he was losing his wits in his old age, Libanius retorted, “Would you dare to say that Plato was losing his wits, and so was Isocrates, and Sophocles, and that Gorgias did not keep his senses, and that the famous man from Tyana did not know himself ?”126 In placing Apollonius in such company, all distinguished men who had reached a venerable age, Libanius might have been referring generically to the continued intellectual power the philosopher had displayed until the end of his life.127 The sophist might, however, have been alluding more pointedly to the passing of the philosopher who had wanted to die by himself, faithful to the maxim “Live unobserved, but if you cannot, die unobserved.”128 As a professional and skillful narrator, Philostratus tried to make his incredible story plausible, but it remains a sensational narrative and, furthermore, one into which he mixes long discourses in which Apollonius instructs his disciples (and not only them) on specific subjects. The rhetorical texture of these discourses may have roused the interest not only of Libanius but also of Athanasius, particularly when the latter was depicting the rhetorical prowess of the monk Antony.129 Philostratus’s work shows many debts to

125. See, e.g., Philostratus, VA 1.16.3. Apollonius here also made some ironic remarks against the Antiocheans who had complained of being shut out of their baths as a punishment in a political crisis. 126. Or. 4.4.4. Tradition reported the very old age of these figures, as Ps.-Lucian, Macrobioi 21–24, testifies: 81 years for Plato, 96 for Isocrates, 95 for Sophocles, and 108 for Gorgias, 127. Philostratus (VA 8.29) said that some reported that Apollonius had died (“if he did die”) at eighty, ninety, and even over a hundred, and that he was handsome and youthful till the end. 128. Philostratus, VA 8.28. 129. It is possible that Athanasius in writing the Vita Antonii was not inattentive to this feature of Apollonius’s life and made Antony’s discourses echo those of Apollonius. The attribution of the

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other genres, such as geographic accounts and the novels of antiquity. Apollonius was a fascinating figure, a wizard (goes) endowed with remarkable attributes, a philosopher-explorer who journeyed to exotic locations and had irreverent and witty exchanges with important figures. The example of Apollonius the magician and philosopher (but also the agent of the devil) had a huge impact on both pagans and Christians, and he was compared to Jesus in New Testament exegesis. His influence on pagan educational circles in late antiquity is also attested by his inclusion in a marble shield portrait in a grand house in the city of Aphrodisia in Caria, where he appears in the company of such classical thinkers as Socrates, Aristotle, and Pythagoras.130 But I do not see many signs that Libanius was directly inspired by the figure of Apollonius in writing his Autobiography, except perhaps in a very general way.131 Philostratus presents Apollonius’s superhuman capabilities in a series of episodes following a chronological framework that is manipulated for effect, entirely different from the precise chronological order of details given in Libanius’s Autobiography; Apollonius’s life was too dramatic and sensational to relate to the sophist’s life.

c Porphyry and Iamblichus In the late third and early fourth centuries two Neoplatonist philosophers, Porphyry and Iamblichus, wrote biographical texts; the former composed the Life of Pythagoras and the Life of Plotinus, and the latter wrote On the Pythagorean Life.132 Among the common themes of these texts are the holy philosophers’ asceticism, wisdom, and competence in teaching and supporting students.133 The biographies of Pythagoras focus on his ascetic discipline and dietary practices. In another work, On Abstinence, Porphyry presents a portrait of the true philosopher and his insistence on discipline, purity, and dietary asceticism; Libanius knew this work and quoted from it in discussing Neoplatonic dietary practices.134 He also knew (possibly directly) of Porphyry’s Against the Christians; when Julian composed Contra

Vita to Athanasius is disputed as I will reiterate below but the question is not relevant here. On Apollonius’s teaching, see Koskenniemi 2009. 130. R. R. R. Smith 1990. 131. In the same way, the Sacred Tales of Aristides might have influenced Libanius to some degree even though their tone and content are very different. 132. Life of Plotinus, Brisson et al. 1992; on the Life of Pythagoras, see G. Clark 2000. 133. Cox 1983: 17–44. 134. Decl. 13.19; cf. Norman 1964: 170–71.

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Galilaeos, Libanius declared that the emperor was superior to Porphyry.135 As we have seen, Libanius was attracted by a disciplined life with few concessions to sleep and pleasurable eating, a lifestyle that he also attributed to, and praised in, the emperor Julian. Both Iamblichus and Porphyry, however, went to extremes to show that Pythagoras’s diet preserved his body and soul and strengthened his spirit; the godlike soul of the philosopher had to inspire other human beings and teach them how to live. Even though a certain amount of narrative continuity seems to characterize the works of the Greek biographical tradition, not all these earlier lives of philosophers exhibit a linear chronology from beginning to end beyond their conventional birth-to-death frame;136 they construct reality in order to reveal a progression toward God,137 whereas Libanius’s oration is contained in a tight and factual chronological envelope. Exceptional birth stories characterize these lives, as we saw in the case of Apollonius; but although Libanius idealized his ancestors and insisted on their virtues (to the irritation of his contemporaries), his relatives were mortal, and he does not claim otherwise. A survey of the sources suggests not only that the pagan philosophers were viewed as sons of the gods but also that as such, they performed miracles and prodigies. They were extraordinary beings from the beginning of their lives. Porphyry reports, for example, that the infant Pythagoras, as the son of Apollo, was able to look at the sun without blinking and was nourished by dewdrops through a slender reed.138 Iamblichus presents Pythagoras’s godlike appearance and virtues, such as modesty and serenity, as innate. The behavior, appearance, and deeds of all these pagan philosophers aroused the admiration of the disciples who followed them in droves, marveling at their capacity to inspire pure behavior in others; in Libanius’s text people’s astonishment at the virtuous conduct of the sophist, dedicated only to scholastic achievements and to the avoidance of pleasures, seems to correspond to the aura of admiration that enveloped the pagan holy men. A motif common to the narratives of Libanius and the philosophers is the quest for an ideal teacher and the necessity of traveling to find such a man in order to acquire from him an education in the desired subjects.139

135. Libanius, Or. 18.178. 136. In the Life of Plotinus the frame is contained in the first sections. 137. Cox 1983: 52–58. 138. Porphyry, Life of Phythagoras 10. This detail revealed his divine origin, so his putative father acknowledged him as his son. 139. Athanasius also pointed to this, as we will see later.

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This theme was common enough in the lives of young men who belonged to the intellectual and financial elite. Although Libanius hoped to find that superior being who could be his mentor, he was disappointed and became determined instead to be independent. Porphyry recounts the quest of Plotinus, who in his late twenties discovered Ammonius in Alexandria, a man who finally fulfilled Plotinus’s desire for a mentor;140 Porphyry himself loved his teacher Plotinus even though Plotinus was unsystematic, lacked a distinct teaching method, and his writing was difficult to understand because he paid little attention to grammar or rhetoric.141 As is the case in the Life of Apollonius, all these lives unroll as a series of images, vignettes, and anecdotes and forgo any but a very rudimentary chronology.142 Iamblichus, Porphyry, Syrianus, Proclus, and certain other illustrious figures who sought theological and philosophical truth were regarded as divine, and their holiness was interpreted in terms of their adherence to the Platonic and Pythagorean intellectual traditions.143 They were spiritual teachers at the center of relatively large circles of faithful disciples, uninterested in worldly affairs and uninvolved in the life of the city. Inspiring as they might have been to Libanius when he was writing the story of his life as a sophist, these narratives could not serve as direct models for him; these feats of the pagan philosophers differed from his own achievements and style. We need to keep in mind that Libanius had a somewhat antagonistic relation with philosophy, which he professed to admire only from afar.144 The circle of Libanius’s students was not as tight as those of the philosophers’ disciples, and occasional defections occurred, even though the sophist worked hard to be a spiritual father to the young men. He also participated in civic affairs that were outside his immediate competence as a teacher, and he provided assistance to less fortunate citizens. In general, although Libanius might have admired the high disquisitions of the philosophers and their divine lives, he had his feet firmly planted on the ground. I mentioned earlier that Libanius’s Bios and Gregory of Nazianzus’s autobiographical works are similar in some respects, particularly in that in each case the author offers an account with himself as the protagonist. Both

140. Brisson 1992, sec. 3. 141. This was a trait that Libanius was bound to disapprove strongly. 142. Porphyry recounted a series of detached episodes in Plotinus’s life into which he inserted letters, an oracle of Apollo, and writings of the master. 143. See Fowden 1977 and 1982; and Damascius, Isid. 36 and fr. 77 Zintzen. 144. He did not play the card of philosophy; see Cribiore 2007: 66.

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authors, moreover, aim at constructing monumental portraits of themselves as holy men who reached glory, albeit by different means. “Graeco-Roman antiquity,” Mortimer Smith says, knew many men of many different patterns, “a mob of heroes, philosophers, divine, and deified men.”145 In what follows, I will consider the possibility that in some respects, Libanius’s Autobiography also echoes Athanasius’s biography of the monk Antony, and I will propose a hypothesis that suggests how the sophist might have come into contact with that work. Neil McLynn has pointed out that one of Peter Brown’s seminal articles deals with common holy men, simple hermits from Syria who did not have many intellectual accomplishments;146 with Libanius, Gregory, and Athanasius we are in a different land. Although the literacy of the monk Antony is disputed (as I will discuss later), Athanasius, the creator of his Greek Life, lived and worked in the shared rhetorical landscape of pagan and Christian writers. My main purpose here is to bring Libanius’s Bios into the context of the “life of the holy man” and to show how much these texts—pagan and Christian—had in common. It is meaningful to try to trace how a “historical” narrative becomes entrenched in the self-understanding of individuals belonging to different contexts. God is also central to all the texts of the biographical tradition that I have examined. Pythagoras, “the priest of the supreme God,” became united with this God, and the Pythagorean way of life was to follow God. A thorough commitment to philosophy enabled the soul to ascend to God; for Porphyry, the true philosopher was a priest of God. Again, God was working through Antony and helped him prevail; in his journey he found his final home in God. The divine presence in Libanius’s Autobiography is pervasive but artificial. His Tyche is something of a deus ex machina, present from the beginning and serving to create a convenient divine framework. Her very limited appearance in the rest of his corpus suggests that he was not a consistent worshipper of her; when she appears, moreover, she is the capricious Hellenistic goddess who makes arbitrary decisions.147 Nonetheless, Libanius needed the figure of the goddess, wishing as he did to claim investiture as a holy man under her auspices.

145. M. Smith 1971: 181. 146. McLynn 1998; Brown 1971. 147. See Or. 2.56, where she is presented as an unjust goddess because she rewards those who do not deserve her help and punishes good people. Misson 1914: 51–66 points out the inconsistency.

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c Athanasius’s Life of Antony The Life of Antony (Vita Antonii; hereafter VA) attributed to Athanasius of Alexandria is the most influential (and the earliest) hagiographic text in the Christian tradition. I am not concerned here with its attribution to Athanasius, or with the debate whether the Greek text was the original and was later translated into many languages; furthermore, I am aware that even after over a hundred years of scholarly attention to this text, there is no consensus with regard to—among other things—the relationships of the different versions, questions of authorship, or the value of the text as a historical source.148 The Greek text is a well-structured and fairly homogeneous composition, although it resembles in some ways works of the Greek rhetorical and biographical tradition, such as the Lives of the pagan philosophers. It has been shown that what is probably the best-known passage of the work, in which Antony emerges as a mystic initiate from his twenty-year ascetic isolation in the deserted fortress, contains unmistakable echoes of Porphyry’s Life of Pythagoras;149 these echoes are yet more evidence that a composer of biography was often subject to various influences. In Bartelink’s opinion, these references serve to establish a contrast between Antony and those pagan heroes, the Greek philosophers among them, and to show the Christian hero vanquishing his pagan counterparts.150 Whether Athanasius wrote the entire Greek text or merely left some imprint on it is not essential to my purpose; the text we have is the one that Evagrius of Antioch translated into Latin and that may have been, as I will discuss, in the hands of Libanius.

c Evagrius of Antioch I wish to focus now on the background of the Latin translation of the VA and thus investigate whether there is a real possibility that Libanius might have seen and read the original Greek text. I have shown elsewhere that it is impossible to depend solely on the sophist’s quotations and allusions to determine what he (or other literary figures) actually read; not all his read-

148. For a thorough discussion of the scholarship on the text, the disputed authorship by Athanasius, and the status quaestionis, see Bartelink 2004: 27–35 and Rubenson 1995: 126–32. On the question of the relation of Athanasius with the church in Egypt, see A. Martin 1996. 149. VA 14. Reitzenstein 1914: 14 was the first to notice the unmistakable borrowing. On the difference between the saint and the sage, see Vivian and Athanassakis 2003: xxxix–xlvii. 150. Bartelink 2004: 64.

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ing is reflected in his writing with reliable precision.151 In the case at hand, we will have to look for a similar air du temps and certain other indistinct traces rather than searching for explicit references. As Mortimer Smith maintains, it is difficult to prove specific relationships among narratives of holy men (among which I include Libanius’s text) because elements that seem similar may not relate directly to one another but may have derived “from the general religious and intellectual milieu.”152 There are several reasons for looking closely at Evagrius, the translator of the VA, only one of which is the possible relation of the Autobiography with the VA. First, the ups and downs of his life are intriguing because they show the range of possible events an elite person might face in his life, from a privileged upbringing and an education with the best teachers to adulthood, married life, and a high position in the administration and then from subsequent disgrace and poverty to a final refuge and a privileged position within the Christian Church. Furthermore, although he is not well known, Evagrius is an important figure in the fourth century with many accomplishments; as such, he deserves careful attention. Finally, the close relationship between Evagrius and Libanius warrants some inquiry. I will consider Evagrius again in Chapter 4, where I will focus particularly on his relatives and the later phase of his life, but for now I would like to concentrate on some general facts. Evagrius belonged to a family that was very close to Libanius and had been for generations.153 He had two older brothers, Miccalus and Olympius 3; Olympius was one of the sophist’s most devoted friends, and Evagrius himself, the youngest, attended Libanius’s school (I regard the evidence of the church historian Socrates Scholasticus as trustworthy in this case).154 In any event, Libanius and Evagrius maintained a very solid relationship. After Evagrius married and needed to escape the burden of curial duties, Libanius proposed to the authorities that Evagrius could be

151. Cribiore 2007: 158–59. 152. M. Smith 1971: 186–87. 153. Evagrius 6 in PLRE 1; he descended from Pompeianus 1, who was probably his grandfather; his brothers were Olympius 3 and Miccalus. 154. Socrates, HE 6.3.2: Evagrius studied under Libanius and the philosopher Andragathius 2, who were also the teachers of John Chrysostom. Petit 1956a: 41–42 hesitated to consider Evagrius a student of the sophist because he did not find in the letters specific words that indicate that. Besides the exhortation to work hard in Ep. 1287 N135, which Libanius usually confines to his students, it seems hardly possible that Evagrius attended another school because the families were so close and otherwise Libanius would have protested vehemently. That would have been a stain on his career that he would not have forgotten easily. See Cribiore 2007: 304–5 on the dossier of the sons of Philagrius.

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made a governor and thereby be exempt from such responsibilities. With the help of the powerful praetorian prefect Saturninius Secundus Salutius, again solicited by Libanius, Evagrius finally became governor under Jovian in 364.155 Grateful but perhaps intimidated by his new duties, he asked his former teacher for rules to inspire his tenure, and Libanius responded with a letter in which he praised generic qualities such as consistency, honesty, and respect for the law.156 It appears that these rules, if he observed them, did not bring Evagrius much success. The circumstances are obscure, but he was dismissed from office, flogged, and fined. Although he was later cleared of wrongdoing and emerged with his honor apparently intact, he was forced to sell his land to pay the fine and was left in dire financial straits, with a wife and two children. Libanius did not cease to appeal to officials on Evagrius’s behalf, but this mishap had left its mark, and some time afterward Evagrius retired “from the tumult of public business.”157 His disgrace may have inspired the young John Chrysostom not to embark on a law career.158 The second important chapter in his life finds Evagrius as a Christian priest, although it is unclear whether he had converted or had been a Christian before. He abandoned his former life and is mentioned in several letters of Basil and Jerome. Between 365 and 373 he spent an unknown amount of time as a priest in Rome, where he made the acquaintance of Pope Damasus, who was versed in literary studies, and it was also here that he met Jerome. It is likely that Evagrius learned or, in any case, considerably improved his command of Latin during this period. His translation of the VA shows him to be a man with considerable literary gifts; this impression is confirmed by the report Jerome gives in his De viris illustribus that Evagrius had a remarkable mind and had read to Jerome several treatises that he had composed and not yet published.159 When he returned from Italy, Evagrius became a follower of Paulinus in the schism of Antioch, which I will discuss in greater detail in Chapter 4 in connection with Libanius’s Oration 63. In a

155. See Libanius, Epp. 1224 B168 and 1426 N112. Evagrius was not appointed by Julian, as Liebeschuetz 2011: 120n29 maintains. 156. Ep. 1287. 157. Socrates, HE 6.3. See Epp. 1311 and 1312. In the first letter, sent to the high official Datianus 1, Libanius mentions the servants and nurses Evagrius had to support, but as usual in antiquity, these were not indicative of great wealth. 158. Socrates, HE 6.3.2, says only that. Liebeschuetz 2011: 118 goes beyond the testimony in affirming that Socrates said that John was dissuaded directly by Evagrius. 159. Jerome, De viris illustribus 125.

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letter dating to 373, Basil alludes to the fact that Evagrius had just come back from Rome and was asking him to intervene in the controversies of the schism of Antioch by organizing an embassy to Rome to invite the Western bishops.160 It is clear, therefore, that Evagrius, a humble priest at the time, already had a significant position in church affairs, and this conclusion is confirmed by another letter of Basil to him in the same year.161 Beneath the semblance of suave courtesy, however, the letter suggests that Basil was displeased with Evagrius’s choices in the schism of Antioch; another priest had told him that Evagrius had refused to take part in his religious ser vice. “We had not discussed this when we met,” Basil said sternly. In those years Evagrius also became quite close to Jerome, who arrived in Antioch in 373 and spent almost seven years as Evagrius’s guest. A few scholars have proposed that the inequality of their status suggests that Evagrius was the wealthy patron of Jerome.162 This interpretation seems problematic because Evagrius was left impoverished by his disgrace in office, having paid a hefty fine and lost his land. In any case, through Evagrius Jerome came into contact with important Christian figures. Jerome wrote a letter in 370 commending Evagrius for his intervention in Antioch in favor of a woman unjustly accused of adultery and praising him further for the good work he had done in Milan and Rome on behalf of the Roman bishops. The evidence of their friendship is manifest: Jerome wrote several other letters showing his gratitude and affection for Evagrius;163 he called Evagrius one of his two eyes, accepted his help when he returned exhausted from his journeys, entrusted letters to him, and asked Pope Damasus to send any letters he might write to Jerome to Evagrius’s address. Several years later, in 395, Jerome wrote another letter (57) extolling the merits of Evagrius’s Latin translation of the Vita Antonii. Jerome’s translation of a certain letter into Latin had come under criticism for being not word-for-word but ad sensum; in his justification Jerome cited with approval the preface of Evagrius, who had followed the same practice in rendering the VA. In the preface of the Greek Vita, Athanasius addressed the work to monks who had come from the Western

160. This never materialized in spite of Basil’s efforts. See Ep. 138.2 and Courtonne vol.2, 1961: 54–56. 161. Basil, Ep. 156, especially sec. 3. 162. See Kelly 1975 passim; Rebenich 1992: 52–75; and Williams 2006: 34. 163. Jerome, Ep. 1, presents a lurid story of torture, quasi-death, and escape in male disguise similar to a novel; cf. Williams 2006: 33; more letters were written in 374, 3.3; 4.2; 5.3; 7.1; and 15.5 dating to 376 or 377.

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world.164 Evagrius addressed his translation “ad peregrinos fratres,” to those “brothers abroad” whom he had met during his stay in Rome. Because he had had a rhetorical education, knew Roman poetry, and was well acquainted with both of those intellectual worlds, he was competent to do the task well. His translation, containing poetic expressions and rhetorical figures, was a huge success, as the number of medieval manuscripts testifies. For many centuries the Vita was known only through Evagrius’s work.165

c An Illiterate Monk? Even though the question of Antony’s supposed illiteracy does not directly affect my argument, I find it tempting to take it up again in the hope of bringing even a small contribution to the ongoing debate. Those who have studied the VA have long wrestled with the problems of the “illiteracy” of Antony as described at the beginning of the text, in light of the fact that he appears at later times as writing, advising his followers to write, and disputing competently as a philosopher. At the heart of the discussion is chapter 1 of the VA, where it is said that the young Antony refused to go to school and learn grammata: “When he was a young child, he was raised by his parents and did not know anyone besides them and his house. But when he grew, became a boy, and advanced in age, he did not like to learn letters [manthanein grammata], not caring to associate with other boys.” The notion of the uneducated monk who learned everything only through his faith in God was pervasive in the earliest scholarship and has circulated so widely that even now Antony continues to be called agrammatos (illiterate).166 To solve the seeming contradiction, some scholars have remarked that it is inadvisable to take these words literally; the VA, they say, is not a true historical document but rather a text that reveals the theological intent of Athanasius. It is important to take into account the general agenda of the work, that is, the emphasis on the fact that Antony was taught only by God, and that there was a fundamental difference between pagan philosophy and the knowledge given by the Christian faith. Thus Samuel Rubenson asserts that the fact that the VA presents young Antony as a completely uneducated boy who refused to go to school is unimportant overall

164. Bartelink 2004: 46. 165. Ibid., 97–98. A critical edition is still a desideratum. 166. Bartelink 2004: 30 defines Antony with this word. Antony thus would have been like the many individuals in Egypt who were incapable even of copying a subscription at the bottom of documents.

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and constitutes a topos.167 We know that other writers of biographies such as Plutarch sometimes filled childhood gaps with certain generalizations,168 but the cliché of the child who prefers to remain at home is not well represented.169 More important, here we are not directly concerned with the historicity of the extent of Antony’s literacy because it is clear that Athanasius was to some extent reinterpreting reality; what matters is how he carried out that reinterpretation, and how he intended his readers to see it. There is no doubt that the question of Antony’s literacy should be considered against the background of the conflict between the Christian monk-philosopher and the Greek learned scholar; but even with that understood, we can and should investigate further in hopes of putting to rest an issue that still obstructs our understanding and contributes to some extent to the mistaken perception of all monks as illiterate.170 David Brakke rightly draws attention to the fact that according to Athanasius, Antony was relatively advanced in age when he opposed going to school to “learn letters,” and he suggests therefore that this refers to his later education with a grammarian.171 In order to substantiate his suggestion, we should clarify the proper meaning of the phrase manthanein grammata in an attempt to understand more precisely what Athanasius meant by using it. As I have shown elsewhere, this phrase can refer not only to primary schooling but also to education in general, and at times even to higher education; other writers, such as Plutarch, Diogenes Laertius, and Clemens, sometimes use this expression with reference to education beyond the primary level.172 Some papyri, as Robert Kaster has noted, show clearly that in some instances the phrase is better translated as “learning literature.”173 In using the phrase,

167. Rubenson 1995: 141–43. 168. See Pelling 1990b and 1990c: 36–38. 169. Herodas’s mime Didaskalos might be an instance, but that child hated his home as much as school. 170. On the high status and education of some monks in Egypt, see A. Martin 1996: 660–70. Thus Theodore, the successor of Pachomius, studied up to the age of fourteen. 171. Brakke 1995: 253–55 suggests this but does not look at the proper meaning of the expression. 172. See, e.g., Plutarch, Quaest. Conv. 736D2, who mentions grammata (literature) together with geometry and rhetoric, and Diogenes Laertius, Vitae philosophorum 6.103.9, who mentions literature that might distract students from studying philosophy; also 4.67 with the meaning of general education. See also Clemens: children learn grammata through myth, Epitome de gentis Petri, 51.26. These writers also used grammata in the traditional sense. Origen in Contra Celsum repeatedly calls primary instruction ta prota grammata, e.g., 1.62.39. 173. See Cribiore 1996: 14, 20n60; Cribiore 2001: 52–53 (P. Cair. Zen. 59098; P. Oxy. 22.2345 and 18.2190); cf. Kaster 1988: 39n26 and 40.

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Athanasius may have had in mind a passage of Philostratus’s Life of Apollonius in which he states that “when Apollonius reached an age to study grammata,” he had great memory, power of application, and an Attic accent.174 In Philostratus’s text there is the same progression of age as in Athanasius’s Life of Antony, and Philostratus also shows that Apollonius too stayed initially with his parents “like a young eagle with wings still undeveloped,” learning from their guidance, but was ultimately able to soar higher than they had. Most important, Athanasius, who uses the word grammata with regard to Antony a few times elsewhere in the VA, in section 20 shows unmistakably that he knew the broader meaning of the word, that is, not letters of the alphabet but literature: “The Greeks go abroad, even crossing the sea to learn grammata, but we have no need to go abroad for the sake of the kingdom of heaven, nor need we cross the sea for the sake of perfection.” In this passage Athanasius is alluding to the common custom of wealthy pagan students (here designated as Greeks) to go abroad to get an education, usually in rhetoric or philosophy. In the fourth century and later it was quite common for both Christian and pagan young men to go to Athens to study, as did not only Libanius and Eunapius but also Gregory of Nazianzus and Basil; Egypt too had its share of foreign students, as Athanasius knew well.175 It is evident that he is referring here not to the learning of the rudiments but to higher disciplines; it was for the sake of those more refined grammata that students left their homes and crossed the sea. I thus interpret the section of the VA concerning Antony’s education as expressing that, as often happened, particularly in well-off families (and we are told that the Antony’s parents were noble, eugeneis) early education happened at home, where the primary letters were imparted, but little more.176 Antony then refused to go to school to obtain a higher education, presumably at the hands of a grammarian, because, as the text says, that would have meant ending his isolation and being in the company of other boys. Athanasius thus shows Antony’s dedication to anachoresis even at that early stage: going to school when he “was advancing in years” to have a more general education together with other students would have forced him to renounce his seclusion. It is not surprising that the future ascetic refused company

174. Philostratus, VA 1.7. C. P. Jones 2005–6 rightly translates the expression as “literature.” 175. Cribiore 2007: 82, 191; Bradbury 2004a. 176. According to Sozomen, HE 1.13.2, Antony’s family was wealthy and possessed three hundred arouras of land. Home schooling was very frequent in antiquity at the hands of the parents or of someone acting as a pedagogue. It is possible that Antony used some of his learning in the discussion of mythology in the Vita.

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even when he was young, and therefore, this circumstance fits Athanasius’s narrative well. Later in life, however, as we will see, Antony learned to proselytize and had a flock of students. I am aware that the general picture of the limited education of Antony, enabled by God to practice rhetoric and philosophy, remains roughly the same as before, but I hope that the language of the passage and its larger context are now more precisely delineated.177 Certainly the monk’s incomplete educational accomplishments did not prevent Libanius from having an interest in the Vita; Athanasius himself brought a rhetorical flavor to Antony’s sermons and his debates with the philosophers that undoubtedly rendered the Greek text more interesting to a sophist.

c The Vita Pauli of Jerome I cannot fail to mention, however briefly, the Vita Pauli of Jerome even though Libanius did not read it, written as it was in Latin. There is a chance, in any case, that Evagrius, being in those years so close to Jerome, mentioned the work to Libanius. The hermit Paul of Thebes, whose life Jerome wrote around 376178 and who lived in the Egyptian desert, appears unequivocally literate and “highly skilled in both Greek and Egyptian.”179 This assertion is the first sign to the reader that Jerome is vying with Athanasius’s Vita Antonii and trying to make his hero superior in all respects.180 Athanasius’s work was in fact the model for hagiographic texts, but most important, the attempt of the Vita Pauli to challenge Athanasius’s text gives it a place in my discussion. It seems reasonable to suggest that Evagrius and Jerome talked about the VA that the former was translating. Did Jerome read it in the original Greek or in the translation of his friend? It is difficult to know because by this time Jerome had become competent in Greek. In the preface of the Vita Pauli he states, “The Life of Antony has been transmitted to us with great care both in Greek and in Latin.” He also appears to have been inspired to some extent by the version of Evagrius, who had introduced

177. Cf. the same contrast between eloquence and philosophy, on the one hand, and lack of paideia, on the other, in Paul. John Chrysostom had to juggle between the two issues but left Paul’s biographical portrait intact; see M. M. Mitchell 2000: 278–82. 178. Bartelink 1994: 37. Others scholars date it to 374. 179. See Vita Pauli primi eremitae, PL 23, ed. J. P. Migne (Paris, 1844–64). It is unclear whether Paul was a historical person or fictional. 180. Jerome wrote two more lives of monks that followed this one, the lives of Malchus and Hilarion.

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poetic, notably Vergilian, reminiscences. Jerome justifies his work at the start by saying that certain people had discussed which monk had given “a signal example of the hermit life.” He appears to be referring here to those monks who had asked Athanasius about Antony and to whom he then presented Antony as a model for ascesis.181 The Vita of the hermit Paul is an interesting text because it shows what a writer of great education and fertile imagination could concoct in trying to rival a model.182 The text is a rhetorical composition that differs from Athanasius’s work: Jerome’s Vita Pauli attempts to show not only that it is literarily superior and more pleasant to read (almost as engaging, in fact, as a novel) but also and especially that Antony was only the second illustrious monk—the palm of victory for the first proponent of ascesis had to be handed to Paul. Meanwhile, Jerome claimed that he was inventing true hagiography, “a remarkably plastic genre.”183 In this contest of “my monk versus your monk,” we are told that like Antony, Paul came from a wealthy family and had a sister, and that their parents left them a large inheritance. When Paul went to live in the desert, he was 113 years old, while Antony was only 90.184 Not only was Antony younger, but he also showed a youthful pride in being the most perfect monk and therefore clearly needed to improve his command of humility. On his way to visit Paul, he traverses a hospitable desert, lacking any Athanasian demons or hyenas, where he meets some delightful and friendly animals,185 wild and weird creatures that remind one of the Wizard of Oz. In the locus amoenus that Jerome skillfully depicts, the pathos is limited and much tempered by the comic; when Antony returns after fetching, at Paul’s request, the tunic of Athanasius, he finds Paul dead but immortalized in the ultimate ascetic posture, kneeling and with hands lifted to heaven. The reader understands the message: Paul was definitely the best in ascesis. By wrapping the garment of Athanasius around Paul, Jerome once again acknowledges his hagiographic debts, but by choosing for himself Paul’s tunic over the other in a final appeal to the reader, he shows his awareness of his own worth.

181. Athanasius, VA preface 1–4. 182. Coleiro 1957, in an article full of valid observations, attempts to see the VP as a historical work and thus ends up giving a negative judgment to a text he sees in any case as “a delightful work of art” (172). 183. Burrus 2001: 449. 184. Jerome in the Chronicon says that Antony died at the age of 105; Die Griechischen Christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten Jahrhunderte (GCS) Eusebius 7:240. 185. See Cox Miller 1996.

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c Outline of the Vita Antonii The text of the Greek Life of Antony, like Libanius’s account of his own life, follows a chronological order. It is a story of increasingly more demanding and strenuous ascetic exercises that lead the protagonist to perfection.186 In the preface Athanasius declares that this monk’s life will serve as a model of ascesis that others in the Christian community should follow.187 There is a parallel situation in Libanius: at the end of the first part of the Bios, Libanius presents Fortune’s claim that his texts were models in every school of rhetoric. Antony had practiced the virtue of askesis from his first years, avoiding costly and pleasurable food;188 after the death of his parents, he looked for people who could help him continue on his path to virtue, seeking the company of anyone from whom he could learn and sampling their teachings like the “wise bee” of Isocrates and Basil (3). Askesis was Antony’s exclusive concern; he did not pay attention to his possessions or to his surviving relatives but devoted himself to memorizing the sacred texts till he knew them perfectly. As we have seen, Libanius was also unattached to his possessions and somewhat neglectful of his family, devoting himself rather to his passion for learning. In doing so, both the sophist and the monk (4) attracted everyone’s love and admiration. A large part of the Greek VA is occupied by descriptions of successive fights against the devil’s increasingly vicious temptations, involving fornication, wild beasts, and demons. Athanasius calls the victories of the saint over the devil athla (7), the same term used by Libanius for his own feats of eloquence when he fought against evil rivals.189 Antony’s deeds and progress toward excellence elicited amazement in the common people, and his great power of persuasion convinced them to follow him; Libanius’s text shows over and over again how his victories and rhetorical power increased the number of his students. The Lord in fact gave Antony such eloquence (“grace in speaking”) that when he addressed his followers, many began to imitate his asceticism and chose the solitary life (14–15). He spoke with them frequently, and “soon there were numerous cells because his logos drew men.” The subsequent

186. Cox 1983: 53–54 sees development in Antony’s spiritual ascent, while Rubenson 2000: 116n16 follows Roldanus 1993, who does not see any internal development. In my view, the story conveys a sense of progress as Antony undergoes more proofs and is followed by more students. 187. Athanasius, VA preface 3. 188. This theme, which appears in Athanasius, VA 1, occurs repeatedly later, e.g., chapter 7, which focuses on his spare habits and vigils. 189. See. e.g., Or. 1.27 and 117: the sweat of rhetorical labor.

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great address to the monks, in which Antony develops rhetorical and philosophical themes, is an earnest rhetorical communication with his disciples (16–43). Like Libanius, he calls them “his children” as he fulfills the role of father-teacher.190 It has been said that “the conversational aspect of Antony’s career was the principal constituent of ascetic society,”191 but it was more than that. Rhetoric was a fundamental ingredient of ancient society as a whole, and Antony had to address questions of Greek paideia and persuasive powers together with issues of ecclesiastical community and authority.192 Antony’s life had to serve as a model for asceticism, and therefore, the text repeatedly stresses that he sought to furnish for his students exempla for imitation, as in the ancient classroom.193 The numerous miracles that occupy the second part of the VA served as strong confirmations of faith. The learning process was both incessant and harsh for Antony and his disciples, as it was for Libanius and his pupils; the master was never content with or complacent in his success but always strove to advance in his knowledge and exercises (66).194 Athanasius’s and Libanius’s texts present certain common elements that come from the writers’ similar cultural upbringing. One of them is the insistence on the power of memory. Whereas Libanius memorized the works of the classical writers, Antony did not have any need for books because he remembered every part of the scriptures (3). The power of words is also central to both texts. The figure of the silent rhetor that occurs in Libanius represents the complete failure of the power of persuasion and of a life of education, while in the VA demons, and the Melitians and Arians, do not possess rational discourse.195 Words are real weapons that Antony launches against the devil and demons, and recitation of the Psalms and other parts of the scriptures chase demons away.196 Questions of power—who has it, who can take it away, and who will triumph in the end—govern both texts.

190. On this, see Cribiore 2007: 138. Cf. Athanasius, VA 43, 54, and 66. On the teacher-father tie in late antiquity, see Brown 1971: 99. The figure of the father was superseded by that of the holyman teacher. 191. Rousseau 2000: 95. 192. See Rubenson 2000. 193. The Lord had preserved him from a persecution so that his followers could learn from him; Athanasius, VA 46. 194. That is why a full rhetorical education lasted so many years. 195. Athanasius, VA 36.1–2 and 68.3. Cf. Vivian and Athanassakis 2003: xxxvi–xxxvii. 196. Athanasius, VA 40.5 and 52.3.

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c The Challenge of the Biographical Tradition At the end of the VA Athanasius exhorts the monks to read the text not only to their brothers, so as to incite them to virtue, but also to pagans, so that they will understand that their gods are false and should be trampled on and dismissed.197 If the pagan Libanius read this text, as I suggest, it may have had an impact on him different than the one described above and may rather have fostered a desire to say a word or two in response. In a series of chapters (74–80) Antony addresses two Greek philosophers who had come to the mountain to engage him in debate;198 among other things, he discusses the emptiness of classical education and of the allegorical interpretation of myths (76). Classical paideia was at the center of the pagan and Christian debate in the fourth century, with Christians trying to appropriate it and pagans showing resentment at the attempt.199 It was a passionate and lively discussion that would lose its urgency in later times. Antony “was not a man known for his writings or for his pagan learning” but nonetheless challenged the pagan philosophers, saying, “Your teaching was ever honored by men throughout the country, while the followers of Christ are persecuted; yet it is our teaching, not yours, that is flourishing and spreading. Your teaching perishes in spite of praise and honor.”200 When Iamblichus and Porphyry present Pythagoras’s quest for God, they recount the philosopher’s miracles and healing abilities and declare the power and purity of his community. It is not entirely certain whether the “divine philosophy” of Pythagoras (as Iamblichus and Porphyry call it), with its intellectual and practical sides, deliberately challenged the Christian way of life, but it formed a tradition that could compete with the Christian tradition and could respond to the increasing antagonism of the period. The great heritage of the Christian doctrine could not be contested; but did Pythagoras leave knowledge that would spread beyond a few chosen disciples? At the end of the philosopher’s life, Iamblichus noted some successors, but the existence of Pythagorean communities in late antiquity is doubtful.201 According to Porphyry (57), when Pythagoras died, the

197. Athanasius, VA 94. 198. See the other brief encounters with philosophers in Athanasius, VA 72 and 73. 199. Rubenson 2000. 200. Athanasius, VA 93; for a full discussion of exothen sophia, see Rubenson 2000: 118n22. 201. Iamblichus, VP 36.265–67. Dillon and Hershbell 1991: 14–16 think that the question is subject to debate.

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Pythagoreans disbanded and disappeared, and their knowledge perished because it was kept secret. At least Libanius could claim that his rhetorical knowledge and appropriation of pagan literature still endured in the culture of the time. Libanius’s Autobiography was the result of many diverse influences and motives and moreover could appeal to a varied audience. The following chapters will shed some light on the circles he frequented, pagan and Christian alike, consisting of distinguished men of culture, some of whom were in love with both the logoi (rhetoric) and the Christian Logos at the same time. These men were sophisticated enough to be aware that reality was not black and white and were ready to absorb suggestions from different environments. Libanius certainly knew and took into account the pagan biographical tradition, but I propose that he would not have neglected to read a pertinent text—which his student Evagrius may have brought to his attention—only because it celebrated a Christian monk and his God. We know that the Vita Antonii circulated in Antioch from the fact that John Chrysostom not only mentions it but also advises people in his congregation to read it.202 Athanasius emerged from the same cultural milieu to which Libanius belonged, and in Athanasius’s text the sophist could find much that could help him shape the narrative of his own life. What I suggest here is not a direct competition with the pagan and Christian chorus or a conscious challenge to it but rather a desire to listen to and incorporate all the voices of the times. In this chapter I have begun to suggest that Libanius was not deaf to the discourses of traditions seemingly different from his own. This suggestion is in contrast to the work of earlier scholars, who have painted a static image of this sophist as a figure entirely immersed in a world of rhetorical rules and mythology. In their view, Libanius was obstinately fixed in the immutable history of the Trojan War, unaffected by the changing world in which he lived, an inflexible pagan who somewhat obtusely proceeded along his sheltered path, oblivious to his surroundings. No wonder the response of modern readers has been lukewarm. The attitude of Libanius toward his contemporaries (“friends, and those who were neither enemies nor friends”)203 and the ways in which he moved in different religious circles will be defined in more detail in Chapters 3 and 4.

202. John Chrysostom, In Matth. hom. 8.5, PG 57.89. Besides the Bible, this is the only text John advised people to read. 203. Introduction, Ep. 1504.

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In the chapter that follows, however, I wish to continue chipping away at the monumental image of this sophist. I will attempt to discover what is behind the modern claim that Libanius the flatterer continued to write mellifluous letters to people whom he gloatingly demolished in secret, hiding (or showing only to a few friends) his most controversial and vituperative orations. Here, as before, differences among genres and distinctions among audiences will play a crucial role. Chapter 2 will look mostly backward, attempting to reach and confirm certain necessary conclusions before I proceed to the rest of my claims. My main concerns will be the relationship between rhetoric and reality and the connection between rhetorical issues of blame and those who were at the receiving end of that blame as targets and spectators.

c Ch a p ter 2 A Rhetor and His Audience The Role of Invective

The philosopher Themistius declares: “If a person buries his orations in obscurity and locks them up as if they were bastards begotten in adultery, and does not bring this fine progeny of his out to bestow it on the community, how could he be more ill disposed toward his city and more deserving of public condemnation?”1 With these words in mind, we must evaluate the question of how Libanius delivered and disseminated his orations. Did he bring them all out into the light, or did he hide some of them like illegitimate children? Did he benefit the community and his city with his speeches, or did he merely indulge in rhetorical pyrotechnics? In what follows, I will discuss certain of Libanius’s speeches that target specific opponents, orations that he calls his “fighting” (machomenoi) discourses, in which there are elements of personal (especially sexual) invective.2 I have focused on sexual invective because it was a conspicuous part of the oratory of blame in antiquity and, furthermore, an aspect of that oratory that strikes modern readers as unacceptable. We are accustomed to

1. Themistius, Or. 26.325. Penella 2000: 156 claims that Themistius here is also concerned with condemning child exposure. The metaphor well fits Libanius, who often regarded his discourses as his children. 2. See Ep. 283 N64.

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accusations of corruption or bribery leveled at public officials but find it difficult to accept the degree of personal abuse and obscenity that ancient audiences apparently did. A few points need to be established before I embark on this discussion. First, we should not identify the oratory of blame strictly with a discourse of psogos (invective), defined as a rhetorical exercise that was practiced in schools, the opposite of encomium.3 Although innumerable examples of panegyric survive from antiquity, including some from late antiquity, there are few surviving examples of the formal psogoi that were organized rhetorically as independent epideictic discourses; elements of blame do, however, pervade other poetry and prose. In what follows, therefore, I will be concerned not only with formal invective but also with examples of blame and satire in the orations of Libanius. Another aspect of my argument requires explanation: why do I bring up and treat at length the invective of the fourth century BCE, a period so many centuries before Libanius? Because in the imperial period the use of invective in public settings decreased— the Second Sophistic lacked a taste for formal invective ad hominem and preferred generalized themes of blame or polemic disconnected from oratory. Therefore, not enough examples survive to afford suitable comparisons, and it is impossible to know whether there was a change in the theory and practice of sexual slander in oratory of the intervening period. More important, juxtaposing classical and fourth-century CE examples of oratory of blame seems to me legitimate because the former were the models for the latter. Demosthenes and Aeschines were more than cultivated references for late antique orators; they had uncontested authority as models, and their influence saturated Libanius’s prose both stylistically and thematically, even though he rarely quoted them directly. As I will discuss later, this chapter originated as a reaction to modern suggestions that the abuse and personal vituperation found in some speeches of Libanius should lead us to doubt that they were delivered openly and in public. According to this view, when the sophist gave vent to furious indignation in his speeches, the literary fruits of that indignation remained entirely private; but in my view, this line of argument is untenable. All the works of Libanius, letters and orations included, show that he valued rhetoric to a high degree and practiced its various forms with unchanging passion. For him, rhetoric was much more than a game or pastime; it was a way of life that gave its devotee the capacity to evaluate real problems and find

3. Cf. the discussion of this issue in Casella 2010: 35–50.

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solutions. Therefore, the question we are facing here is tied in once again with the image of this sophist as merely a player of verbal games, disconnected from reality. As a rhetor, he must have departed from precise rules in order to adjust his material to real-life situations, so that every speech was adapted to specific circumstances. The idea that he might compose orations only to confine them to his files or to limit their distribution to the schoolroom is paradoxical; nothing would make less sense in this period than private rhetorical fireworks for one’s own enjoyment. With that position in mind, my main focus in this chapter is on how Libanius’s audiences might have received these virulent speeches, and whether such audiences accepted invective at face value or with a more discerning and sophisticated understanding. One more remark is necessary. In what follows, I consider works that contain slander (especially of a sexual nature) and will argue that the ancients were able to see through certain types of invective and furthermore listened with relative complacency to material that today we would deem unacceptable; there are, however, other orations in which Libanius launches scathing, realistic attacks on political figures. Marilena Casella has studied some of the most prominent among these speeches in her very valuable book.4 In these abusive orations Libanius denounces a system of government that apparently was not especially unusual in late antiquity, which tolerated extreme brutality, corruption, bribery, the influence of ruinous theatrical claques, and unseemly behavior of the military. Condemnations of violence, including denunciations of floggings that were truly acts of torture, occupy much of these discourses, revealing a reality whose cruelty was not in the least hidden; the tone of these orations reminds one of certain passages of Ammianus. Governors must have been aware that some enlightened people would scarcely tolerate such acts, and Libanius’s displays of philanthropia were well known. More important, Casella focuses on the audience of these speeches, emphasizing that the speeches were not vain school exercises or purely rhetorical acts of resistance that the sophist could not afford to make public; on the contrary, some were commissioned by powerful people in Constantinople and circulated at court,5 and they served as reports

4. Casella 2010 studies Orations 56, 57, and 46, where strong elements of invective appear (though not sexual invective), and looks into the question of their diffusion. She concludes that they reveal the presence of an intellectual who wanted to fight openly and freely against oppressive members of the public administration. 5. Or. 56 and 46, Casella 2010: 65, 69, and 75, the first commissioned by Tatianus 5 and the second by Rufinus 18, who was later under the same accusations.

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from Antioch concerning the disreputable conduct in office of some notorious political figures. Other such speeches were distributed to a cultivated but public audience of connoisseurs. Libanius adopted certain measures of caution in permitting these orations to circulate, such as avoiding personal names and employing a rather obscure style replete with mythological allusions, as in the formal Oration 57, Against Severus.6 The precise circumstances of every polemical oration need to be investigated with great care, with no assumption that such orations could not circulate.7 It is essential to emphasize again that Libanius’s orations were not empty exercises.

c Circulation of Speeches in Late Antiquity Rhetoric needs and looks for an audience. Inspired spectators and adoring crowds were elements essential to the rhetorical shows of the Second Sophistic.8 Rhetoric as an art of persuasion presupposes an interaction between speaker and audience, a context, and a forum.9 Although in addressing rhetorical perfor mance Aristotle envisions three main forums (the law courts, the legislature, and the public spaces where epideictic speeches were given), the various forums in which Libanius practiced his rhetoric could be more limited or more comprehensive than those that Aristotle mentions. In Chapter 1, I considered in general the different audiences Libanius addressed in his letters and speeches, but more precision is now needed. The letters usually have a specific addressee, even though, as we have seen, some were intended for a larger public; in the case of the orations, the situation is more complex. In the words of Dascal and Gross, “Orators need not hearers, but an audience.”10 It is essential, in fact, not to equate the group of individuals present at the delivery of a speech with its audience. Of course, it is meaningful to identify the actual audience, made up not only of specta-

6. In this case his attack was not easy to understand. Casella posits a larger distribution of this oration because of his formal nature with a high rhetorical density. I would like to see in Or. 57 a display of rhetorical elegance so that Libanius could show the governor Severus (a former pupil for less than two years) what he had missed with his imperfect preparation. Severus was a successful advocate, but probably his style was not very refined. 7. Thus Casella’s conclusions are in agreement with mine even though we examine different material. 8. On the dynamic perfor mance of those orators and the dialogue between them and the public, see Korenjak 2000. 9. Isocrates, however, represents an exception because he did not perform in public, supposedly because of lack of a good voice and self-confidence; see Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Isocrates 1. 10. Dascal and Gross 1999: 114 and in general 112–17.

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tors but also of the readers who received the written speech, but it is the speaker who creates his real audience. Libanius can address a specific individual, even the emperor himself (who may or may not be present), but even when he formally addresses the circle of his hearers, the audience he means to reach is an ideal one that can be as large as humankind or more limited to specific groups, such as the cultured public, pagans, or Christians. In 1956 Paul Petit, a scholar who knew Libanius well and studied many aspects of his production, wrote an article that is still quite influential; I disagree, however, with certain conclusions Petit reaches. Because Petit’s article supports Bentley’s earlier view of Libanius as a scholar out of touch with his time, enamored exclusively with his own work, his arguments and conclusions merit further investigation.11 In antiquity, delivering an oration was a form of publication. Public orations might be delivered in a theater (before hundreds or even thousands of spectators), in Antioch’s town hall, or in a governor’s headquarters. When people were particularly inspired by a speech, they memorized parts of it as it was delivered, as Libanius reports of his own dokimasia.12 Thus a speech was “published” by being engraved in memory; Libanius in fact refers to a pedagogical praxis observed by his students in which they would memorize parts of his orations as he delivered them and then meet to reconstruct the whole of each speech.13 His immediate audience varied according to the occasion; for example, an epideictic speech such as Oration 11 (the Antiochikos), which celebrated the Olympic Games of 356, commanded a large public audience that also included foreigners. The venue was probably the main theater of Antioch, although in Libanius’s time there were two sites where the Olympic Games were celebrated, in Antioch and in Daphne.14 Another oration that is not preserved, a panegyric for the emperor Valens, was probably delivered in the theater to great crowds and in the presence of Valens himself, who had entered Antioch in 371 with great pomp and “the splendor of arms and dragons [i.e., standards].”15 The oratorical “gift” the sophist gave the emperor was so long that it was not delivered all at once; the delivery of the latter half of the

11. Petit 1956b. I am going to dwell on this article because it is so often cited when diffusion of writing in late antiquity is considered. 12. Or. 1.88: the public memorized his introductory address. 13. Or. 3.16; other educated people may have done the same to a degree. 14. See J. Martin 1988: 215–21. This oration was delivered in 356. Several years later, in 364, Libanius mentioned in a letter to a friend (Ep. 1243) that Oration 11 was well regarded. 15. Or. 1.144

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speech was postponed.16 Often, occasions for speeches arose when eminent civil servants requested them. Some governors, Libanius says, “longed for an encomium more than other men were eager for office,” and delivering such panegyrics was part of a sophist’s activity.17 The prefect Strategius Musonianus, not content with the brief prosphonetikos (address) Libanius had given on his arrival, requested a full-scale panegyric that would cover all possible topics. This lost oration was not delivered in the governor’s headquarters, as was customary, but in the town hall with a full public audience over the course of three consecutive sittings. Strategius was so pleased with the exceptional perfor mance that he requested written publication of the speech and immediately set ten copyists to work so that copies of the text could be distributed “far and wide.”18 Complex negotiations regulated the writing and delivery of panegyrics. Libanius, who naturally had a vested interest in such issues, says that governors profited from public display of their merits and even goes on to claim that some governors had reached that position with the help of his discourses.19 The transactions were largely private and involved a code of honor and gratitude (charis).20 Oration 40 offers precious, previously unknown details about these transactions and reveals how private feelings of resentment and retaliation might complicate the transaction. This speech concerns, inter alia, the commission of an encomium by two eminent brothers, the younger of whom was a governor;21 it was a full-scale oration that was supposed to be delivered in the theater, “brought out publicly and shown to the city.”22 Because the brothers’ relations with Libanius had been compromised by past acrimony, they had to beg for the encomium “as if for bread,” and when he refused, they went on to plead with his closest associates. Finally the affair was settled but, according to Libanius himself, “on the condition that after me nobody (neither a rhetor nor a poet) will praise your brother.”23 Although this agreement was sealed with an oath, the speech concerns the

16. It is unclear whether the other half was delivered to a smaller audience. J. Martin and Petit 1979: 249 maintain that after Julian’s death Libanius had some powerful enemies, probably Christians, who interrupted the speech. 17. Or. 1.111–14 and Ep. 345 N27. 18. Ep. 345.1 N27. 19. Or. 40.9. 20. Or. 1.111: a speech is a repayment of a debt (chreos). 21. Domitius 1. Cf. the translation in Malosse and Schouler 2008: 190–97. 22. Or. 40.21. 23. Or. 40.18.

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subsequent breaking of that covenant, the hiring of an Egyptian poet to give an encomium, the withdrawal of Libanius, who refused to deliver the discourse he had composed, and apparently some disgrace (atimia) for the governor. Libanius later wrote the extant Oration 40 to justify his conduct in this affair; the need for such justification shows that failure to deliver a promised oration could have adverse consequences. Although this discourse is our only source of such information, it indicates that the commissioning of a speech involved a formal contract with clauses that specified its delivery and some form of payment; Libanius repeatedly invokes the breach of the contract, feeling that he had been defrauded.24 Incidentally, his outrage at the Egyptian poet’s presence may reveal a certain amount of professional jealousy on his part; perhaps a performer whose work incorporated the charms of poetry intimidated a rhetor who was not so favored by the Muses.25 Libanius reports that he found himself in a similar quandary on another occasion, when a poet was again the cause of the mishap. When the prefect Hypatius assumed his insignia in Antioch on his way to Rome in 378, the poet who was supposed to deliver an address celebrating the occasion suddenly disappeared, and Libanius was called to the rescue. Although the prefect asked for a speech given at his residence with a select audience, the sophist, desiring greater exposure for his work, obtained permission to deliver it at the city hall; but at the last minute the celebration was canceled, and again Libanius was angered at having worked in vain, perhaps with some monetary loss.26 So far we have seen that the location for delivering a speech could be a function of a desire for privacy or publicity; but in fact, the presence of the governor was always assured. Toward the end of his Autobiography, Libanius claims that the palaios nomos, the “time-honored” fashion of delivery in the presence of the governor, had been interrupted for a certain period of time but then had been resumed.27 In 387, in the atmosphere that followed the Christians’ pivotal participation in the riot of the statues, the sophist wished to avoid speaking before a Christian governor. He preferred an audience of friends and wished to shun all those spectators whom governors were accustomed to bring from many provinces.28 His comment that delivery

24. See esp. Or. 40.20 and 26. 25. He repeatedly compliments friends who had that gift, e.g., Acacius 7. Alternatively, he may have regarded a first placement as not honorific because most of the public would have remembered the poet’s words. 26. See Or. 1180; the word zemia means loss, including monetary loss. 27. Or. 1.267. The friendly governor then was probably Timocrates. 28. Or. 1.254.

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before friends allowed him more freedom (eleutheria) can be extended to the presentation of controversial orations that contained negative remarks against public figures. But his subsequent bitter remark that his oratory suffered a “loss” from this change is a sign that small gatherings did not satisfy his desire for fame and publicity; Libanius always wanted his work to have the largest possible exposure. Better times came in the same year, however, and his oratory was again “held in high esteem.”29 We have seen that public delivery was not assured for all epideictic orations; and as further evidence of this fact, Libanius tells us that two apparently uncontroversial orations, the Monody for Nicomedia (61) and the lost funeral oration for his friend Aristaenetus, had a preliminary recitation in the presence of four friends.30 He adduces as a reason in the latter case his extreme grief and lack of desire to make a public perfor mance; this assertion is consonant with what he says in the Autobiography, that the death of his friend was the culmination of a series of disasters, the shock of which turned his hair white.31 But the orations were not kept hidden, and it is instructive to follow their fate. More people, in fact, were exposed to these speeches than the few who were present at the first hearing: “They heard my speech, and everybody else heard from those people that they too were going to hear it. Right away they came round to me bidding me either to give a recital or else to acknowledge my wrongdoing. So I handed over the text, they took it and did not leave many unacquainted with it. You too can make its acquaintance, alone if you wish, or together with others if you prefer.”32 In evaluating this testimony about the distribution of orations, we need to keep in mind that the speeches were transmitted beyond Syria. The addressee of the letter quoted here was Demetrius II, a resident of Cilicia. The Monody for Nicomedia, moreover, despite being delivered originally in a very private setting, became known and was so admired that it has been preserved not only with the rest of the corpus of discourses but also in numerous other manuscripts, as Foerster testifies. Caution dictated different arrangements for the Epitaphios for his uncle Phasganius, which is not extant.33 Although Libanius delivered the funeral

29. Or. 1.267; cf. Or. 41, an oration meant to console the then governor, Timocrates, who followed the previous official. 30. Aristaenetus 1 died in the earthquake at Nicomedia in 358; Or. 1.118. 31. See Ep. 33 N37. Petit 1956b: 487 (followed in this by Norman) maintained that the sophist, as usual, wanted to test his works with a few people and that this was a measure of prudence. 32. Ep. 33 N37. 33. See Ep. 283 N64 from the year 359/60.

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speech per se before a vast audience, he reserved a third of the speech, which contained an invective (ton machomenon) against Gallus, for a small group of friends who were asked to admire it in prudent silence. We should note that this is apparently the only time when Libanius inveighed directly against a ruler; the caution he exercised seems to have been duly warranted. Recitation before a large audience was postponed or canceled only in exceptional circumstances. Two of the Julianic orations, 15 and 16, which Libanius wrote as he waited for the emperor’s return from Persia, were probably not delivered in public because Julian died during the campaign.34 Nonetheless, they may have had a restricted publication; Libanius would not have wished his efforts to be wasted nor to lose the opportunity to rant freely against the vices of his fellow citizens. Likewise, the speeches composed after Julian’s demise were delivered before a restricted public but undoubtedly also circulated within pagan groups both within and outside Antioch;35 the papyri show that the Epitaphios (18) also attained notoriety in Egypt.36 Even though Jovian, Julian’s successor, showed great moderation, with later emperors Libanius had to refrain from exposing himself unduly; therefore, restricted delivery was a natural precaution. Under Theodosius, however, Libanius regained some parresia; at an advanced age he again felt admired and respected and acquired some power once more. But delivery to a live audience was only one element of publication. A work of oratory or of history could also be sent around to a cultivated audience or otherwise disseminated in writing. The incidence of this form of distribution needs to be emphasized in a discussion of an age when the culture of reading (as opposed to oral culture) was quite widespread among the elite. Writing down a speech before delivery was common practice at the time of Demosthenes, although many speakers at that time probably still delivered their orations extemporaneously. In any case, the true impact of the polemical orations of Demosthenes and Aeschines was immediate and oral. A sophisticated, artificial style of composition that could appeal only to seasoned and cultured politicians could not address ordinary people. Thus Dionysius of Halicarnassus admires Demosthenes’ mixed style because it catered to diverse audiences, both scholars and decidedly educated men (the

34. Socrates HE 3.17: “It is affirmed that these composition were never recited in public.” 35. Or. 12 and 13 were delivered to a large audience; 17, 18, and 24 were recited to friends and probably sent around. 36. For papyri of Libanius, see Mertens-Pack 31284 and 1284.1, and the recently published LDAB 10251. Cf. Cavallo 2002: 134–53.

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minority) and also simple people, such as peasants and tradesmen.37 Quintilian asserts that in oral delivery an orator was allowed more pleasing effects and a less careful style, but that when the speech was disseminated in writing, and especially when it was published as a model, the style needed to be polished in every respect because other practitioners of the art judged it.38 The Roman rhetor states not only that it is necessary for an orator of his time to adhere strictly to the written text of the speech he delivers, but also that Demosthenes prepared his speeches very carefully by “sculpting them” when he wrote them down before delivery.39 Whether Demosthenes revised his speeches for publication after delivering them is still a matter of debate; Douglas MacDowell maintains that even though no fixed rule existed, in most cases Demosthenes kept them at home as they were, and thus his heirs found them.40 In Roman—including late Roman—times, written dissemination of a work became a normal procedure. In Oration 42 Dio boasts, “Almost all men are acquainted with my speeches and send them everywhere.”41 He then qualifies this self-important claim by likening his speeches to the desirable pottery that people buy somewhere and carry home by ship but that rarely arrives intact, referring to the common tendency of people, consciously or unconsciously, to “improve” the speeches as they discussed them with others. When Lucian mentions the admiration a rhetorical piece has aroused, he refers to both scenarios of delivery and publication: “Your piece has long been admired, both when it was performed before a great crowd, as those who heard it then have told me, and privately among those of the educated who saw fit to get to know it and have it in their hands.”42 It might also happen (as we have seen with Libanius) that a speech could not be delivered because of unforeseen circumstances. Philostratus reports that the philosopher Apollonius had composed a speech in his own defense to be given before the emperor Domitian but was prevented from delivering it;43

37. Dionysius, Demosthenes 15. He claimed that Thucydides was incomprehensible to an ordinary audience. 38. Quintilian 12.10.50–51. 39. Quintilian 12.9.16 and 12.10.51–55; cf. Wooten 1997: 189–90. 40. MacDowell 2009: 1–9 argues that Demosthenes probably revised the text of the De corona after delivery, and when he delivered an oration, he could deviate from the written text. 41. Dio 42.4–5. 42. Lucian, Apol. 3. Lucian, Hist. conscr. 40, also enjoins the writer of history not to pay attention to his present audience but to mind his future one,. 43. Philostratus, Vita Apollonii 8.6.

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Philostratus then felt compelled to copy it and make it part of his biography of the philosopher. What matters here is not whether Apollonius or the narrator actually wrote the speech, but that Philostratus presented the circumstance as business as usual. It is essential to take into due account this form of disseminating work in antiquity, which allowed people to peruse written works when they could not be present at the delivery of memorable orations. Libanius had at his disposal a secretary to copy his work but would also sometimes send an oration to a friend who then would have it copied and distributed.44 Nor was the dissemination of these written copies limited to local circles; people living in provinces outside Antioch were not cut off from cultural events that occurred there. I have argued that letters circulated in great numbers, usually without breach of privacy; speeches (regardless of content) could likewise be dispatched just as easily. There was no need to transmit originals, as Petit claimed, but parchment folders sometimes protected a written work.45 Furthermore, the expectation present in classical antiquity that orators would never rely on a written text might have changed by the period of Libanius, such that rhetors could bring the text of a written speech with them when addressing a live audience; a passage in the Autobiography shows that an orator could read his speech if an emergency arose and his memory failed him (71). Libanius also contemplates the possibility that his speeches might circulate freely even at a time when he himself might be in danger, when Jovian took over: even if their author should lie slain, his “living words” would go everywhere.46 Paul Petit has argued that Libanius kept his most abusive, controversial speeches “enfouis dans ses tiroirs” (hidden in his file drawers).47 Because many of the orations that can be so characterized have been transmitted (most of which were listed in the category “Political orations on individuals” in the Introduction), we should then, according to Petit, believe that Libanius often wrote for his own gratification, clinging to his works but refusing out of fear to distribute them. But Petit attaches undue importance to a certain

44. On three occasions Libanius mentioned personal secretaries or slaves who acted as secretaries for him: Or. 1.43; 184–85; and 232 saying that they had a better handwriting than him. On the copying and sending of texts, see Petit1956b:484–85 and on the book trade in Antioch, cf. Norman 1960. 45. Contra Petit 1956b: 485. 46. Or. 1.138; of course, the claim might be inflated. 47. Petit 1956b: 488–89.

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late letter, written in the year 390 to an eminent addressee.48 In response to a law that had been proposed that would prohibit those who had only a rhetorical education from practicing as advocates, Libanius had composed a speech and sent it (at least) to this eminent friend. On the advice of people who were familiar with imperial policy (and who presumably had seen the controversial oration), he decided not to read it publicly but kept it at home (but not of course in his “drawers,” which were not in use then). He finally delivered it, with due modifications, once the law was repealed. Petit argues that this letter has “an exemplary value” in disclosing how Libanius hid his more contentious orations. It seems, however, that the orator had showed this speech in the original form at least to select acquaintances and then, far from wasting his effort by keeping it private, had revised it in order to publicize it. This letter and the practice that it shows are indeed important, not necessarily as Petit takes them, but rather to explain why some speeches of Libanius have been transmitted together with an alternative text.49 In order to strengthen his claim that Libanius wrote his most venomous speeches only for himself or for an audience of two or three friends at most, Petit revived a 1915 German dissertation that classifies Libanius’s speeches according to their “rhetorical density by taking into account several rhetorical figures.”50 Rother’s classification is still useful to some extent, but Petit’s interpretation is partly incorrect in my view.51 He concludes that the most “rhetorically dense” speeches were delivered to a large audience, while low rhetorical density was a feature of those orations that the sophist read only to friends or even failed to deliver at all and kept for himself. But the situation was not invariably as Petit imagines it. According to the wellknown basic partition of rhetoric into three genres (epideictic, deliberative, and judicial), speeches could be more or less ornamented, but this distinction was not exclusively a function of their delivery and publication but rather of their nature, scope, and argumentation.52 The speeches of Libanius

48. Ep. 916, to Philagrius 2. 49. These doublets (Or. 27 and 28; 48 and 49; and 51 and 52) are similar but not identical. Libanius might have chosen to make known a certain text at the expense of another, or he might have used each of the doublets for different audiences. 50. Rother 1915. In each speech he isolated three features in particular, such as concinnity, anaphora, and paronomasia, and also took into account (though less systematically) other figures, such as chiasmus, asyndeton, alliteration, and rhetorical questions. He classified the speeches according to these criteria and assigned each a number referring to the concentration of these rhetorical features. 51. Casella 2010: 61–66 recognizes this for the three orations she translates. 52. See, e.g., Kennedy 1997.

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that were most rhetorical were usually the epideictic speeches, those that did not seek a specific action or decision; the less rhetorical orations were generally those that I have included in the categories “political orations” and “orations on public issues” and even some of the school orations, in which Libanius set out to discuss realistic problems of curriculum or attendance. There were naturally a few speeches that discussed actual issues and were also written with great formality, but they were exceptions to the general rule.53 In my view, it is impossible to establish a strict connection between the formality of a speech and the size of the audience to which it was delivered; the variety of real-life circumstances then and now prevents us from positing such a rigid rule. In addition to the formality of the writing, other factors affected the numbers of spectators, such as the timing and context of delivery, the interest of the content, and the actuality of the issues discussed. The ancients were very sensitive to distinction of genre and adapted the style of a speech following generic guidelines, but as we have seen, the actual destination of a rhetorical piece, although it might have been fixed as a rhetor conceived it, could vary. As I observed earlier, epideictic speeches—which I consider the most rhetorical among Libanius’s works—were not always delivered to a large audience. Libanius might compose an ornate, epideictic oration for his classes as a model rather than for the theater; he also might read such a speech to a group (syllogos) of cultivated friends or send the text to them. I have discussed in an article a handful of letters that display the frenetic rhetorical activity of a group of Libanius’s friends, who regularly dispatched epideictic orations to one another in this way.54 Not only did these cultivated friends exchange works by other authors, Aristides, for example, but they also commented on and criticized in detail their own epideictic works. Getting an expert’s reaction to one’s work by exposing it to the criticism of friends appears to have been sufficient outlet for that work; there is no evidence that these speeches were delivered to a large audience. The extent of this group’s activities is remarkable; one of Libanius’s friends sent him his compositions “every day,” and this was apparently only a small part of the speeches he wrote daily; in return Libanius sent epideictic works on Herodotus, Demosthenes, and a speech in which he vied with Aristides (presumably Oration 64). Thus we see that the ornamentation of a speech,

53. Casella 2010: 63 considers, for example, the ornamented Or. 57 (Against Severus), but similar “fighting” speeches like 46 and 56 are notably less formal. 54. See Epp. 615, 616, 283, and 1243; cf. Cribiore 2008. See also Ep. 727 B146, where he encourages a friend to send his speeches to him.

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or the lack thereof, did not necessarily correspond to the circumstances of its delivery as unfailingly as Petit claims; and in fact, deliberative and political orations that intended to achieve concrete results naturally had a low rhetorical density but did not necessarily address a small public—quite the opposite.55 Furthermore, a mere consideration of traditional genres cannot succeed; several orations of Libanius do not blindly follow the features of their genre but introduce variations and new material from other genres, which alter and add to the primary elements of a particular type of writing. Trying to catch these sudden shifts and noting the accompanying historical details may help us understand both the audience Libanius was writing for and the one he actually addressed.

c Rhetoric and the Emotions Before I delve into questions about the function of invective in classical and late antiquity, I wish to discuss the relationship in the latter period of rhetoric with the emotions in order to show how sophisticated Libanius’s approach was. His awareness of his own and other people’s emotional reactions—subtle feelings of disappointment, sorrow, and anger—gave his invective an even deeper sting. Greek rhetoric is very much at the forefront of classical studies, centering mainly on Aristotle but also on Plato and Isocrates; but this discipline in later centuries remains underexplored.56 Scholars over the past three decades have produced “emotion studies” in fields as varied as psychology, sociology, political science, anthropology, philosophy, and literature, and David Konstan in particular has thoroughly investigated the interplay of emotions with rhetoric.57 “In Athens,” he writes, “where a person’s public esteem was continually being negotiated and challenged, the emotions played an essential role in this intense verbal sparring.”58 As is well known, Aristotle in the second book of his Rhetoric does not give a complete theory of the emotions;59 he examines only a certain range of them

55. Consider, for example, three orations that have a low rhetorical density but had a large diffusion, Or. 30, For the Temples, a manifesto of paganism, and Or. 48 and 49, which addressed the city council. Or. 53, On the Invitations to Banquets, was also delivered to a large crowd but was not ornamented; see below. 56. Schiappa and Hamm 2007. 57. Konstan 2006 and 2007. 58. Konstan 2007: 423. 59. J. M. Cooper 1996.

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that includes anger, fear, jealousy, pity, and friendly love. He does so in hopes that the aspiring rhetor, by gaining a thorough knowledge of these emotions, may become able to engender them in his audience. Intentionality and cognitive disposition characterize these emotions, which are internalized by an orator and are tied to argument.60 In the later Roman East a thorough knowledge and exploitation of the audience’s emotions were part of the art of persuasion, even many centuries after Aristotle. Religious anxiety, court life, debates in the city council, and public and personal feuds all required a speaker to identify and play on the emotions of his audience in order to arouse the desired response. The orator had to represent himself as a decent, worthy individual who was himself moved by various emotions and would respond to them. Although deliberative and forensic rhetoric were ideal environments for a display of emotion, some forms of epideictic discourse required from a rhetor consummate exploitation of them. Libanius depicted himself and his feelings with such intensity, individuality, and frequency in all his works that scholars have been tempted to analyze him as a veritable neurotic patient, comparable with Aristides.61 His reflective temperament, with a seeming tendency toward depression, loneliness, and feelings of persecution, made him more aware of and responsive to the emotional reactions of his audience. In what follows, I will consider certain unusual emotional insights Libanius discloses in some previously neglected orations. The emotions that most frequently appear in these works, and that I will analyze in depth, are pity, anger, and shame; we will also see how unusual is his treatment of grief, an emotion absent from the account of emotions in the Rhetoric of Aristotle. Pity was a feeling naturally aroused in a monody, as Menander Rhetor recognized;62 this emotion pervades the whole fabric of the Monody for Nicomedia. Libanius lingers on images of destruction, powerfully juxtaposed to the joyful images of the city before the earthquake. But it is the personal investment that he had made in the city that is most poignant, the fact that Nicomedia was at one point his teacher and generous nurturer, where “I increased the eloquence I had and acquired the fame I did not have.”63

60. Nussbaum 1994: 78–91 61. Cribiore 2007: 22–23. 62. Menander 16.434–37 says that the purpose of a monody is “to lament and express pity”; Russell and Wilson 1981: 200–207. 63. Or. 61.1. His deep grief is confirmed by Or. 1.77–78 and Ep. 331 N35.

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Similarly powerful is his final flight on wings to contemplate the dead city from a nearby hill: “The spectacle would be horrible to see,” says Libanius, “and yet the lover finds some consolation in throwing himself on his beloved who lies dead” (23). The fact that Libanius was a truly passionate lover of the city, as the letters testify, enabled his personal grief in the Monody to engender a public feeling of loss in his audience. At other times Libanius endeavors to provoke anger and pity through private images of impotence in old age and of the collapse of filial piety (a classic theme), as in Oration 38, Against Silvanus, where he asks the city council to deny his opponent, whom Libanius depicts as a neglectful son, the immunity he is seeking.64 In the first part of this speech, the sophist displays his anger at the unjust treatment he received from Silvanus and his son; in Libanius’s final appeal to the council (“Let him lower down his insolent eyes and become a bit more restrained”), one detects the satisfaction that Aristotle describes as accompanying anger expressed in the hope of retaliation.65 But Libanius needed a more formidable appeal to the audience than his personal grievances. Therefore, his descriptions of Silvanus’s mistreatment of his elderly father, his refusal of bread and human communication, and those meals that went on “amid silent anger, fierce glances, and furious commands” play on effective, vivid details (14). The hand of the dying old teacher raised in vain, in a repeated attempt at communication with his students, signals to the councilors that Silvanus must be denied forgiveness. In many other orations, those in defense of Julian, for example, or against particular governors, Libanius’s anger is palpable. He certainly does not merely put on a show of emotion, as an orator should according to the Stoic Cicero in the Tusculan Disputations.66 The power of his denunciations and appeals, for which he was famous in antiquity, depends on realistic images of distress that reveal not only his familiarity with ekphrasis and his personal awareness of dejection and fear but also his fury at unjustified human suffering. He rages against the threats of strangulation endured by some merchants, the flogging that leaves such deep wounds that doctors are unable to cure them, the torments that are worse than death, the alternation of torturers who need to rest from beating, the incessant changing of

64. Silvanus felt entitled to the immunity because of the status of his father as a teacher of rhetoric. In his days Thrasymachus was a master of evoking pity in contexts of lack of filial piety; see Plato, Phdr. 267d. 65. Arist., Rh. 2.2.2. 66. Cicero, Tusc. Disp. 4.55; cf. W. V. Harris 2001: 110–11.

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broken whips, the river of blood, and the pieces of flesh that fall from the body.67 Even when his touch is lighter, his knowledge of human feelings comes to the fore. He composed two orations (51 and 52) denouncing the widespread custom of visiting governors to obtain private favors. After the morning salutatio, people pursued private audiences during the day (in the baths, for example), seeking personal redress while informing on others. He asked the emperor Theodosius to forbid those audiences by law so that “the souls of the governors might enjoy some peace and quiet, since I feel that doctors can talk to them only about their bodies” (51.32). In the absence of doctors for the mind, the professional advice of Libanius was to enact such a preventive law, which would also have therapeutic effects on people’s anxiety. He says to the emperor: Free, therefore, the souls of people on trial from the fear inspired by those who corrupt justice. Because of this fear, they are deprived of sleep as they keep watch over the visits of their betters, which do not exempt from fear even a man who has full confidence in his conduct. Night comes, bringing to him either insomnia or sleep with terrible dreams that contain all the words spoken against him to the governor, and which make the hearts of those in distress leap up. After enjoying such a night, he receives the day with sorrow because fear has wounded his soul. (52.10) Jakob Wisse has remarked that in the De oratore Cicero (unlike Aristotle) places emphasis on the sentiment of pity aroused in listeners who can relate to personal bitter experience;68 and indeed, in his speeches Libanius anticipates and plays on the intimate motivations of his audience that may help him make his case. He composed the extraordinary Oration 37 not only as a defense of Julian when he was accused of poisoning his wife Helena, but also as an indictment of Helpidius, an official who had spread that rumor, and finally as an attack on Polycles, a former close friend who supported the slander and stopped visiting the sophist after a controversial discussion of the affair.69 I will return later to this intriguing oration, but for now I will focus on Libanius’s strategic interpretation of the acute unease of Polycles

67. See Or. 46.7–8 and 57.15. In the latter oration the torment of the decurion Malcus assumes deeply tragic proportions. 68. Cicero, De or. 2.211; see Wisse 1989: 292–94 on misericordia; and Konstan 2006: 274n44. 69. Helpidius 4, PLRE 1. On this oration, see Cribiore 2011. I am also preparing a translation of and commentary on it.

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during that discussion. The sophist had accused Helpidius of engaging in homosexuality and prostitution when he was a young man in Rome, and seeing at that time the evident discomfort of Polycles, he attributed it to the fact that the latter identified with the shameful behavior of Helpidius. The subtle portrayal of Polycles in such a position is quite perceptive (though ungenerous), and the text (14–16) shows that Libanius was well acquainted with the tendency of spectators to identify with the predicaments of others that might be brought up in a speech. Irony and the sly pretense of understanding his friend’s plight (“If I said that Helpidius had sold his beauty, I did not say that you had done so as well”) contribute to the success of Libanius’s response: I think that quite a few men in the same condition as Helpidius would feel that way if they were present and heard what I said. They would suffer inside because of their own self-awareness. We know that the same thing happens at the delivery of speeches. In the course of making a speech, a rhetor mentions a matter of this kind out of necessity, but another person, recognizing himself, blushes and is downcast; he cannot censure the speaker’s judgment but is nevertheless hurt by what he said. He does not go and fight with the sophist and does not say that he was insulted, or that the man must pay for what he said. (Or. 37.15) That Aristotle’s Rhetoric did not include grief (lupe ) in the discussion of emotions has been justified mainly by the fact that Aristotle was concerned not with emotions that were associated with one’s immediate reaction to events, but rather exclusively with those that were part of a competitive world, in which reputation and social standing were paramount. The ancients considered grief a personal reaction to bereavement, and an abundant literature of consolation existed.70 Among the emotions, grief caught the attention of Andronicus of Rhodes, a Peripatetic philosopher whose life and work probably date to the first century BCE. Both dates and attribution remain uncertain. In De affectibus 414 he considered various kinds of lupe, but quite cursorily, attempting only to define them.71 Menander Rhetor in the second century CE included the logos paramuthetikos as an example of

70. Konstan 2006: 244–58. 71. It is still debated if the work On the Passions (De affectibus) can be safely attributed to Andronicus or if it is spurious. I will continue to cite it by Andronicus’s name. In the Roman period Galen treated grief in his treatise On the Avoidance of Grief (De indolentia). The text is a letter to someone who had to confront important material losses, such as his library and medicines.

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epideictic oratory but conceived of it exclusively as a consolation for personal mourning.72 But after all, grief is not only a private reaction to troublesome events but also can be deeply enmeshed in a less private scenario where honor and station are central. Indeed, Libanius shows awareness of all the shades of grief: not only private examples, such as the deep sorrow at the loss of someone beloved, the sadness of his relatives when he went abroad to study, or the dejection of a betrayed wife, but also the competitive chagrin of sophists who were envious of his success.73 Two of his orations, which are consolatory speeches—that is, epideictic works with heavy ornamentation—do not follow Menander’s model; they omit the profuse lamentations that were part of personal consolation and aim rather at comforting people who are distressed because their social position is threatened.74 One of them, Oration 39, refers tangentially, like many of Libanius’s speeches, to an issue related to school. It attempts to persuade Antiochus, a friend who seems to have been a sophist,75 not to seek the alliance of a certain Mixidemus, an unworthy individual who had sided with another teacher. Antiochus in his uncertainty was suffering deep grief and could not refrain from crying. At the beginning of this oration, which contains a long descriptive section on Mixidemus’s foul behavior, Libanius the healing doctor vindicates his right to be innovative in this case: “I think it is appropriate to make consolatory speeches not only for those who mourn children, wives, parents, or other people but also for those who suffer at the hands of others. So if it is necessary to help people who are in pain, then it is worthwhile to help them all, just as we see that doctors heal all wounds with medicines. I know that some people feel greater pains from things other than death, and therefore, by right one must console them more than the others or, if not more, at least not less.” Antiochus, who had rhetorical power and “a gift from the Muses as great as the Muses could give,” was supposed to derive some benefit from this consolation and, having heard it, to emerge from his grief. The governor Timocrates, the subject of Oration 41, who was dejected after not being applauded in the theater, also had to reform his attitude. “The annoying

72. Menander 9; Russell and Wilson 1981: 160–65. 73. See Or. 1.13, 44, and 218 and 42.50. 74. Orations 39 and 41. 75. Antiochus 9; see Or. 27.10. He appears repeatedly in Or. 57 and was the father of a student of Libanius who was the sophist’s namesake.

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events” that had taken place had caused very deep depression (athumia),76 and he showed grief (lupe, 41.15) at the silence that accompanied his presence. A claque of four hundred despicable individuals (“the four hundred wolves”) had prevented people from applauding.77 The governor should, according to Libanius, cease to behave like those “tamed lions that have lost their freedom and crouch for fear of the threats of their keepers” (41.17); he should overcome his grief and clean the city of that “dirt” (19). In these consolation speeches Libanius not only addresses people’s distress and fear of losing their social standing but also conceives of his exhortations as efficacious remedies. Whereas the tradition of consolatory literature insisted that it was not possible to bring real solace for a personal loss, Libanius, in addressing these more pragmatic sources of grief, evokes the emotional problems and solutions of the competitive world in which he lived. It was his knowledge of human reactions and feelings that increased the power of his consolations and of his invective.

c Character Assassination in Oratory In modern Italy one classroom activity for those studying Greek and Latin in school was to form factions in class, with students taking sides about classical rivalries, rooting for Achilles or for Hector, for example, or favoring Demosthenes over Aeschines or vice versa. Short debates where both sides presented the merits of their respective choices formed a part of school routine. Schools in antiquity were not very different; similar discussions, followed by written exercises of the same sort, fostered a mind-set in the students that continued to inform their perceptions as adults. Do we surmise that when Libanius wrote, alongside an encomium of Achilles, an invective against him, his students would seriously reevaluate the hero’s merits and begin to disapprove of the heroic figure?78 Did they consider the words that their teacher expended in praise of the deformed Thersites more truthful than the scathing invective Aristides had composed against him?79 Of

76. Andronicus of Rhodes in On the Emotions 414 considers athumia a kind of grief and defines it as “the pain of someone who loses hope of obtaining something he wished for.” 77. Or. 41.18. 78. See Libanius, Encomium 3 and Invective 1, Gibson 2008: 220–29 and 266–77. Cf. Cribiore 2001: 226. 79. For a discussion of both works, see Cribiore 2008: 264–65. Classical antiquity always considered Thersites a despicable figure, arrogant, weak, and deformed. His disability showed by itself that

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course not. In those exercises truth was not in question; verbal manipulation, brilliance, and wit were. Libanius was competing against an oratorical model, and only his invention and the resulting oratorical treatment of his subject were at stake. These were exercises of epideictic nature, but the lesson they imparted—that other elements could, in oratory, be more important than the truth—was not confined to the schoolroom; as we will see, truth was not necessarily at the forefront of the agenda even in the heated political debates of classical antiquity. “Truth was often as valuable to them as sand in a desert. Far more useful could be a half-truth, a plausible lie, or a mere malicious personal insult.”80 I would like to investigate whether ancient audiences, in digesting a speech, did in fact swallow uncritically the more piquant details, especially those scandalous sexual remarks that were familiar from the comic stage. Did they come expecting either truth or falsehood, or both? Or rather, were people able to tune out some of the most outrageous remarks tangential to the main content, recognizing that their validity as proof was limited? We should understand immediately that the subjects of the reputation and morality of the parties involved, which may appear to modern observers to be introduced in an attempt to avoid the actual legal issues, were largely accepted as being part of the whole context.81 Furthermore, I suggest that the theater and other cultural experiences would have contributed to an audience’s skepticism about some of the controversial allegations made in oratorical speeches; paideia (education), for example, formally or informally inculcated, may have taught readers and listeners to be suspicious of outlandish claims. Similar questions have arisen with respect to fourth-century BCE Greek oratory and the speeches of Cicero; this fairly substantial excursus into the classical past will help us put into perspective the violent abuse of some of Libanius’s orations, as opposed to the courteous tone of all his letters, and also offer information about the distribution of his speeches. Even though some discussion of Libanius’s credibility—the sophist’s honesty and, vice versa, deceptiveness in his social intercourse—cannot be entirely avoided, my aim is not to exculpate him but rather to suggest different ways of looking at the evidence. Determining with any precision what Libanius’s

he fully deserved it on account of his behavior. See, e.g., Aeschines 3.231, who equates the “weak and coward” Demosthenes with this figure of a coward and slanderer. 80. Buckler 2000: 114 on the debates of Demosthenes and Aeschines. 81. See Rhodes 2004.

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inner motivations might have been when he launched invective at some targets is a task out of our reach, but it is nonetheless essential to recognize that the black-and-white lenses used in the past distort our vision of the subject. Craig Cooper has shown that although the Peripatetics (following Aristotle) were highly critical of the integrity and style of Demosthenes, beginning in the first century BCE, the literary tradition transmitted the image of his unsurpassable greatness based on deinotes, his forceful style.82 Not everyone, however, accepted that “forcefulness” was good on every occasion; Philostratus declared that a speech in defense, even if it was supposed to be delivered before the emperor, could not use “balanced phrases and antithesis” as if the orator wanted to deceive the jurors. Deinotes had to be “practiced without appearing to be.”83 “Forcefulness” is a quality that Libanius often associated with effective oratory in all his works, although his own style was rather restrained; he admired it particularly in Demosthenes.84 It depended on dramatic (even histrionic) delivery and was based on asyndeton, striking antithesis, and repetition.85 Demosthenes delighted his audience with his theatrical delivery (Plu. Dem. 11.3) and Libanius wrote half-jokingly in a letter that he himself aroused some criticism (skomma, “jest”) because people regarded him as an “actor rather than a rhetor.”86 Libanius’s preference for Demosthenes was in line with the tastes of the Roman public, but he was also well acquainted with Aeschines and the rest of classical oratory.87

82. C. Cooper 2000. Although the philosophers highlighted his political and rhetorical dishonesty, for rhetoricians like Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Cicero, and Quintilian, “forcefulness” was the primary quality of Demosthenes. Hermogenes reinforced this view; Harding 2000: 249. 83. Philostratus, VA 8.6. 84. Epp. 106.1 and 1489.1; Or. 7.7.5; Decl. 16.1.13.15, 44.1.67.9; Prog. 12.24.6.5, an ekphrasis where Demosthenes is praised as an epideictic orator; only he could describe the mesmerizing beauty of a peacock with his forcefulness. 85. On the characteristics of the style of Libanius, see Schouler 1984, esp. 356–65 for repetitions, which are particularly abundant. 86. Ep. 127.5.3 N58, written to a rhetor friend. The remark needs to be put in context: Acacius 7 was a rhetor and a poet, but Libanius said that he himself was a rhetor and an actor (hypokrites). At the same time, we should consider that Eunapius’s criticism was probably directed at his spontaneity versus a sure knowledge of rules. Ammianus 30.4.19 did not approve of advocates who behaved like actors by waving their arms and indulging in other gestures. 87. Norman 1964: 169–70: “He had an intimate knowledge of the text of the Attic orators.” See also Casella 2010: 51–60.

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c Sexual Allegations in Demosthenes and Aeschines

Scholars have underlined the similarity between ancient audiences’ experiences in the theater and in the assembly and law courts. Citizens going to the theater made a pact with the playwright and actors to suspend disbelief; likewise, the orator “depended on his audience’s willingness to suspend disbelief.”88 In what follows, I will test the degree to which we are allowed to enforce this analogy. Although only Aeschines had actual experience as an actor, the images each orator created of his opponent blended in this respect. Throughout their speeches both orators constructed a representation of the dramatic deceptiveness of their opponent. Scholars have highlighted not only the portrait Demosthenes painted of himself as a tragic hero in the De corona but also his attempt to associate his rival with the negative stereotypes of acting, attributing to him a violent theatricality and an incessant use of slander.89 Aeschines in turn acknowledged Demosthenes’ superior command of eloquence but argued that such eloquence was in fact harmful because by using it Demosthenes was able to destroy the laws and furthermore did not leave the stage to others. Aeschines’ repeated insistence on the risks inherent in superior oratorical power may suggest that he wished to reinforce an idea of which the audience was already partly aware: that words should not be taken at face value because they might obscure reality. Jon Hesk has discussed the trope of the “rhetoric of antirhetoric,” the metadiscourse on the deception of communication that occurs very frequently in oratory of the fourth century BCE.90 Orators’ denunciations of the misleading power of oratory and their showcases of its tricks and lies were so commonplace that they could pass unnoticed by jurors. As part of an orator’s repertoire, this rhetorical technique might not have influenced verdicts to a great extent, but it would “heighten mass vigilance and suspicion over the very individuals who used it as rhetorical strategy.”91 With this in mind, I will now inquire into the reaction of audiences to personal attacks of a sexual nature. I will focus on this aspect of slander

88. Ober 1990: 155, cf. also 153–55. 89. Duncan 2005: 58–89; Worman 2008: 266–72. Gotteland 2006 inquires about the denunciation of oratory action in both orators and finds Aeschines’ observations more to the point. 90. Hesk 2000: 202–41. 91. Hesk 2000: 241.

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rather than considering the whole range of strategies because this investigation will be quite representative of the whole issue, and because this type of calumny abounds in Libanius’s speeches several centuries later. Ancient audiences were not passive, uncritical recipients of the words of an orator, listening in polite silence. As Victor Bers has shown, trials were noisy, participatory affairs where many things were happening at the same time and where the thorubos (uproar) could be deafening.92 The different cultural preparation of hearers, in any case, made them more or less sophisticated participants who would respond in various ways. Nor did their toleration of the outrageous accusations that the orators launched at each other depend on any constraint of the law. Christopher Carey has argued that the law on kakegoria (verbal insult) did not address defamation in general, had little impact in the courts, and exhibited such a degree of narrowness that, basically, people were allowed to hurl even the most atrocious slanders;93 in practice, allegations that might potentially be actionable for defamation could be made with little risk of further legal repercussions. In the absence of explicit laws prohibiting sexual allegations, however, the audience could exercise some control. Tolerance of such allegations must have varied, and it is possible that details of homosexual and heterosexual activity were received in different ways. Presentation was crucial; a speaker who wished to draw attention to something that might be questionable and risky would need to find a way to underline it “in order to increase its presence in the mind of his hearers.”94 Although in general an orator was not supposed to dwell at length on very explicit details, only a passing mention without any proof could be counterproductive because, as we will see, it might be regarded as an allegation without any substance and therefore be immediately dismissed by the audience. Audiences’ toleration of prurient details depended on an orator’s skill in presenting them. But was there also a component of amusement in the relatively high tolerance of Athenian juries? Did sexual allegations stir an audience’s enjoyment and morbid curiosity? The continuity of human experience suggests an affirmative answer; at all times people have felt some interest in others’ sexuality. To engage that interest in one’s audience was desirable; jurors might appreciate that oratory would provide some divertissement to compensate for

92. Bers 1985. 93. Carey 1999 deals with the law courts rather than with the assembly, where apparently few scandalous allegations were tolerated. 94. See Perelman and Olbrechts-Tyteca 1969: 143–45.

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the seriousness of the issues. The relentless succession of details, rules of evidence, and technical legal terms might induce some ennui and eventually a sense of surfeit because of the difficulty of following attentively. Ancient orators sometimes mention their desire not to bore the spectators and beg them to listen to an accusation until the end.95 According to Edith Hall, who has studied the performative aspects of ancient courtroom speeches, trials were theatrical events with some elements of suspense and surprise that contributed to the audience’s pleasure.96 In portraying the conduct of litigants in the Wasps (562–70), Aristophanes ridicules their overtly emotional speeches. Besides wailing miserably, appealing pathetically to the audience’s compassion, and attempting to mollify it through the presence of children, these litigants also jested in order to make the jurors laugh. Edith Hall notes, however, that there are not many examples of amusing stories in litigation speeches from this period, in spite of Aristophanes’ claim; either these details were eliminated when the speeches were written down and published, or we are unable to catch their humor, which is often culturally relative.97 I suggest that these might not be the only explanations, and that we have to look elsewhere; I will return to this question shortly. Lycurgus accused jurors of being entirely responsible for inappropriate accusations in the courts because they willingly tolerated those litigants who launched calumnies without keeping to the issue at hand;98 Demosthenes also denounced the Athenian audience’s “vicious habit” of granting much indulgence to anyone who engaged in spiteful slander. In the latter’s view, the pleasure people derived from hearing invective was so great that it prevented them from paying enough attention to the good of the city.99 Sexual allegations—I believe—might become a source of amusement when they were routinely mixed with other remarks at the expense of someone else. What went on in the courts was often quite painful for the interested parties, but the agitated defense they put on might also offer a degree of entertainment.

95. See, e.g., Lysias 24.21 and Lycurgus, Leocr. 16. Such statements, which also obeyed rhetorical conventions, point to the impatience of audiences. 96. See what Cicero says in Part. or. 31–32 on the narratio of speeches that need to be persuasive but also entertaining. It will do so if it includes, besides surprise and suspense, “grief, anger, fear, delight, and passion” (cupiditates); cf. Woodman 1988: 85. 97. E. Hall 1995: 56; 2006: 387–90. On the congruity of rhetoric and drama as public speech, see also Ober and Strauss 1990. 98. Lycurgus, Leocr. 11–13. 99. Dem. 18.138.

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We have seen that not all methods of slander were equally effective; some had more chance than others of reaching their target. Aeschines and Demosthenes diverged in their techniques, and the victory the latter obtained in the end is suggestive of his greater ability to feel the pulse of the demos. In a revealing passage Aeschines points to his opponent’s effective rhetorical tactics of misrepresentation and to the imitation of the truth that he achieved by lying with precision.100 This was Demosthenes’ personal style, and an uncommon one at that.101 By expressing oaths, dates, details, and names of people with unfailing certainty, he was able to create a truthful-sounding discourse: Other charlatans [alazones] when they are lying try to speak in vague and ambiguous terms, afraid of being convicted. But Demosthenes, when he is cheating you, first adds an oath to his lie calling down destruction on himself, and second, [speaking] of an event that he knows will never happen, he dares to tell the date of it and tells the names of those whose faces he has never seen, deceiving your hearing and imitating those who speak the truth. Therefore, he should be hated because he is dishonest and destroys your faith in the signs of honesty. (3.99) I will investigate the strength of Demosthenes’ accusations later, but for now let us look at those alazones who launched their slanders randomly and in unclear terms, a method that ended up laying bare their lies. Who were they? No doubt Aeschines was one of them. In the speech Against Timarchus he heaped much abuse on that man, who in his earlier life had been indulgent and depraved, had prostituted himself, and had devoured his patrimony. Demosthenes was an indirect target even of these grave accusations; Aeschines made sure to remind the demos that his adversary was also a weak and submissive passive homosexual, “himself no man.”102 Concerning Demosthenes’ nickname, it was common report, rather than his nurse, that gave it to him, and he is called Batalus appropriately for his effeminacy and homosexuality. For if anyone should strip off those exquisite pretty mantles of yours, and the soft, pretty tunics that you wear as you write speeches against your friends, and would

100. Hesk 2000: 231–33; Aeschin. 3.98–99. 101. Lucian follows this technique in the Vera historia with his precise measur ing of things. See Bowersock 1994: 3–6 for Lucian’s disregard of boundaries between falsehood and veracity. 102. Aeschin. 1.167.

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let the jurors feel them as you pass them around, I think that unless someone forewarned them, they would not know if they held the clothing of a man or of a woman. (1.131) Aeschines here uses words as smooth and insubstantial as those supple, highclass garments. The men in the audience might have felt that they were touching the soft materials with the hands of connoisseurs but nonetheless have regarded this as only a parenthetic diversion rather than a piercing allegation. In other speeches Aeschines continues to abuse his adversary with vague, slanderous charges, concocting scenarios of depravity that, unspecific as they were, his audience might suspect of being lies. He identifies Demosthenes vaguely as “androgynous” and “a creature that lacked in manhood and was no better in spirit than a woman.”103 Even more pointed accusations of corrupting young men were worded in unclear terms that left room for different interpretations: “There is a young man of Plataean status, Aristion, son of the pharmacist Aristobulus, who is distinguished for extraordinary beauty of person. He once lived for a long time in Demosthenes’ house. What he used to do there or what was done to him is a scandal that is in dispute, and the story is quite improper for me to tell” (3.162). Although Aeschines in this case names specific people and circumstances, his ambiguous allegations must have seemed flimsy to the audience; he even has to admit that the accusation was amphibolos (in doubt). The same is true of the only other instance in which he sought to entangle Demosthenes in a specific amorous homosexual bond; Aeschines accuses the orator of “ruining a happy home” (which he goes on to identify precisely as that of Aristarchus, the son of Moschus) by cheating a young man out of his money even though he admired his bodily charms;104 but immediately afterward Aeschines backtracks by saying that the story is “absurd, of course, for real love has no place for dishonesty.” Demosthenes appears to be aware of the weakness of his opponent when he remarks that Aeschines “was more eager for scurrility than for accusation.”105 The sexual slanders that Aeschines heaped on his adversary were vicious but too intractable;106 they may have entertained the jurors but do not seem to have caused effective, permanent damage. Judging from the final result of the dispute, this technique might not have served Aeschines well; in spite of the fact that his claims may have

103. Aeschin. 2.127 and 179. 104. Aeschin. 2.166. The story also appears with some modifications in 1.171–72. 105. Dem. 18.124. Cf. 18.123, where he points to the difference between slander and accusation. 106. Burke 1972 maintains that Aeschines’ use of denigration was unique.

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been correct from a legal point of view, and that Demosthenes did not have any right to receive a crown in the theater,107 the audience rewarded Demosthenes’ speech on his receipt of the crown and penalized Aeschines’ attempts to derail it. The latter’s strident and random accusations may have contributed to his defeat. Demosthenes’ personal (idion) style of abuse was different and hit the target more effectively. In De falsa legatione (Or. 19.196–98) he relates a titillating and somewhat lurid episode that took place at a banquet in Macedonia, a banquet in which, he claims, Aeschines took part. He paints the scene with the touch of a master: men drinking in the company of a beautiful freeborn captive, a young Olynthian woman, who was made to drink too. The atmosphere became heated, the banqueters demanded in vain a performance from the modest girl, and Aeschines (among others) summoned a slave who tore off the girl’s dress and whipped her. With a complete air of assurance Demosthenes names a witness, claiming that the story had been told even in Arcadia, Thessaly, and “everywhere,” and that another specific person had made a report in Athens that the orator would ask him to repeat. Whether the report concerned Aeschines in particular cannot be determined, but the resulting stain on his reputation was there to stay. The jurors must have been incensed. Let us examine another passage that contains an example of the ferocious attacks that Demosthenes leveled at Aeschines’ family, heaping every possible abuse on them. Although it is well known, I will quote it here to show how effective Demosthenes’ technique could be:108 Shall I first say how your father Tromes was a slave, wearing heavy shackles and a wooden collar, in the house of Elpias, who taught primary letters in the Temple of Theseus? Or how your mother, by her daytime nuptials in the shed near [the statue of ] the hero Calamites, brought you up to be this noble figure, an eminent actor of third characters? Shall I tell how Phormio the trireme-piper, the slave of Dio of Phrearrii, removed her from that honorable profession? But, by Zeus and all the gods, I fear lest, in saying what is proper about you, I may be thought to have chosen topics unbecoming to myself, and so I will pass over these things. . . . By the addition of two syllables he transformed his father from Tromes to Atrometus and bestowed upon his mother the stately name of Glaucothea, although she was known to

107. E.g., Buckler 2000: 146; Rowe 1966: 405. 108. See also Dem. 18.257–60, which includes more railing against the family.

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everyone as Empousa, a nickname she clearly owed to her doing and submitting to everything—it can have no other origin. (Dem. 18.129–30) If these were all lies and inventions, they were nevertheless well orchestrated and specific, with a semblance of truth. Names, places, specific professions, and precise circumstances shaped the lurid scenario of Aeschines’ origins. His family’s past must have been relatively unknown to allow Demosthenes to construct such a perfidious tableau that nonetheless had some appearance of truth. He did not betray any hesitation but instead made his accusations (of slavery, prostitution, orgiastic rites, and attempts at falsifying a dark past) with a stone face and the touch of a master. The vituperative picture of Aeschines’ mother and father and of the orgiastic rites that prepared their son for a shameful acting career was complete. By refraining from ambiguous and haphazard sexual denigration of his opponent and by pointing out his unprofessional and dangerous conduct, Demosthenes sought to portray himself as an upright Athenian citizen, chastising but restrained, who deserved to prevail.109 Of course, the degree to which jurors were able to discriminate between explicit and entertaining sexual slander borrowed from comedy and seemingly factual information (which could be equally misleading) depended on their sophistication and internalization of cultural information. But frequent exposure to oratory must have made all listeners aware of the unreliability of some information. Aristotle, who regarded the study of dramatic delivery and of the histrionic style as a “vulgar” (but necessary) subject, attributed the increasing importance of delivery to the decreasing taste and discernment of the audience.110 Aristophanes’ repeated humorous claims that pathic sexuality was an essential qualification for a citizen aspiring to politics, exaggerated as they were, must have had some basis in reality; moreover, their prevalence indicates how frequently such accusations were launched.111 The public was so amused by them that those slanders scarcely altered their perception of

109. Rowe 1966: 403 remarks that the portrait of the impostor (alazon) Demosthenes painted of his opponent “might have been too fictitious and consequently incredible to the audience,” a difficulty that Dyck 1985: 43–44 underlines. This comic portrait, however, was not the only weapon of Demosthenes but was part of the entertaining package of the orator, whose success depended on more substantial points. 110. Arist., Rh. 3.1.4. The concept of decline was also embraced by Tacitus and Quintilian. A general example of this theory was Gibbon. Modern scholarship, however, has challenged this idea of a decline not only in oratory but also in other aspects of the ancient world. 111. Ar. Nub. 1089–90, 1093–94; Eccl. 112–14.

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reality; they could titillate the ear, raise applause, provoke a shiver of excitement, and make the spectacle of the human circus irresistible. In comic representations, too, some of the fun derived from a perception of the distinction between reality and fantasy. I mentioned earlier that Aeschines, although he ridiculed those unprofessional alazones who used ambiguous and ineffectual slanders, was in a sense one of them. But who else was in his company as part of that group? The remains of Attic oratory are not, in fact, a showcase for the type of ferocious invective that survives from Aeschines’ exchanges with Demosthenes; judging from the extant speeches, most orators were rather restrained, passing by plenty of occasions ideal for sexual slander. Victor Bers has made a compelling case that there were amateur orators present in the Attic courts whose orations were not preserved in the corpus of elite Attic orators.112 Men of limited means who faced accusations of various kinds but lacked the money to buy speeches from professional speechwriters must have found it necessary to defend themselves and to depend on their own rough oratorical skills. We should recognize the litigants portrayed by Aristophanes in the Wasps as examples of these untrained amateurs, who relied on sensational and scandalous details; here then, perhaps, is an additional explanation for the circumstance described earlier, that despite Aristophanes’ caricature, the extant speeches from this period do not show many examples of such elements. The unpreserved speeches by these amateurs were presumably roughly modeled on speeches they had seen given by professionals, but their versions showed features that should have been avoided (Bers calls them evitanda) by a litigant who wished to appear collected and in control in court: they found it difficult to suppress their emotions, particularly anger, and to avoid using abusive language.113 Respecting the etiquette of oratorical perfor mance in court was an important part of a litigant’s presentation. A professional like Demosthenes must have known that venting anger and abuse, at random and without any semblance of truth, might prove a damaging tactic. Even in putting on a good show, some rules needed to be observed. We have seen that with respect to hurling vague sexual allegations, the perfor mance of Aeschines—otherwise superb—left something to be desired. But he was not the only one to lose control in this way, and in this he resembled many other litigants whose rhetorical skills were much inferior to his.

112. Bers 2009. 113. Bers 2009: 44–68 also argues that unprofessional orators relied on overuse of oaths, diminutives, and exclamations, were not skilled in avoiding or at least reducing hiatus, and could not employ good rhythm.

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Two further points need to be kept in mind. An ancient audience might be more or less sophisticated but never completely lost touch with reality; therefore, Aristotle recommends observing a principle of probability to prevent an accusation from sounding ridiculous. Thus it was absurd, for example, to indict a man with a frail body on a charge of assault and battery.114 In a dialogue of Lucian, a rhetor giving advice to a tyro includes, in a list of elements necessary for a successful perfor mance, “plausible” slander (along with lies confirmed by oath, abuse, and shamelessness).115 An audience might be gullible, but only to a certain point. Moreover, if the courts presented spectacles of this sort with any frequency, would not the shock value of even the most offensive insults be considerably reduced? Scholars have argued that historical narrations adhering to familiar narrative patterns reassured a reader or listener and reinforced the plausibility of the account.116 This observation may apply to the numerous exempla from the past often used in oratory, parallels that compared the contemporary situation with that of other states or with the superior morality of ancient Athens. But we should also acknowledge that a mythological comparison invariably applied to the same situation, or a familiar mode of narration recurring with unfailing regularity, could cause boredom and awaken distrust. An audience might refuse to give a submissive stamp of approval to a story just because it fitted into a familiar pattern, and jurors acquired some expertise as a result of hearing cases. Lurid, recurring details in an oratorical speech might not reinforce the plausibility of an accusation; on the contrary, they might lose their biting force. A very brief discussion of Roman oratory is necessary here because personal invective played a notable part in the political and forensic oratory of the late Roman Republic. Although Libanius neither was acquainted with Latin language and literature nor, as I have said, composed his speeches with an eye to the verdict of a jury in a courtroom, a brief investigation of the practices of Cicero will serve to evaluate the traces Athenian invective left there. Past studies have considered Ciceronian invective largely literary and not intended to be credible,117 whereas more recent scholars have argued

114. Arist., Rh. 2.23.7 and 24.11. See also 1.2.3–4 and 3.7. 115. Lucian, Rh. Pr. 22. 116. Christopher Pelling in his as-yet-unpublished communication at the seminar on historiography at the 2011 APA meeting in San Antonio. 117. Nisbet 1961: 197: “Inventions were meant to cause pain or hilarity, not to be believed.”

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that it also had a social import;118 in the latter view, the issue of credibility is irrelevant because, regardless of its specific content, invective was effective in bringing about the public humiliation of the victim.119 Undoubtedly, in the law courts invective had to strive for plausibility to be successful and hit its target; Lucian, in fact, asserts in a dialogue that “slander would not do so much harm if it were not couched in a plausible way.”120 But even in legal proceedings we are acquainted exclusively with the practice of Cicero, who used well-recognized topoi of slander only in certain cases but often referred to his contemporaries’ scathing use of invective.121 The situation thus would be similar to the Greek one that Victor Bers has envisaged, that is, that those orators engaging in extreme invective were primarily amateurs. Moreover, political and deliberative oratory, as opposed to forensic, could indulge in more ferocious, demonizing attacks; in both environments Cicero’s audience was composed, at least in part, of educated individuals who were familiar with the rhetoric of praise and blame, with comic literature and stage representations.122 This audience might have strong reservations about accepting erotic invective as bearing any relation to the truth. Thus it is possible that when Plutarch—a later reader of Cicero—omitted the erotic details of the relationship of Curio and Antony in the Lives, he did so because he regarded with skepticism Cicero’s likening Antony to a male prostitute.123 In the second century Lucian described in an ekphrasis a painting of Apelles, who had portrayed slander, which had damaged him personally. It showed a man with very large ears extending his hand to her;124 the audience’s ears were in fact indispensable to the success of invective that depended on a public’s receptivity, and on its capability of finding a connection with familiar and cultural experiences. There were hazards in overuse, however, because repetition eroded belief, accusations became mechanical, and the sting was removed from them.

118. See, e.g., C. Smith and Covino 2011. 119. See the review of scholarship in Powell 2007. See also Richlin 1992; Corbeill 1996; and Riggsby 1997 and 2004. 120. Lucian, Cal. 11. For repeated irony on the motif of the catamite, see, e.g., Lucian, Rhet. Pr. 24; Peregr. 9; and Ind. 23 and 25. 121. Powell 2007: 10; all that oratory (possibly of inferior level) is lost. 122. Craig 2004: 188–89 and n2. The audience was generally educated in speeches to the Senate but not in those to contiones. In trials, the corona was a mixed assemblage of individuals. 123. Plutarch, Ant. 2.4–8; Cicero, Phil. 2.44–48; cf. Pelling 1990c: 38. 124. Lucian, Cal. 5.

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c Satire and Invective in Libanius I move now to Libanius and the fourth century CE. The preceding excursus into the classical sources has been necessary to show the cultural roots of this sophist’s invective. Libanius assimilated his models so thoroughly that they lived on in his discourse, although, as we will see, his cultural borrowings and references were often convoluted rather than direct; precise references were superfluous because he had appropriated the material so exhaustively. Invective is the complement of encomium, and with the exception of Aphthonius, who treated the two exercises separately, the compilers of progymnasmata considered them together; whereas encomium praises, among other things, people and events, invective can attack those same subjects.125 Dio, for example, underlines the strict relation between the two types of discourse in the opening of his Oration 33.126 Invited by the citizens of Tarsus to deliver an oration, he declines to offer them the speech of praise that they could hear from an orator who specialized in such speeches; abusing people and revealing their shortcomings was, Dio says, the work of the true physician, which some people appreciated. He remarks that the Athenians, in fact, were so accustomed to hear themselves abused and so inclined to frequent the theater specifically to hear invective that the men of Tarsus should welcome someone who pointed out their faults. Of course, this was a sophistic maneuver, and in the end Dio resorts to inveighing against a simple sound, the “snort” (regkein), which he humorously depicts as a sign of moral decay. This episode is further testimony that in classical times invective was practiced frequently for the enjoyment of the audience. Libanius employed invective with some gusto, imitating the ancients in this and even surpassing them. Called “Demosthenes the second” by the Byzantines, he knew very well all the works of this Attic orator and those of Demosthenes’ rival Aeschines, but, as mentioned earlier, he favored the former: he refers to Demosthenes by name almost four times as often as he does Aeschines and points to Demosthenes’ superior rhetorical skills.127 Like Cicero, he considered Demosthenes inimitable but crafted a style of his

125. Gibson 2008: 195–97. 126. See also how Nonnus in the Dionysiaca mixed invective into the imperial encomium (basilikos logos); Miguélez-Cavero 2010. 127. There are 293 references to Demosthenes versus 81 references to Aeschines in his works. He mentions the latter, moreover, almost exclusively in his schoolwork (there is only one reference in an oration).

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own that took that of his predecessor very much into account.128 It is not going too far to suggest, although it is only a suggestion, that Libanius’s preference for Demosthenes over Aeschines also derived from some affinity of character, or at least an affinity with the character of Demosthenes as he perceived it. It is a fact of human experience, true even now, that we sympathize with those authors who we feel are like us. The Attic orator’s painstaking education and his oratorical style, which depended less on spontaneity and natural gifts than on meticulous training, probably made the parallel between himself and Demosthenes irresistible to Libanius. The hard work (ponos) of Demosthenes was a model for both Libanius and his students. The Attic orator, moreover, was seen as a champion of Hellenism in his fight with the barbaric Philip and could serve as a shining example for students in financial difficulty because he had recuperated his patrimony through his oratorical ability. It was not surprising, Libanius said in the Vita, that Demosthenes had composed those discourses against his tutors when he was only eighteen years old, because he had had great teachers.129 In fact, much of what Libanius knew about Demosthenes must have come from Aeschines’ speeches. Consider, for example, how Aeschines in On the Embassy characterized Demosthenes as a man “barus and intolerable”;130 when Libanius wrote an entire speech to defend himself against the accusation of being tiresome and difficult to bear (barus), his identification with the Attic orator must have made his defense even more legitimate in his own eyes.131 He rarely shows an awareness of Demosthenes’ imperfections; as I discussed in the previous chapter, however, one such case is when, as Libanius portrays the behavior of his opponent during a sophistic contest, he seems to have borrowed from a speech of Aeschines ridiculing Demosthenes for a lapse of memory. Libanius’s opponent, having silenced Libanius by insisting that he had the right to speak first, then miserably failed: he was unable to speak because he had lost his memory.132 The governor tried to help Libanius’s rival, but in vain, just as Philip had done many centuries earlier, encouraging

128. Cicero, Brutus 35. Kruse 1915: 93–94 marks the times when Libanius referred to individual orations of Demosthenes, but most of the instances concern short and vague expressions. Bielski 1914 examines Libanius’s Vita of Demosthenes, trying to clarify whether its source was Plutarch. 129. Foerster 1903–27: 8:603. For several of Libanius’s students (e.g., Dionysius 6), rhetoric was an ally in misfortune; see Cribiore 2007: 255–59. 130. Aeschin. 2.21.4. 131. Or. 2. See J. Martin 1988: 61n on the meaning of barus, although he does not comment on Libanius’s identification with Demosthenes. 132. Aeschin. 2.35; Libanius, Or. 1.71; cf. Chapter 1.

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the dumbstruck Demosthenes to get his bearings. Libanius seems to have had in mind not only that episode but also Aeschines’ repeated claims that Demosthenes often contended for his right to speak first.133 Borrowing from Demosthenes in this case, who in the De corona retorted and denounced the “silence” of Aeschines, would not have been appropriate to the occasion.134 Silence was indeed an element of the aggressive rhetorical technique of Aeschines, who at times withdrew from public life, lying in wait until an opportune occasion arose; then, Demosthenes reports, his opponent would abruptly reappear like “a sudden squall,” raging with words and gaining momentum for his side. Libanius’s adversary, however, never recovered.135 Satire as a genre differs from pure invective, which is part of many genres. Although both focus on the castigation of some vice, personal invective implies a certain amount of self-serving malice and vengefulness and uses the traditional language of enmity. Other differences are often blurry, but satire aims at strengthening certain social and moral values and provides a valorization of the normative; although it may teem with rancor, piercing animosity, and images of sexual depravity, these elements, in theory at least, are subordinated to regenerative aims. Common to both are what Erik Gunderson has called “the perverted pleasures of reproaching perverts.”136 In the work of a satirist, bitter disappointment with the world or with specific individuals is usually accompanied by hope for the future, whereas invective is often ultimately nihilistic. An examination of a satirical oration of Libanius, juxtaposed to other speeches containing typical examples of invective, will clarify the difference. Libanius wrote Oration 53 in the early 380s; he must be alluding to this speech when, a few years later in Oration 38.5, he says that on one occasion he had “exhorted many people” about the necessity of limiting the presents offered to participants in the Olympic banquet.137 The speech in question, On the Invitation to Banquets, which has a low rhetorical density because it treats what Libanius regarded as a factual, serious problem, was nevertheless delivered to a large public.138 A satirist is by nature conservative and often

133. Aeschin. 2.108. 134. Dem. 18.308–9. 135. Or. 1.72: the “madman” left in disgrace, and his further attempt to assault Libanius with weapons did not succeed. 136. Gunderson 2005: 224. 137. J. Martin 1988: 214–15. See Or. 53.16. 138. This is another confirmation that Petit’s argument does not work.

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appeals to the values of the past by means of vignettes (enargeia) that distort present reality, highlighting the striking contrast with that idealized past. In arguing that fathers should not bring their sons to those banquets, Libanius is at his most daring. Not only were adolescent boys (his students among them, as he remarks) taught how to drink in that environment, but the men who lay on couches beside them “were allowed to reach for what they wished with either hand and to stretch it from behind along the boy’s back. The man knows that this often leads to intercourse” (8). When men found it difficult to meet handsome boys, the banquets furnished welcome opportunities. Invoking a moral authority similar to the one the upstanding Demosthenes held over the less principled Aeschines, Libanius cites the words of one such man who was waiting impatiently for the festivities: “The Olympic Games, which cause the athletes to be naked, will come and will also cause this young man to be naked. With the numerous participants in the banquet, it will be allowed to move him a bit away from the table and look at his legs or at what lies exposed as he stretches out” (18). But the picture darkens even further: indecent “weddings” came about during those banquets, which generated diseases of many kinds that “they are not ashamed to talk to the doctors about and explain where they come from.”139 But what was the ultimate aim of this speech, mordant with bitter animosity? Libanius says that his strictures strove for the good of the city, which required virtuous politicians; experiences of the type he describes, he says, took away forever a boy’s freedom of speech, with the result that he became an inept citizen.140 Although some people might resent such an intervention, Libanius the satirist had an audience, a large one, in fact. Much of Libanius’s oratory, unleashed against governors, the people in Antioch, rival disciplines, and his delinquent students, suggests a satirist’s desire for moral reform. He mentions that a major complaint against him was “that I long for and praise what is gone and denounce the present, and I say that cities then were prosperous but now they are miserable, and that this is the story I always tell, everywhere, every day.”141 To discuss public issues and denounce wrongdoing was in fact the proper métier of a sophist, and Libanius could traditionally count on his audience’s attention. As might be expected, there is some tension between legitimate satire and illegitimate

139. Or. 53.29. In 53.26 Libanius also argues against bringing young men to celebrations of weddings in winter, when the participants are wrapped in many blankets, and other types of “wedding” can take place. 140. Or. 53.22 and 27. 141. Or. 2.26. He delivered this speech publicly; J. Martin 1988: 9–11.

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attack; the border between them is often indistinct, although satire intends to correct, while slander aims at destroying.142 At times Libanius openly discarded the satirist’s reformative aims and used the language of personal enmity, taking nasty swipes at opponents. This was part of his pedagogical message from the beginning, when students prepared, through preliminary rhetorical exercises, to enter the world of the highly educated; he told them in Chreia 3.17, in fact, that rhetoric allowed one “to avenge himself on those who had caused pain.”143 In the Misopogon the emperor Julian mentions Archilochus and Alceus as his models for loidoria (abuse), and likewise Libanius exhorts the victim of Oration 39 to take revenge: “If you stretch this bow, you will find consolation and will teach that man that you know Archilochus.”144 In a 1910 study that is still quite useful, Wilhelm Süss identified ten topoi of invective in the works of the Greek orators. Some of them, such as denouncing the humble family of one’s target or accusing him of being his father’s murderer or of committing violence against his parents,145 are occasionally found in Libanius, but the topos that occurs most regularly concerns sexual depravity.146 There are variations within that topos. In Oration 41 the debased foreigners who make up the claque of the Four Hundred, giving their applause in the theater only to those who remunerate them well, knew baseness, Libanius says, from the time they were children and “got their living from their own youth.” When they became men and the resource of child prostitution failed them, they turned their energy to the theater.147 In Oration 37, mentioned earlier, Libanius accuses Helpidius, with whom he had apparently had a previously civil relationship (the latter’s daughter had married a relative of the sophist), of being a pathic homosexual guilty of prostitution when he was young;148 he then reiterates that “Helpidius sold his beauty . . . and at the bidding of someone in Rome, he went

142. Butterworth 2006: e.g., 27–28 and 52–56. 143. Chreia 3.17, amunasthai. 144. Julian, Misopogon 1. On Julian’s reworking of Menippean satire in the Caesars, see Relihan 2005; and for an edition of both works, see Müller 1998. Cf. Libanius, Or. 39.24. He mentions Archilochus again in Decl. 1.180 and Or. 1.74. 145. See, e.g., Or. 42.26, 41.6, and 42.12. On the topos of neglecting parents, see Worman 2008: 242. 146. Süss 1910: 249–50. For late antiquity, cf. Long 1996: 121–34 on the pathic Eutropius. 147. Or. 41.5–6. 148. Helpidius 4. This theme appears in Prog. 9.3.4 with regard to Philip, who became the young lover of a Theban.

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there to sleep with him.”149 Defamation of the emperor Julian that had come from Helpidius triggered the sophist’s slander in this case; the sudden mechanism by which the first calumny sparks off the second reveals the gratuitous and mechanical nature of slander, which seems to have been an immediate reflex of survival. The same accusation of child prostitution reappears in Oration 38, also mentioned earlier, but here it is carried further; another topos of slander emerges, a favorite for a teacher, that is, the ridicule of the young man who either did not get a proper education or utterly failed in school.150 In biographical writing interest in and mentions of childhood, which were limited, were almost entirely confined to education.151 In rhetoric discussion of this topic (praise of an individual’s education in encomium and criticism of it in invective) is often absent. Süss does not mention it among the topoi of Greek encomium and psogos, and it is absent from extant Roman oratory. In rhetorical schools of the Roman period, however, the praise and censure of an individual’s education found a place among the other common topics. Hermogenes, Menander Rhetor, and Theon considered upbringing and education mandatory topics in encomiums of individuals, and Menander in the Basilikos logos maintains that a rhetor had to speak of the subject’s “love of learning, quickness, enthusiasm for study, and easy grasp” of his lessons.152 Because invective was supposed to consider the same points as encomium but in a negative way, criticism of educational accomplishments must have been included by these authors; certainly both Libanius and Aphthonius regarded this form of invective as a mandatory part of the exercise.153 From Libanius’s progymnasmata, therefore, emerges a certain type of uncouth figure, with examples such as Hector, “raised among barbarians and in tyranny, in drunkenness, insolence, and the absence of education,” and Philip of Macedon, likewise raised with no love of music or desire for rhetoric but “with lots of wine, drunkenness, gluttony, pleasures, and shameful behavior.” Libanius also endows Aeschines with a sordid, uneducated childhood, with details that he lifts from Demosthenes but to which he adds his personal

149. Or. 37.3 and 14. 150. Besides the examples below, see Or. 4.16 and 18 (failing in rhetoric and law) and 33.3 (doing some rhetoric perforce and then devoting oneself to the stage and immoral relations). 151. Pelling 1990b: 220. 152. Russell and Wilson 1981: 82–83; Patillon and Bolognesi 1997: 74–78. 153. On Aphthonius, see Patillon 2008: 137. Libanius, Invective 3 in Progymnasmata, in Foerster 1903–27: 8, pp. 296–301.

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touch “that he shared his youth with whoever wanted him.”154 These topoi, practiced by students in school, pervaded oratory, serving as basic elements in the perfor mance of pagans and Christians alike. In Oration 38, a personal and vindictive speech that argues that the subject, Silvanus, should not be exempted from the burdens of civil ser vice, issues of schooling form the setting. Both Silvanus and his son were students of Libanius and never paid the tuition. The father, who was “naturally dense and failed to understand properly,” had nevertheless become an advocate and later removed his son from the sophist’s class, having him attend the lessons of a Latin teacher instead, allegedly only to insult Libanius. Both ungrateful individuals, moreover, when Libanius had suffered an accident to his foot that had confined him to bed, rejoiced while the rest of the city was apparently in tears.155 The hysterical caricature of Silvanus’s behavior at the news, “He jumped up, lifted himself high above the ground, clapped, did everything that overjoyed people do, and shouted that the misfortune had come from just Zeus,” warns us that ferocious slander is imminent.156 Thus Silvanus’s son, who took great pride in his muscles, became a pimp, procuring in and out of the classroom handsome boys for lovers, plunging children into vice, ruining households, sharing in the love gifts, and offering himself when he could not find anyone else.157 Did the city council, which was trying to ascertain whether Silvanus could be exempted from liturgies, give any weight to this charge? Or were the councilors unruffled by the stereotypical charges, which nonetheless made Silvanus appear a more dissolute individual? Libanius also carries out a vicious personal assault in Oration 39, which contains a torrent of invective unparalleled in his corpus. Doubts have arisen about the nature of the speech for various reasons; it has been argued that because the oration is quite rhetorical, it should belong to the epideictic genre of consolation, and furthermore that the name of the accused, Mixidemus, might be a pseudonym coined by the sophist.158 But the presence of historical names159 and the balance of realistic details, together with ste-

154. Libanius Progymnasmata, Invectives 2, 3, and 4, Foerster 1903–27: 8, pp. 290–306, Gibson 2008: 276–95. 155. Cf. Or. 1.183–84. 156. Or. 38.3–4; moreover, in 5 Libanius mentions that only Silvanus had opposed his proposal to eliminate the presents at the banquet of the Olympia. 157. Or. 38.8 and 11, where Libanius tells how this corrupted boy who was trying to lure a handsome boy was attacked by his relatives. 158. Reiske first and then Foerster consider the name a pseudonym. It appears in Lysias, fr. 91, 181. 159. The rhetor Antiochus 9.

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reotypical, ferocious slanders, indicate that this speech was a concerted, though camouflaged, attack on a real individual rather than simply an exercise. The use of a fictitious name is not in itself a difficulty; we know that Libanius employs pseudonyms elsewhere.160 In Oration 47, translated and studied by Norman, Libanius asks the emperor Theodosius to enact a law against the protection rackets that the military imposed on the peasants; landlords and decurions were threatened and forced to sell their properties to the principales, the wealthy and powerful members of the council backed by powerful protectors.161 Oration 39 appears to be an attack ad hominem, in which the target, the infamous Mixidemus, has played the role of protector far and wide. What triggers Libanius’s invective is that Mixidemus tried to extend his patronage over a teacher of rhetoric, singing his praises everywhere and thereby damaging another teacher who was a friend of Libanius. The venomous psogos begins by indicting Mixidemus according to the topos of a misspent youth. Mixidemus started to be bad from childhood; he never became a good man, not even for a few days, and he has reached old age in total wickedness. In Egypt he made money from his body, inviting all those who could pay, and did the same in Palestine, and manhood was no hindrance to that. Even as a lawyer, he did not cease to profit from this activity. (Or. 39.5) As we know from Greek and Roman invective, the continuation of pathic homosexuality and prostitution into adult life incurred special blame.162 Mixidemus, after obtaining official posts, and in his profession of advocate, “jumbled all the laws of Aphrodite; though born a man, he added to this the other gender, debauched many, and promised himself to more” (Or. 39.6).163 Furthermore, he lied and committed perjury, insulted the gods, and obtained power through flattery. Although distinguishing between fictional slander and realistic accusation can be a matter of subjective perspective, this oration oscillates continuously between them. There is no doubt, however, that at this point in the narrative the speech moves to a different level, where accusations are more constructive, concrete details abound, and probative accusations separate themselves from generic slander. We are told that Mixidemus imposed his influential

160. In Or. 40.6 and Ep. 405.4 he calls the sophist Zenobius Plato. See Heath 2004: 40–41 on pseudonyms of teachers in Philostratus and Lucian. See also the nickname Coccos for Proclus 6 and Azuthrion for Anatolius 3. 161. Norman 1977: 493–99. 162. Richlin 1992: 98. Cf. Ar. Eq. 1242. 163. See Or. 64.84: Aphrodite paranomos, that is, the goddess of “forbidden, illegal” love.

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patronage on certain wealthy widows, from whom he extorted money, and extended it to farmers, who had to pay him back with the produce of their land.164 He also exerted his pernicious influence on the courts, bringing havoc: “While those intimidated by these measures were defeated, those who stood their ground were reviled” (12). From these people and from military commanders he thus earned money, slaves, horses, and foodstuffs “to please his belly,” such as venison, rabbit, fowl, and plenty of wine (13–14). In what follows some reality still seems to be in play as Libanius describes the discord Mixidemus was able to sow between the children of the woman he had married.165 But a further episode Libanius describes, in which one of his students who used a room in this man’s house left Antioch and the school because of sexual harassment, is the trigger for more outlandish accusations.166 To strengthen his denunciation of this episode, Libanius calls Demosthenes himself to the stage via an allusion to the episode of Phrynon, whom the Attic orator had accused of selling his son to Philip. Not only did Mixidemus do the same, his infamy spreading even to Italy,167 but “he also was for his son what Philip was for the son of Phrynon,” that is, he became his incestuous lover. Libanius’s comment, “What Thyestes did was awful, but this is even more so, as such a thing is more awful with one’s son than with a daughter,” is a signal to us and, I think, to his educated audience that this particular slander may have belonged to the realm of literature rather than reality. But although the audience may have been able to see through certain stereotypical accusations, nonetheless, in this oration Libanius’s attack is so vicious that he chose not to address this contemporary enemy by his own name but used instead a pseudonym for his target.

c An Audience of Connoisseurs In other orations of Libanius (4 and 42, for example) it is possible to observe the same alternation between realistic (and possibly factual) details and fictional matter, which arises from a tradition of slander based not only on literature (iambic poetry and fourth-century BCE rhetoric) but also

164. Cf. Or. 47.4. 165. Or. 39.15, which indicates that Mixidemus had married a woman who was probably his sisterin-law and whom he calls “sister”. 166. Libanius says that he protected his student, who then ended up learning law in Berytus, something many young men did after studying rhetoric. 167. Or. 39.19; the report of this sale even reached the Senate in Italy and the Tiber.

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on sociocultural events, such as contemporary comic and tragic representations. At times Libanius isolates pure invective in a small compass surrounded by seeming factuality. Thus in Oration 40.10, one section bombards the target with unremitting details in a crescendo, attacking his education and accusing him of dishonesty, debauchery, and even tomb robbing. Following the ebb and flow of the slanderous discourse can be intriguing, I suggest, in Roman oratory too, although I will not pursue that here. As the orator harangued his audience, the force of his actual anger competed with the power of his literary reminiscences; at times he might temporarily lose control over the thrust of his argument, caught up in his unrestrained exhibition of slander. After a while, though, he would recover and continue his discourse. The question is to what degree an audience was able to recognize this game. I do not think that we can limit ourselves to saying, as current scholars are inclined to do, that given the resulting public humiliation, the content itself of the defamation was irrelevant at that time;168 an educated audience, such as that of Cicero or Libanius, must have been able to make some distinction between realistic insults and traditional defamation. The perception of the public depended on several factors, including its exposure to slander in other contexts, its level of education, and its knowledge of the principal characters of the case at hand. It is true that slanderous comments of any type could contribute to an attack on the victim’s character, lending force to the prosecutor’s argument, but an out-of-the-blue accusation of pathic prostitution or of a resemblance to the notorious Phrynon, as we saw earlier, must have produced some smiles or elicited at least a connoisseur’s appreciation of the cleverness of the speaker; therefore, the sting of such accusations would be somewhat lessened. It is important in this respect to consider, albeit briefly, the legal aspect of slanderous accusations.169 In late antique legal terminology there was an emphasis on inscriptio, the requirement for a signed accusation, but angry revilings in speech were not held to be real accusations (Cod. Theod. 9.1.5, dated to 320). Another section in the Codex Theodosianus (9.34) concerns defamatory writings (“De famosis libellis”), but it refers to allegations or (anonymous) denunciations of an individual for criminal activity. Libanius’s Oration 39 is the only one that seems to contain allegations of criminal behavior in addition to sexual slander. The sophist, therefore, felt it necessary to hide the identity of the accused under the pseudonym Mixidemus.

168. See Riggsby 2004 and Richlin 1992. 169. I thank Jill Harris for her clarifications.

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The ancients asserted that three characters were involved in slander: the mudslinger, the victim, and the audience.170 Discussing this partition of roles, Lucian remarks that they were also the leading characters in comedy, and he goes on to call the author of the slander the “star of the play” (protagonistes).171 Moreover, in spite of the slanderer’s often preposterous accusations and the damage he inflicted, he often went unpunished, as Plutarch recognized.172 Modern critics have commented on the likeness between trials and dramatic productions (both tragic and comic) and have suggested that “the manner in which forensic speeches were performed was as important to their success as their intellectual content and literary merit.”173 The public was able to appreciate all these facets of a work, albeit to different degrees depending on its cultural exposure; this ability gave them strong indications about how to react to various kinds of content. In late antiquity people regarded paideia as a path to understanding and engaging in the sophisticated literary nexus of Greekness. Scholars have often underlined the ancients’ devotion to the past, but it is equally important to identify their reactions to it and their reliance on contemporary genres; furthermore, their level of cultural sophistication and the nature of their interests shaped their responses. A historian like Ammianus was conversant not only with history but also with various other genres of literature. Some of his darkest passages, for example, the description of the madness, torture, and devastation of Petronius, Valens’s father-in-law, reveal a distinct awareness of oratory and tragedy;174 other passages show his use of satire and invective, such as his second digression on Rome, which exhibits clear thematic correspondences with Juvenal.175 In the fourth century the poet Claudian, who, like Ammianus, took his career to Italy and wrote in Latin, was conversant with epic poetry, satire, and invective.176 Fiction and reality mingled in his writings, and his cultivated and knowledgeable audi-

170. Herodotus 7.10.67. 171. Lucian, Cal. 6–7. 172. Plu., fr. 156, from On Calumny: there was no punishment, although these people were like thieves. 173. E. Hall 1995: 40. 174. Ammianus 26.6.7–9. 175. Ammianus 28.4; see Den Hengst 2007. On the difference between the two digressions on Rome, see Matthews 1989: 414–16. 176. See Long 1996. Claudian’s invectives need to be seen within the context of the pagan and Christian conflict. Ratti 2008 wonders whether the poet was consciously trying to mimic the success of Christian invectives.

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ence must have been able to appreciate Claudian’s accusations of homosexuality against the eunuch Eutropius, on the one hand, and his references to the affairs of the eastern empire, on the other. Invective continued to thrive in various genres, and the taste for ceremony characteristic of late antiquity generated a variety of speeches in different contexts, both pagan and Christian.177 Exposure to tragedy, comedy, and rhetoric could occur through formal education, where such concepts were methodically organized and articulated; but although inculcation through schooling was the most efficient way to transmit traditional cultural knowledge, it was not the only way. Individuals with less formal education could listen to orations of different kinds and learn to appreciate tragic and comic perfor mances not only through reading but also by attending them, especially mimes and pantomimes. Most of the parents who sent their sons to Libanius were cultivated individuals, and others strove to become such. He wrote to one correspondent, “We number you among those who are in the chorus of the Muses, since knowing how to admire those who are educated is also part of education.”178 The accumulation of cultural knowledge, which could also be inculcated somewhat unconsciously in people who had undergone less formal schooling, gave them a sort of cultural intuition that allowed them to react and respond to a cultural message.179 A taste for invective might relate to the deep appreciation late antiquity and Byzantium showed for Aristophanes, who supplanted the milder and linguistically easier Menander in schools and in the public’s taste;180 Patricia Easterling is likely correct in attributing Menander’s lack of popularity to the audience’s indifference to the stiff and dignified (and therefore unexciting) background of his plays.181 Aristophanes was more humorous (and lascivious), and people valued his scurrility and freedom of speech, Libanius among them; the sophist had a good knowledge of Aristophanes’ surviving plays.

177. Long 1996: 90–105; cf. Den Hengst 2007: 176–77. See, e.g., Jerome, Adversus Iovianum, and the Panarion of Epiphanius of Salamis. 178. Ep. 172, to Stratonicus. 179. Education produced a “habitus,” according to Bourdieu and Passeron 1990: 31–32, 54–55; and Knapp 2002: 292–93. DiMaggio 1979: 1467–71 criticized the instability of the habitus that is transformed by later experience, but this is not a difficulty for my argument. 180. Cribiore 2001: 201 181. Easterling 1995.

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c Christians on Vice The employment of invective in late antiquity and in Libanius in particular should be linked not only with the classical tradition but also with contemporary Christian discourse on sophrosyne and condemnation of vice of every sort. Christian charges of incest, homosexuality, and lust built on accusations of sexual perversion against gentiles in biblical authors. Elizabeth Clark has argued that the church fathers endeavored to read in passages of the Old and New Testament the program of sexual purity that they supported.182 Christian slanders about sexual excess and gender deviance were directed more broadly against gentiles, slaves, barbarians, and heretics and served to affirm the Christians’ authority and to confirm their identity as people practicing sexual purity.183 But also present as an influence was the pagan ideal of sophrosyne, usually cultivated by philosophers. The image of the emperor Julian transmitted to us by contemporary sources is that of a man who practiced abstinence in all forms; and as we have seen, Libanius wished to leave a similar self-image.184 Frugal, self-disciplined, and chaste, he felt entitled to rant against those who behaved differently. It will be for us to decide whether, in expecting this behavior of himself and others, he identified only with the Greek ideal of sophrosyne or was also directly influenced by the Christian discourse of the period. Oratorical perfor mances competed with other kinds of spectacles for the public’s attention.185 Libanius, who detested the theater and supposedly avoided from an early age shows of every kind, including gladiatorial combats and dances,186 resented the irresistible attraction such spectacles exercised for his students. This trait of his personality emerges not only from the narrative of his life but constantly from his letters; he reports, in fact, that young men brought to school an inappropriate passion “about drivers, actors, horses, dancers, or some fight that has happened or will happen.”187 Libanius found an unlikely ally in his opposition to spectacles in his student John Chrysostom, who ranted in his sermons against shows that not only occupied the minds of his congregation but also caused

182. E. A. Clark 1999. 183. See Knust 2006: 143–63. 184. Wiemer 1995a: 181–83; Cribiore 2007: 15–18. Cf. Chapter 1. 185. On various spectacles in late antiquity, see Dodge 2011: 69–78. 186. Or. 1.5. 187. Or. 3.12; see also 35.13.

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some absenteeism.188 The sophist regarded spectacles as vulgar, boisterous perfor mances that were not appropriate to a man of cultural refinement but were appreciated by the lowly masses; Chrysostom, who must have heard frequently his teacher’s tirades on the subject when he was a student, was motivated instead by notions of the decency and propriety Christians ought to embrace and by his perception that society had abandoned the morality of the times of Christ and his apostles.189 The preacher protested with virulent oratory against chariot races that generated fanaticism and screaming all over the city; he also especially condemned the “pits of wickedness” in theatrical shows that, he argued, aroused irrational and dangerous emotions and inspired immoral thoughts.190 Judging from the repeated attacks of the sophist and the preacher and the continued success of spectacles of every kind,191 their campaign seems to have had limited results, but an inevitable consequence of their competition with such perfor mances was a desire on both their parts to introduce more entertaining elements into their oratory. Chrysostom was a “superstar”192 who could appeal not only to a person of culture with his classicizing oratory but also to the masses, in part by avoiding the more difficult style of his teacher.193 He also sometimes indulged in colorful descriptions of satanic spectacles, corruption, and harlotry that now appear somewhat gratuitous but at the time served to keep the congregation in their seats, with the result that some Christians looked at religious ser vices as entertainment. Let us consider briefly Chrysostom’s oration Against the Games and Theaters; in spite of his rhetorical claim at the end of the speech that some listeners looked dejected by what he had said, it must have kept the audience on the edge of

188. See Pasquato 1976; Kelly 1995: 15; Liebeschuetz 1990: 181–86; and Maxwell 2006: 125 and 133–34 on the preacher’s attitude and on defections from church. But see Lim 2009: 502 on the fact that patristic writings represent only one side of the ancient view on spectacles. 189. It is uncertain whether the bishops opposed games and spectacles because of their pagan elements or because they saw in them an indulgence in a type of life contrary to the spiritual one. See on various views Salzman 2007. Webb 2008: 201 remarked that the theater was a competitor of the church for financial resources. 190. See, e.g., De Davide et Saule hom. 3.2 (PG 54:696–97). Chrysostom often denounced spectacles and the theater; see PG 54:660; 57:426; and 62:428. 191. Although some spectacles did not attract intellectuals, they still were tremendously popular until Anastasius I in 502 banned pantomimes. But this ban did not last, and Justinian’s withdrawal of financial resources from the theater also was not definitive; see Webb 2008: 222–23 and passim. 192. Liebeschuetz 1990: 182. 193. On his oratorical skills, see Mayer and Allen 2000: 26–30.

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their seats.194 The old men guilty of bringing their sons to the shows, a practice that Chrysostom likens to “throwing them down a precipice,” are similar in their wrongdoing to those shameful fathers mentioned in Oration 53 of Libanius who brought young children to the banquets for the Olympic Games in spite of dangers of immorality.195 Chrysostom mentions “human flesh ignited by desire” at the sight of a prostitute, the actress who comes on the stage dressed in golden garments but with her head bare; she is weak and corrupt, he says, and sings dirty poems and degenerate tunes. “Her words, her appearance, her glances, her walk, her rhythm, her enunciation, her lewd words . . . make men copulate with her by desire.” This woman, whom we can now visualize through the power of Chrysostom’s words, is right there in the middle of the congregation, an invisible burning presence conjured up by oratory, and the men feel guilty once again for their lustful thoughts; furthermore, their meek, unattractive wives, whom they have spurned in their minds, will reproach them at home for the sin the preacher has brought back again. Chrysostom was relentless in his denunciations, themselves prurient at times, of corrupt actresses appearing naked on the stage. “You would not wish to see a naked woman in the square,” he says, for example, in another homily, “and even less in her house; you call this indecent. But then you go to the theater . . . and shame your eyes.”196 Men defended themselves by saying that because the naked actress was a prostitute rather than a free woman, less guilt was involved; but the preacher went on to proclaim that the nature of those two women was identical. At the very moment he did so, however, he called up the image of a naked free woman in the men’s imagination, with the result that their wish to see one became almost possible; then the indecent amorous glances men supposedly threw at some women in church had one more cause. Ottorino Pasquato comments on the vivid precision of Chrysostom in describing not only the nakedness but also the attire of actresses: their hairdos, painted eyes, and cosmetics;197 this scholar goes on to wonder whether the preacher was remembering the spectacles he saw when he was young or rather trusting the evidence of hearsay and mosaics. I sug-

194. Cf. John Chrysostom, e.g., Contra ludos et theatra, PG 56:253–60. I will follow the translation in Mayer and Allen 2000: 118–25. 195. The motif of the unworthy fathers who did not supervise their sons enough runs through the whole Oration 53 of Libanius. In several other works Chrysostom inveighs against fathers who do not protect the innocence of their sons, e.g., In Matth. hom. 59.7, PG 58:584. 196. In Matth. hom. 6.8, PG 57:72. 197. Pasquato 1976.

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gest that the gaudy picture Chrysostom painted came from reality rather than from art, where details were not portrayed so vividly.198 The details he included were drawn from the time when he, as a young man, was excited by sights that were denounced not only by Christians but also by his teacher. Like Libanius, Chrysostom also evoked visions of young men who betrayed their nature by arousing homosexual desire: they paraded on the stage to offer themselves to other people’s eyes.199 The church now had become another theater and the pulpit another stage; the audience found its own enjoyment. The acutely polemic and slanderous remarks of Libanius might have won over some members of his audience by having a similar effect, making his sometimes oppressive oratory more spirited and jesting. Thus the laudator temporis acti,200 the man who protested against the corruption of the governors, the living conditions of some in Antioch, and the insouciance of young men concerned only with material things, could charm his audience with the spectacle of oratory—Libanius the epicharis. Rhetoric was traditionally regarded as having the capacity to work magic, blinding people to reality; accusations of magic against sophists occur so often in Libanius’s Autobiography that they show that the perceived magical power of rhetoric was still intact in the fourth century. Indeed, the correspondence between rhetoric and magic was a commonplace in late antiquity, when an opponent might accuse a rhetor of damaging people and property through his enchanting words.201 The word epode (spell) occurs often in the sophist’s letters and orations; masterful rhetoric acted like an incantation, fascinating governors and lulling their tempers to sleep.202 It is the same “spell” that operated in Demosthenes’ time and “cured the souls.”203 At the end of Oration 6, Libanius attempts to convince a friend that simple everyday joys made life worth living; his words were like an amulet, and the friend repeated them to himself like an incantation. In times of imperial rule, rhetors continued to offer the flattering type of oratory that Gorgias had described in the fifth century

198. See the accurate precision of details in the depiction of the harlot in On Vainglory and the Education of Children, section 2. 199. See In Gen. hom. 6.2, PG 53:56. 200. Cf. “the times when the governors governed and those governed were truly governed” in Or. 41.18 and often repeated. 201. Libanius accused of murdering the wife of his opponent, Or. 1.62–63. 202. Or. 11.141. 203. Ep. 702.2.

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BCE;204 the rhetor was a ruler in his art but also a slave who had to cater to his audience’s tastes. In Libanius’s opinion, however, rhetoric distinguished people from slaves and made them immortal; it was equal to noble birth and wealth and conferred on its practitioners phronesis (good judgment and practical sense). But there were two types of rhetoric, one rooted in reasoning and the other in images and emotions; the perennial quarrel between rhetoric and philosophy emerged from a confrontation between these two forms of rhetoric.205 When a rhetor indulged in the dark but entertaining aspects of invective, he no longer aimed directly at persuasion but turned his rhetorical technique toward the audience’s delight and gratification (pros charin).

c Genre Awareness: Letters versus Orations We have seen that late antique oratorical speeches were not written in a vacuum but rather were related to cultural, social, or situational conditions and conventions. When we read these texts, we must filter the information we receive by considering questions of genre; in doing so, we must be alert to the fact that ancient genres were not closed categories but functioned as dynamic guidelines that a writer observed and also continued to shape in order to communicate with his audience. Catherine Steel, in a study of Cicero’s works, discounts such an approach on the grounds that it does not take into account an orator’s “creativity and freedom from constraints.”206 This difficulty evaporates, however, if we see genres as continually evolving, depending on a writer’s interest and skill, on context, and on social interaction with the audience. Genres were touchstones of knowledge, constituents of a cultural community, on which Libanius and his public relied. A writer took into account the expectations of his public, which in turn knew “the rules of the game” that guided his judgment.207 The genre consciousness of the audience also was not static but fluctuated depending on the circumstances and on individual sensitivity and cultural preparation.

204. Gorgias, 502d, 517a, and 522d. 205. On the confrontation of ancient and modern, see Garver 2004: 44–68. 206. Steel 2005: 48. 207. Jauss 1971.

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Epistolary texts also obeyed strategic conventions that writers and readers expected and on which they relied. A letter was supposed to be a vehicle of friendship or at least had to follow guidelines of politeness with minimal departure from them;208 certain conventions of letter writing, including the use of formulas of good wishes and farewell salutations, already framed a letter as a model of politeness. This characteristic of the genre colored the medium so strongly that it constrained the gamut of feelings expressed. Amy Richlin notes “a certain urbane restraint” in Cicero’s letters;209 Cicero does not hurl invective at his addressees but rather shares with his correspondents occasional abusive remarks about third parties. Jon Hall has investigated the general frame of politeness of Cicero’s letters; he stops short of introducing the term “genre” but speaks of “a conventionalized framework of politeness” and “of an established cultural code,” which amounts to essentially the same thing.210 He remarks that the use of these fictions of friendship was not necessarily a sign of hypocrisy; flattery and deception were only side effects of a very widespread practice that was useful in defusing tension. Even with opponents, Cicero was careful to maintain a certain amount of restraint and decorum and to transmit an image of dignified self-control. Hall concludes that the common use of epistolary fictions of friendship was “found in Rome’s unique political environment.”211 I argue rather that it was built on the conventions of the epistolary genre observed everywhere by the elite classes in antiquity. Having served the pragmatic need to establish polite interactions and alliances, formal markers of friendship became embedded in the epistolary genre to such an extent that in the fourth century the rhetor Julius Victor warns, “One should never be abusive, but least of all in letters.”212 To say that that “letters were a friendship”213 is perhaps excessive, but it is true that politeness served as a powerful restraint. The thematic and formal characteristics of friendship would continue to be fundamental in the epistolary literature of the

208. Ps.-Demetrius 231 wrote that correspondence was always supposed to convey friendly feelings. 209. Richlin 1992: 84. 210. J. Hall 2009: 105, 169, and passim. On friendliness in Cicero’s letters, see Hutchinson 1998: 16–17 and passim; and Steel 2005: 48. See also Wilcox 2012 on friendship as a particular concern of Cicero and Seneca. 211. J. Hall 2009: 192. 212. Malherbe 1988: 64–65. 213. Van Dam 2003: 136.

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Renaissance.214 In any case, ancient addressees did not suffer the same disadvantages as the modern reader in trying to read between the lines; attentive correspondents could perceive the true tone of a letter not only on the basis of the language employed but also according to the character and past actions of the writer. Do we not often do the same when we write and read letters of recommendation for students? Together with positive and polite comments, these letters may sometimes communicate subtle, encrypted messages of a different tenor that we seek to capture and hope our correspondents will do the same.

c Libanius and Proclus: A Case of Double-Dealing? Previous scholars have reacted with some indignation to the discrepancy between certain orations of Libanius that contain nasty remarks about public figures and the polite letters he addressed to these same people. The general conclusion has been that publication of those speeches was out of the question, and that Libanius was guilty of flattery and hypocrisy in the letters.215 One even catches a tone of personal disappointment in A. F. Norman, who for the most part sympathizes deeply with the sophist in spite of some perceived quirks in the latter’s personality:216 how could his favorite author be so devious? Fundamentally, however, whether Libanius was at times deceitful and a flatterer is in fact unimportant to us; what matters is to try to investigate his relationships with others in a clearer way. As I have shown earlier, there were many ways to disseminate one’s work in antiquity, and the continual copying of Libanius’s work in later times is one more indication that delivery before a vast audience was only one form of publishing the content of orations. In this respect we should not judge Libanius by the standards of fifth- and fourth-century BCE orators; it is good to remember what Demosthenes said in reference to himself: “Do not compare me with men of the past but with those living.”217 In order to convey a more nuanced view of how Libanius communicated with others, I would like to examine closely the orations and letters

214. Guillén 1986: 78–79. 215. See, e.g., J. Martin 1988: 211. 216. Norman 2000: 148 and 159 calls the discrepancy “distasteful” and “disconcerting.” 217. Dem. 18.319.

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that center on the official Proclus because previous scholars have been particularly critical of the way the sophist treated this public figure. Proclus was comes Orientis in 383–84, stationed in Antioch.218 He was prefect of Constantinople from 388 to 392, when he fell from power, and was decapitated the following year. There is evidence that his relations with Libanius were good at first but began to deteriorate when Proclus left to be replaced by another governor.219 In Oration 10, the only speech that survives from the time when Proclus was in Antioch, Libanius criticizes (but fairly moderately) a project of the governor to enlarge the plethrion (wrestling stadium) of the city, and in the letters of the period he was generally favorable to Proclus and complimentary of his actions.220 But in the Autobiography, after Proclus left Antioch, the sophist wrote a tragic account of “the slaughter and bloodshed” of which Proclus was guilty by reason of his frequent floggings,221 and he condemned Proclus’s brutality again in Orations 26, 27, and 28. Libanius also began to call him Coccos (seed), a name by which Proclus was addressed in acclamations in the theater.222 In all these orations the only feature of the government of Proclus that Libanius denounces is his violence, particularly the inhuman practice of flogging. Although cruelty to other citizens was a topos of invective that is also present in some Ciceronian speeches, we have seen that in late antiquity many governors resorted to flogging, and Libanius’s accusations sound realistic enough.223 His contemporaries also witnessed those cruel spectacles; torture and whipping were done publicly, and there was and is no question that some people found them unbearable.224 Libanius, who denounced the practice when it was

218. Proclus 6 in PLRE 1. 219. Icarius 1. 220. The plethrion was used during the Olympic games. On the relationship between Libanius and Proclus, cf. J. Martin 1988: 205–11. Libanius probably delivered Or. 10 to people he assembled regularly for the purpose (syllogoi). In a letter of 388 (Ep. 852 N149) he generally complimented Proclus for his building activities. 221. Or. 1.212 and 221–24; here, as usual, Libanius tried to show himself in the best light and painted his supposedly independent and courageous behavior toward the official. 222. See Or. 26.30; 27.30; and 29.10. Cf. Or. 27.13 for Proclus’s harsh methods and the name Coccos being used in acclamations. The term “seed” in the plural designated the male and female genitals, but it is unknown whether the singular had any relation to that. In any case, it should be noticed that Libanius was not the only one to adopt the name. 223. Süss 1910: 250–51, with reference to a misopolis; Craig 2004: 191–92. Zosimus 4.45.1 and 4.52 considers Proclus disinterested but does not mention his methods of governing. 224. See Or. 1.207: an official reacts to flogging; and 1.170: a governor sets floggings in a place where many can witness them.

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carried out by other governors as well, discloses that he “could not tolerate that even in dreams” and once became dizzy at the sight and had to be borne away.225 It is likely that Proclus and other governors who resorted to such practices, which they found effective and were quite widespread, were not much affected by the sophist’s condemnation. Oration 42, which is the last that concerns Proclus and dates to 390, shows what scholars have called the “choicest invective in character assassination.”226 Libanius’s interpreters have pointed a disapproving finger at the contrast between the tone of this speech and that of the letters. In the oration the sophist protests violently against the fact that three senators, one of whom was Proclus, were strongly opposing the entrance of Thalassius (Libanius’s faithful secretary) into the Senate of Constantinople. The sophist begins by saying that he would like to continue to commend Proclus, but the affair at hand and the serious insults he has received from the governor prevent him from doing so. For a few paragraphs (33–39) he discusses Thalassius’s whereabouts and behavior but then suddenly bursts out with the assertion that an insult to his secretary is a personal insult to himself; this is the phrase that triggers a brief example of invective. The two main topoi that Libanius covers are Proclus’s deficient education and a youth misspent “among pleasure, luxury, and drunkenness.” Regarding the former, Libanius says that Proclus “does not know either Greek or Latin rhetoric and cannot claim knowledge of law to compensate for rhetoric.”227 The reality behind these words, which betray Libanius’s usual obsession with endless schooling, was most likely that Proclus had only a few years of rhetoric and did not thereafter embark on the study of Roman law, as did many other students. He knew Latin but was not proficient in Latin rhetoric, which is not surprising; moreover, because he used two languages, he sometimes committed solecisms in Greek, a mortal sin for the purist Libanius.228 After these attacks, the sophist again denounces Proclus’s use of violence. Altogether, if we take

225. See Or. 54. 43–44; cf., e.g., Or. 4.36–38 (flogging people who had to wear a donkey cap); 33.30–32; 45.3 and 27–29; and 46.7–9. In Or. 1.161 and 208 he says that the sight was intolerable to his eyes. 226. Norman 2000: 147, and cf. 145–48. 227. Norman’s translation of 42.40 is too strong: “He is uneducated in either language.” Libanius is speaking here of rhetorical education, as the use of logoi in the next paragraph confirms. Two years earlier he had addressed to Proclus a letter of recommendation for the teacher Eusebius xxii, who had composed speeches for Proclus and his father Tatianus, Ep. 906 N156. What he said there, that father and son were “lovers of eloquence,” does not necessarily contradict what he says in Or. 42, that Proclus did not attend a full course in rhetoric. 228. Or. 42.40 and 41.

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into account the audience’s familiarity with personal invective and the common reality of brutality in office, the section against Proclus does not appear so outrageous that Libanius would be forced to hide the oration or to show it only to two or three friends. Proclus, moreover, was then in Constantinople, and I suspect that the insults hurled against him (when they were reported to him) were somewhat old hat.229 Let us consider now the letters written in 390, the alleged proofs of Libanius’s duplicity. Letter 922 precedes Oration 42 and represents one more attempt to obtain adlection to the Senate for Thalassius.230 Because it is a personal appeal to Proclus, the obsequious expressions are not surprising, but much tension can be perceived within the framework of politeness. Letter 938 was either contemporaneous with or followed the oration.231 It alludes to the rift between Libanius and Proclus and mentions that they had completely stopped writing to each other; this fact alone shows that Proclus was aware that Libanius had vilified him and thus provides evidence against the idea that Libanius kept the speeches against Proclus private. It is significant in my view that Libanius, in an apparent captatio benevolentiae, suggests that “the many orations” that many people composed and delivered for Proclus were the reason for the latter’s silence; that is, Proclus was distracted by the multitude of seeming panegyrics in his honor. These speeches were forceful because those rhetors were men in their prime, whereas his own rhetoric, Libanius says, betrayed the weakness of old age. It is tempting to read some irony in this elaborate and cold letter and an allusion to the fact that in actuality the “weak” Libanius had just castigated his opponent with a forceful oration. In my opinion, these letters show that their writer was operating within the relative constraints of the genre that dictated civility and politeness. Proclus, however, in reading them, may have easily perceived Libanius’s lingering hostility in spite of the latter’s attempt to maintain his poise according to the usual fiction of friendship.

229. Most of the invective of the speech is hurled at Optatus 1 and consists of traditional topoi: deficient education, neglect of parents, humble family, pathic homosexuality, and lust. Optatus was possibly and easier target than Proclus because he did not hold any office at the time. With regard to the third man inveighed against (“the son of Gaison,” not designated with a full name; cf. Norman 2000: 163 n62), he rants only against his family origin and pretentiousness. 230. Ep. 922 N161. Norman calls it “a dignified sounding appeal . . . distasteful” when compared with Or. 42. 231. Ep. 938 N165.

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c Some Conclusions My principal aim in this chapter has been to show that we must exercise great caution in evaluating evidence that is so removed from us, and that we should not rush to hasty conclusions on the basis of our modern perceptions of certain issues. Invective that now seems scandalous and intolerable may then have possessed even some comic tone. I certainly do not mean to suggest that those who were targets of invective took it with good humor and nonchalance; a victim of sexual slander surely resented it, and malicious attacks and unsubstantiated allegations created rifts and aggravated discord. Peter Brown has remarked that in late antiquity figures with a designated function in society acted out “clearly defined roles,” such that, for example, a philosopher had always to act the part of the philosopher.232 Likewise, a sophist who was truly a sophist had to play the game of invective. I have argued that the traditional character of invective (especially that of a sexual nature) and its familiar presence in all contexts of late antiquity may have removed some of the burning sting that we, viewing it many centuries later through the lens of historic subjectivity, perceive. Libanius did not, contrary to the suggestion of some scholars, compose some of his speeches only for private, malignant pleasure; he was able to bring them out of his “drawers.” His words circulated in various forms and made known his stance on the issues at hand. In addition, we have seen that a consideration of the requirements of the various genres and of the expectations they generated in an audience allows us to resolve to some degree the impasse between the apparently contradictory messages of orations and letters. A more nuanced awareness of the conventions of the epistolary genre reveals that correspondents could not express their anger directly in that form of communication but had to camouflage it with a fiction of friendship. Openly abusive letters were mostly absent in elite circles,233 but an attentive reading of some seemingly suave messages can reveal a writer’s repressed ill feelings. Attention to the different requirements and audiences of letters and orations will continue in the next two chapters, which will investigate the glimpses Libanius allowed of his religious stance in his writings. We have seen how arduous it is to unravel the threads of reality in the tangled situation of his discourse, but also how rewarding; to be able to do so, we must

232. Brown 1971: 93. 233. Everyday letters from Greek and Roman Egypt also rarely display feelings of hostility.

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remain alert to the complex aspects of the fourth-century cultural experience. We must not consider Libanius in isolation, a monumental figure whose life and works can be explained only by personal oddities and eccentricities. He wrote for his contemporaries, who gave him due attention during his life and afterward.

c Ch a p ter 3 A Man and His Gods

In an essay written in 1764, Edward Gibbon remarks: “We are not ignorant of the pleasant and absurd system of Paganism, according to which the universe is peopled with whimsical beings, whose superior power only serves to make them more unjust and ridiculous than ourselves.”1 Scholars have often mentioned the difficulty of comprehending Greco-Roman religion, alien as it seems to our modern expectations.2 We look at images of the ancient gods, and they appear beautiful but worn down and distant. Whereas ancient Christianity has left a palpable heritage, we struggle at times to interpret the evidence of classical paganism because we do not intimately relate to it. Because most of us are either openly monotheists or live in a monotheistic culture, presuppositions of the superiority of monotheism as more rational and plausible than polytheism are embedded in our consciousness, for better or for worse. Scholars of late antiquity (philosophers, theologians, and literary interpreters) have attempted to redraw the boundaries between Christianity and Judaism on one side and paganism on the other; rather than focusing on polytheistic ritual and cult practice as much as in the past, they are trying now to explain some

1. Gibbon 1764: 114. 2. E.g., Cartledge 1985: 98.

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common elements of these religious allegiances and especially the worship of a single god. I will consider aspects of pagan monotheism with regard to Libanius in Chapter 4; in this one I concentrate on the gods of the men of the late antique elite, Libanius among them. My choice is inspired by the nature of the evidence I intend to examine, that is, the huge textual output of this sophist, which begs for clarification. Of course, I do not imply that the religious convictions of Libanius (or of other men of his rank) were different in principle from those of people in the lower classes of the empire, but they certainly were more affected by, and dependent on, literary texts. At the end of Chapter 4 I will consider this sophist’s conceptions of monotheism, which were strongly traditional rather than of a philosophical nature, alongside those that have come to light in two inscriptions found in the rural plain of Antioch that can illuminate the beliefs of men with a less intellectual background. One simple reason that scholars generally do not focus on the alien quality of late antique paganism may be that it appears to be merely an appendage to classical paganism, a somewhat blurry duplicate. Much has been written, however, on the vitality of late paganism and on its capacity to attract followers perhaps as late as the sixth century, up to the reign of Justinian.3 “All things are full of gods,” Thales had said many centuries earlier, a suggestive statement still valid for later times.4 There was a wealth of local cults and therefore a range of choices, although no signs exist of competition to attract exclusive adherence, a characteristic of Christianity.5 A change of allegiance might occur when an adherent felt that a god was no longer sufficiently influential, or when a pressing problem that had required the help of a certain god had ceased to exist. But in addition to its inclusion of new cults and deities, in general paganism in late antiquity still relied on many rituals and practices that were traditional, on a mythological patrimony, and on the gods of the Greek pantheon, which it tried to integrate into its own perspective. As we will see, these traditional aspects were particularly valid for Libanius, on whose work the overwhelming religious pluralism of the period left few traces. The terms “paganism” and “Roman religion” do not imply a single organization and uniform beliefs (as in an orthodox Christian system) but

3. MacMullen 1981 and 1997; Frankfurter 1998, on the vitality of paganism in Egypt in the countryside. 4. Thales 11A22DK, ascribed to him by Aristotle, De an. 1.5.411 98. 5. Lane Fox 1989: 34–35.

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presuppose the existence of simultaneous and even conflicting sets of practices.6 Until very recently the study of Greek and Roman religion concentrated mainly on orthopraxis, that is, standardized rituals, such as prayers, rites, or sacrifice, an approach that betrayed some influence from anthropology; it drew mainly on documentary evidence, such as inscriptions or dedications, and considered the term “belief ” a cultural construct. The great emphasis that the Western tradition has placed on belief urges caution in applying this term to Greco-Roman religion;7 it has been argued, moreover, that belief as referring to personal convictions is not a viable category in studying religion in the ancient world, where there was no dividing line between science and religion.8 To approach conceptions of the divine, one could turn only to ancient philosophy of religion; such texts did not, however, refer to widely held opinions but reported those of selfcontained, elite groups with limited followings. Although some scholars have claimed that theological concepts as such were not present in the mind of the ancient worshipper, it now seems incontrovertible that some degree of belief in the power of the gods, in their capability to intervene in human affairs, and in the possibility that they could be reached through prayer was part of everyday practice. An approach relying merely on orthopraxis does not make much sense, even though it may be more feasible for the modern scholar to examine the religion of institutions rather than people’s daily involvement with it.9 We now recognize that opinions about the divine were left implicit, embedded as they were in rites and myth, and were probably important to people who worshipped, but as Robert Parker has said, “Though beliefs were held, only acts were subject to control.”10 In explaining ancient religion, our vocabulary appears hopelessly contaminated by anthropological and modern assumptions; nonetheless, I will continue to use the term “belief ” for want of a better one.

6. On critique of the term “polytheism,” see Stroumsa 2009: 5. 7. See Needham 1972 and Price 1984: 1–11. For a general consideration of belief in various societies, see Asad 1993: 43–48. 8. Phillips 1986: 2697–2711. 9. On the place of belief within paganism and the difference from Christian orthodoxy, see King 2003. See also the fine pages of Scheid 2005: 277–80 on the type of “spirituality” of the Romans. 10. Parker 2011: 2, and cf. 1–39; Rives 2007: 47–50. Clifford Ando 2008 has proposed a new intellectual category, that is, “knowledge.” Whereas Christians had “faith,” the Romans had empirical knowledge and strove for a correct perfor mance of rituals. This is not ser viceable for my purpose. A sensible consideration of the issue is in North 2010: 35–37.

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We will see, for one thing, that to investigate the religious practices of Libanius in any detail is almost impossible because he refrained from discussing his cult acts, showing himself at most in the act of praying. Generic allusions to the gods, myth, and the afterlife abound in his texts; they do not consist of philosophical lucubration but are part of the texture of his writing. I feel justified in using the word “belief ” as I examine his works because on two occasions Libanius himself adopts the term doxa, that is, “opinion, belief,” with respect to religion. The first instance is less meaningful for my purpose: in the Epitaphios for Julian (18) the term refers to Christian beliefs when Libanius explains how the emperor did not use violence to compel his subjects in matters of religion because “a false religious belief ” could not be eradicated by violent measures; the result achieved was only “an illusion of change and not a real conversion of belief.”11 More significant is the use of the term in a letter that Libanius wrote to defend a certain Christian friend accused of appropriating temple property;12 when he wrote that his friend differed from him “on matters of religious belief ” ( peri to theion doxe ), he referred to both pagan and Christian convictions. In this chapter I intend to focus on the place traditional religion held in the lives of certain men of the fourth-century elite, not only Libanius but also his friends and acquaintances. Although I will sometimes use the word “belief,” do I expect to find out with certainty what Libanius believed in, that is, what his inner convictions with respect to the gods were? I do not (and cannot) have this ambition; rather, I can examine thoroughly the evidence of his writings and what he cared to communicate to his audience, considering it an expression not only of his thoughts and attitudes but also of postures he assumed within the complex society of the fourth century. Even if it is impossible to know with certainty how he “felt” about the gods, we can at least try to reconstruct how and to whom he expressed his thoughts about them, inquiring which gods he especially invoked and whether there is a uniform density in his references to the divine during various phases of his life. I will strive to strip away encrustations—the accumulated debris of time—as if dealing with an excavated coin; I may feel confident at times that I will be able to read the whole legend clearly and date it but constantly fear that the coin may disintegrate before my eyes. Will I venture into the dangerous terrain of positivism in what follows? In

11. Or. 18.122. 12. Ep. 819.2 N103.

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sifting through all of Libanius’s references to the divine, I will instead cite “objective” facts, definite numbers, and percentages. I have no illusion that I will be able to capture the true Libanius, but I am committed to use all the interpretive methods at my disposal; as I explained in the Introduction, positivistic modes of interpretation can be used together with the dialogical process of a text’s reception and an investigation of the expectations generated by its genre. Libanius’s production, so vast and versatile, is an ideal ground for research; provided we do not trust them blindly, the data we can derive from his works will allow us to venture on new paths of research and to explore areas that have so far remained uncharted. The attempt to understand Libanius’s religious belief is even more challenging than inquiries in other areas because religion is ultimately an interior state. It takes a great deal of intuition and personal experience to assess it in others, and we may even doubt at times whether our own beliefs are truly authentic or are simply derived from habit and childhood experiences. Libanius lived surrounded by works of art, temples with statuary, and mosaics that celebrated myth as omnipresent in human life. For one strolling in Daphne and worshipping in the temple of Apollo, the myth of the maiden loved by the god would acquire a different dimension, further reinforced by the teacher’s work with his students to scrutinize the story logically. Libanius was also steeped in literature in which myth played a fundamental role, and his rhetoric was embedded in mythology at all stages of his career; myth was not merely an external source he tapped into coldly and rationally when he needed it to reinforce an argument. Defending himself in his old age against accusations that he praised only the past, he claimed his right to be deeply affected by certain myths and to be allowed to grieve for tragic fictional personages.13 The imaginary interlocutor in the oration had asked: “What concern of yours are the children of Niobe or that a daughter of Cadmus killed her son? Is Laius your father or Oedipus your brother? Is Hecuba your mother, or Creon of Corinth your uncle or Glauke your cousin?”14 Libanius replies that that very morning, reading Euripides’ Hippolytus, he had wept again as if he were witnessing the young man’s death. Was this only a trite rhetorical statement? What Libanius says immediately after is a return to an equally harsh reality as he describes the death of real young men, carried out to burial by their fathers; some of these were his

13. Or. 2.47–49. 14. The references are to Niobe, a lost tragedy of Aeschylus, and to plays of Sophocles and Euripides.

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students, and he was deeply affected by their early death, seeing himself as a grieving father.15 It is easy to downplay late antique mythological references, considering them pedantic and cold;16 but it is important to appreciate the degree to which myth had become an integral part of the world of the educated. A late antique author might be regarded as automatically and mindlessly lifting myth from ancient contexts, but in fact, such an author was also appropriating the material and transforming some of its significance. Myth was so embedded in people’s consciousness that inevitably it transformed itself and became something new. Asking whether Libanius and other late antique figures believed in myths is a futile question because myth was an integral part of their lives, as were the gods; this is what the poet Cavafy aims to capture, subtly and ambiguously, in the poem “One of Their Gods”: When one of them moved through the marketplace of Selef kia, just as it was getting dark— moved like a young man, tall, extremely handsome, with the joy of being immortal in his eyes, with his black and perfumed hair . . . some who looked more carefully would understand and step aside . . . they would wonder which of Them it could be.17 A book by Isabella Sandwell on religious identity in the fourth century takes the view discussed in Chapter 1, considering Libanius’s letters and orations as texts that addressed equally public audiences, showed his public persona with the same degree of accuracy, and presented a basically uniform view of the man.18 In Sandwell’s view, Libanius was a skillful player in the “religious game” of the time; she argues further that like Libanius, many other people used religion for mere opportunism. Safeguarding one’s own private interests was the main motivation at that time, she says, not only of conversions between pagan and Christian groups but also of the subtle changes that were sometimes apparent in people’s attitudes. In this way Libanius was able to survive several emperors; he addressed each of them as

15. Cf. Cribiore 2007: 137–40 and Ep. 1141 R42. 16. Cf. Gibbon 1946: 705 on Libanius being “incessantly fixed on the Trojan war.” 17. Cavafy 1992: 72. 18. Sandwell 2007; see Chapter 1.

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was most convenient, emphasizing or downplaying his religious allegiance in turn. Sandwell then concludes that whereas Chrysostom had a Christian religious identity, Libanius lacked an analogous pagan identity. As we will see, however, several points in this interpretation require discussion. First, to what do we refer with the ambiguous word “identity,” which the writer Amin Maalouf defined as a “false friend”?19 This term has been used—and abused—so much lately that there is an urgent need to reconsider it. Taken in an “essentialized” way, the term suggests lasting characteristics that remain unchanged, for some time at least, and distinguish a person or a group. Some attempts have been made to soften this word by highlighting its fluidity.20 In using it for Libanius, for example, one would have to regard his identity as something continually fragmented and reconstructed, which could vary according to context and circumstances. To say that the sophist did not have a pagan identity misses some of the point and is furthermore imprecise: in his speeches, particularly in Oration 30, Libanius does in fact try to depict a collective pagan identity, exhibiting solidarity and a shared group disposition. I prefer to dispense altogether with the term “identity” and opt instead for a concept like “identification.”21 I will thus attempt to determine how Libanius identified himself with various groups, such as his addressees in the letters and the community of concerned late antique pagans in his orations. It is also important to consider how he was identified by others, particularly his audiences in the various mediums. Second, I think that it is meaningful to take into account, and here to apply to religion, what Rogers Brubaker has said about ethnicity. This scholar has illuminated the modern question of ethnicity by regarding it not only as expressed in the national rhetoric and collective actions of distinct groups but also as embodied in people’s everyday actions and routines, social encounters, and commonplace interactions, all of which can reveal their expectations and practical concerns.22 In his view, the study of ethnicity and of ethnic struggles and conflicts cannot be limited to a study of discrete and enduring ethnic groups, although the tendency to take bounded groups as

19. Maalouf 2000: 9. 20. In using this term, scholars thus have to spend several pages defining it. See, e.g., Schmitz and Wiater 2011: 19–25. 21. See Brubaker and Cooper 2000. 22. Brubaker 2004.

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basic is still very widespread. Brubaker has coined the dynamic term “groupness,”23 which enables an observer to account for moments of solidarity or conflict that need not be constant but are circumstantial and fluctuating. This term and the approach it signifies can be of great use in the field of religion by allowing a deeper perception of how fluid the two groups designated “pagans” and “Christians” might have been in the fourth century. To attribute to mere opportunism allegiances that might fluctuate drastically or just insensibly and momentarily addresses only a fraction of the issue. More useful is the attempt to reconsider pagans and Christians as belonging to two groups that were not fixed and immutable, as scholars in the past have depicted them (and sometimes nowadays still do), but were in continuous evolution, shifting according to various factors: the changing of people’s expectations, interests, disappointments, and incorrect understandings, for example, or solidarity with friends and relatives. These are factors that I will discuss throughout what follows in order to show that shifting attitudes in the matter of religion cannot be explained in a single way; rather, these attitudes depend on the fact that the Christian and pagan “groups” were not bounded and enduring, for the boundaries between them were not fixed. Because my project concerns the religious attitude of certain men of the elite class, and because Libanius’s letters, which are more illuminating on this subject than his orations, are still constructed rhetorically, I will not be able to analyze ordinary people’s needs and aspirations; nonetheless, an approach that does not consider religious groups as entities written in stone will bring some valuable results. I will set out to determine whether this model works in the case of those fourth-century pagans and Christians who, like Libanius, do not appear fervent in their religious commitment; in doing so, we should inquire whether people were basically flatterers who used religion as another device for advancement, or whether their detached attitudes, including their occasional changeability, were manifestations of some deeper discomfort that derived from the complicated religious reality of that period. Michele Salzman has called the elements of religiosity shared by pagans and Christians in this period “religious Koine.”24 The cults and beliefs of the time, both public and private, provide evidence for shared traditions,

23. This is opposed to “groupism,” which takes restricted groups as formidable entities on which society is based. 24. Salzman 2007.

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and the Christian emperors before Julian prohibited only the most offensive manifestations of paganism but tolerated much else. In making this investigation, I will take into account what Libanius wrote both in his orations and in all of his 1,544 letters, including the most insignificant; only by examining these works in their entirety may we hope to reach conclusions that are more than impressionistic. Libanius left a huge corpus, and one cannot run the risk of undervaluing any of the evidence. Bernard Schouler, a scholar who knows the works of this sophist quite well, felt that “minutieuses analyses” were necessary to illuminate areas of Libanius’s religious practice that were still obscure, and I will try to take up that challenge.25 Elizabeth Clark has remarked that in contrast to anthropologists, late antique scholars do not deal “with masses of data amenable to statistical analysis, but with texts—and texts of a highly literary, rhetorical, and ideological nature.”26 What survives of Libanius, however, allows us to go somewhat beyond Clark’s characterization, into the analytic territory she reserves for anthropologists; one can examine systematically all the references to religion in his epistolary and derive from this investigation numerical figures and percentages. The sheer number of his letters and the great quantity of evidence they provide allow such treatment; nonetheless, this search requires caution and finesse. Although I studied all of his orations, I have treated them less thoroughly because I noticed almost immediately that the “official” version of Libanius’s paganism shown in the orations does not present nuances that deserve to be recorded methodically but is basically unchanged throughout. As I have discussed previously, I regard letters and orations as texts that need to be considered separately; intended for different audiences, the two categories of text did not, and do not, communicate an identical view of a writer. Letters (which can be divided into various subgenres) were not, with some notable exceptions, public documents. Beneath their veneer of politeness, they were messages tailored for individual addressees and on close inspection could show tensions and disagreement, as well as some evolution in their author’s attitude over the course of time and changing circumstances. I will consider the seeming inconsistency between letters and speeches an important factor that begs for interpretation; when, however, the version of facts or attitudes emerging from letters and orations concurs, I will consider it an indication that a more

25. Schouler 1973: 82. 26. E. A. Clark 2004: 159. On anthropologists coming close to literary scholars, see Bagnall 2008: 37–38.

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coherent Libanius is present, someone who may represent more closely the real man.

c Busy around the God: Instances of Orthopraxis To be certain of another’s religious beliefs may be impossible even in the modern world, where at least we can count on personal contact with our subjects and on scrutiny of their regular religious observance and participation in religious festivities. What we miss in the case of Libanius is a sense of his everyday practice, of when and where he worshipped on a regular basis, and of the times he joined with others as an active participant in celebrating civic rites. Historians now focus with renewed attention on the ordinary nature of religion, the fact that, mutatis mutandis, it was part of everyday life even in subtle ways.27 In the case of Libanius, however, we are left with mere glimpses of a religious activity that must have been more substantial than it appears. Students of the ancient world are accustomed to recognize and accept the relatively meager literary remains from antiquity, but as we confront the abundant textual output of Libanius, we need to grapple with the reasons for his relative silence on this matter. I will try to trace his limited personal involvement in pagan cult and his participation in civic religion, which often reveal him only as an observer; as we will see, mentions of these activities are infrequent, and it may be that only Libanius’s references to prayer will reveal his regular contacts with the transcendent. At the beginning of the festival of Dionysus, “when the bacchants were already in frenzy,” we glimpse Libanius in the temple of the god. After asking around to determine who was the mysterious sender of a letter delivered to him then and there, the sophist finally read the letter in peace while he was “busy around the god” in the temple.28 What was he doing? We are left to wonder because the verb he uses, diatribein, is not clear. It usually refers to his work of teaching or composing, but because it denotes a concrete activity and some personal exertion, we may guess that in a certain day of the year 365 the sophist was worshipping Dionysus, perhaps praying or making an offering; the fact that he was also reading the letter of a friend in the temple may suggest, at least to us, that his devotion and concentration were somewhat limited. We also know that in 360 Libanius had been involved in

27. See, e.g., Bowes 2008. 28. Ep. 1480.5.

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a debate regarding the building of the portico of Dionysus located in front of the temple; this colonnade was used in the late 380s as a courtroom, and the temple itself survived destruction by Christians.29 The initiative to build the stoa came from Domitius Modestus 2, who was secretly a pagan under Constantius II, but the project and its execution raised ill feeling against him because he demanded heavy financial contributions from all the members of the council, including the principales.30 Whereas Modestus envisioned a monumental edifice worthy of his honor, Libanius advised a more modest, manageable building. It is impossible to evaluate, in any case, how personally engaged in the project Libanius was, besides his role as moderator on behalf of the council. In both the speeches and the letters there are many references to the cults of the gods, especially in festivals dedicated to various divinities, such as Artemis or Zeus.31 In the Hymn to Artemis (Or. 5) the goddess is celebrated everywhere by pagans “with magnificent temples, altars, sacrifices, and festivals,” but Libanius himself plays only the role of observer.32 In two letters he sent during the reign of Julian to Bacchius, a priest of the goddess, his religious commitment appears more authentic. Bacchius had succeeded in recovering a statue of Artemis that had fallen into private hands and was organizing at his own expense a lavish festival “with sacrificial offerings, the silver boar, the deer,” a procession, and several days of feasting.33 But because the celebrations were held in Tarsus, a city of Cilicia, the participation of the sophist was only indirect, and his enthusiasm only epistolary. In the Encomium of the Kalends (Or. 9), which is of uncertain date, Libanius paints a joyful picture of festivities in honor of the gods but concludes the speech by saying that at that time “the altars of the gods do not receive what they received in the past because the laws forbid it.” Was he an active participant in the religious festivities, or did he mostly share in the more external aspects of this quite popular festival, which emphasized relations with family and friends? He does not say. In the last extant letter to Julian, who was already engaged in the Persian campaign, Libanius shows some enthusiasm for

29. Cf. Or. 45.26 and 30.51. 30. See Epp. 242, 617 B68, 73, and 196 N68: the colonnade was maliciously called the “Count’s castle.” On building in Antioch, see Liebeschuetz 1972: 132–36. 31. On festivals in Libanius’ works, see Misson 1914: 141–47. 32. Or. 5.29. 33. Epp. 710.3 N83 and 712 B181, sent in 362.

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the festival of Calliope, the tutelary goddess of Antioch.34 She was honored, he reports, with horse races, sacrifices, invocations of the gods, and spectacles in the theater, but again he appears only as a spectator at these scenes of devout reverence. Numerous letters show Libanius’s involvement with the Olympic Games in honor of Zeus, celebrated every four years; he contributed actively to procuring, through his network of correspondents, athletes for the festivities. Some of these letters have a distinctly pagan tone; for example, he tells the philosopher Hierius, then prefect of Egypt, to honor the gods of the land there by worshipping and sacrificing but “to honor our Zeus” by sending athletes.35 We should remember, in observing his concrete activity on behalf of this particular cause, that he personally detested festivals and spectacles and often ranted, albeit in vain, against his students’ participation in them. Thus one wonders how to explain his efforts in this case; perhaps they were due to his devotion to Julian after the latter’s demise, or to some loyalty to troubled pagans in that period, or to his awareness of the value of religious conformity. He continued to be concerned with the games later in life. In 384 the comes Orientis Proclus left his office before the celebrations of the Olympia in honor of Zeus,36 and Libanius says in his Autobiography that the festival of Zeus thus remained untainted by Proclus’s violence and bloodshed; nonetheless, for reasons unknown to us, Libanius could not take part in it but made up for his lack of participation privately: “I wrote an oration but did not deliver it, but I took it and offered it to Zeus, at the same time worshipping the god with the scent of incense.”37 We must register this as a rare occasion on which he appears directly involved in ritual. As we will see, Libanius’s devotion to Zeus and to the games in his honor persisted during his later years. A letter of 388 discloses that the old sophist was still involved with the organization of the games, particularly, in this case, because his son Cimon participated as an athlete: “I too have a young man good at running and speaking who deserves both the victor’s crown and the scholar’s gown.”38 Similar civic pride inspired Libanius’s engagement in

34. Ep. 811 N100, written in May 363. 35. Ep. 1183 B142; see also 1179, 1180 N125, 1181, and 1182. 36. On Proclus 6 and the letters sent to him, see Chapter 2. 37. Or. 1.222. The great majority of sacrifices were bloodless and consisted of food, drinks, or incense; McNeil 2009b: 575–77. 38. Ep. 843.4 N147 from the year 388.

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procuring wild beasts for the various entertainments and games of the Syriarchate at the annual festival.39 Ammianus says that in the summer of 362 Julian climbed Mount Casius near Antioch to offer a sacrifice to Zeus;40 for the historian, this ascent was the excuse to narrate an episode of clemency on the part of the emperor, who pardoned a supporter of Constantius II. Just before the climb, Libanius wrote a letter to one of the participants, Anatolius, who was an enthusiastic follower of the emperor and died later in the Persian campaign;41 apparently the sophist had planned to participate in the climb but was prevented by ill health—another frustrating occasion for the scholar who cannot but see Libanius almost engaged in orthopraxis. “May it be yours to obtain good omens in sacrifice and to encounter the gods, the leaders of the Muses and the God of the mountain,” wrote Libanius; “I should have shared in the journey, prayers, and sacred rites.” His Christian friend Olympius, in any case, represented Libanius before Anatolius and the emperor.42 A letter written in 365 is more helpful in revealing Libanius’s personal engagement with divinity after Julian’s death; this time we can glimpse him directly in the temple of Zeus in the city.43 On this occasion, investigating some paintings that were supposed to portray the sophist Aristides, Libanius concluded that one of them actually represented Asclepius and decided to place it in the temple of Zeus Olympius next to a painting of the family of healers, Asclepius, Apollo, and Hygieia. The nonchalance of the account and the apparent ease with which he could have a personal impact on decisions about the temple’s adornment with religious objets d’art are striking. Whereas Libanius’s personal connection with Zeus can be verified by his continual references to the god, two orations find him in the baths worshipping Aphrodite even though, as we will see below, he was not particularly devoted to that goddess. In the late Or. 32.2 he writes, “I went in the evening to the baths that the emperor Trajan gave our city, and after my acts of devotion to the goddess I sat down.” It is unclear whether these “acts of devotion” (ta pros ten theon) were prayers or rites of some sort. Another oration of uncertain date shows that the worship of Aphrodite consisted in one case of

39. On these games and the sophist’s letters with regard to them, see Bradbury 2004b: 27–31. 40. Ammianus 22.14.4. 41. Anatolius 5, magister officiorum at the time; Ep. 739 B43. 42. On the participation of Olympius 3, see below and Chapter 4. We may conclude that not only did fervent pagans share the climb, but some Christians were there too. Olympius may have been there only as a friend of Libanius. 43. Ep. 1534 N143; cf. Or. 15.79 and 30.51.

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prayers that the sophist recited before taking a bath: “We were prepared for the bath and were already wrapped in our thin robes, and I prayed to Aphrodite and the satyr that I would be able to leave satisfied.”44 It seems that in Trajan’s baths there was a statue of the goddess and probably another of a satyr.45 Prayers were the most spontaneous and uncomplicated manifestation of a desire to connect with the divine, but because they were often internal, they cannot be considered definite markers of religious affiliation when it is unclear which god or gods are addressed. The silent prayer of a Christian was not very dissimilar to that of a pagan; the posture was identical,46 and spontaneous prayers were not necessarily accompanied by rites or dependent on a specific location.47 Libanius’s prayers, however, are clearly those of a pagan addressing a certain god or the community of gods. The most complete prayer that emerges from his epistolary is in a letter to Modestus that alludes to the latter’s secret pagan allegiance under Constantius II, but one may read a bit of irony in the likening of the official to “gentle” Zeus (Meilichius).48 The scene in which Libanius offers a prayer invoking “Nereus and his daughters” on leaving Constantinople at the beginning of his career shows the god apparently listening and responding by calming the raging storm but, recorded in his Autobiography many years after the event, has the cold beauty of a mythological tableau;49 this answered prayer is in keeping with the rather optimistic stance of the first part of the narrative of his life, when the gods and Tyche accompanied the sophist in his journey through triumphs and troubles. We are perhaps more able to feel the authenticity of Libanius’s connection with the gods in moments of despair when he felt that heaven was impotent to change reality. A letter to a pagan friend after Julian’s death reveals his frantic and hopeless reproaches to the gods of earth, air, and heaven, “at the end of the day and at night’s coming, and again at the end of the night and the coming of the day.”50 In spite of the literary chiasmus, his grief at an irreparable loss is still throbbing.

44. Or. 6.17. 45. Cf. J. Martin 1988: 172–73. On the delight of the summer and winter baths in Antioch, see Or. 11.220. 46. See Ep. 749 from the year 362, in which Libanius witnesses the prayer of a teacher who raised his hands to the gods. 47. See Sandwell 2007: 256–60. 48. Ep. 220 B71, which did not need to be a public letter. 49. Or. 1.32. In ancient literature Nereus is most familiar as the father of the Nereids and of Thetis especially; see, e.g., Euripides, Helen 1585. The closest parallel to Libanius is the Orphic Hymn 23.3. 50. Ep. 1187 N129 from the year 364.

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Another moment of intense pain years later lets us come closer to Libanius as he prays. He records it in the second part of his Autobiography together with other rambling, less controlled thoughts.51 Members of his family had passed away, and when his surviving younger brother fell gravely ill and lost his sight, the sophist felt that none of the terrible things (hyperdeina, 200) that had happened before was remotely comparable with that misfortune. The fact that he tried all the remedies of desperation (including magic) to alleviate his and his brother’s pain before having recourse to prayer indicates that he had already concluded that heaven was unmoved. He writes that when he went to the altars and besought the gods, he was not able to look at their statues or to supplicate them aloud but cried without restraint and then departed.52 His inability to address the gods directly was certainly not caused by legal restrictions, as scholars have surmised, but was rather due to intense emotion and overpowering despair before an ineluctable fate.53 The paragraphs following this account reveal his slow descent into acute mental illness, which culminated in an inability to write or concentrate on his oration. Because deep involvement with work was a way of life for Libanius, his statement that none of his past woes was equal to that terrible impotence rings somewhat true (204), but the reader may be troubled by the proximity of his protestation of unsurpassable pain for his brother a few lines before; it is possible that this passage may have been in need of some editing because, as discussed above, it was not Libanius himself but others who assembled the second part of the speech. Somewhat paradoxically, therefore, we are able to capture the intensity of Libanius’s feelings toward the gods not in his early years, when fortune smiled on him, but rather at a later time, when his commitment to religion appears to have been more uncertain than before and when he felt that the gods were turning away from him.54 Preoccupations with one’s health and prayers to improve it were ubiquitous in antiquity.55 Libanius suffered from several bodily ailments, and although he always looked for medical assistance first—many letters depict his close relations with physicians, including remedies adopted—when these

51. Or. 1.197–204. 52. Or. 1.201. See Julian, Ep. 89b.137 Bidez: men who worship the gods should look at their images as if they were present. 53. Norman ad loc. mentions restrictions of the religious legislations that had been passed, and Sandwell 2007: 159 subscribes to this view. In my opinion, legal prohibitions could at the most explain why Libanius did not pray aloud but not why he did not look at the statues. 54. See Ep. 1112. 55. MacMullen 1981: 49–51.

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treatments failed, he turned to the god Asclepius. I will consider in the next chapter the extent and duration of his rapport with this god of healing but will focus here only on those instances that show his involvement with the cult.56 Asclepius was celebrated in Antioch: Diocletian had built a temple for his worship, and spectacular statues of the god and of Hygieia from one of the numerous public baths survive.57 It seems, however, that Libanius did not consult the god in Antioch, where presumably he could have done so in person, even if his health were failing, but relied always on the famous healing sanctuary at Aegae in Cilicia. Through his correspondence we catch a glimpse of a group of ailing middle-aged learned men, Libanius’s friends, who suffered from various ailments (including, most of all, gout); they consulted and supplicated Asclepius in that shrine, asking for oracles and trying to appease the god with literary compositions in his honor.58 In spite of the supplicants’ suffering, good conversation was not lacking, and spirits sometimes lifted, as when the rhetor Acacius composed a comedy on gout, which was performed or simply delivered to a large audience of applauding sufferers.59 Libanius suggested in turn that they should all form a chorus more numerous than that of a comedy and “honor with song her [Podagra, gout] who has such a love for feet.” Entire letters revolved around the perfidious disease. In writing to the governor Modestus, also a victim of gout, Libanius says that he envied the governor because his building projects permitted him to sit while he supervised them.60 The sophist declares that for himself, the advantages of being sick consisted of getting to ride a horse rather than having to walk, even for short distances, and having gold around his ankles (perhaps a medical remedy of some sort) “like the Persian satraps.” He was relieved, in any case, that the god’s shrine was close by in Cilicia, so that it was very easy “to go there or to dispatch someone to get a remedy.” But did Libanius ever go in person to the shrine? Is there any indication of his direct contact with the god? It does not seem so; in contrast to Aristides, he always entrusted relatives and friends with supplications on his behalf. In the summer of 362 his migraines had become so unendurable that

56. See Epp. 727 B146, 695 B147, and 1342 B148; and 1301 N138. They were written between 362 and 364 and 1301 dated to the year 364. 57. Downey 1961: 208; Kondoleon 2000a: 91–92. 58. See Ep. 695 B147. 59. Acacius 7; Ep. 1301 N138. One cannot but recall the jolly scene of all those gouty men who jumped up applauding the sophist’s perfor mance in 353 when he returned to Antioch. 60. Ep. 1483 from the year 365.

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“living was excruciating and death desirable.”61 When doctors’ remedies fell short, Libanius sent his brother to beseech the god at the temple of Aegae and to ask for an oracle.62 A subsequent letter informs us, however, that the effect of the visit had been disastrous and that, “because of a false oracle,” the pain had increased to such an extent that the practice of rhetoric was utterly impossible.63 Friends who lived in Cilicia might be precious on these occasions, as when Libanius relied on Demetrius of Tarsus to seek an oracle on his behalf—Demetrius had composed two orations on Asclepius and therefore could claim the god’s attention.64 A few years later, when the migraines had eased but his gout was tormenting him, Libanius looked for help from the shrine of Asclepius once more, but again indirectly. The teacher Eudaemon visited Aegae on Libanius’s behalf and had a vision through incubation (the practice of sleeping in the temple) of a tall and lovely lady whom he interpreted as Hygieia, the goddess of “good health.” Two letters to this rhetor appear slightly contradictory.65 In one the sophist, elated that his foot feels better, declares his intention to go to Aegae to thank the generous god personally once he has completely recovered;66 but in a second letter, sent soon after, he seems disgruntled: after all, he had gotten “from the temple little more than a branch” and the routine prescription to obey his doctors.67 A direct visit to the shrine, if it ever happened, was never recorded. A few years later, still deeply troubled by his health (not only the usual ailments but also dizziness, vertigo, and fear of crowds), Libanius again sought the god’s assistance by proxy, this time through a servant. The god’s advice was unchanged—Libanius should continue to take his medicine— but this time Asclepius apparently made the significant promise that he would heal him entirely, and indeed, the promised recovery occurred a few years later, in 371, as the Autobiography notes.68 Through this epiphany Libanius appears finally in full contact with divinity, even though the whole matter is left somewhat vague, and details of the god’s apparitions are

61. Ep. 707. 62. Epp. 706 and 708. 63. Ep. 770.4 N92. 64. Ep. 727 B146. 65. Eudaemon 2; Epp. 1300 N137, and 1303; Eudemon is mentioned in Ep. 1286. 66. Ep. 1300. 67. Ep. 1303. 68. Or. 1.143.

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lacking;69 he had three dreams, or rather visions, because two occurred in the daytime, and through them the god supposedly healed him. When a triumphant Libanius writes that Asclepius “restored me to this condition in which I trust I will always remain,” we should not assume that the matter was settled; not only are we aware that daunting health problems were in store for him later, but we should also note with some suspicion that the author was approaching the end of the first part of the narrative of his life, with the result that he might have wished to present a balanced account of his vicissitudes and the solution of some problems.70 In the second part of the narrative, in any case, the remedy for physical ills would be offered not by Asclepius but by dark magic. We have seen that the rare occasions when Libanius appears as a direct participant in the gods’ cult seem almost like stolen glimpses, as if in witnessing them we have caught the author momentarily off guard. But why is that so? In his abundant production scattered throughout a long life, he must have had innumerable instances of worship and sacrifice to relate. Even when he appears as the spokesperson for a pagan Antioch in speeches like the Antiochikos or the Pro templis, he focuses on other pagans’ worship but does not allow us to see his own individual acts of worship.71 Was he expressly protecting his own religious participation because he considered those moments private and was unwilling to share them with his audience? A measure of prudence may also have inspired his behavior: he might not have wanted others to witness his religious practice because he had frequent contacts with Christians and was a pagan active in the undefined gray area of allegiance. Mythology and association with the gods of Homer were safe terrain, but revealing his own intimate contacts with the gods (if he indeed had them) may have been more off limits.

69. The phenomenon of epiphanie was a very common divine-human interaction in antiquity; cf. Lane Fox 1989: 102–67 and 700–711. See also Parker 2011: 9–11. The modalities of epiphanies were many, and they could happen in the daylight or at night as dreams. 70. Or. 1.243–50 from the year 386. At that time Libanius’s health was in jeopardy. He suffered intense migraines that made him desire death and could not deliver orations because every time he tried, he fell silent. Then the well-known episode of the chameleon occurred. A dead chameleon was found in his class with its head tucked between his hind legs and one leg closing its mouth. After this act of magic, Libanius was able to function again, cf. Maltomini 2004. 71. Or. 11 and 30.

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c Like a God Before delving into Libanius’s religious references, I would like to evaluate briefly his occasional statements likening or comparing a man to a god, putting into perspective expressions that might seem to undermine his religious allegiance. Discussing such phrases in late antiquity, Marrou considers them an appalling corruption of the classical religion, which arose from the assimilation of men to heroes.72 It is astonishing, he declares, that in the Acts of the Apostles the Lycaonians mistook Paul and Barnabas for gods, calling the latter Zeus and believing Paul to be Hermes because of his eloquence.73 But is this really a “degeneration” worthy of attention? Only quite rarely does Libanius mention a similarity with the gods based on a mortal’s superior skills, as when he says that a philosopher was “divine” or a student was regarded by people “as a god” for his eloquence;74 on these occasions he appears to succumb to the use of popular, vulgar expressions. But as a rule, his words conceal some irony or are quite subtle. “The man who is really similar to a god is so not by physical likeness, because that is impossible, but by his readiness to do good and his dislike of indiscriminate use of punishment,” he wrote, addressing an outraged Julian.75 Certainly a Christian would not have disagreed. Similarly, the governor Alexander was “like a god in the speed with which he elevates those he wishes.”76 Men who want to become gods are objects of derision in Libanius, like the one discussed in Chapter 1 who, never satisfied with his mortal lot, makes this request in vain to Tyche, or the foolish governor Limenius, “who wanted to look like a god” but was not regarded seriously even as a man.77 A letter to Paulus Catena, the great inquisitor under the emperor Constantius II, is a masterpiece of diplomatic sarcasm and shows the limits of the man-god equivalence.78 As Libanius describes it, in allowing young Julian to write to the sophist, the spying Paulus who is monitoring their relationship is hailed as a priest of the gods “who shares in the prerogatives normal to gods.” Did

72. Marrou 1977: 47. 73. Acts 14.11–12. 74. See Epp. 123 B150 (where the gods themselves say that Eustathius is divine) and 764.2. 75. Or. 15.34. 76. Ep. 1392.6 B97. Men can appear similar to gods in some aspects, like Ablabius, who looked grandiose when he entered the council; Or. 42.23. 77. Or. 6.10 and 1.45. See also Ep. 1190.3. 78. Ep. 370 N31.

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Paulus rejoice in his newfound holiness? Perhaps he was so habituated to flattery that the subtle irony escaped him.

c Letters and References to Religion The extant letters of Libanius date to two different periods that are separated by a wide gap: 355 to 365 and 388 to 393. Letters for the interim years are not preserved. Rather than considering Libanius’s references to the gods in these two periods generally, I subdivide them into four distinct phases: from the spring of 355 to November 361, the death of the emperor Constantius II; from that date to July 363, when the notice of Julian’s death arrived in Antioch; from then to 365, the aftermath of Julian’s demise; and from 388, when duplicates of the letters once again begin to exist, to 393, when presumably Libanius died.79 These are not subdivisions that I have artificially created but rather distinct periods that exist on their own; the letters naturally cluster in this way, revolving around Julian in the years up to 365 and reflecting the divisions of the years before, during, and after his rule. There are in all two periods of several years (the first of seven and a half and the last of six years) and two shorter periods in between that are almost equivalent in length. I will further classify the references in each period into three groups according to their greater or lesser import in highlighting Libanius’s position toward the gods. Although I have used great care in placing all the religious references into their various categories, I am aware that this operation is somewhat subjective; I hope, nevertheless, that it will bring some light to obscure areas of investigation, especially when we juxtapose the results to what we otherwise know of these periods.80 The categories I consider include references that I will call, for the sake of convenience, “formulaic,” “significant,” and “literary and educational.”81 Most references belong in the first group. They are very brief and consist of exclamations such as “by the gods” or of short phrases such as “god willing,” “thank god,” and “pray the gods.” Context must be the ultimate criterion of distinction; even such brief expressions may be highly significant

79. The first period (355–65) includes 1,269 letters, and the second (388–93) consists of some 270. The division into four groups achieves more balance. 80. Cf. my words of caution in the Introduction. 81. This division, of course, may contain some subjectivity. I do not include here a fourth group, the numerous letters about health that contain allusion to a helping god, but will take them into account when I consider Asclepius.

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at times, depending on the addressee, and may therefore necessitate a different placement. As a rule, however, these short phrases that indicate a pagan allegiance are interspersed throughout the discourse and are often used parenthetically. I include in the second group, called “significant,” more extensive expressions concerning the gods and the practice of paganism; this group contains the most important references that may give us a sense of what the gods meant to Libanius. I include here the letters that indicate various aspects of his religious activities and opinions: what religious practices he engaged in, for example, and his remarks about temples in Antioch or allusions to Zeus as the god of the Olympic Games. Most important, I include in the “significant” category those letters that disclose how Libanius related to other pagans and to Christians and reveal implicitly his attitude toward these groups. Finally, letters that contain mythological and literary references make up the third group. Such passages stand in relation to the literary culture of the writer and the addressee and are present in every period, although their fluctuating prevalence is interesting and should be accounted for. Again, context is fundamental. Many of these allusions appear in relation to Libanius’s school when he writes to students, to people who are going to recommend them, or to parents. Some of the “literary” references may especially attract our attention when they address a supposedly ill-educated Christian;82 I will discuss one such figure, Datianus, in Chapter 4. The literary references in some of the letters Libanius sent to this correspondent (including allusions to Homer, the myth of Selene, and Heracles) may indicate that he was not so badly educated, for if that were so, he could not be expected to understand them; on the other hand, they may also derive from Libanius’s awareness that Datianus aspired to participate in classical culture. Of course, all the references are informative cumulatively, as is their uneven concentration in the different periods. The total number of letters showing religious references amounts to 438, only 28 percent of all the letters of Libanius.83 This figure includes both generic mentions of the gods and references to individual gods by name; although it is essential to include references of both types in the current discussion, I will analyze the information concerning references to single gods more fully in Chapter 4 in order to shed some light on Libanius’s worship of particular divinities. The general figures for all the periods cumulatively are as follows. There are 106

82. Norman 1992: 373. Datianus is presented as a man of low birth in Or. 42 83. Sandwell 2007: 234 rightly remarks that the letters that contain religious references are relatively few. For the figures, see the following table.

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References to Religion in Letters Period 1 Significant 23%

Spring 355–November 361 Literary 50%

Constantius Formulaic 27%

106 references

Period 2 Significant 45%

November 361–July 363 Literary 30%

Julian Formulaic 25%

97 references

Period 3 Significant 32%

July 363–Summer 365 Literary 32%

Jovian, Valentinian, Valens Formulaic 36%

138 references

Period 4 Significant 17%

388–93 Literary 42%

Theodosius Formulaic 41%

97 references

letters with religious remarks in the first period, that is, 6.9 percent of all the letters of Libanius. In the years of Julian’s reign, the letters concerning religion are 6.3 percent of the whole epistolary, 97 letters; the number rises to 138 in the aftermath of the emperor’s death, reaching almost 9 percent of the whole. The figure decreases to 97 (6.2 percent) again in Libanius’s old age, even though the letters cover a much longer time span than the Julianic period. In what follows I will provide tabular references for all four periods and then examine the references closely to verify their significance; only after that will I return to the relationship of Libanius and Julian,and to the period of confusion that followed the emperor’s death, which pitched pagan against pagan.

c The Years of Constantius II Libanius returned to Antioch at the age of forty in 354, and in the spring of the following year he began to keep duplicate copies of his letters. In these years he was occupied both with problems related to his imperial position in Constantinople and with securing his professional reputation by defeating competitors, giving public perfor mances, and establishing a school. About 50 percent of the letters in which he mentions the gods contain literary references, such as Homeric citations and allusions to myth or references to the gods of rhetoric and the Muses. This high proportion can be explained by Libanius’s priorities in this period; as he says in Epistle 226, letters such as these are “for people who live in the logoi,” that is, for cultivated (or semicultivated) people, among whom were former students, their relatives, and potential customers.84 Libanius’s attention at this time was focused on

84. See, e.g., 255 B151, 269, 435 B25, 517, and 528 (a literary letter, where the mention of Bacchius, a practicing pagan, lets one suspect something more).

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strengthening his credentials and proving that he had a legitimate claim to a professorial position (arche ). By displaying all this mythological lore in his letters, he reassured his audience about his command of classical culture. Generally, these references do not necessarily provide evidence for the sophist’s pagan practices because they could appeal to pagans and Christians alike; rather, they served to advertise his ser vices. As we will see, once Libanius became the “sophist of the city,” the proportion of mythological references in the letters was not as high, although he continued to embellish his orations with mythology; his orations served as the clearest proof that he deserved to be where he was. It is not surprising that the proportion of literary references rose again in later years as he struggled to regain professional eminence. The remaining religious references in this period are divided between formulaic expressions (27 percent)85 and “significant” mentions (23 percent). Among the latter, Zeus and Asclepius dominate as individual gods, with references to Asclepius tightly bound to Libanius’s worsening health.86 The most important letter in this category is the unusual message that I mentioned earlier (a combination of flattery and irony) sent in 358 to Paulus Catena, Constantius II’s main inquisitor, who was observing Julian’s behavior in Gaul.87 Others of the most meaningful letters contain traditional references alluding to the gods protecting the fields and offering abundant fruits.88 Another letter contains Libanius’s most explicit statement on the gods and the protection they bestow on good men after death, a consolation letter full of traditional elements.89 Everything happens because of the gods’ will, says Libanius, and because they are just, they bring to heaven some men they regard as too good for the earth. In 359 the treason trials at Scythopolis took place concerning divination, a practice which was eminently pagan, as Ammianus implicitly recognized;90 because some of Libanius’s friends were implicated, the trials (which go

85. See, e.g., Epp. 45, 72, 108, 224, 282, and 503. 86. I include the numerous references to Hermes as god of rhetoric (16) among the literary ones, where they properly belong. 87. Ep. 370 N31. 88. See Ep. 22, to a small landowner. A later letter, 1392 B97, appears to concern him where Libanius would like to see him in charge of temple repairs. See Epp. 247 and 615 to Demetrius, who sent him produce. In this period two letters, 571 N24 and 593, contain some meaningful references to the gods but are in relation to Iamblichus’s paganism, not Libanius’s. 89. To his pagan friend Hierocles 3 on the death of his nephew, Ep. 390 N3. In Or. 18.296 Libanius manifests the same conviction with regard to Julian. 90. See Ammianus 19.12 and esp. 19.12.14; Barnes 1998: 91–92; and Wintjes 2005: 112–13. On divination, see Johnston 2008.

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unmentioned in Oration 1) left traces in his letters. Among the people to whom Libanius wrote was the comes Orientis Modestus, who was Christian at that time and presided over the trials; the sophist lauded his humane conduct and offered further pleas for his friends.91 It would be reasonable to expect in this context some important statements about the gods, but it is noteworthy that in these letters, which show personal loyalties and concerns, the gods go almost unmentioned. On balance, the letters from this period mostly point to a bookish cult of the gods and knowledge based on tradition, with which Libanius does not seem to be personally engaged.

c The Years of Julian The period of Julian is much shorter than the previous one and covers less than two years. Julian left for Persia in March 363 and was mortally wounded on campaign in June, but the news of his death reached Antioch in July. When Julian had been proclaimed sole Augustus, Libanius, after initial hesitation, embraced the new regime in spite of disagreements with the extremes of the emperor’s pagan revival and with his Neoplatonic supporters. Because rhetoric and traditional paideia were centered on the divine pantheon, an emperor steeped in Greek culture and traditional religion was literally a godsend for the scholar Libanius. Does an inspection of the letters disclose Libanius’s ability to conform and adjust to the circumstances, as has recently been argued? If so, in these years, when paganism was enjoying a short-lived triumph, we should find him switching his position to his advantage, adjusting the representation of his allegiance when it would serve him; we might also anticipate a great number of letters exhibiting pagan concerns and containing fervent communications with pagan friends. But the letters that contain religious references from this period indicate a more complex reality. First, their number is much lower not only than in the previous, longer period but also than in the following one, which is comparable in length. Second, only a few letters show Libanius as the spokesperson of the new regime, and these look like public, official communications. Third, the relatively high number of “significant” religious references includes letters on behalf of Christian friends and also many letters concerned with Asclepius and the sophist’s poor health;92 they highlight his personal religion and how he relied on this god

91. Ep. 37 N49, early winter of 359/60. See also Ep. 205 N70 and 112 N55 to Modestus. 92. Sixteen letters that I included among the “significant.”

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when he was in trouble but relate less to the public side of his paganism that this category should theoretically disclose. The letters that contain brief religious tags are only slightly more numerous than in the previous, longer period and are many fewer than those written after Julian’s death; they include some letters to pagan friends and some concerning his profession, such as one to Domitius Modestus (who was passing as a pagan at the time).93 The proportion of literary and mythological allusions to the gods is considerably below that of the previous period.94 One letter in particular stands out because of its irony, framed as it is by initial references to offerings of sausages and wine and a final, sarcastic allusion to uncompromising gods. Libanius suggests to a negligent student who is leaving the school and returning home, where plenty of pagan sacrifices are celebrated, that he ask the gods to give him rhetorical ability while keeping in mind that they do not reward lazy people.95 The limited number of these literary letters suggests not only that Libanius’s professional standing was already strong but also that under Julian religious worship and the gods themselves had acquired a relevance that went well beyond books. When pagan orthopraxis was being revived, Homer could temporarily take second place in epistolary communications. As I have said, the letters that refer more extensively to the cult of the gods and religion are much more numerous than before, amounting to 45 percent of those in this period.96 This concentration is not surprising because Libanius was close to Julian and was acutely aware of religious conflicts, but the picture the letters reveal is unexpected; only a few letters depict Libanius as a committed pagan, and in the vast majority he appears as much less of an extremist, showing a marked sensitivity toward the Christian cause. The few letters written to champions of the pagan restoration, including Julian, are not markedly different in tone from the orations that Libanius wrote as a public representative of paganism.

93. The letter to Modestus is 831 R184 (with a proverbial expression). See, e.g., Epp. 636, N77, 646 R40, 795, and 822. I also include here two important letters. Ep. 815 N101 has an allusion to god but shows only Libanius’s concerns for his own standing. In Ep. 797 N97 Libanius defends his conduct under Julian but does not refer to religion except for the brief observation to Antipater in section 6: “You pray the gods.” 94. These letters constitute less than 30 percent of those in this period. See, e.g., Epp. 661 B153, 735 B127, 737 R74, and 1395 R98. 95. Ep. 1416 R84, which could as well be included among the “significant.” 96. There are forty-four of them, as in the later period, but they have very different characteristics.

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In the middle of Julian’s tenure, Libanius wrote a letter (mentioned earlier) to an eminent pagan official who was getting ready to ascend Mount Casius with Julian to celebrate sacred rites, recommending as his representative his Christian friend Olympius.97 Libanius here appears committed to the intended act of paganism and excuses himself for his inability (probably due to bad health) to join the company. His insistence on the validity of his excuses, which he says can be verified by Olympius, suggests that he was expected to participate in this pagan demonstration and that he felt some anxiety at the fact that he would be unable to do so. In fact, because he never appears openly engaged in public celebrations of this kind otherwise, one may even wonder whether he was resisting such an open display. Among the other most meaningful letters of this period are two that Libanius sent to Julian when the latter was already engaged in the Persian campaign. In Epistle 802 Libanius continues to show his concern about the rift between the emperor and the Antiocheans; this letter is far from centered on the gods but includes a prayer to them that Julian would have children.98 The other letter, 811, is more explicit: it informs Julian about the conduct of the governor Alexander and the sacrifices at the recent festival of Calliope, which had attracted many people.99 Three more letters, sent, respectively, to Maximus of Ephesus, Seleucus, and Bacchius, show the sophist engaged with various public aspects of paganism: the restoration of the temples, the recovery of a statue of Artemis, and a desire to castigate the arrogance of some Christians, “those who derided their betters for a long time.”100 The letter he sent Maximus of Ephesus in particular is an exaggerated and cautious recognition of the latter’s merits and power over Julian, while the other two were sent to priests of cults that Julian was restoring, letters that we might call public and official.101 Another letter to Bacchius, however, hints at the unofficial side of Libanius’s position and reveals that he did not mind disclosing his moderate attitude to a militant pagan. Libanius pleads with the priest not to enforce punishment on certain Christians who had previously appropriated temple

97. Ep. 739 B43, Olympius 3, definitely Christian according to Or. 63. In Ep. 1221 the two friends stroll together in a garden. In 739.3 Libanius is similarly strolling in an idyllic environment with Anatolius 5, a pagan acquaintance. A case of flattery? Not so, I think, but the reality of the day. 98. Ep. 802.6 N98. Cf. the same wish in Or. 13.53 and 12.23. 99. Ep. 811 N100, the last letter to the emperor. 100. Ep. 770 N92 to Seleucus; Epp. 694 N80 and 710 N83, 101. Another similar letter contains the recommendation of a pagan to a pagan, Ep. 1338 B183.

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property.102 There are several letters of the same tenor, three of which refer to the precarious situation of Libanius’s cousins, Christians accused of having converted temples into housing during the reign of Constantius II.103 The sophist’s words in these and other similar letters stand in contrast to his defense of the temples much later, when he wrote Oration 30 as the official spokesman of paganism; he says in Epistle 1364, discussing the fate of his cousins, that the gods were not harsh creditors and would not like to see Christians “with a noose around their neck.” Echoes of this voice of moderation are heard in other letters that Libanius wrote to Christian friends who had fallen into disgrace;104 at that time prominent pagans had scores to settle with Christians who had held positions in the administration under Constantius II, which resulted in troublesome allegations, fierce retribution, and violence against individuals and their possessions. Thus Libanius pleaded the case of a Christian who had been accused of arson when the temple of Apollo in Daphne burned down.105 A commission of three people, of which Libanius was part, had absolved him, but the man continued to be under attack; his accusers, Libanius wrote, should refrain from sending vehement letters so that “the gods might be pleased that they would show more concern for souls than for shrines.”106 Libanius sent two more letters that pleaded for moderation, this time in enforcing sacrifices, to the governor Alexander 5, a militant pagan who was executing Julian’s policy with prompt excess. In one, Libanius defends a Christian friend, Eusebius, who was accused of undermining the governor’s efforts to impose pagan worship;107 this text brings out the complex religious realities of the period. The governor’s attempts were bound to fail when intimidated Christians sacrificed in public and repented immediately after; there were others in the same situation as Eusebius who would also

102. Ep. 757. The beginning might be slightly sarcastic. 103. Thalassius 2 and Bassianus 2; their father was also considered responsible in the death of Gallus. They were enjoined to rebuild the temple. See especially Ep. 1364 N105 but also 1404 B14, in which the brothers appear still under attack and at risk of losing other properties. In the third letter, 1380 B15, a man who was presumably pagan tried to reclaim a property of the Christian wife of Bassianus. 104. Brown 1995: 43 maintains that letters on behalf of Christians show “a deposit of political good sense.” Was it only that? 105. Ep. 1376 N107; the man became a governor under Jovian. 106. The contrast with Or. 60, where Libanius was the representative of those pagans who lamented the temple’s fate, is remarkable. 107. Ep. 1411 B98; his friend was Eusebius 17.

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need to be pardoned, says Libanius, and Alexander should not pay attention to the insidious slanders against Christians that circulated in those days. We should notice that the religious identity of Eusebius’s family (his father and brother were pagan) is further indication of a complex situation that influenced people’s behaviors and relationships; these were “the sort of things that are happening at this time,” Libanius remarks elsewhere.108 Another letter to Alexander alludes to fearful Christians performing enforced sacrifices “with lamentations,”109 and at this point Libanius gives the governor some cautiously didactic advice on how to deal with dissidents: they should be treated gently because compulsion is counterproductive. The sophist also displays his usual epistolary savoir faire, alluding to Alexander’s desire to show his letters to his dinner guests; but beyond compliments and a certain amount of obsequiousness, none of the letters in the dossier of Alexander indicates that Libanius conformed to the latter’s extreme convictions. One of them, which contains allusions to the goddesses Eirene and Tyche and informs the governor that there were plenty of sacrifices in Seleucia, expands on a somewhat obscure quarrel that was apparently resolved without “disorders and blasphemies.” He might have been referring to a religious controversy involving an individual named Julian, whose conduct Libanius approved and who may have been Christian, since Basil mentions him favorably in a letter.110 In another letter, a recommendation that a teacher be exempted from curial duties, Libanius excuses himself for his absence from a pagan festival organized by Alexander, saying that his head could not tolerate the heat (1385); we are left to speculate whether he was alluding to a different kind of heat, that of acute contention. The remaining letters to the governor also fail to disclose any adjustment in Libanius’s moderate religious stance,111 as do his communications with other pagan friends in this period,112 in which Libanius is equally restrained, sharing his reactions to various events: congratulations for the composition of an oration on Asclepius, prayers to the gods for relief of a famine or for a friend’s health, and gratitude to heaven for limited damage from natural disasters.113 With these

108. Ep. 1364.6. 109. Ep. 1351 N10. 110. Ep. 1361; on Julian, see Seeck 1906: xxi; he is mentioned in Basil, Ep. 21. 111. See Epp. 1392 B97, 1406, and 1412. 112. Sandwell 2007: 225–27 has rightly dismantled the lingering idea of a pagan party to which the sophist and his friends belonged. 113. Epp. 695 B147, 813, and 1388.

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correspondents Libanius was not constructing relationships based on strengthened feelings for religion but reconfirming what they all had in common, a love for Hellenism and a cult of the gods based on literature that acquired vitality and greater relevance in the years of Julian’s reign. In conclusion, in these years, momentous for the pagan restoration, more than 80 percent of Libanius’s letters that contain “significant” references confirm his still-restrained adherence to paganism. Rather than participating overtly in the restored worship of the gods, he mostly accepted what the new times brought, excited and grateful for the increased relevance of his discipline. The very few letters that show that him siding with more extreme forms of paganism can be attributed to his official persona in these controversial times; he had a close relationship with the emperor and was sometimes obliged to display this publicly in epistolary texts. Furthermore, in these letters, expressions that might indicate excessive obsequiousness to certain individuals also find an explanation in the customary politeness of epistolary conventions. The letters do not show an astute player in a competition for favors but rather a man with some independence of judgment and an authentic enthusiasm for Julian, who had endowed the gods of Homer with welcome new life. But how should one interpret the letters that testify that the sophist protected some Christians from pagan acts of retribution and acute intolerance? The reasons that scholars have brought forward are all valid: Libanius’s acute dislike of violence and excess; his belief in the Hellenic virtues of tolerance and respect for the traditional values inculcated by paideia; and his sound common sense that recognized that paganism did not need martyrs.114 But something further needs to be emphasized, which will become clearer as we proceed: in the matter of religious allegiance, Libanius lived between worlds. Although he was a pagan, he was not a zealous one; he supported his Christian students and over the years developed intimate relationships with Christian relatives and friends, with whom he had much in common that transcended religion per se.115

c After Julian The period after Julian is only slightly longer than the previous one, covering two years in all, including the brief tenures of Jovian and Valentin-

114. Norman 1983; Brown 1995: 43–45. 115. See, e.g., the fascinating account in MacMullen 1997: 103–6 of the dances with which both pagans and Christians worshipped the divine.

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ian and the beginning of the rule of Valens. It is defined by the sudden interruption of the preserved letters, in the summer of 365, an event that sharply delimits the aftermath of Julian. The death of the emperor stunned Libanius and other pagans, who had suddenly to adjust their hopes of public life and try to salvage something from those years that had seen them as protagonists. Not only were they painfully aware of the loss “of those blessings we once enjoyed,” but they had to acknowledge that their future expectations needed to be reshaped dramatically.116 The letters give a more nuanced depiction of this period than the orations, which have a uniform tone: whereas a sharper dichotomy between pagans and Christians emerges from the speeches, the epistolary discloses complex interactions, many of which demand explanations. As I have said earlier, from the beginning the religious boundaries between the two groups were not very firm; Christian and pagan allegiances were not hermetically exclusive but showed contamination in many areas; they were defined not only by practices and convictions but also by social relations and changing definitions of who was the “enemy.” There were certain Christians whom pagans could not bring themselves to praise wholeheartedly but could not call enemies, says Libanius.117 Some feared that Julian’s death had caused an exact reversal, a return to the age of Constantius II, when pagans had to act discreetly and saw Christians advance, but the reality was more complex. The Julianic period and its sudden end had caused further ruptures in religious interactions, but the outcome was not completely negative; moderate pagans, like Libanius, became more aware that religious divisions that were too extreme might damage interactions with people they otherwise valued. This ultimately moderate attitude, compounded by Libanius’s past personal closeness to Julian and the commitments of his public persona, was bound to cause him some difficulties after the emperor died. Indeed, this is what the letters show: a broken man initially, exposed to some undeniable acts of violence from his opponents, who later resolved “to put down his arms”118 and in doing so attracted the ire of those most devoted to the pagan cause. Inevitably the death of an emperor as controversial as Julian would cause a reaction more magnified than that which always occurs when power changes hands, and the old administration resents receding into the shadows.

116. Ep. 1220.1 N120. 117. Ep. 1196.3 N161. 118. Ep. 1211.4.

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The mere fact that Libanius wrote by far the largest number of letters with references to religion in this period (138 letters, almost 9 percent of the total) reveals the complexity of the debate on religious issues. These references are divided almost evenly into the usual three categories, with a slight prevalence of letters with religious tags that stands out against their low occurrence under Julian.119 These formulaic expressions—perhaps less necessary before, in seemingly good times for Libanius and for pagans generally—function as religious labels and carry some weight because of their consistency. Another notable fact is that the number of letters with mythological and literary allusions is higher than in the previous period.120 These may provide some answer to the question whether the number of Libanius’s students diminished after the demise of the emperor;121 the increase in literary references may indicate that Libanius had to revert to his previous presentation of himself as a sophist possessed of an accomplished, nonthreatening literary culture in order to appeal to hesitant parents. The letters with significant religious references are roughly the same in number as in the Julianic period, a fact that points to a continuing vivacity of the discussions of religious issues that would significantly fade in Libanius’s late years.122 In order to disentangle the various strands that formed the intricate cultural texture of the aftermath of Julian’s reign, it is better to consider the threads separately, as they emerge from these references. Therefore, after reviewing the letters of the last period, I will consider some of these issues in depth: Libanius’s relations with the emperors, the personal risks he confronted during this period, the conflicts that divided pagans on how to best react to the circumstances, and the clear emergence of various degrees of religious allegiance.

c The Last Years The last period includes letters written from 388 to 393, when Libanius died or became severely incapacitated. The better part of these letters, a full

119. See the nonchalant and perhaps ironic remark on “gods who yearn for doves” in Ep. 1532. See also, e.g., 1190, 1204, 1212, 1213, 1216, 1281, 1325, 1326, and 1334. 120. There are forty-four letters in this period versus twenty-nine in the Julianic period. 121. This is a perplexing question; see Cribiore 2007: 90–91. Cf. the exaggerated claim in Or. 18.288 that students were not interested anymore in rhetoric. 122. There are forty-four letters of this kind, but they are only 32 percent of the total in this period (versus 45 percent in the Julianic years) because as a whole the references are more numerous than before.

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80 percent, are divided evenly between the usual religious tags and the scholastic literary references, leaving less space for meaningful extended comments.123 Libanius shows the same concerns as in his early professional years, attempting to attract a cultivated clientele; and indeed, he enjoyed a renewed reputation as a sophist during the years of Theodosius. I have remarked previously that these neutral literary references were also numerous in the period after Julian, indicating that Libanius chose to revert at that time to a presentation of himself as a traditional exponent of paganism whose religion was based on the texts of classical antiquity and on Homer especially. But there is an important difference between that period and this one: after Julian’s demise Libanius’s correspondence also included a wealth of comments that testified to the religious turmoil of those years, but such comments are almost absent here. The longer references, in fact, either concern Zeus or contain uninspired prayers on behalf of Theodosius and his sons;124 also present, as Libanius confronts the changed cultural environment and his own old age, are letters in which his relationships with the gods, whom Libanius sees as angry at him, weigh heavily on the sophist.125

c Libanius and Julian Gibbon described Libanius as “an independent philosopher who refused Julian’s favors, loved his person, celebrated his fame, and protected his memory.”126 No doubt the historian, despite his general disdain for Libanius’s work, engaged in some idealization of the connection between the sophist and the emperor, but was his assessment very far from reality? Libanius’s misery at Julian’s demise, far from being a pose or strategic maneuver, left so many consistent traces in both his correspondence and his orations that it would be perverse to doubt that he was indeed “like a fish stranded on the seashore.”127 He wrote to the father of some of his students: “O

123. There are 97 letters in total, which represent 22 percent of all the letters concerning religion, with 40 letters with formulaic expressions and 41 heavily literary. 124. See, e.g., Epp. 845, 868 N152, 945, and 946. 125. See Epp. 1075 N191, in which irony makes him appear more desperate; 1036 N181; and his last, 1112. 126. Gibbon 1946: 704. 127. Ep. 1426.2 N11, written in the fall of 363. Sandwell 2007: 108, 218–20, and 229–31 argued that Libanius’s letters to his friends that contained expressions of sorrow for Julian were attempts to

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gods, why did you destroy him? But it is neither good nor safe to ask the gods to render an account, as an old proverb proclaims: ‘Obey the gods in everything, but obey and do what is destined.’ ”128 All the evidence, both private and official, shows that the loss of Julian had profound repercussions for Libanius and for other pagans, as was only to be expected. Although the immediate shock that impaired his ability to function was most evident in the year 363,129 his deep grief persisted over time to varying degrees; intermittently acute,130 it abated at times under daily constraints but lasted for the rest of his life. Certainly Julian’s death became the single event around which Libanius’s subsequent life revolved obsessively; he considered it responsible for various misfortunes and ills, including his occasional lack of professional success, the increased prominence of rival disciplines, the negligence of his students, and the pagan gods’ fall into increasing obscurity. Although Libanius said that he cherished the emperor “no less than his mother,”131 in fact Libanius had disagreed with Julian on many issues (as indeed can often happen with one’s mother); but much united them, especially a common passion for that rhetoric to which Libanius had sworn a faithful, almost religious allegiance. Doubtless the personal interest the emperor showed in Libanius and the opportunity provided by such a friendship to be center stage (for which some people would reproach him later) were marked factors in the sophist’s partiality. But a certain affinity of character (including a degree of fragility), the seeming rapport of teacher and student, and the possibility of resurrecting Greek studies from the threat of obscurity must also have made the relationship irresistible. The themes of rhetoric, writing, and forced silence resonate strongly in the letters written after the emperor’s death, suggesting that for the sophist, Julian and eloquence were inextricably linked. Libanius’s inability to work was not simply a natural result of depression after an important loss; in fact, his ability to tap his usual sources of inspiration and creativity was seriously compromised by Julian’s removal from the scene. Thus Libanius filled the first letter he wrote after the news reached Antioch with a description of

show the Christians in power that pagans, who were currying their favors, were not guilty of religious opportunism and had not dropped Julian too fast, but this is, in my view, an unnecessarily convoluted explanation, unwarranted by the evidence. 128. Ep. 1419.1. The thought was traditional; cf., e.g., Aeschylus, Sept. 263 and Supp. 1047. 129. See Epp. 1424 N111, 1431 N114, 1220 N120, and 1430 N116. I order letters according to numbers. They all belong to 363. See Epp. 1220 N120, 1424 N111, 1430 N116, and 1431 N114. 130. See, e.g., Ep. 1187.3 N129: “The loss is irreparable, the ruin complete.” 131. Ep. 1154 N124.

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Julian’s passion for books;132 in another letter he evoked the evening meetings, when Julian was alive, during which friends engaged in rhetoric “no worse than that of Nestor.”133 In doing this he was alluding to the supportive creative environment he had lost. In multiple letters he described the crippling effect of what he called “the murder” on his ability to compose134 As Libanius wrote to a friend, although Julian might be in heaven in the company of the gods, his own state had taken a turn for the worse (ta ge ema cheiro).135 It is not difficult to see why; he had lost, among other things, the hope that his work could be highly relevant to the times.

c Conflicts among Pagans The question of the danger that Libanius confronted in the aftermath of Julian’s death needs to be reevaluated.136 Julian had been so controversial an emperor that it is no wonder that the usual conflicts of regime change were magnified. It seems, however, that the attempt to kill Libanius, which he mentions in his Autobiography, was the result of private conflict rather than public, and furthermore that the emperor Jovian’s aggressive dislike of Libanius did not have to do with the latter’s religious allegiance;137 the sophist mentions both in a letter written to a pagan friend in November 363.138 In the following year Libanius seems still to be wary of a certain amount of danger because “the same people who had slandered Julian held the reins of power.”139 In this and in another letter, however, he also seems to be on the defensive, asserting that his supposed passivity was not due to lack of concern for the Julianic cause but rather the need for caution in dangerous times.140 One more letter, addressed like the one just mentioned to his friend Nicocles, confirms the sophist’s concern for his own well-being: while praising the former teacher of Julian, a zealous pagan, for being “the aid of

132. Ep. 1424 N111. 133. Ep. 1431 N114. 134. See, e.g., Epp. 1128 N123 and 1430 N116. 135. Ep. 1220.4 N120. 136. I bring new supporting evidence to the contention of Sandwell 2007: 109–10. 137. See Or. 1.136–37 138. Ep. 1220 N120. 139. Ep. 1264.6 N133. 140. Ep. 1265 N134 to Nicocles.

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the pagans on behalf of friends and the gods,” Libanius acknowledges that he himself had laid down his arms for the sake of his own safety.141 Was Libanius confronting authentic risks, or was he simply trying to avoid exposing himself unduly? I have argued that because, after all, his relationship with Julian had not involved only religion, confronting actual dangers on behalf of paganism after the emperor’s demise was somewhat senseless. A letter written in the winter of 364 to his friend Fortunatianus corroborates what we have seen so far: even close friends thought he was entertaining “empty fears.”142 When some pagans blamed Libanius for his silence and inactivity, accusing him of living contentedly “in the peace of flowery meadows,” they were referring not only to his taking shelter in the cultivation of paideia but also to his conduct toward Christians.143 Although the sophist had pleaded on behalf of Christians before, in the excitement of the Julianic period his continuous ties with some of them and his moderation with regard to their treatment may have gone unnoticed, camouflaged by his relationship with the emperor. Now, however, some pagans did notice and were dismayed by what they regarded as his adaptability to the new situation; his refusal to play a leading role for the pagan cause was met with accusations that he had changed. But in fact the correspondence reveals, interestingly, uncertainty and conflict among pagans concerning the proper reaction to the times: was it better to submit to the Christians in power or to offer some resistance? The letters disclose definite differences in the attitudes of those formerly (apparently) united around Julian; it becomes increasingly clear that to speak of these pagans as a united group is not legitimate. Some supporters of Julian were strongly loyal to his memory and to his aims; hoping that resistance might somehow reconstitute their ranks, they opposed collaboration with Christians at all costs. In addition to the teacher Nicocles, for example, pagans like Aristophanes and Seleucus who had previously filled official positions in the provinces and at court could not adapt to the times.144 Other

141. Ep. 1211, a very eloquent letter. 142. Letter to Fortunatianus: Ep. 1144. 143. Cf. Ep. 1265.1 and note the words hesuchia and eirene. See also 1196 B161 “Living in peace and happy.” 144. Aristophanes (PLRE 1:106–10) recovered his rank and property thanks to Julian and then held an office (cf. Libanius, Or. 14); Seleucus 1 perhaps was made high priest of a province and held other offices. See Epp. 1119, 1196, 1211, and 1265 to Nicocles; 1264 to Aristophanes; and 1473 and 1508 to Seleucus and 1120 N113 regarding him.

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zealous pagans too soon lost their posts under Christian emperors and retired to private life or were sent into exile. We have seen that Libanius had had close relations with one fanatic pagan, the governor Alexander 5, but even during Julian’s time had exhorted that governor to be more tolerant of Christians. When Alexander was arrested under Jovian, Libanius tried to help him but warned that his behavior was unacceptable and that people considered him unjust: “One who helps the gods who have been offended does well; yet we think that the manner of the help ends up damaging the gods.”145 Another pagan under attack was a high priest of Athens, Lemmatius, whom Libanius had met in that city many years before and encountered again in Antioch in 365.146 In response to a letter from Lemmatius asserting that the priest was beseeching the gods on Libanius’s behalf, the latter wrote a reply teeming with exaggerated compliments, perhaps a display of amused irreverence;147 however, when it became apparent that Lemmatius had met with some violence in the environment after Julian, the sophist did his best to help him.148 There seems to be little difference between the Libanius who had assisted Christians suffering in Julian’s time and the man who now tried to curb similar excesses against pagans after Julian. I have included a translation of part of another letter that Libanius wrote to Decentius on behalf of Lemmatius as the opening of this book;149 there I posed certain questions to which I would like to return now, particularly to reconsider the religious affiliation of the addressee. In various prosopographies Decentius is reported as pagan on the basis of certain other letters Libanius wrote to him in which the sophist makes references to the pagan gods Tyche or Asclepius; but these generic expressions are not unknown in letters to Christians.150 Decentius did not have an appointment under Julian but in the following administration became magister officiorum, a very important palatine official and, furthermore, one with access to the

145. Ep. 1294; see also 1456. 146. PLRE 1 does not mention him; see Clematius iii in Seeck 1906, and cf. Bradbury 2004b:197n61. Libanius had corresponded with him in 358, praising his wife, who was apparently as beautiful as Aphrodite, Ep. 325. Libanius wrote to him or about him several times in 364. 147. Ep. 1284. Libanius told him that he was “a priest before whom the gods themselves would stand in awe.” 148. See Epp. 1307 and 1458 B159. 149. Ep. 1504, written to Decentius in 365. See the beginning of the Introduction. 150. Petit 1994: 79, on the basis of Epp. 1482 and 1521, where Libanius uses a generic tone and expressions that he adopts with Christians too. The same is true for Ep. 839 sent to Decentius 1 in PLRE.

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emperor.151 It is likely that to become a chief officer at court, he must either have been a Christian (and as such have been passed over for such a position by Julian) or at the very least one of those moderate pagans acceptable to the new regime. Libanius’s initial assertion that Decentius had helped many friends but also “many who are neither enemies nor friends” may have referred to people who were not particularly threatening (and thus not “enemies”) but who were not of the same religious allegiance (and therefore not “friends”).

c Moderate Pagans Scholars have remarked on the differing attitudes displayed toward Christianity by two pagan historians of the fourth century, Eunapius and Ammianus. They were both devoted to Julian, but Ammianus also recognized some of the emperor’s flaws and missteps, such as his tendency toward superstition and his educational policy, which excluded Christians. Whereas Eunapius was quick to judge Christian emperors for their religious allegiance, showing a marked hostility to the new faith,152 Ammianus avoided occasions for religious polemic and was reticent in discussing contemporary Christian issues. Did Ammianus consider such comments unnecessary or even intrusive because they were extraneous to his literary heritage and to the tradition of Roman historiography, and furthermore on account of his own essentially secular upbringing?153 Was he reluctant to risk compromising his success by engaging in Christian polemic because his audience in Rome was limited already?154 Or was he, like Libanius, a tolerant pagan who had friends in both camps and preferred to be an observer, refraining from open and trenchant remarks? The majority of interpreters of Ammianus have taken the last of these positions, which is probably the most reasonable.155 I have discussed the fact that Christian and pagan groups were not discrete or constant; therefore, it is not especially surprising that inconsistencies and contradictions related to these groups abound in Ammianus’s work. His was an age of contradictions.

151. Bradbury 2004b: ix: “like a Chief of Staff ” with very vast power. 152. This emerges from the fragments of his history and the use Zosimus made of it; cf. Blockley 1981. 153. Hunt 1985. 154. Matthews 1989: 446. 155. Barnes 1998: 80 observes that since the seventeenth century scholars have attributed to Ammianus a wealth of opinions in matter of religion.

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Eunapius, although his love and admiration for the Christian Prohaeresius might seem a mark of inconsistency (try as he might to portray Prohaeresius as a hero in pagan terms), was a more intolerant pagan than Ammianus; according to Photius, he had to tone down his most virulent comments against Christians in the second edition of his history. Although it is difficult to verify the veracity of this information, it nonetheless suggests that some people might have been surprised at Eunapius’s change of tone.156 We have seen that in his sketch of Libanius Eunapius was unfair to the sophist, mentioning a scandalous rumor (probably in keeping with the usual rules of invective) and considering his style poor and uninspired. I would like to return specifically to his observation that Libanius “assimilated himself so much to every kind of man that he made the octopus look foolish,”157 this time considering the comment as possibly inspired by considerations other than stylistic ones. Eunapius states that everyone who talked with the sophist found him agreeing with them; he compares Libanius to “a picture or wax impression” of all different personalities and asserts that in a gathering of people it was impossible to discern whom he preferred. Libanius, he says, found favor among people who had various kinds of life, displayed admiration for everyone, and was “multiform and leaning now to one side and now to the other” (polymorphon, alloprosallon). Did Eunapius intend this to be the portrait of a flatterer or, as Robert Penella has suggested, a compliment to Libanius, l’uomo simpatico, who got along with everyone?158 I would like to suggest that Eunapius may indeed have meant something rather polemical with this description, perhaps alluding to the fact that Libanius was not a staunch pagan like himself but rather engaged in relationships with certain Christians as well. The pagan persuasion of “Libanius the octopus,” who refused to exclude other religious outlooks, was certainly very different from that of Julian and Eunapius; Eunapius, I suggest, scorned this behavior he personally considered not only wrong but also a sign of flattery and a weak personality. Of course, Libanius must not have been alone in his desire for restraint, but any attempt to identify other such individuals must confront the wide-

156. Photius, Bibl. Codex 77. Although some scholars have accepted this remark, Penella 1990: 20–23 does not. 157. Eunapius, VS 16.2.2, 495–96. I look at this passage from the point of view of style in the Introduction. 158. Penella 1990: 103, who also recognizes that Eunapius may have been ironic. Cf. the image of “Libanius the charmer” in Libanius Or. 2. Basil in Address to Young Men 9.141 mentions the way Proteus, like the octopus, adapts to the circumstances and implicitly alludes to flattery. The emperor Julian in Misopogon 349d, however, uses the metaphor for someone who gets in touch and mixes himself with people and does not consider himself above the crowd.

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spread silence of the sources. Prosopograpical studies are meticulous and time-consuming, particularly when they center on religious affiliations, and a systematic inquiry to better delineate the gray area pertaining to different degrees of paganism is still a desideratum. Raban von Haehling investigated the religion of major and minor officials in the fourth and fifth centuries with mixed results:159 although he was able to clarify certain issues, his search was impaired by his method. He divided his records into two monolithic groups, those of pagans and Christians, with the result that other scholars could profit from his study only to a limited extent. If we choose to employ the word “pagan” for want of a better term, we must remain aware that it was Christians who dictated the boundaries of this diverse group, and that to engage with it is thus to subscribe to their view of the world; Christian polemicists, who were afraid of gray areas, lumped pagans together in this all-inclusive category, the better to manage their opponents. Maintaining the same sharp dichotomy is no longer viable, but some scholars continue to divide religious allegiances sharply into these two bounded and rigid groups.160 An investigation of those who occupied the gray areas of religious allegiance requires not only an avoidance of sharp dichotomies but also a lack of preconceptions; it is necessary to divest ourselves of those presumptions that have occasionally marred past inquiries (and at times continue to do so), such as that people who had close relations with, or belonged to the same family as, pagans must therefore have shared the same religious allegiance. Even a relationship with Julian based on philosophy and rhetoric should not be taken as an automatic guarantee that a given individual was a fervent polytheist. Another element that needs to be reconsidered is the accusation of opportunism: were all those pagans we will consider simply hypocrites who, unwilling to relinquish their positions and prestige, courted the favors of influential Christians in changed times? Did they choose to convert to the prevailing allegiance only in hopes of winning promotion and office? No doubt there were some such individuals who, less scrupulous or timid and impressionable, wished to avoid the risks of an unpopular religious stance;161

159. See Haehling 1978. Cf., after other critics, the criticism of Cameron 2011: 177–78, e.g., that Haehling in collecting his information sometimes trusted single sources that are not certain or underestimated the presence of unknown officeholders. Cameron too, however, does not make any distinction. 160. On constructing and replacing dichotomies between pagans and Christians, see Kahlos 2007: 11–54. But see Bouffartigue 2010, who does not contemplate nuances. 161. See MacMullen 1997: 146–47, who reports Augustine’s observations.

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people of this sort are visible in any time and at every change in regime. But this explanation fails to capture the whole picture. In the fourth century, when religious assimilation played a strong role, for some, the pagan gods had become fossilized entities and had lost their strong, distinctive traits, and others underwent conversions to Christianity (or to paganism in the time of Julian) hastily or under compulsion.162 Labeling as hypocrites those who seem to have led a double life, or who were simply confounded by the religious situation, was the work of certain Christian leaders, Augustine, for example; such accusations were used as a tool against personal or public enemies.163 Pagans did the same; we see Libanius protesting against those who wore a mask of convenience.164 Religious conversions were surely not clean-cut affairs. Even Constantine’s conversion has been regarded by some as the result of an authentic religious conviction but by others as an opportunistic ploy. Repeated conversions represent an extreme case; although they seem immediately suspicious, motivations are usually inscrutable. Thus Julian’s Christian teacher in Constantinople, Hecebolius, became pagan when Julian was emperor but turned back to Christianity after his demise.165 Socrates considered him an example of an unscrupulous turncoat, and perhaps he was; his hasty conversion to paganism may indeed have been an affair of convenience. But we should at least consider that Hecebolius may have been genuinely inspired to abandon (albeit momentarily) Christian monotheism by the Neoplatonic creed of the emperor; we cannot rule out the possibility that his change of allegiance may have been a result of vacillating religious convictions.166 Once again, for some people in the fourth century, Christianity and paganism were not exclusive opposites. The case of the eminent Modestus 2, on whom Libanius relied so often to improve the status of his school, is similar to that of Hecebolius: he followed the same route, converting to paganism under Julian but afterward returning to Arianism.167 But was Modestus necessarily a hypocrite who changed allegiances with the wind, mindful only

162. On intellectual conversions of Julian and Synesius, see Tanaseanu-Doebler 2005. 163. Kahlos 2007: 42–45. 164. In Or. 30.28 he called these conversions “apparent, not real,” and said that persuasion was needed, not force. See Marcos 2009 on Julian’s gentle religious coercions. 165. Hecebolius 1. Cf. Socrates HE 3.13, who remarked that many people apostatized under Julian who appointed pagans. 166. See Kinzig 1993: 95–96, who regards his name as a sign that he was originally pagan. 167. Domitius Modestus 2. Cf. Bradbury 2004b: 255–57. Under Constantius, Modestus was secretly a pagan if we trust Libanius’s Ep. 804 B74. The fact that before Julian he was so involved with

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of his material needs and professional stature? It is possible, but his fragile, vacillating beliefs may have made his choices less painful and perhaps less reprehensible in the eyes of his contemporaries. In a still-classic 1923 article Charles Guignebert, considering what seemed at first the deep chasm between paganism and Christianity, remarks on the numerous pathways joining the two sides.168 This scholar thus identified a recognizable category, that of the demi-chrétiens, those Christians who were lukewarm or disengaged and occasionally ventured on the pathway to the other side. These individuals were attracted to paganism not necessarily because they were lazy or hypocritical but for various other reasons, such as their relations with pagan spouses, relatives, or friends, their attachment to a previous way of life that was difficult to relinquish, or uncertainty after hasty conversions to Christianity. In the fourth century, when Christian and pagan concepts were not necessarily strict opposites, there were also pagans who were in a situation analogical to that of Guignebert’s demi-chrétiens. These were individuals who did not represent a threat to the Christians in power because they were not strong in their religious convictions or embittered toward the Christians; indeed, they had much in common with many of them and disapproved and regretted past excesses.. Maijastina Kahlos conceived thus of a new category of people that she called incerti, “those unclassifiable and indefinable individuals who appear in the grey area between hard-line polytheism and hard-line Christianity.”169 Furthermore, in his book on late paganism, Alan Cameron posited the existence of five categories: committed Christians and committed pagans, central-Christians and central-pagans, and in between a large group of uncertain people.170 To establish categories, however, may be a Sisyphean endeavor, for one could go on making classifications almost ad infinitum. Creating categories is a function of a scholar’s desire for order and clarity, an attempt to encapsulate reality for one’s own use;171 it is better, I think, to accept Guignebert’s metaphor and think of many different passageways in which people could walk, sometimes back and forth, at various moments of their life. Not only could individuals pass from category to category, but also their level of commitment

the building of the portico of Dionysus and wished to be recognized for that may be a further confirmation that he was a pagan, even though he may not have been very fervent. 168. Guignebert 1923: 65. 169. Kahlos 2007: 31. 170. Cameron 2011: 176–77. 171. See Versnel 1990:2–3. See also Markus 1990: 28 and 33.

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could over time acquire different shades within the substantial gray area (to return to a previous metaphor); but characterizing Libanius simply as an incertus (or a gray pagan, as I call him) is not very informative, although it may be useful for the sake of brevity. There are nuances in his religious allegiance; he did not follow a straight path during his long life. When we investigate religious allegiance (or any other aspect of an individual’s life), we must keep in mind chronology, that is, the effects of time, if the extant evidence allows us to do so; paradoxically, even labeling Augustine as a committed Christian necessitates some knowledge of the various phases of his life. Despite these factors, scholars usually treat Libanius’s pagan allegiance as a given, unchanged and unchangeable. In trying to isolate some of the moderate pagans who emerge from Libanius’s correspondence, I will consider certain individuals’ appointments to office under various emperors. I will follow a method to which Libanius indirectly pointed: that is, I will investigate their tenure in office, combined with the documentation regarding them, and finally every possible clue that the correspondence offers.172 This is not a foolproof system, but it may allow us to discuss and illuminate certain of those gray areas of religious allegiance. We should regard the cases that come into view not as isolated instances but more probably as the tip of the iceberg, in spite of the widespread silence of the sources. But first, one question: is this a valid method by which to recognize and distinguish moderate pagans? Or were other influences paramount when an individual who had held an administrative position under a pagan emperor kept it under his Christian successors? Undoubtedly many factors colored the issue of appointments. Christian emperors needed to rely on powerful pagans who gave some guarantee of good, efficient government; they were interested in building ties of friendship and loyalty with certain pagans for mutual advantage; and they wished to advance friends and relatives who were not Christians. Nominations to office were also influenced by a candidate’s participation in a prestigious network of cultural alliances and by the inevitable powerful letters of recommendation he could provide. How important were these factors in keeping individuals of different religious allegiance in their posts? Michele Salzman in 2002 investigated the role of fourth- and fifth-century emperors in conversions, challenging the traditional idea that Christian emperors influenced conversions decisively by the benefits and incentives that

172. See, e.g., Ep. 1149 B46: in the aftermath of Julian, the pagan Acacius 8 struggled to find a suitable post. Libanius insisted that he should not be a private citizen even for a limited time.

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they conferred;173 she focused her investigation on the aristocracy in the western empire, but her study can nonetheless be useful for my purposes. Whereas some emperors were less active in effecting conversions, others, such as Constantine, Constantius II, and Theodosius, used considerable resources to attract new devotees to Christianity from among the aristocracy. It is worthwhile to report Salzman’s method and conclusions here. She considered the highest office attained by each aristocrat in her study and then imperial appointments to the highest offices in the West; her conclusions were substantially the same in each case. Pagans predominated from 284 to 367, when Valentinian became sole emperor; under the sons of Constantine (337–61), Christians came close to pagans in the number of appointments, but in the years of Julian and Jovian and in Valentinian’s early years (361–67), pagans were by far more numerous than Christians in those offices. In the following years until 383 under Gratian and the two Valentinians, the proportion of Christians was higher, but between 383 and 392 Christians and pagans reached high offices in almost the same numbers. With regard to appointments to lower offices, a definite predominance of pagans over Christians lasted until 367; the rest of the figures show that the succeeding emperors were comparatively unconcerned about favoring coreligionists, and thus at the end of the fourth century they continued to appoint a large number of pagans to office. These findings are startling at first glance, and Salzman justifies them with a combination of the reasons I mentioned earlier: emperors had an interest in maintaining capable pagans in power. But can this argument account for the totality of the phenomenon? Salzman, who began with Haehling’s figures but based her statistics on more evidence than simply that of officeholding, considered the same black-and-white world of discrete religious allegiances.174 As a result, she did not give due attention to the role that a pagan’s position in the gray area of religious allegiance could play; some fervent, powerful pagans with professional skills that might have been valuable were promptly dismissed, while others who might have been rather conventional observers of traditional religion but were expected to cooperate willingly with Christians continued to hold office. It is not surprising, in fact, that Jovian dismissed tout court and then arrested Alexander, the aggressively pagan governor of Syria, or that Libanius’s friend Seleucus was banished to the countryside of Pontus.175

173. Salzman 2002: 178–99; still an important book. 174. Haehling 1978, discussed earlier. 175. Alexander 5 and Seleucus 1; see above.

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In what follows, I will attempt to identify a few of those pagans who were less zealous in their religious commitment and thus might have appealed more to Christians in power. I will combine the evidence of appointments to office, which is less reliable on its own, with what Libanius’s works reveal about pertinent events and social networks. This is not the place to embark on a more thorough survey that, rewarding though it might be, would of necessity go beyond the testimony of this sophist, but it will be meaningful to become aware of some examples of gray pagans unidentified as such until now. Surely the most eminent of these was Secundus Salutius, who stands in a class by himself; he certainly cannot be regarded merely as a talented pagan who was needed on the job. He was the most successful and eminent among the followers of Julian, always highly praised in every circle.176 Refined, competent, and extremely fair in his treatment of both pagans and Christians, he refused to become emperor at Julian’s death, pleading his old age, although in the interest of paganism he could have accepted the throne and meanwhile groomed a successor worthy of Julian.177 He did not, but he continued to be praetorian prefect under Valentinian and Valens.178 His moderation and refusal to torture Christians stand out in the sources;179 Libanius’s comfortable relations with him were due largely to Salutius’s tolerance and moderate religious outlook rather than to the latter’s “understanding of the Syrian mentality.”180 Celsus is another figure who deserves attention.181 He had been a student of Libanius in Nicomedia and remained for the sophist an object of pride;182 he studied philosophy after rhetoric and apparently had some desire to spend his life in philosophy.183 He instead embarked on an administrative career, serving as a governor during and after the reign of Julian. In 365 the

176. Saturninius Secundus Salutius 3. 177. See O’Donnell 1979: 47. 178. Salutius was close to Libanius and repeatedly helped Evagrius 6 and Olympius 3; Epp. 1314, 1321, 1426 N112. 179. See, e.g., Socrates HE 3.19 and Theodoret, HE 3.11. 180. So Petit 1955: 208. 181. Celsus 3 in PLRE 1. He was pagan; see Ep. 736 N88: Libanius mentions that Celsus was composing orations “when the gods were there to assist him from the altar.” He also appears to have been favorable to Julian. 182. See Or. 62.61, where Libanius mentions him as one of those students who most profited from his teaching and advanced in their career. 183. Ep. 86 N44.

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emperor Valens summoned him to court and offered him another position, but after a period of consideration he turned it down, preferring to stay in Antioch with his family.184 There are certain relationships that suggest that Celsus was a moderate pagan. In addition to his friendship with Libanius, he had a close relationship with the philosopher Themistius, a pagan but not a fervent one; Celsus studied with him and followed the philosopher to Constantinople to be part of the Great Senate.185 He was also part of the circle of Libanius’s friends to which his Christian friend Olympius belonged;186 in a letter Libanius complains that Celsus had not spoken to him about delivering a certain oration but had discussed it with Olympius instead.187 At another time the sophist mentions Celsus and Olympius as the most beloved among his friends who were far away.188 Another sign that Celsus was moderate in his religious allegiance might be his past relationship with Basil; in a letter that is most likely authentic (Basil 336, Lib.-Bas. 2), Libanius mentions that when Basil wished to see Athens after studying in Bithynia, he persuaded Celsus to come with him, and Libanius was glad to see how much the latter depended on Basil. Even if we were to accept the hypothesis that the letter is a forgery, it would be significant that the forger assumed that Celsus and Basil were close.189 The eloquent governor Entrechius, the recipient of several letters from Libanius, must also have been moderate in his paganism. He had known Julian from his student years in Athens, but a letter reveals that he found the emperor’s obsessive interest in books absurd.190 Although he filled several posts under Julian, Entrechius was particularly close to the eminently tolerant Salutius mentioned earlier, and after completing his tenure as governor of Pisidia in 364, he obtained other official posts in 365.191 We may also number among the moderates Helpidius, whom Libanius congratulated in 363 for enjoying the new emperor’s favor.192 Although he had been

184. See, e.g., Ep. 1487. 185. See, e.g., Epp. 86 and 1477 N141. 186. On Olympius 3, see Chapters 1 and 4. 187. Ep. 736.3. 188. Ep. 699. 189. For a brief consideration of the authenticity of the correspondence of Libanius and Basil, see Cribiore 2007: 100–104. 190. Ep. 1424. Entrechius 1; cf. his career in Bradbury 2004b:242. 191. Ep. 901, written in 388. 192. Helpidius 6, Ep. 1120. Libanius told him that his continuance in office meant that he pleased the new regime.

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in Gaul and in Persia with Julian and had converted to paganism in those years, he received a new post in 364. A letter that alludes to a feud between him and the zealous pagan Seleucus shows that the rift was not due to personal reasons; it roused the concern of Libanius, who said that “men who are the image of gods” and true Hellenes had to behave civilly. Helpidius probably did not convert back to Christianity but remained a moderate pagan.193 Some doubts arise about the pagan allegiance of the learned Clearchus, a former student of Nicocles, because he held no office under Julian but gained one after the emperor’s death.194 In a letter written to Themistius in the fall of 363, Libanius mentions that he had been in the company of Clearchus, who reproved the sophist for his incessant crying over Julian and did not himself join in the mourning.195 Two further letters testify to Clearchus’s acute conflict with the extremist Nicocles in the following year, which may have been caused by their different religious outlooks and by the teacher’s rigidity.196 It should also be noted that in the numerous letters to Clearchus Libanius refrains from allusions to the gods. There is only one (or at least, only one clear) reference to his traditional Greco-Roman religion, an invitation from Libanius to help with the Olympic Games, by which his friend could show his gratitude to the gods in Antioch for helping him gain his office.197 Although not a Christian himself, Clearchus may have been sympathetic to the Christians, and his moderate paganism was rewarded by the new regime. We may also place among the mild pagans a governor on whom Libanius relied very frequently when he was trying to advance the careers of his students: Maximus 19 governor of Armenia in 361 and then of Galatia in 362 under Julian,198 to whom the sophist sent very passionate requests for help.199 The clearest indication that Maximus was a pagan appears in a letter in which Libanius reassures the governor about a certain Armenian student,

193. He later supported the usurper Procopius, a relative of Julian, which shows that he was still faithful to the Julian house. 194. Clearchus 1. Cf. Bradbury 2004b: 238–39. In Ep. 1266 B81 from the year 364 Libanius alluded to the power he had from his arche. 195. Ep. 1430.3 N116. 196. Epp. 1265 and 1266. 197. Ep. 1179.3. The angry exclamation “by the gods” in Ep. 1322 is not very meaningful. 198. Maximus 19; see, e.g., Epp. 646 R40 and 285 R128. 199. Epp. 767 R3, 287 R9, 834 R12, 646 R40, 285 R128, and 790 R169. I am ordering according to date: 285, 287, 646, 767, 790, and 834.

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“It will be the god’s concern and ours that he belongs to the Hellenes,” alluding both to Greek culture and to traditional Greco-Roman religion.200 The rest of the letters do not contain any allusions to the gods; in one, however, Libanius praises Maximus 19 as a follower and imitator of the Christian Modestus.201 Moreover, although Maximus was indicted for corruption, he was nevertheless nominated to be prefect of Egypt in 364;202 it seems unreasonable to imagine that he brought to the post, among other liabilities, the allegiance of a fervent pagan. A more complicated case is that of the pagan Aradius Rufinus, a cultivated Roman with an excellent knowledge of Greek who had, among other things, helped the Christian family of Bassianus.203 Promoted to comes Orientis in 362 by Julian, he took office the next year, remained in office under Jovian and Valens until the middle of 364, and after returning to Rome became prefect of the city. Scholars have argued that at this point he had ceased to be a pagan and converted to Christianity on the basis of the humanity he displayed in Rome when he refused to expel foreigners from the city during a famine.204 This claim is not supported by other evidence; in fact, Rufinus may well have continued to be a caring, compassionate pagan. The family nucleus does not guarantee a single religious allegiance of its members. It is unfortunate that the religious practice of women (especially pagan women) is mostly obscure because they were rarely protagonists in the evidence, but we do know that marriages between pagans and Christians continued to take place even though they were discouraged by Christian authorities. Libanius mentions that the eminent pagan governor Italicianus wished to marry the daughter of Thalassius in order to be related to that eminent Christian family and to Libanius himself.205 Women’s lives were more private and less exposed to public constraints than the lives of men, and therefore, they may have been less likely to abandon a pagan or Christian allegiance than men, who had to confront the pressures of the outside world. At one point Libanius describes a disagreement within a certain family and specifically the strong reaction of a Christian woman confronting

200. Ep. 285, where the god mentioned is Hermes, the god of rhetoric. 201. Ep. 791.1 B108. 202. See Epp. 1350 B109 and 1439. He was later cleared. 203. Rufinus 11; cf. Ep. 1380 B15. 204. Palanque 1931: 348–49 considers what Ambrose in De officiis said of the generosity of this prefect. 205. Thalassius 1. See Ep. 630 B10. It is uncertain, however, whether the marriage took place after the preparations.

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the pagan practice of her husband, enforced in the time of Julian; the account depicts a chain of recrimination, doubt, and guilt.206 An unsystematic search reveals a few other cases of variable religious affiliation within a family. Thus in Antioch Asterius, a man who worshipped the gods, had one son who shared his allegiance (Ep. 1432, he peri tous theous epimeleia) but also another, Eusebius, who was a Christian. This Christian Eusebius, a teacher of rhetoric, was accused of hampering the governor Alexander’s efforts to reestablish sacrifices to the gods but was far from an extremist, having close ties with both Libanius and Nicocles. Libanius’s description of him as a man “who honored his own way but did not dishonor those who took their oath by Zeus” could fittingly be applied to other moderate Christians of the period.207 Eusebius’s pagan brother Olympius also appears to have been rather moderate in his religious affiliation because he also incurred the ire of Alexander, perhaps because he had offered assistance to some Christian landowners.208 His successful career is another sign of his lack of extremism: in 364, after Julian’s death, he held an important post. Libanius advised his friend Aristophanes, a fervent pagan, to be in touch with Olympius, who was generous and “guileless” (adolos), a word that could well describe those who would not threaten others on the basis of their religious convictions. Another family that deserves attention is a powerful clan of Tarsus that included three brothers, Hierocles, Demetrius, and Julianus.209 Two of the brothers, Hierocles and Demetrius, were pagans and close friends of Libanius who often corresponded with him, while the third brother, Julianus appears to have been Christian. If this Julianus is to be identified, as Seeck has proposed, with an official who was in close touch with Gregory of Nazianzus, it appears that his parents were also Christian; they were called “holy parents.”210 In any case, not only did Julianus hold no official post under Julian, but he was also burdened with onerous civil ser vice,211 which testifies to the disfavor of the emperor. His relations with Libanius, who tried to appease Julian on his behalf, were not straightforward. After the

206. Ep. 1411.1 B98. 207. Ep. 1411.3 B98; Eusebius 17 and Olympius 9. 208. This is the hypothesis of Seeck 1906: 224. 209. Hierocles 3, Demetrius 2, and Julianus 14. 210. Seeck 1906: 191–92, Julianus viii. See Greg. Naz., Ep. 68.2. PLRE identifies this Julianus as 17. 211. See Epp. 1367 B75 and 1368 B76. Petit 1994: 141–43 must be right in regarding this brother as Christian.

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emperor died, the sophist wrote Julianus a tense letter (which nevertheless maintains a semblance of civility) asserting strongly that he had not abused his closeness to Julian.212 Julianus’s allegations with their malevolent undertones cut deep. The religious divisions within the family did not end with that generation; one of Julianus’s sons, Alypius, was a pagan, and another son, Caesarius, may have been a moderate pagan, judging from the fact that he had been vicarius of Asia under Julian and later continued to hold important appointments, serving in succession as comes rerum privatarum and prefect of Constantinople.213 The tone of a letter Libanius wrote to him in the winter after Julian died points unmistakably to Caesarius’s pagan allegiance because the sophist alludes to “hostile times” for both of them and asks the governor to secure a good appointment for a pagan friend; this, Libanius says, would be a good start for pagans as they tried to recover from the loss of Julian and to silence Christian critics.214 But Caesarius had to be cautious; Libanius appears to allude at the end of the letter to Caesarius’s deferential conduct toward the new administration. Libanius calls Caesarius’s unwillingness to appoint admirers of Julian “flattery”; it seems that Caesarius had chosen to bow to Christian power.215 Social relations were an important factor that encouraged people to walk the pathway to the other religious side, if only to gain some understanding and tolerance on specific occasions. The fact that, in the sources considered so far, unequivocal references to religious allegiance are rare suggests that such references were not central to social intercourse. Like ancient Christians, we label as pagans people who would not recognize this definition of themselves, and to whom an opposition between monotheism and polytheism would not make much sense; those who continued in the worship of the old gods had a generally tolerant attitude toward other religious practices, accepting a number of cults, and at first regarded Christianity as simply one of those cults. As Robin Lane Fox has said, “Many pagans could still extend to the new worship a tolerance which its exclusivity refused to extend to them.”216 Julian too was among those responsible for a black-andwhite vision of the religious world, and in fact, his intolerance might have

212. Ep. 1154 N124. 213. Caesarius 1 was pagan, although Haehling 1978: 117 ventured that he might have been Christian. His brother was Alypius 4. 214. Ep. 1449 B46. 215. Libanius’s friend, the pagan Acacius 8 (cf. Epp. 1449 B46 and 1458 B159), obtained a small post, which he found demeaning, instead of a high appointment. 216. Lane Fox 1989: 673.

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been nurtured in his Christian upbringing: “He made an odd sort of pagan . . . for zeal and intolerance were the weapons of the Christians.”217 We have seen that the line between pagans and Christians in the fourth century was so blurred that modern scholars are forced to assemble minute details in order to gain any clarity but sometimes, nevertheless, have to suspend judgment.218 It is fundamental, however, to remain sensitive to the complexity of this issue even when no clear solution is in sight, and to refrain from looking at this world in a sharply defined light. Although I consulted all of Libanius’s work in my attempt to delineate his rare acts of practical devotion, the basis of this chapter has been his correspondence. The contour of his pagan allegiance has begun to emerge from his epistolary references to religion; these references have helped establish this sophist’s place in the midst of the turmoil of the century, over the course of his life and the reign of several emperors. In Chapter 4 details from both the letters and the orations will contribute to our ability to see some aspects of the picture even more clearly.

217. O’Donnell 1979: 53. 218. Alan Cameron 2011 has shown that the situation was not much different in the West where stubborn resistance to Christianity did not occur.

c Ch a p ter 4 God and the Gods

c Christian and Pagan Friends In “Myris: Alexandria, A.D. 340,” the poet Cavafy celebrates the subtle nuances of friendship between a pagan and a Christian in late antiquity.1 The poem tells the story of a group of young friends who are all pagans except one, Myris. When Myris dies, the narrator goes to his wake at his wealthy Christian home. With rising emotion he remembers his friend’s unrestrained participation in parties and nightlong sessions of revelry, filled with laughter and recitation of Greek verses; Myris, as avid a participant as anyone else, threw himself into these diversions ardently. But all of a sudden, the pagan friend remembers something: Myris had refused to go to the temple of Serapis with the group. Moreover, there were other times he had hesitated: And yes, now I recall two other incidents. When we made libations to Poseidon, he drew himself back from our circle and looked elsewhere. And when one of us in his fervor said:

1. Cavafy 1992: 162–64.

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“May all of us be favored and protected by the great, the sublime Apollo”— Myris, unheard by the others, whispered: “not counting me.” This friendship of these young men was real and passionate, but Myris kept his different religious allegiance in a private space of his soul, unreachable by the others. The closeness between Libanius and his Christian friend Olympius may have had some similarities. Myris’s vibrant friendship with young men of a different religious affiliation might have concerned more dogmatic Christians, for whom “love for another had to be love in Christ,”2 but for this circle of friends, youth and common cultural ties were unbreakable bonds. In the fourth century close cultural and social relationships between people who did not share the same religion were not uncommon, but examples of intimate friendships are hard to find. Michele Salzman has considered Symmachus’s First Book of Letters, “a virtual handbook for how elites should and could remain friends in the face of the religiously polarizing positions taken by some of Symmachus’s contemporaries.”3 The epistolary contacts of Symmachus with certain Christian figures reveal cordial relations based on shared civic interests and elite education and culture. It is not necessarily significant, in my view, that the writer sometimes uses conventional pagan expressions in addressing Christians; these were also part of an accepted code that we have seen at work in Libanius. But these relationships do not seem to challenge the ideal of Christian friendship maintained by contemporary Christian letter writers; cultural bonds deriving from common literary interests and admiration for intellectual pursuits continued to unite male members of the elite, and these bonds were also useful in securing personal interests. These were significant, functional ties that formed the cultural glue of late antique society, but they fell short of embracing religious differences. Similar relationships, which revolve around cultural values and material interests, are depicted in the corpus of Libanius, especially in his correspondence. As we have seen, he maintained cordial relations with several Christians, tried to help some of them when they were in trouble (even when their religious allegiance was the cause), and cared about those relatives he had who

2. Konstan 1996:88. Cf. Augustine, Ep. 258.2, who denied that a true friendship could exist without Christ. Conybeare 2000: 84–88 considers the friendship of Paulinus and Sulpicius before the latter’s conversion as prefiguring their true love in Christ. 3. Salzman 2010b: 251.

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were Christians. It will be useful now to examine closely the relationship he had with two influential Christian figures, Strategius Musonianus and the Christian courtier Datianus. Strategius Musonianus was one of Libanius’s most illustrious correspondents; he enjoyed the favor of Constantine and Constantius II, and Ammianus reports that he was an able and humane administrator, competent in both Greek and Latin.4 Libanius mentions in Oration 1 the fact that Strategius became proconsul of Achaea in 353; the sophist chooses to describe this event by saying that Constantius II “bestowed the gentle Strategius on the Greeks.”5 Although the basic meaning of the sentence is plain, it is not inconceivable, I suggest, that the sophist also meant to convey that the Christian emperor had nominated a governor who, though Christian, would be gentle to the “Hellenes,” that is, the pagans; The phrase echoes another that Libanius uses in addressing the courtier I will consider next, the Christian Datianus, when he mentions the latter’s labors “on behalf of Hellenes and friends.”6 The demeanor of Strategius, at least toward Libanius, showed that, as one would expect from a cultivated man of the elite, he did not attach particular importance to religious differences. He persuaded the Athenians to recall their adopted son Libanius, conferring on the sophist an honor that he would never forget, and asked him to make the Herculean effort of composing an exceptionally long panegyric of the prefect.7 Libanius also appreciated the personal contacts he had with Strategius. He depicts their intimacy in the Autobiography as he was working on his personal image of the holy man; he lingers on the benefactions he was able to bestow on other, less fortunate fellow citizens through his meetings with Strategius in nighttime gatherings and at the baths.8 Strategius’s friendship with Libanius was, of course, contingent on continuing accord and the latter’s good behavior, but he certainly was an influential supporter of Libanius.9 We have no reason to believe that the governor and the sophist discussed their different religious affiliations; their rapport was based on, and thoroughly permeated by, common rhetorical culture.

4. Ammianus 15.13.2. Woods 2001 upholds the identification of the Musonianus mentioned by Ammianus with the Strategius in Eusebius of Caesarea, Vita Constantini 3.62. 5. Or. 1. 81. 6. Ep. 441.1 N13. 7. See Chapter 2. 8. He condemns this vicinity to governors in Or. 51 and 52. Although he makes his proximity to Strategius appear legitimate, his pressure must have been a burden on the governor, and it may have been one of the causes of their disagreements. 9. See Chapter 1 on the disagreement evidenced by some letters.

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The influence at court of the second Christian figure, Datianus, was continuous during the reign of Constantinus and Constantius II and resumed after Julian’s death.10 He was a native of Antioch, which he adorned with various buildings, and often received from Libanius requests for help on behalf of friends and students. The sophist recommended to him, among others, Evagrius, the brother of his friend Olympius, when the former fell into disgrace.11 Although he was not a man of high culture, Datianus was apparently cultivated enough to receive from Libanius letters containing some mythological and literary references and to be interested in Libanius’s school.12 The sophist had only a perfunctory rapport with Datianus; their relations were characterized by obsequiousness on the part of Libanius and once, in a letter to a friend, by sharp criticism of Datianus’s conduct.13 All this suggests a relationship of pure convenience and appears to confirm the words Libanius uses in the Autobiography, that the men “were very different in outlook.”14 But two significant facts need to be brought to light to illuminate the contours of this complex picture of pagan-Christian interaction. Libanius requested from Datianus letters of recommendation for students of all religious allegiances, even those who were fervent pagans.15 More important, when the courtier’s property was ransacked after Jovian’s death and some members of the city council were accused of failing to intervene, Datianus did not appeal to the numerous Christian councilors, nor did he rely on other Christians in Antioch; he chose Libanius as his intermediary and sent his letter of pardon for the city to the sophist, thus increasing considerably Libanius’s prestige and influence.16 The relationships Libanius had with these eminent Christians help show the texture of a society in which, at least on the surface, Christians and pagans were not necessarily exclusively opposed to each other. I have given attention to them here in order to contrast these social connections that were formal, and to some degree selfserving, with the deep friendship of Libanius and Olympius.

10. See Petit 1994: 75–78 for a complete overview. 11. See Chapter 1. 12. See Chapter 3 and Epp. 114 C33, 409 N7, 441 N13, 490, 1259 B51, and 1446 N118. In Or. 42.24 Libanius includes him among people with low origins who might nevertheless be better than those high born. 13. Ep. 81 N47. 14. Or. 1.94. 15. See Ep. 1297, recommending Julianus 15 as a man “worthy to be in the retinue” of Datianus, which is made for those who partake of paideia. 16. See Epp. 1174 B50 and 1259 B51. From 1259.3 it appears that not all the councilors were guilty.

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c “An Adamantine Friendship” It is with the words “an adamantine friendship” that Libanius defines the strong bond that tied him to his friend Olympius.17 Libanius had a functional and useful rapport with certain Christian officials, but his intimate connection with this Christian friend was of an altogether different tenor and depth. Their close interaction must serve as a strong reminder of how tenacious bonds between people of opposite allegiance could sometimes be, and should make us appreciate how surprisingly irrelevant religion could be to social intercourse in the fourth century. I have repeatedly asserted that the testimony of orations and letters must be regarded separately because they were intended to address different audiences, projected Libanius’s varying personae, and followed the dictates of different genres; this assertion does not apply, however, to the writings that regard Olympius. Libanius’s presentation of their rapport is remarkably consistent in every context, and that consistency is some guarantee of the authenticity of their involvement. As we go through the evidence of their friendship, we must keep in mind that it testifies not only to Libanius’s attitude and openness toward a man of a different religious affiliation but also to the apparent nonchalance with which the Christian Olympius navigated pagan waters. In Chapter 1 I focused on Olympius’s brother Evagrius, who translated into Latin the Greek Life of Antony; I followed the tortuous vicissitudes of his life until, after undergoing painful attacks as a governor, he became a Christian priest. When we meet the family in Libanius’s writings, the father, the wealthy decurion Pompeianus, had died, and only his wife and three sons were alive; besides Evagrius, Olympius had an older brother, Miccalus, who was married and had at least one son. The correspondence frequently includes letters to or regarding the three brothers; moreover, the important Oration 63, basically unstudied until now, discloses many details of the inner tensions of this household, drawing an unexpected picture. Libanius wrote this speech in 388 or 389 after Olympius had died and it was disclosed that in his will he had left most of his patrimony to the sophist. Libanius’s aims in this oration were twofold: to defend himself from accusations that he had profited from his friend and also to protect the memory of Olympius, who could no longer speak for himself. In the letters concerning this family, we are repeatedly told in Isocratean terms that Libanius and

17. Or. 63.39: Olympius, “a man who is bound to me by an adamantine friendship.”

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Olympius had “inherited the friendship” from their fathers; a passage from the Ad Demonicum of Isocrates says, “It is fitting that a son should inherit his father’s friendships even as he inherits his estate.”18 Libanius surely liked these words because he quotes them three times; it is ironic, given this preference, that Libanius inherited from his father a friendship with Olympius but also eventually Olympius’s estates. Libanius presents Olympius as a sedulous and just young governor of Macedonia in 356 and then goes on to console him for the difficulties he had encountered after holding this office, sending his friend letters that might serve as medicine for his pain (pharmaka).19 Olympius, a member of a curial family but one that was not then in good financial standing, nonetheless was able to become a member of the senate of Rome when he was exempted from the senatorial surtax ( follis) and from the obligation to reside in that city; we will see that his attachment to his mother and to Antioch would have prevented him from leaving home. He later tried to become part of the senate of Constantinople after complicated changes in fortune, as several letters testify.20 Libanius had appealed at that time to Themistius, among others, on Olympius’s behalf, saying that his friend “of all people was good at remembering a favor.”21 From these letters we learn that Olympius was once again in financial straits, although “he had everything fine and great except cash”; that, like his father, he had never tried to enrich himself, and that he was very attached to his widowed mother, a fact that Oration 63 confirms.22 Olympius was cultivated, with a wide exposure to rhetoric, not only to the orations of his friend. He had shared the joy Libanius felt at his own early victories in rhetoric and tried, albeit in vain, to help the sophist solve the problems he had with the restoration of his imperial salary in the 360s.23 The elite education that Libanius and Olympius had in common and their mutual support of each other in varying circumstances were important elements of their friendly rapport, but in this case one can glimpse an altogether

18. See Epp. 37.5 N49, 70.3 N43, and 97.2 N53, the last with Norman’s note. Isocrates, Ad Demonicum 2. 19. Ep. 581, dated to 357. 20. Petit 1957 considers the situation of the senators in general and evaluates the specific issues of Olympius at 366–70 and 376–79. See a summary in Bradbury 2004b: 102–3. 21. Epp. 99 B83 and 252 B84, both to Themistius; 251 B66 to Honoratus 2; see also 265 B67 and 253 B78. 22. Epp. 70 N43 and 251 B66. 23. Epp. 561 B173 and 258 B145.

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unusual affinity. The letters substantiate with unexpected details the picture of a strong bond; it is not surprising that many scholars have assumed on the basis of the strength of that bond that Olympius was, like Libanius, a pagan.24 We see the two friends going together in the evening to bring a letter and gifts to Modestus, who was leaving for Cilicia that night.25 Another letter offers an attractive vignette of life in Antioch when the two friends tried in vain to see the Christian Datianus off when he was leaving to join Jovian’s court. In the evening at the baths, the friends devised a suitable plan: they would go to their respective houses, and when Datianus and his carriage were passing by, slaves of Libanius would alert the sophist and then run to Olympius to do the same. The plan went awry, and in the middle of the night Olympius came to find Libanius, already in bed, and related to him the misadventures he had undergone, a debacle crowned by his horse running away to enjoy the moonlight.26 Much laughter ensued. In reading the letters, which of course do not record events day by day, one has nonetheless the impression of an almost daily companionship; the expression “Olympius and I” (ego te kai Olympios) is at the center of several episodes. In one instance they went to visit a friend and spent the whole day talking about rhetoric and discussing common acquaintances.27 At another time when the two friends were strolling together in Daphne in the gardens near the temple of Artemis, they were chatting of various things when a man on horseback suddenly came on them and handed them letters;28 the carrier knew where to find them, counted on them being together, and therefore brought letters for both. When he left, the two friends continued their leisurely stroll, commenting pleasantly on the messenger. At yet another time Libanius was prevented from participating in the wedding of one of his students, a young man named Calycius who belonged to a prominent pagan family and was marrying into one even more eminent.29 Olympius, however, went to Cilicia and on coming back not only brought Libanius a gold solidus from the family but, more important, related all the

24. So far, all scholars have considered Olympius a pagan, including Bradbury 2004b: 260. 25. Ep. 34 N48; they had to discuss the dispatch of some oil, to which the official objected, considering it too bulky. 26. Ep. 1446 N118. 27. See, e.g., Epp. 1252 and 1221 N121. 28. Ep. 1221 N121. 29. For the dossier of the letters regarding the students Titianus, Calycius, and Philoxenus, see Cribiore 2007: 313–20. The beautiful letter on the wedding is 371 R188.

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minute details of the banquet and ceremony, such as the trembling of the father in giving away his daughter; Libanius, thanks to the dutifully presented impressions of his friend, felt that he had been there. Libanius even asked a poet “dear to the Muses” to write epigrams for the large, beautiful house Olympius had built in Daphne;30 he wrote that his friend did not have any children but consoled himself with that marvelous mansion. Only one letter (which I considered in Chapter 3 in connection with Libanius’s relationship with the pagan governor Caesarius) hints at a disagreement between the friends that might reflect on the difference of their religious affiliation:31 whereas, as we have seen, Libanius attributed the governor’s hesitation to appoint other pagans in the aftermath of Julian’s death to a desire to flatter the new administration, the sophist relates to Caesarius that Olympius, on the other hand, considered the governor’s excuse—the need for caution—“good enough.” Being a Christian, Olympius might have been better able to gauge the tempers of those in power and have suggested prudence. The ease with which Olympius appears to have moved between moderate pagan and Christian circles testifies to the fact that these groups were far from mutually exclusive in the fourth century. As we saw in Chapter 3, he was apparently in close touch with the moderate pagan Celsus and shared in his rhetorical feats. Libanius’s letter to Themistius encouraging Olympius’s adlection to the senate is a powerful encomium of the latter’s merits, including his honesty, unselfishness, justice, and lack of interest in monetary gain; in sum, says Libanius to the philosopher, do him this favor “and so do yourself a favor.”32 This and other letters concerning the same affair display a warm, tenacious advocacy on behalf of his friend that is not apparent in letters of recommendation for others. It should be noted that at that time Olympius’s success was so important to the whole family that his brother Miccalus personally carried one of those letters to help ensure a speedy delivery and resolution.33 Olympius knew well the pagan members of the powerful and cultivated clan of Tarsus discussed earlier that included some of Libanius’s best friends; furthermore, he was also in touch with the

30. Ep. 660. 31. Ep. 1449 B46. 32. Ep. 70 N43. At this time the family does not appear to have been very wealthy. We are told that Olympius lived with his mother, who could not bear even the mention of him going to Constantinople. 33. Ep. 99 B83. As we will see, the rapport between the brothers later deteriorated. In 252 B84 Libanius reiterates that Olympius will be a real friend for Themistius.

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moderate pagan Clearchus.34 But there is one letter in particular that goes a long way in revealing how tolerant and open minded Olympius was.35 Libanius had made the acquaintance in 362 of Anatolius, a fervent pagan who was preparing to climb Mount Casius with Julian to sacrifice to Zeus;36 as mentioned earlier, the sophist was prevented from making the climb (presumably by his health) but sent Olympius, carrying a letter of introduction to Anatolius, in his stead. The text of this letter reveals that before meeting him on the mountain, Anatolius had become interested in Olympius because of Libanius’s enthusiastic descriptions of him, and that Olympius also looked forward to meeting the official because he had heard that “whoever has spent a little time with you departs the wiser.” The circle of Libanius’s friends also included numerous Christians with whom Olympius was in touch, such as the governor Honoratus and the powerful Antiocheans Florentius and Datianus.37 I turn now to uncovering more details about Olympius’s family, drawing on Oration 63 in addition to the letters. In letters written in the 360s, Olympius’s elder brother Miccalus appears, unmarried at this point, wishing to acquire wealth and secure office;38 he was able later to succeed in the latter aim with the help of his brother. We are told that Olympius “loved his brother more than a son” and “prayed that not he but his brother be called by the name of father.” According to the oration, written much later, Olympius continued to love his elder brother like a son, a sentiment that betrays a somewhat paternalistic attitude that Miccalus may have resented in the long run. It is evident that in all the letters Libanius wrote on Miccalus’s behalf, he was actually highlighting the merits of Olympius, “formidable in speech, formidable in action, who knows both how to return a favor and how to exact justice.”39 When Libanius wrote Oration 63, Miccalus was already dead, but the speech reveals much about his resentment toward his brother; Miccalus had gotten married, had had children, and had formed his own family, while Olympius continued to live with their mother, who

34. We have seen that he went to the wedding of Calycius, the son of Hierocles 3, and knew his brother Demetrius 2; cf. Ep. 258 B145. On Clearchus, see Ep. 668 B79; Libanius mentions Olympius in a casual way that shows that Clearchus was familiar with him. On all these figures, see Chapter 3. 35. Ep. 739 B43. I have considered this letter already in Chapter 3. 36. Anatolius 5, Ep. 739 B43. Cf. Ammianus 22.14.4. 37. Florentius 3 and Honoratus 2. 38. Epp. 97 N53 and 149 N61. 39. Ep. 98 B9.

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then handed over to him a larger part of the family patrimony. We are in the dark about her motivations; Libanius may be right in justifying her action on account of the superior trustworthiness and financial ability of his friend, but such choices are always fraught with discord.40 Miccalus refused to recognize the alleged help Olympius had provided to buttress his career and to free him from liturgical burdens and became openly hostile. “He cast gratitude from his soul and never recognized who had helped him become such a different person but was contentious, fought, caused harm, and did only things that brought pain.” I will delve into some of his specific accusations later, but it will be sufficient for now to note that Miccalus apparently continued to oppose his brother, slandering him on every occasion and obsessively singing “the same song” against him before many witnesses, even at the baths.41 Libanius, who mentions Miccalus “hitting, beating, and provoking the anger” of his brother, hints at some actual violence on both sides but continues to blame Miccalus for it because it was he “who craved evil and was in the evil predicament he wished for himself.”42 Section 35 of the speech, in which Libanius defends Olympius against the charge of being aggressive toward his brother—who, Libanius says, had inflamed his friend with anger—suggests that Olympius was not completely blameless; but after Miccalus died (in an unknown way), we are told that Olympius refrained from any anger toward the latter’s son.

c Evagrius and the Schism of Antioch We know little about the religious allegiance of Miccalus, but his younger brother Evagrius has always been considered a pagan, most likely because Olympius, Libanius’s friend, had always been (mistakenly) regarded as such.43 Evagrius, who might always have been Christian and certainly became a Christian priest after his troubles as a governor, continued to be directly involved with the church, playing a considerable role in the controversy that is usually called “the schism of Antioch,” that is, the split between Arians (according to the “homoian” formula) and the Nicaeans.44 When the see of

40. See Or. 63.30–31. 41. See Or. 63.33. 42. Or. 63.34. 43. Liebeschuetz 2011: 120 maintains that he was a pagan. 44. On the controversy, Socrates’ and Sozomen’s texts are not very helpful. Theodoret, HE 23.23, is almost reliable except in chronology. The standard modern work on the schism is still Cavallera 1905. Cf. a summary of the events in Errington 2006, especially 184–86 and 225, who, however,

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Antioch became vacant in 359, Meletius, a charismatic theologian, was elected but was quickly deposed by the emperor Constantius II, probably because of doctrinal disagreement. In 362 Julian recalled those bishops who had been exiled by Constantius II, so Meletius returned to Antioch and Athanasius to Alexandria. In addition to Meletius and Euzoius, the bishop who had been elected under Constantius II in his place and who accepted the trinitarian “homoian” formula, the community of fundamentalist Nicenes was also led by Paulinus, consecrated in 362. Important figures such as Basil and Gregory of Nazianzus recognized as bishop the theologian Meletius, whose views approximated those of the Nicene Creed and who was twice exiled by the Arian emperor Valens;45 Alexandria, however, led by the orthodox Nicene Athanasius, supported Paulinus (as did the bishops of Rome), who adhered more strictly to the “homoousian” formula. The latter was then recognized as bishop but was left undisturbed (unlike Meletius) by Valens, Paulinus being an ascetic who did not play church politics. His community was small, and he apparently had only one church;46 the majority of the orthodox congregation continued to support Meletius. Evagrius, Olympius’s brother, had been from the beginning a supporter of Paulinus. Jerome, who wrote repeatedly to Damasus, the bishop of Rome, to seek his advice in the matter, ended up also embracing the party of Paulinus, probably following Evagrius.47 It would be Jerome, in fact, who would accompany the very old Paulinus to Rome and recommend him to Pope Damasus years later during the controversy with Flavianus. When Meletius died in 381, his supporters chose Flavianus as bishop, with the result that the schism continued, but thereafter the congregation of Paulinus became stronger; in 385 Jerome visited Paulinus and Evagrius in Antioch.48 The aged Paulinus died in 388, but this did not settle the controversy because the

does not mention Evagrius. The fourth-century church writer Palladius, Dial. 6, PG 47.22, alluded to the schism by saying that Evagrius fought so much for the affairs of the church. 45. Note, however, that in 381 at the Council of Constantinople, Gregory accepted Paulinus after Meletius’s death, but his opinion was rejected and Flavianus was elected; cf. Tuilier, Bady, and Bernardi 2004: xxxvi–xxxvii. 46. Cavallera 1905: 240 says that on reading the sources, it seems that Paulinus was the master of Antioch, but the reality was far from that. 47. See Rousseau 1978: 104–6. Jerome was apparently ordained as priest by Paulinus; see Rebenich 1992:98. On Jerome, cf. Rebenich 2002. 48. Williams 2006: 63.

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dying bishop nominated Evagrius to succeed him.49 The consecration caused pandemonium because it violated the Canons of Nicaea, which, according to Theodoret, “do not allow a Bishop to appoint his successor, but require all the Bishops of the province to be summoned to elect [him], and forbid consecration without at least three consecrating Bishops.”50 Egypt had not recognized Flavianus and refused to acknowledge Evagrius as well; finally, in the West it was decided that the two contestants would each have to make their case before a council of bishops. Evagrius did not lose heart, revealing in fact remarkable stamina in fighting back against the attacks of his opponents. Reliant as Evagrius was on the community of Paulinus and on his contacts with the West, he hoped to remain bishop for the rest of his life and was willing to participate in the meeting, but Flavianus and his supporters refused to go. The whole affair was painful but also nonsensical, and John Chrysostom, always in touch with the pulse of society, commented bitterly, “How will we be able to stand the laughter of the pagans?”51 In the Life of Malchus the Captive Monk, which should be dated to 390 or 391, Jerome refers to his friend Evagrius as bishop (papa) and says that at that time he possessed the village of Maronia in the desert of Chalcis;52 and in 392 Evagrius was still alive, according to a letter Ambrose wrote concerning the schism of Antioch to Theophilus, bishop of Alexandria.53 In 391 Theodosius convened a council at Capua to try to solve the impasse, but again Flavianus did not appear; Evagrius, who did attend, did not make a good impression, as Ambrose wrote: “Non habet quod urgeat Evagrius.” Besides the problem of his irregular election, then, it seems that Evagrius was not particularly charismatic and did not command reverence. Not long after, in 398, Evagrius died; Flavianus, who was still not recognized, was victorious to the extent that no one took the place of his dead opponent, and in 415 he was able to reunite the church. Libanius’s Oration 63, a speech written for the trial concerning the inheritance of Olympius’s family patrimony, in which, I suggest, Evagrius was the sophist’s opponent, was written in 388 or 389, when Evagrius was probably already the bishop of Antioch after the death of Paulinus.

49. Cavallera 1905: 267–68 maintains that no bishop could go to Antioch then, and so the dying Paulinus made his decision by himself. 50. Theodoret HE v.23 chapt. XXIII. 51. Chrysostom, In Ep. ad Ephes. hom. 11, PG 62:86.30. 52. This village was about 50 kilometers from Antioch. See Kelly 1975: 170–72. 53. Ambrose, Ep. 70.1 Zelzer (= 56 PL). See Frend 1998: 167–68.

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c Olympius’s Religious Allegiance I noted earlier that scholars have always assumed that Olympius shared the same religious allegiance as Libanius on account of their extraordinary closeness, including the matter of the inheritance; in fact, no one has ever entertained even a suspicion otherwise. Yet, as Oration 63 reveals, Olympius was a Christian like his brother Evagrius, although their involvement in Christian practice was different; Evagrius devoted the second half of his life to the church,54 but Olympius also displayed a definite commitment to his religion. Libanius insists, in writing this oration, that now that his friend was dead, it was his firm duty (although he would have done it anyway) to defend Olympius from accusations of every sort that arose on the opening of his will; it appears that people in Antioch had not resented Olympius’s way of life until they thought that their own interests might be damaged. Even during Olympius’s illness, people would visit him every day and spent their nights with him, and when the doctors prevented them from visiting, they sat outside his doors (section 4); when the will was opened, however, the situation changed dramatically, and the same people voiced venomous accusations against the departed man. Who were Olympius’s accusers? Beside the main “opponent,” who, I suggest, was Evagrius, it appears that so many others—soldiers, councilors, and advocates—thought that they had some claim on Olympius’s property that an exasperated Libanius blurted out, “I am surprised that he did not also attract the slanders of donkey drivers and muleteers, and of those who fetch the produce of the fields with the camels” (7). Libanius devotes the next few sections of the speech to discrediting these claims, saying that his friend had done many favors to the councilors, so there was no reason for them to entertain claims on his property, and that the same was true for the lawyers who had drawn the will; Olympius had already compensated them most generously (6–11).55 This speech lacks a clear organizational scheme and may have needed further attention from the author; in various parts of it Libanius continues to target those individuals who alleged that his friend had promised them land and other goods. He might have been right in discounting their sense of entitlement, but it does appear that Olympius

54. There is no more mention of his wife and children, who were probably with him anyway. 55. On the insatiable greed of lawyers, see Ammianus 30.4. His bitter observations ring of unpleasant personal experience.

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had made empty promises to many people, who were consequently disappointed in their hopes.56 In other cases, Libanius adds, when he did in fact owe people something, he had compensated them, and yet they were not satisfied and complained “even in their dreams” (12). “But if he were so base, so roguish, and an enemy of the gods, why don’t you refuse his gifts? If instead you accept them, considering him excellent, why do you falsely accuse such a man? Why do you denigrate a man from whom you have received something though he has not received anything from you?” (12–13). Here Libanius refers to the claims of certain pagans who criticized Olympius both for his character and for the fact that he was a Christian. The sophist reports that his friend had left many legacies (which were probably minor because he himself was the principal heir). As long as Olympius was alive, we are told, everyone wanted to be his friend, but the situation changed radically when the will was opened: These things and still more took place during his lifetime. and when the disease choked him and right away ended his life, as long as the will was under lock and key, everybody considered himself heir in his expectations. But when the knife cut the straps, removed the seals, and brought everything into the light, and when those who live by profit after expecting one thing saw another, the sherd fell the other way up, as they say,57 [and they shouted]: “Dishonest man, liar, perjurer, bandit, thief, enemy of justice; he neither feared men nor respected the gods!” (Or. 63.17.) The phrase that begins the next section, “The same man, therefore, was bad or good, was an enemy [or a friend] of the gods,”58 refers to the opinions of all the different accusers of Olympius, who were variously pagan and Christian and thus viewed his behavior from different perspectives; it would seem that a man who stood in the gray area of religious affiliation easily attracted criticism from all sides. The same expression, theois echthros (enemy of the gods), occurs in sections 13 and 18,59 and it will be worthwhile to spend some time on it because this phrase, as it was used in the fourth century, is evidence that Olympius was a Christian. Moreover, it also

56. See below about the testimony of Or. 1.275: “In his letters he had been lavish with gold and silver.” 57. This expression appears in Libanius again in Or. 27.21.7 and Ep. 509.4.3. It refers to a sudden change; cf. Plato, Phdr. 241b.4, and later, e.g., Lucian, Apol. 1.11. 58. Foerster supplied “[friend]” in the lacuna. 59. It is difficult to distinguish precisely between two meanings: “enemy of the gods” or “hated by the gods.”

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permits us to appraise once more the distinction between genres, this time from a linguistic point of view, specifically that, at least in the postclassical period, words employed in one genre might appear in another, but with different meanings depending on the audience targeted. Libanius uses this phrase in all his works, including the Progymnasmata and the Declamations, but with differing senses. The expression is very common in Greek literature, appearing in works beginning with Hesiod and including tragedy, comedy, and oratory; Demosthenes uses it more than twenty times in both his private and public orations.60 In all these cases the term is either applied to people of traditional religion who did not comply with the gods’ commands or is used as a simple term of abuse; that is, it refers to an individual targeted because of his dishonest behavior or divergent political views. A slight shift begins to appear with the Second Sophistic; in Lucian, for example, the phrase is no longer a generic term of abuse but is applied to philosophers who diverge from traditional religion.61 In the fourth century and after, theois echthros refers most often to Christians as those who were opposed to the pagan gods. In Gregory of Nyssa the phrase is used to gloss Christianos, “Christian and an enemy of the gods”;62 the emperor Julian also applies it specifically to Christians.63 Libanius’s employment of the expression is rather interesting. In his orations and letters he uses the phrase “enemy of the gods” with reference to Christians, as in a letter he composed immediately after Julian’s death. Reacting with dismay to the joyful demonstrations of Christians in Antioch at the passing of the emperor, he writes to the pagan Scylacius, “This is the crowd among whom my life is spent, enemies of the gods and of him whom you rightly describe as enrolled in the company of the gods.”64 In Oration 56.17 he likewise calls the violent governor Lucianus, a Christian, an “enemy of the gods.”65 But in his educational works Libanius reverts to employing “enemy of the gods” as a traditional term of abuse, a

60. Veïsse 2009 examines the traditional sense from the archaic to the Hellenistic age. I disagree with her interpretation of the expression appearing in a papyrus from late antiquity, P. Ammon I 3, which she examines in an appendix to her article, pp. 176–77, where she applies the traditional abusive sense. She wrongly disputes with the editors, who relate the expression to Christians. 61. E.g., Lucian, Pisc. 37.9 and 38.18. 62. Greg. Nyss., De vita Gregorii Thaumaturgi, PG 46:916.34. 63. E.g., Julian, Epp. 60 and 88 Bidez-Cumont. 64. Ep. 1220.3 N120; see also, e.g., Or. 62.10. 65. Cf. also the expression applied to the Christian Cynegius in Or. 30.46.

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gloss on poneros (evil).66 In these works, intended to serve as models for students, the connection with contemporary reality is much more tenuous than in the rest of his writings, and Libanius had to use traditional terms that appeared in the classical authors in the same way as those authors might have used them. But when he referred to events and situations of his own period, he could apply current, realistic meanings. In general, Libanius writes in Attic Greek and makes use of the language of the orators, especially Demosthenes. Bernard Schouler has brought attention to the few words that the sophist takes from other milieus, including Koine Greek,67 but a study that examines the shifting, different meanings of particular words in Libanius is still a desideratum. I should add one more indirect proof offered by the letters that Olympius was Christian: groups of letters sent to pagan correspondents always include at least one reference to the gods; Libanius, however, maintains a neutral attitude in the dossiers of letters to Christians, without alluding to his religion or theirs, and it is the latter practice that the sophist follows in the letters to Olympius.

c Spiritual Marriage But, the reader might ask, what did Olympius do to attract the malevolence that came out into the open after his death? Remarks that emerge here and there in this speech reveal an unusual and complex situation. Olympius had left some money to two men whom he held very dear, and who were living in his home. One managed his household, and the other “did not shrink even a little from doing what he was ordered and from immediately obeying his commands, almost united into one with him, and didn’t resent being summoned at night but drove away his pain, sat by him, and eased him, instead of lying down to sleep” (Or. 63.28). Some people objected that these men were not of high birth, but Libanius, who describes the situation as one of uncommon altruism and charity, dismisses the criticism with a shrug by saying, “Character is stronger than any blood in inspiring love” (29). It is noteworthy that here he renders “love” with the term agape, a word that appears only once elsewhere in his work, in a letter whose authenticity is disputed;68 in Christian texts this term refers either to the mutual love of

66. Cf. e.g., Prog. 7.3.8 and 7.3.9.5; Decl. 47.1.18.4 and 48.1.26.12. 67. Schouler 1984: 223–65. 68. Pseudepigraph 2.2.4. Libanius uses the verb agapao fairly often, but not the noun.

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God and men or to men’s brotherly love.69 The employment of this word at this point raises the possibility that these men were part of the same community to which belonged certain women who, as we will see, are subsequently mentioned in the speech. Libanius reports that Miccalus included in his grievances what he considered his brother’s disgraceful way of life: “He maligned the women inexperienced in Aphrodite whom Olympius employed instead of many male servants, alleging that they indulged in shameful pleasures, potions, and all powerful incantations. He also cursed the girls whom Olympius brought up in his household as a consolation for his childlessness, and threatened each of the two with prison, torture, and distress, saying that these things would happen the same day Olympius died” (31). It seems, therefore, that Olympius lived with some of those women whom the sources call variously subintroductae or syneisaktoi (females brought in surreptitiously) or agapetai (women held in chaste affection).70 John Chrysostom wrote two harsh treatises against this practice.71 These women “did not know Aphrodite”;72 that is, they lived in spiritual marriage with one or more men, a practice that was meant to be a manifestation of asceticism but was widely condemned, especially as a rejection of social norms.73 In spite of violent accusations from Jerome, the Cappadocian fathers, and at least six church councils,74 this domestic arrangement was generally considered holy; widespread from the late second century on, the custom

69. Both Basil and John Chrysostom, among others, employed this word numerous times with both meanings (Basil, Epp. 176 and 226; Chrysostom, Ad populum Antiochenum, PG 49:38.26; see also Ep. Cor. 1.3.1). 70. A translation of these terms is in Leyerle 2001: 77 and 81. 71. John Chrysostom’s two treatises on the subintroductae are Adversus eos qui apud se habent subintroductas virgines and Quod regulares feminae viris cohabitare non debeant. See Dumortier 1955. Like Libanius, John also alludes to pharmaka. This accusation was, however, a commonplace with regard to “seductive” women. 72. In Or. 5.8–10 Libanius mentions the virginity of Artemis and Athena and uses the term parthenos. The peculiar expression he uses in this speech (“inexperienced in Aphrodite”) is found only here, although a similar phrase with the adjective apeiratos referring to females occurs in fragments of the Ninus Romance and later in Nonnus. By saying that the women who lived with Olympius were unaccustomed to Aphrodite (did not know Aphrodite), Libanius points to the fact that they were not prostitutes and were spiritual companions. 73. This spiritual accommodation did not regard only couples; Leyerle 2001: 76 says that in the practice of spiritual marriage “a man and a woman or a man and several women, all under vows of sexual continence, shared a house.” 74. See Jerome, Ep. 22.14; Greg. Nyss., De virginitate 23; Basil, Ep. 55; and Greg. Naz., Epigrammata 10–20; cf. E. A. Clark 1977: 172–73 with more references.

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lasted until the Middle Ages.75 Among other reasons for its popularity,76 practical considerations must have been paramount, especially when families could not support young women who preferred not to get married but rather to live an ascetic life. In this way such women could enjoy the material and social protection that spiritual companions could offer them as an act of charity. The advantage was mutual; the women performed various tasks in the house, as Libanius suggests by saying that his friend used them “instead of many servants.”77 The practice, which brought trouble and censure to the church, constitutes a fascinating chapter of church history. This previously unnoticed mention by Libanius of the phenomenon of the subintroductae is intriguing in many respects. It confirms and reinforces the identity of Olympius as a Christian who lived a public and a private life that were not always parallel. The adoption of two girls to alleviate his childlessness must have been part of his charitable ser vice; it is likely, in fact, even though there are no other sources for this practice, that the children’s mother (or mothers) was among the women who lived in the household, perhaps a single mother or a widow who needed assistance. Thus it seems that when a woman in dire straits wished to live ascetically in chaste cohabitation with a man, she could in some cases bring her children with her. I wonder whether the “swelling wombs and the wail of babies” that, according to a malignant observation of Jerome, were the consequence of marriages that purported to be spiritual were in fact sometimes due to situations that preexisted the spiritual cohabitation;78 pregnant women who had been deserted or whose husband had died could thus live in a suitable domestic setting and mend their wounds. Olympius’s brother Miccalus was furious at the arrangement because it might diminish the family property at the expense of his own children; he also may have been among those who

75. See E. A. Clark 1977;Elm 1994, especially 47–51; and Leyerle 2001. The Catholic Church still maintains this practice for men of the clergy on the grounds that because they are unmarried, they need help with practical issues. From the novel of Alessandro Manzoni, I promessi sposi, in Italy an older woman who lives with a priest is called “Perpetua.” 76. Leyerle 2001: 79–86 and 89. 77. Note that in Or. 1.278 he referred to the woman of servile origin with whom he lived (the mother of his son) with a similar but not identical expression: “She was worth to me many a servant,” which implies that she performed more tasks in a more efficient way and was irreplaceable. In Or. 63.31 there is no suggestion that any sex was involved, but these women are also presented as capable of doing a very proficient job. 78. Jerome Ep. 22.13–15. The wailing of babies is evident from Libanius’s Oration 63.

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opposed spiritual marriage per se. Because the practice attracted the censure of both Christians and pagans, his anger cannot serve as evidence of his religious affiliation. Another question that emerges from this passage of Oration 63 concerns the status of Olympius as a Christian. Although ancient critics like Socrates maintained that men in spiritual marriages were priests, modern consensus also includes monks among their number. Blake Leyerle pointed to the “message of liminality” of those in spiritual marriage, an ambiguity that might have contributed to Chrysostom’s irritation: “They are neither single nor married, neither clerical nor lay, neither communal ascetics nor solitary hermits, neither ministers nor recipients of charity.”79 Chrysostom calls the men who lived in spiritual cohabitation with women “fine gentlemen” (gennaious andras) who enjoyed “an excellent reputation among the multitude,” apparently acknowledging that even men of high status engaged in the practice. Olympius was not, like his brother, a member of the clergy, nor does he seem to have been a monk, although he may have had fairly close relations with the church. Moreover, he was actively involved in the imperial administration; we are told that when he died, “he was in office,” although it is unclear what his post was.80 This passage of Libanius thus opens up the possibility that some men who lived with women in spiritual marriages might have been mere laypeople within the church. They were prominent men, well adjusted to the secular and cultural society of the times, who could take care of the financial affairs of the women they lived with, armed with enough business skills to protect those of the women who were wealthy from the rapaciousness of relatives and other people. It is also notable that this passage of the oration reveals Libanius’s complete acceptance of the somewhat unusual (at least from a pagan perspective) domestic situation of his friend. On the one hand, it is possible that the true affection the sophist had for Olympius dictated this unconditional tolerance of his friend’s choices, a tolerance that apparently not even his brother could show; on the other hand, it is also possible that Libanius had observed among other Christians similar domestic arrangements, which were indeed quite popular, and that he had witnessed their chaste spiritual comfort and their practical convenience.

79. Leyerle 2001: 97–98; the whole section at 86–99 with reference to Chrysostom, Adversos eos 3.2 and Quod regulares feminae 7.48–51. Among the women, too, there were prominent ladies who owned property. 80. Libanius, Or. 1.275.

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c “I Went as a Victim to the Altar” In the second part of his Autobiography Libanius describes the troubles he suffered after Olympius declared him his main heir.81 The reasons the sophist gives are common envy and the promises his friend had made to many, “whether friends or not”; the latter were especially problematic when, as in many cases, Olympius had pledged the legacies in writing in letters that he had sent. Being a Christian in the gray area of allegiance, Olympius may have needed to curry favor in both camps. When Libanius saw how complicated the situation was, he apparently considered giving up the inheritance, but people convinced him that to do so would be to dishonor Olympius.82 “And so I went as a victim to the altar and had many a close shave every day,” Libanius says (277). As discussed early in this book, Libanius was not an expert in forensic oratory; his report that “I begged the judges to revere Themis and said things of the same tenor that were foreign to me” makes us at least suspect that, lacking the experience and voice for the courts, he may have acted like those amateurish, incompetent orators I mentioned in Chapter 2, pleading their own cases many centuries earlier. Unable to rely on his precious rhetoric, he felt foolish and was in fact ineffective; in the end he had to hire professional lawyers. As a result, he says in the narrative of his life, he had to sell a great part of Olympius’s property and risked losing the title of heir. His distress and difficulties also appear in the letters, where he writes: “I was almost insane from sorrow,” and “The inheritance brought me poverty . . . though the loss of money has never caused me any distress.”83 In Oration 63 Libanius mentions a few times the governor Eustathius.84 The sophist did not rely on this governor for assistance in the trial because he suspected that he would side with his adversaries (21–24); it even appears, although the evidence is ambiguous, that Eustathius may have been among those whom Olympius had fooled into believing that he would inherit something. Libanius, of course, defended his friend and launched into a diatribe against the dishonesty of governors who in his opinion willingly accepted bribes.85 In

81. Or. 1.275–78. 82. In Or. 1.276 he is sarcastic about those people who “used fine phrases,” semnologeo. 83. Epp. 958 and 1051 N184. See also 953 and 1030. 84. Eustathius 6 in PLRE 1. 85. Libanius often denigrates governors in his work, but here the allusion to bribes might signify that he was accusing Eustathius of eventually accepting bribes from the other parties in this affair.

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another oration he added that Eustathius had never helped him because he had seen the number and eminence of the lawyers for the prosecution: “They did not have justice on their side but were many. Such a high number inspires fear when an administration is not honest, while it does not when the office is strong.”86 No doubt the trial resonated far and wide and attracted much attention. Libanius was aware of the possible harsh consequences of writing an oration to defend his friend and himself: “I know,” he said, “that I will stir up a war against myself ” (3). As I mentioned earlier, I believe that the main opponent of Libanius was Evagrius, although the sophist never mentions him by name. This failure to name his opponent may have been a measure of precaution, dictated by the sophist’s desire to minimize public attention to a trial that was a legal nightmare; Evagrius was bishop of Antioch at the time, and the presence of such an eminent adversary would be a further factor in the magnitude of the trial. It is not unheard of, in any case, for Libanius to use pseudonyms or to allude to someone in very vague terms.87 In Oration 63 Libanius alludes twice to an individual who was his chief antagonist. This figure must have been the expected heir of the family patrimony, Evagrius, because Miccalus was dead by this time. At the beginning of the speech, I interpret the words “I had to openly resent the man who has benefited from Olympius’s courage more than others” as referring to Evagrius, specifically to when he had incurred difficulties during his tenure and Olympius had tried to defend his brother by every possible means. By failing to respect his brother’s will, Evagrius was, from Libanius’s perspective, behaving unjustly, disregarding the wishes of the brother who had provided him so much help. The second allusion to this specific individual, Libanius’s principal opponent, occurs later in the speech when the sophist attempts to justify his unwillingness to rely on the governor’s help: “I also was really scared lest he [the governor] would speak himself, and the other [my opponent] might with a shout lay hold of the governor who had said such things and, after assembling the most distinguished people in the city, would claim that he had suffered an act of violence, and would prosecute for violence or, worse, for violation of the laws and the courts” (21). Libanius feared, therefore, that Evagrius would appear before the governor with a group of eminent citizens. Among these gnorimotatoi must have been both Christians and pagans who had grievances against the deceased, and also those citizens

86. Or. 54.82. 87. Cf., e.g., Or. 39 and the pseudonym Mixidemus, Zenobius called Plato in Or. 40.6, and the way Libanius refers to his main opponent in rhetoric, Acacius 6, in Or. 1.109 and 52.31. See also Chapter 2 on the pseudonym of Proclus 6.

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who respected the laws that made Evagrius the main heir; full of legitimate rage, the latter would accuse Libanius of violating the laws. Although the sophist seems to have tried to keep things quiet, the matter was very serious and escaped from his control. His anger and frustration, which imbue the whole text, explode in the epilogue with unparalleled fury. “I fully trust that those who have living children will lose them, and those who do not have them will never have them; their wives will follow men other than their husbands, and their daughters will offer themselves to cooks before marriage; their sons will not be at all different from their daughters but, brought to begging, they will not find a giver; through long, harsh, and painful illnesses they also will die” (42). This is the chilling wrath of someone raging at his own impotence, feeling unable to control both present and future. Socrates had said in the Apology that old men, when they were near death, often prophesied, and in fact he himself made threats against the jury that had condemned him.88 The sinister conclusion of Oration 63 is similar to the ending of the Autobiography, Or.1.283–85, written later, probably in 393;89 both are the works of a very old man who, even more than before, could trust only in the magic of his words. Earlier in his Autobiography Libanius acknowledges that “it is a matter of good fortune to have one’s prayers fulfilled,” but he goes on to note that his prayers for the dismissal of the comes Proclus were not in vain but brought results; in another passage he declares that thanks to Tyche, he was never robbed of any vengeance that was his due.90 In the conclusion of the Autobiography, discussing the supposedly unjust treatment of his son and the betrayal by people in Constantinople who had failed to support the youth, Libanius presents himself as a priest of the gods, the Homeric Chryses, who had brought death on the Greeks.91 His own vengeance consisted of a famine, supposedly sent by the gods to punish Constantinople. In the proem of Oration 63, answering those who had made accusations against Olympius, he retorts: “They must learn that he is not completely dead as long as his friends are still alive.” The speech he wrote in defense of his friend was the palpable demonstration of the loyalty and of the assistance he wished to continue to provide even after Olympius’s death. At the end, mentioning those who believed the dead to be utterly vulnerable and unable

88. Plato, Apology 39 c–d. 89. Cf. also the vengeful Apollon at the end of Or. 60.14. 90. Or. 1.221; on Proclus, see Chapters 2 and 3; see also Or. 1.270. 91. Homer, Iliad 1; cf. the first 50 lines of the Iliad. The theme, however, goes through the whole book.

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to see or hear anything, Libanius adds: “But those who die after them bring them tidings of what is said and done here. They naturally wish to help themselves. Their power is greater because of death itself, and in their wrath they take a swift revenge.”92 A similar concept appears in Oration 24, written much earlier, when Libanius asks the new emperor Theodosius to avenge the death of Julian.93 He claims that the gods were concerned about men even after they died; angry when the dead were wronged, the gods could extend their vengeance to the whole community and in this way make sure that men who were still alive took care of and defended those who had died. Julian had died before his time, and so his fate was similar, Libanius says, to that of others who had done so, for example, children who suffered an early death; the emperor had also suffered a violent death, like Agamemnon, for example, or those appearing in the magical papyri and in defixiones—dead beings who had to be propitiated.94 The case of Olympius was slightly different, but he too had suffered wrong. In the Roman world the divinities of the underworld, the Manes, were in charge of protecting the rights of the dead, for example, when their graves had been violated. Julian himself had proclaimed an edict that attempted to protect the dead from such sacrilege, in which he invoked the threat of vindictive Manes.95 Furthermore, it was believed that in divination through necromancy the dead could be revived to reveal truths and make prophecies;96 this was a common mentality among pagans and Christians alike in late antiquity. In the oration under discussion it is unclear whether the gods or malign spirits (demons) would be responsible for causing the calamities Libanius calls down on his adversaries; pagans of every class believed in the operations of demons, and the church not only accepted this doctrine but even strengthened it. There is no doubt that in this oration Libanius identifies with Olympius in more ways than one; the fate of his friend, disparaged after death and unable to have his wishes respected, prefigured the sophist’s own death and doom, when gods and men might accuse him of some injustice.97 At the

92. Or. 63.41. On the afterlife, see Mikalson 1983: 74–82. 93. Or. 24.31–35. On the date, spring–fall 379, cf. Malosse 2010. 94. See the documents in Papyri Graecae Magicae, written from the first century BCE to the fifth century CE. Defixiones are curse tablets inscribed with maledictions. 95. CTh. 9.17.5; cf. also Julian, Ep. 136. 96. See Johnston 2008. 97. Cf. the message of his last letter, 1112. See also in the late Or. 38 his identification with the teacher Gaudentius, who was disparaged and mistreated in his old age.

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end of Oration 63 Libanius has come to identify utterly with his dead friend; in uttering his dark prophecy, he appears as if he is already among the dead, possessing the power of vengeance that belongs to them. Thus here Libanius and Olympius have become truly one person, bound not only by an “adamantine” friendship but also by the injustice of human destiny.

c The Olympian Gods At first glance, Libanius seems to have been profoundly traditional in his attitude toward the gods, but it is possible to trace some change in this attitude over the course of his life. Even though some degree of adjustment in one’s beliefs over time is a fact of human experience, most modern scholarship continues to present a monumental, unchanged portrait of Libanius, the inflexible pagan. Having examined in the previous chapter those instances when Libanius mentioned the gods in general, I would like now to focus on the individual gods who appear in his letters and orations, considering the density and uniformity of the references.98 These cases are very often connected with myths, much more so than generic mentions of the gods, but not all the mythological references have the same import. When Libanius alludes extensively to a myth, he knows his sources (most often Homer and the tragedians) and expects his readers or listeners to make the connection. Other mythological instances, however, seem to be nonreferential allusions that come automatically to the mind of any author, connected to linguistic turns of phrase or sometimes incorporated in proverbial expressions; as we will see, allusions to the helpful interventions of Athena are of this kind. A late antique author had to deal with the complexities of the many mythological narratives that were part of his cultural inheritance. Myths were like books on a shelf, continuously available, some looking more compelling than others; an author could take one down, reconsider it, or even disagree with it, often with a certain degree of nonchalance. When Libanius, in a letter to a pagan governor, defends his friendship with a Christian sophist under attack whom he was hosting in his house, he maintains, “I do

98. I will not concern myself with Poseidon because he appears only occasionally in the orations and even less often in the letters, as Poseidon Hippios (with a horse race in his honor in Or. 1.230); earth shaker (e.g., Or. 61, 18.176, and 37.7); and Poseidon Soter (Or. 14.5). I will also not cover Tyche beyond what I have said in Chapter 1 because Libanius mainly used her as a technical device. Cf. the study of this goddess in Misson 1914: 50–66. It is very difficult, sometimes impossible, to distinguish in the letters the goddess who was worshipped in Antioch from the general sense of “fortune, chance.”

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not think that I will be less of a friend than dogs, or Admetus!”99 His easy allusion to Argos, the faithful dog of Odysseus, and to the king who protected Apollo reminds the governor of the cultural patrimony that they all, pagans and Christians, had in common. A pagan author would generally use such expressions in a context appropriate to the sournce material, although his readers might not remember the source exactly. Contemporary Christian authors, however, did not use many emulative allusions but often employed contrast imitation; that is, they remembered a myth and incorporated it into their texts by employing it in a new context.100 In any case, although Libanius makes many allusions to myths, he does not always accept their content without reservation, even though he only occasionally mentions his skepticism with regard to portentous events or handles traditional stories with marked critical detachment. He says, for example, that Alcestis’s return from the underworld thanks to Heracles is only a fairy tale, declares the myth of Apollo and Daphne only a children’s story, and asserts that the Muses would have been booed if they had performed in the city square and not in the mountains.101 A sardonic smile might accompany the mention of one of his heroes, Heracles, who had to inspire students with his ponderous labors. But what would have happened to the hero if Athena had not been present to assist him in escaping the river Styx? “Perhaps— . . . but I will omit the rest out of respect for Heracles,” says Libanius, hinting at an eventual death of the immortal hero.102 An investigation of these references will produce a few surprises, especially concerning the later years of this sophist. It is thus appropriate that such observations follow a study of the late Oration 63, in which Libanius has appeared more than ever a “gray” pagan, able to some extent to navigate Christian waters. Because references of all kinds are important for my purpose, I will not observe them according to different types, as I did earlier, but will simply consider the letters written from 355 to 365 versus those from after 388. It should be observed, however, that in accordance with what I have previously shown about general references to the gods, references to individual divinities are

99. Ep. 1411.5 B98; the governor Alexander 5 and Eusebius 17, a teacher of rhetoric. 100. See, e.g., as an example from late antique Latin Christian poetry, Prudentius, Psychomachia 1, where he adapts a line from Vergil’s Aeneid in a completely different context. 101. Epp. 427 N9 and 1466 B22 and Or. 31.43. See also Ep. 620 B13, in which the irreverence targets Heracles again. See Misson 1914:16–19. 102. Ep. 620 B13.

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markedly less numerous in the Julianic years than in other periods;103 in the time of the pagan revival, Libanius did not need to proclaim aloud his religious allegiance in his correspondence. The orations, on the other hand, are generally uniform in this respect, and so an accurate tabulation of occurrences is unnecessary. The gods are shown in the orations representing their various powers;104 Zeus’s authority is unquestioned, and mentions of or appeals to other divinities occur regardless of the time of composition, with no appreciable discrepancy between early and late orations.105 Libanius also continues to uphold the gods of Antioch, those that appear in the early Oration 11.106 In his speeches the public image that “the sophist of the city” projected of himself as a representative of Hellenism steeped in mythology was basically unchanged throughout his life, and it is important to underline that this is the primary image of Libanius that has been transmitted to his modern audience and students of his work; the picture that emerges from the letters, however, shows some nuances that need to be thrown into higher relief if we wish to appreciate a more accurate, layered portrait of our author. In his correspondence, in fact, although Zeus continues to dominate the divine pantheon, some gods who are present in the early years disappear with the passing of time or are reduced to mere symbols. Can we see some development in Libanius’s religious allegiance? Was he more unconcerned with individual gods during his late years, precisely when illness, personal losses, and anguish were his habitual companions? This is the question at hand now.

c Zeus Is Sovereign Zeus, who unquestionably dominates the genre of epic poetry, also appears as the god par excellence in Libanius’s work. He plays a central role in various mythological contexts, mostly Homeric, and is also occasionally depicted as engaging with earthly affairs, as when Libanius presents him as ashamed of Constantius II’s regime, although the sophist stops short of attributing to Zeus complete approval and support of Julian; we are told that if Zeus donned human disguise and came down to govern on earth, he would not do better than

103. For instance, there is only one mention of Dionysus versus six in the aftermath of Julian. 104. Vernan 1987; Strauss Clay 1989. 105. I will not examine the orations carefully because they fail to present significant differences in this respect. Misson 1914 is still relevant for an overall look at divinities in Libanius’s speeches. 106. On the pluralism of the gods in Antioch, see Mayer 2009.

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Julian, but that it was Zeus who denied the pagan emperor a long reign.107 The epithets that distinguish this god are identical in the orations and letters, regardless of the time of composition.108 He is the lord of marriage (gamelios), protects suppliants and the poor as meilichios (gentle), and is called philios (friendly); an altar was dedicated to him in Antioch,109 and he is honored as “lord of the mountain and lord of the city.”110 Zeus protects the rights of hospitality as xenios, keeps Justice next to his throne, and confers power on kings and governors.111 As I mentioned earlier, many of the references to Zeus in Libanius’s works appear in connection with the Olympic Games at Antioch, dedicated to Olympian Zeus;112 the games continued to have a large following throughout Libanius’s life, although in Oration 10 he bemoans the fact that over time they had become merely a mass entertainment.

c The Other Gods c Female Divinities In the orations, most of the other Olympian gods continue to appear in their mythological splendor at all times; they exhibit their traditional powers but are sometimes connected with particular places of cult worship in Antioch and with traditional myths of the city. Of the female divinities, Aphrodite, Artemis, and Athena each appear, although with varying frequency and import. Libanius does not seem to have been a particularly devout worshipper of Aphrodite, but he does sometimes mention the traditional goddess of love in the orations and in early letters;113 in fact, the sophist shows some ambivalence toward this deity, recognizing her as the “just” goddess of marriage but also as the “dishonorable” (paranomos) divinity associated with homosexual107. See Or. 14.3, 13.47, and 18.295: Zeus allowed Julian to attain only his third year of reign. 108. In the letters Zeus is mentioned about seventy-five times in all periods, with a peak after Julian (twenty-two references) and a smaller number in Julian’s time (only eight letters). 109. See, e.g., Or. 14.61, 1.122, and 15.79. 110. Or. 15.79; the Zeus of the mountain is Zeus Casius, who had a temple there. See, e.g., Or. 18.172 and Ep. 739. Cf. Ammianus 22.14.4. On the various powers of Zeus, cf. Aristides, Or. 43.27– 31; cf. Ammianus 22.14.4. 111. See the late letter 946, in which Libanius invites a friend to sacrifice to this god. See also Or. 51.18 and 52.28. 112. On the games, see Liebeschuetz 1972: 136–40. 113. See Or. 64.54 and 84; 14.61; and 5.8 and 10; and Epp. 103 and 1518. On two more orations, 6.17 and 32.2, see Chapter 3.

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ity and prostitution.114 Artemis is another conventional goddess of marriage (zugia lusizonos), who also assists women in labor. She is central in Oration 5, a hymn Libanius dedicates to her, which ends on a personal note: he attributes to the goddess a series of events that led to him and his students being out of the way when, on one of her festival days, a doorway collapsed that might otherwise have injured them. She also figures in a late oration as the goddess of childbirth.115 Elsewhere in Libanius’s work Artemis appears mostly in her role as the traditional goddess of hunting, associated with his efforts to procure wild animals for the spectacles promoted by the Syriarch.116 In the spring there was a festival for the goddess in Antioch, and in 362 the sophist wrote twice to the pagan priest Bacchius with regard to the festival the latter had organized;117 in letters after the 360s, however, there is no mention of Artemis at all. Judging by the frequency of occurrences in the sophist’s work, another goddess, Athena, deserves more attention. Invocations of the goddess and literary references to the myths and Homeric poems in which she appears occur frequently in the speeches during all periods of Libanius’s production. It is impossible, though, to find evidence in the orations of any personal connection with the goddess other than a short reference to the existence of her temple in Antioch.118 In the letters, references to Athena mostly concern her assistance to Odysseus and Heracles; she is the divinity who was always at Odysseus’s side in the Iliad and the Odyssey and helped Heracles in the underworld.119 Thus Libanius frequently uses the name of the goddess proverbially when he is seeking powerful help on behalf of students and friends, as, for example, when he asks the philosopher Themistius to “be an Athena” for a young man in distress.120 The goddess’s presence diminishes in late letters; even this proverbial use of her name figures only twice, and a passing reference in a third letter to her temple in the city has no religious significance but mentions casually the temple’s secular reuse as a place for lawyers to discuss their cases.121

114. See Ep. 1483 and Or. 39.6. 115. Or. 22.42 of the year 387. I agree with J. Martin 1988 that Or. 5 is not a great manifestation of religiosity. See also Goldhill 2006. 116. See Ep. 544 (B1 and introduction to this letter). 117. Epp. 710 N83, in which Libanius applauds the oratorical display of a friend, and 712 B181. 118. In Or. 30.51 he makes a passing mention of her temple in the city. 119. E.g., Iliad 8.369 and 10.278–282; Od. 1.44–45 and 5.5–6. 120. Ep. 376 R49. 121. Epp. 855, 905 N155, and 847.

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c Male Olympians Libanius mentions Apollo in orations of all periods.122 The god, often in the company of the Muses (Musagetes), enjoyed a certain amount of favor as a patron of learning and rhetoric;123 through the myth of Daphne, moreover, his cult had a local relevance and was firmly established in his temple in the suburb of Antioch named for the nymph.124 In the early letters Libanius refers to the god in connection with poets and orators, as the god of the oracle at Delphi and the protector of the locality of Daphne,125 but ceases to mention him in the later letters.126 Dionysus was well represented in Antioch. The city contained a temple dedicated to him with a portico nearby, as well as many other objects of the Dionysiac repertoire, including statuary, inscriptions, and numerous glorious mosaics in private households that served as validations and reminders of pagan legends. One must be cautious in relating these mosaics to actual pagan attitudes in the fourth century because some of them must have predated Constantine, but they show that the god was an important, ubiquitous presence at the time of Libanius.127 References to Dionysus appear in several orations, both early and late, but it is especially from the references in the letters that we can appreciate the vitality of his cult and its relevance for Libanius. In two of them he recommends some priests of the god to the addressee,128 and we have seen that he was involved to some extent in the construction of the portico facing the temple of the god.129 In the period up to 365, several letters mention Dionysus as the god of wine and merriment and refer to a festival dedicated to him, which occurred when grapes were harvested in the early fall and “Dionysus was celebrated everywhere in the fields”;130 although celebrations took place especially in the countryside, the city also participated. The name of the god, moreover, sometimes func-

122. See his presence in late speeches, e.g., 1, 6, 20, 25, 27, and 44. 123. See Or. 31.43–44. 124. See especially Or. 60. 125. See e.g., 255 B151, 311 R106, 695 B147, 1233 B169, and 383. 126. There is only one instance, a letter in which Libanius calls Daphne (the place) “the beloved of Apollo,” 1024 N180, dated to 392. 127. Norris 1990: 2334–35, 2349–50; Kondoleon 2000b: 68–69. On the centrality of Dionysus in mosaics of the Near East, see Bowersock 2006; see also Bowersock 1990: 41–53. 128. Epp. 1212 and 1213. 129. See Chapter 3. 130. See Ep. 1287; cf. 1288 and 1144.

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tions as a simple metonym for wine, as when Libanius reminisces about cherished dinners and discourses with his old friends; he depicts himself at that time as saying “what seemed right to Dionysus,” laughing, and making others laugh.131 This early picture of a cheerful Libanius, which is in any case quite rare, faded with old age, and Dionysus faded from the late letters as well.132 Hermes is the only god other than Zeus whom Libanius mentions throughout his career, both in the orations and in the correspondence, but it is very difficult to find in these references a special devotion to the god; most of them refer to Hermes’ connection with rhetoric.133 All the works of Libanius, in every genre and period, reveal the almost religious commitment he felt for rhetoric throughout his life; it was a passion that involved all aspects of the art, composing, lecturing, and teaching it. He credited Hermes with bestowing this gift on mankind and with protecting both its practice and those who cultivated it, rhetors and students. His frequent mentions of the god occur in various contexts discussing the art of rhetoric: when he is recommending a certain rhetor, urging a student to work, referring to his own activity on behalf of the logoi, or praising, in a letter devoted to paideia, the eloquent people in the retinue of a governor who was supposedly “a Hermes” himself.134 It appears that for Libanius, Hermes was frozen in his image as the god of rhetoric. The sophist shows no awareness of Hermes Trismegistus, a figure worshipped in Egypt and around the Mediterranean, but this is not unexpected because even Julian ignored this aspect of the god.135 But the sophist also never mentions the Hellenistic Hermes Logios, the “learned Hermes” of the philosophers, despite the fact that he is prominent in the writings of Julian and Synesius.136 What we know about the cult of Hermes in Antioch confirms these findings and suggests that the god had a limited following there. An unclear passage in Malalas mentions that in the time of Constantine the temple of Hermes in Antioch was destroyed by a certain Rufinus who built a Christian church on its site, but it has been plausibly argued that the event actually took place later, at the

131. Ep. 1198 R153. 132. The only two late letters, 901 and 962, contain insignificant references about Nicaea, sacred to Dionysus, and about a friend who was inebriated. 133. There are about thirty references in the letters. 134. See Ep. 226 for Helpidius 4. See also, e.g., Epp. 208, 245, 338, 803, 894 R93, 858 R51, and 1145. 135. See Fowden 1986: 201–2. 136. The logioi theoi in his work are Hermes, Apollo, and the Muses, and all protect rhetoric. Cf. the allusion to them in Or. 55.29.

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time of Theodosius.137 One of Libanius’s orations, in fact, seems to indicate the existence of a temple during the reign of Julian where the emperor would pray and sacrifice to Hermes,138 but the oration Pro templis (30.51), composed at the time of Theodosius, fails to mention this temple among those that were still standing. Hermes, moreover, was not very well represented in the local mosaics; even in a superb third-century representation of the god carrying the infant Dionysus, which appeared in one of the bath complexes of the city, the focus is on Dionysus.139

c What Happened to Asclepius? The picture presented so far that shows the disappearance of most gods from the late letters is also accurate for the figure of Asclepius, but in this case the disappearance is more unexpected. We have seen that tradition, particularly the heritage of Aristides, together with Libanius’s failing health, involving not only a fragile ner vous system but also persistent physical symptoms, made the sophist a fervent worshiper of Asclepius, the god of healing. References to Asclepius in the sophist’s orations date from 367 to 386, when he denounced the demolition of statues and shrines in the eastern empire, including those of the god of healing, in the Pro templis.140 In the Declamations, too, Asclepius is consistently present. The situation that emerges from the letters, however, is less straightforward. The correspondence includes numerous direct mentions of the god by name, together with many references to “the god,” no doubt Asclepius, when physical health was in question; all in all, Asclepius is mentioned in at least thirty letters from 355 up to 365.141 Even though the content of some of these letters has been primarily of cultural and rhetorical interest, as Libanius celebrates his friends’ sophistic compositions to honor the restoration, promoted by Julian, of Asclepius’s temples, we have seen in Chapter 3 that some also contain his appeals to the god regarding health problems, migraines and attacks of gout. This strong connection with the god that is apparent in the

137. Malalas, Logos 13.3 Thurn. See Downey 1961: 349–50 and 434n; and Norris 1990: 2351. In this case the author of the deed would be the Christian prefect of the Orient, Flavius Rufinus 18. 138. Or. 15.79. 139. See Becker and Kondoleon 2005: 190–94. 140. Or. 1.143; 30.22–23 and 39. 141. Sixteen letters date from Julian’s years, and there are six each in the other periods. They should all be included in the category of the “meaningful” references because Libanius’s devotion appears to have been authentic in periods of need.

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early letters, however, was not long lasting: when the correspondence resumes in 388, direct references to Asclepius no longer occur, despite the fact that in those subsequent years Libanius’s health was more in jeopardy than ever, and his son was severely ill and then passed away.142 Had the god ceased to respond, or was Libanius by now disillusioned?

c God and the Gods Work on Themistius has concluded that his numerous references to a single theos, appearing throughout the speeches in which he addressed Christian emperors, do not shed light on his personal religious convictions.143 Standing, as a skillful propagandist for the regimes he served, in the middle ground between Hellenic education and Christianity, the philosopher sought to create a language that would suit the complex religious reality of the time, drawing on Neoplatonic ideas and Christian concepts. As Peter Heather and David Moncur have said, “Themistius could talk about ‘God’ and his audience could gloss the term as it chose.”144 A later study also works from this premise and extends the inquiry to Libanius’s imperial orations, comparing the use of monotheistic allusions found there with those in Themistius and arguing that both orators used monotheistic and polytheistic references for strategic purposes.145 Such observations on the coexistence in Libanius of both religious conceptions are valid, with some qualifications. First, this study refers solely to his basilikoi logoi, that is, his most public orations, without considering the rest of his work. Also, this approach continues to identify exclusively in Libanius a language of convenience, that is, ways in which Libanius might have used religious concepts to please and be accepted in certain circles. The question whether he was influenced to any degree by fourth-century monotheistic ideas (Christian and Neoplatonic) is not addressed. Reviewing the evidence as a whole may provide more reliable answers. One of the most important findings that emerges from the preceding section on individual gods is Zeus’s constant presence in Libanius’s cumulative

142. The only indirect mentions are in Epp. 888, 1010, and 1018; they serve only to define doctors as men concerned with Asclepius. 143. Heather and Moncur 2001. 144. Ibid., 64; see further 61–65. 145. Sandwell 2010. It was not the intention of the author to extend her study further.

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work; the other individual gods either disappear from the letters over time or maintain an exclusively rhetorical presence, but Zeus continues to be the god par excellence. The frequent appearances in the letters of Hermes, Dionysus, and Asclepius accord with these findings. For Libanius, Hermes was not an object of personal cult worship but rather was exclusively connected with the art of rhetoric; the carousing Dionysus may have attracted some devotion during Libanius’s first years, but that devotion faded with the advance of old age; and Asclepius also vanishes from the letters, in spite of the close relationship Libanius had originally established with him. The gods (theoi ) as an undifferentiated group, however, continue to appear throughout the correspondence, although Zeus is the only god referred to and invoked by name in the late letters. In the orations the Olympians are present both individually and as a group at all periods, but there too Zeus stands out as the preeminent divinity. Let us turn now to Libanius’s references to a single theos, a term that I will, with some undeniable hesitation, capitalize as “God” when I translate it into English. There are many such references in both the orations and the letters, which should be considered cumulatively within each genre.146 In the letters there are eighteen allusions to God that reveal the qualities Libanius attributed to the supreme divinity.147 Although a few of these allusions appear in letters to Christians, most of them are part of communications to pagan friends, acquaintances, and officials, men of culture who were not necessarily involved with Neoplatonism. From these occurrences, one can trace an image of Libanius’s God; it is essential to keep in mind, however, that these traits do not differ much from the benevolent characteristics of the gods when they appear in a group, as they often do. In God’s hands, says Libanius, lie all future events. Man can entertain hopes of good things, but only God will decide what will happen; one should accept and withstand with courage what will come from him. God gives a man his nature (physis) and rewards him for his virtue by protecting his family and future generations. God is attentive to all human affairs and is willing even to soothe disagreements among friends. It is God who leads a person to potential allies and helpers, gives one the

146. In the correspondence one needs to discard not only those references that designate a particular deity (usually Asclepius or Hermes) but also (in order to be cautious) the combination of theos with the indefinite adjective tis, “some god,” one of many. I was not able to ascertain any difference between “god” and “the god,” that is, theos by itself or preceded by the article. Both terms refer to the supreme God. I have not previously examined all these references. 147. See Epp. 365, 223, 263, 625, 631, 783, 805 (Festugière pp. 149–50), 1184, 1192, 1264, 1286, 1493, 8; in the last period of his life, 880, 947, 1037, 1047, 1065, and 1066.

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capability to command, and protects a governor who is newly appointed. God gives success and political favor, and he is generosity personified: He has, according to the proverb, open arms.148 God forgives, and people who forgive show the same divine quality.149 Beset by many evils in old age, Libanius writes that God was protecting him and did not let him perish, but the sophist also acknowledges that not even God could quell his pain.150 In the speeches there are about twenty mentions of a single supreme divinity that are scattered throughout all periods of Libanius’s life.151 Some scholars have interpreted the terms theos and theoi as completely equivalent, an approach that attributes to Libanius only traditional paganism. Others have treated these references to a single god in various ways. Some suggest that they are expressions of deference to the emperor’s Neoplatonism if they occur in Julianic speeches and to the religion of Christian emperors and courtiers if they appear elsewhere; some scholars even consider such references remarks that the sophist was forced to make.152 Generally, allusions to the gods and to a single God appear together in the same speech; just one oration contains only references to a single divinity, Oration 59, the Panegyric of the Emperors Constantius and Constans, supposedly composed by a young Libanius between 344 and 349. In that speech there are three references to a single God (theos), three passages that mention a supreme being called ho Kreitton (each time in relation to Constantine), and a reference to the divine plan of a Demiurge who made and ordered the world.153 Already in the early Greek world some monotheistic tendencies coexisted with the belief in many gods.154 Evaluating that evidence, Martin West has observed: “It was a small step from here to dogmatic monotheism; but there was no pressure or haste to take that step.”155 But was the step really a small one, if by monotheism we mean the exclusive worship of one god? There is no doubt that from the fourth century on, monotheistic elements can increasingly be found integrated into the belief in many gods,

148. See Ep. 1192 and Salzmann 1910: 52. 149. Libanius addresses the same observation to Julian in Or. 15, asking him to forgive Antioch. 150. Ep. 1037. 151. See Or. 1.132 and 135; 11.87; 12.59 and 100; 13.26; 18.118; 19.25, 43, and 62; 20.15 and 46; 42.42; 47.24; and 59.50, 75, and 125. 152. Misson 1914:23–49; Malosse 2003: 64, who notices that the God of Or. 59 is very close to the Christian God. 153. See Or. 59.50, 75, 125, 48, 72, and 169. Cf. the remarks of Malosse 2003:63–65. 154. See, e.g., Mikalson 1983: 63–73; and North 2005. 155. West 1999: 40.

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and that from that time more attention was devoted to the worship of one preeminent divinity, a god above all others. In some pagan milieus the gods in general were acknowledged in less precise terms, lost some of their characteristic attributes, and therefore became less present as divinities; most of the time, however, they did not disappear but remained in a subordinate position of some sort. Of course, in this discussion we must beware of any value judgment that would consider Christian, Judaic, and Islamic monotheistic views more rational than polytheism or monotheistic convictions contaminated by a belief in more than one god. Terminology remains another difficulty; one encounters with perplexity the expression “pagan monotheism” in wide use in recent scholarship.156 We struggle not only to understand ancient realities, translating them in accordance with our modern sensibilities, but also with the impossible quest for neutral terms that can be generally agreed on and accepted; language can be either not precise enough or too much so, with the result that it fails to render inconsistencies and nuances.157 My inclination is to present the evidence without attempting to classify it because any terminology we might use will most likely be inadequate and influenced by ideology; but it is also true that we must establish the conceptual boundaries of the discussion and use labels of some sort for the purpose of communication. Therefore, I will discuss one particular term used to qualify pagan monotheism: “henotheism,” a term and concept that, although all but unknown among classicists, has attained some acceptance among historians of religion. The religious convictions that Libanius manifests, especially in the second part of his life, bear some resemblance to the system of belief described by this term.

c Zeus, the Consul of the Gods The term “henotheism” is a modern formation that originates from the acclamation heis ho theos (God is one), usually taken to denote a special devotion to a specific god without implying neglect of the others.158 It is

156. Among others, Chaniotis 2010, esp. 112–13, shrinks from this term and coins the word “megatheism” to avoid using adjectives to soften “pagan monotheism,” such as “soft, pagan, inclusive, hierarchical, or affective.” But do we need one more classification? See also the essays in Mitchell and Van Nuffelen 2010a and 2010b. 157. See Versnel 1990: 1–38; and Van Nuffelen 2010. 158. Versnel 1990 was the first to investigate this form of worship. At 35–36 he discusses three different forms of henotheism.

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not, therefore, a restrictively monotheistic conviction but nevertheless indicates a shift toward a form of monotheism that can consist either of the supremacy of one god over other deities or of the absorption of many gods into a single one. In Libanius the supreme divinity is Zeus, who surpasses and also controls other intermediate figures. Although the gods continued to be present and active as a group, we have few details about this form of hierarchic monotheism; nor does Libanius clarify the levels at which the other gods were positioned, or how they functioned as intermediaries between the one god and mankind. As we have seen with many other issues concerning his religious allegiance, here Libanius was not interested in telling more. We must always keep in mind that in his case not only are we very far from speculative philosophical thinking, but we are also working with only the glimpses of knowledge that he allows us. In an oration for the consulship of Julian written in 363, Libanius calls Zeus “the consul of the gods”159—like Julian, Zeus has supreme power, while the other gods are subordinated to him. He then goes on to glorify Zeus with words taken from the beginning of Aratus’s Phaenomena: “All streets are filled with him, every market square, every harbor and the sea.” The sophist repeats this epithet for Zeus in a letter to a pagan correspondent that dates to 388;160 complimenting the addressee for the favor he had gained with the emperor Theodosius, Libanius writes that he would entreat the goddess Fortune to help this official further, but that everything is “the concern of the consul of the gods.” Libanius was a devotee of Aristides and may have known the work of Celsus, who had argued in the second century that polytheism and monotheism were not mutually exclusive.161 Aristides regarded the gods as “prefects and satraps” of heaven, air, sea and earth; their rule derived from Zeus, who was like the commander of an army.162 Similarly, Celsus called the gods “satraps, governors, commanders, and administrators” who were appointed by Zeus and commanded respect.163 Libanius was not a systematic thinker, even though he professed to admire philosophy.164 Although some scholars maintain that he was indifferent to Neoplatonism, it

159. Or. 12.14, as Julian was men’s consul. 160. Ep. 868.4 N152. 161. The text of Celsus can be partially reconstructed from Origen’s Contra Celsum; Chadwick 1965. See Van Nuffelen 2011: 217–30, who argues that Celsus reproached Christianity mainly for its superstition. 162. Aristides, Or. 43.15–26. 163. Celsus 8.35; Chadwick 1965: xix–xxii. 164. See Cribiore 2007: 65–66 on his relation with Themistius.

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seems impossible that he could have ignored its main tenets and the points maintained by Julian and his circle; he must have been acquainted (though perhaps perfunctorily) with the writings of the emperor he proudly considered his student. Thus, for example, he must have had some knowledge of Julian’s Hymn to King Helios and its monotheistic inspiration; there Zeus appears as a creative force identified with Helios. This work, moreover, was dedicated to a grand seigneur, as Rochefort calls him, Secundus Salutius, who appeared frequently in Libanius’s correspondence, responded to his numerous appeals, and remained in touch with him after Julian died.165 The possible influence on Libanius of the treatise On the Gods and the Universe, composed by Salutius, possibly according to Julian’s suggestions, has never been commented on;166 the work is a sort of pagan catechism that Salutius composed to remind pagans of the fundamental points of their religion.167 Its survival is probably due both to the fact that it was useful to pagans and that it did not contain any offensive remarks against Christians; Salustius had good friends on both sides of the bridge. This work, which contains little that is original and rather is thoroughly informed by Neoplatonism, the doctrine of Iamblichus, and the writings of Julian, is well written in precise and easy-to-follow Attic prose; Salutius composed it for readers who, although educated, were not comfortable with more complex philosophical writings. Libanius must have known this pagan credo, a work that answers many of the questions that emerge from his writings and that continued to trouble pagans at the time. Was there a First Cause, all good and superior, to which all the others were subordinated? Salutius responds affirmatively. What was the role of the gods’ providence and of Fate? Was man responsible for his base acts, or was he merely submitting to the irresistible power of Eimarmene (destiny)? And why did bad men prosper while good men suffered?168 When Julian died, many pagans must have asked some of these questions; in Libanius’s Oration 17, behind the mythological lore, the reader perceives deep distress. Why did the gods fail to protect Julian? Why did Aphrodite and Athena not

165. See, e.g., Epp. 1462, 1467, and 1429 (written when Libanius, like many others, hoped that he could hold the reins of the empire). Rochefort 1983: xxvii. Cf. Chapter 3. 166. See Nock 1926, still very useful; and Rochefort 1983, with French translation. Cf. the discussion of the theory of Salutius in Stenger 2009: 320–33. The attribution to him of this treatise is still the orthodoxy. 167. Julian’s two discourses On King Helios and On the Mother of the Gods and the work of Salutius were meant to be the catechism of the empire. 168. On the Gods and the Universe 5.1.3, 13.5, and 9.

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rescue him? “At the news,” says Libanius, “I looked up to heaven expecting bloody drops of rain to fall”; but Julian did not receive the treatment of Sarpedon.169 Had Zeus entirely abandoned Julian? Seemingly afraid of his own boldness in making this suggestion, Libanius ventures a solution: the bloody rain must simply not have been visible amid the blood of the slain. Even though I am convinced that we need not necessarily find exact parallels between two texts to suspect one writer’s dependence on the work of another, I would like to suggest that a passage in Oration 37 may show that Libanius had digested some of Salutius’s work, or that he was at least familiar with the polemic against astrology waged by that author. In this oration Libanius expresses his distress at a former friend’s blind trust in astrology, bemoaning the fact that the man relied on it for every decision of his career and personal life.170 Besides declaring himself afraid of the influence of the heavenly bodies, especially of Ares, Libanius says that he disagrees with the astrologers’ concept of destiny (Eimarmene ); by this he was likely referring to the astrologers’ conviction that human free will did not exist, and that Destiny controlled human affairs entirely. Salutius argued that a bad physis and deficient upbringing could influence a man’s destiny for the worse, a thought with which Libanius would have agreed.171 Libanius is not the only writer of the fourth century to be considered indifferent to the new ideas of the time. Because of his use of traditional language and concepts, scholars have also regarded Themistius as unresponsive, and only recently has criticism begun to argue that he was familiar with the ideas of Neoplatonism, although he was still far from being a Neoplatonist philosopher.172 In the case of Ammianus too, scholars, and in particular R. L. Rike, author of the most recent study on the religion of the Res gestae, have hesitated to recognize Neoplatonic concepts in his writing.173 The preeminence of Zeus over the other gods that is present in Libanius can also be found in Ammianus. In his history there are several instances of the words deus and numen, but there are also many passages when the gods (dei) appear in a group;174 one cannot point to traits that characterize deus

169. Or. 17.23–24 and 33. 170. Or. 37.18–22. 171. On the Gods and the Universe 9. For physis in Libanius, see Cribiore 2007: 129–34 and 137. 172. Heather and Moncur 2001:1–4 and 63. 173. Rike 1987: 13, 14, and 31. 174. For deus, see, e.g., Ammianus 15.8.14, 17.13.33, 21.1.9, 24.1.1, 24.3.6 and 15.8.10 For dei or dii caelestes, see, e.g. 19.10.2, and 25.3.15.

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versus dei. Rike at first distinguishes two hierarchies around the divinities Adrasteia and Themis; as the vigor vivificus and numen efficax, Jupiter headed both hierarchies. But Rike concludes that these were two aspects of an identical theological scheme.175 Although the role and identities of the other divinities are not always clear, the deus/numen of Ammianus appears as a real deity, sharing the cultic attributions of, and to be identified with, Jupiter/Zeus; Jupiter, therefore, was the head of Ammianus’s pantheon, and Ammianus adopted the terms numen and deus to reach a mixed audience of pagans and Christians. Should we take the references to a supreme divinity as definite signs of the influence of Neoplatonic doctrine, or was Ammianus simply breathing l’air du temps?176 What is certain is that, as is also true in Libanius, we cannot regard these occurrences either as examples of the complete assimilation of the one God to a plurality of gods, as in earlier centuries, or as expressions of deference to Julian or to the attitudes prevalent at the Christian court. Neither Libanius nor Ammianus, who shows no theological interests, was deaf to the concert of voices of the fourth century; they had enough exposure to Neoplatonism and Christianity to be able to echo and adapt certain concepts that made sense to their pagan sensibilities. They were both pagans who did not practice monotheism in a strict sense but who exalted one divinity, Zeus, above a plurality of other gods. I have spoken so far about the elite thinkers and writers who assimilated in their own ways the monotheistic concepts that were present in fourthcentury society and therefore reflected the changes that were happening in the ways people conceived of divinities and the divine. Now, however, I would like to turn to at least one example of the same phenomenon in a lower stratum of society by considering the story of a man named Abedrapsas, known from inscriptions carved and painted in red on his mausoleum, which stands between the plain of Apamea and Antioch.177 These writings serve as a personal memorial, commemorating the ascent in society of a man and his family.178 The two inscriptions complement each other, like two sides of the same coin. One says that Abedrapsas and his wife “finished the tomb, having shared life cheerfully, and paid their vows to their ancestral gods. Soul, be of good cheer; no one is immortal.” The tone of the other

175. Rike 1987: 8–36. 176. Matthews 1989: 428–29 finds his attitude difficult to define. 177. Jalabert and Mouterde 1955: 120, no. 1410; Trombley 1994: 288–90. 178. A frieze of little figures probably represents his sons and other members of the family.

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inscription is strikingly different, providing a minibiography through which the whole life of this man, from his youth on, passes before our eyes:179 Abedrapsas speaks, giving thanks for these things. When I came of age, my ancestral god, the god of Arkesilaos, appearing to me, clearly helped me in many things. When I was twenty-five years old, I was given over to the study of a trade, and I acquired the same trade in a short time. And further, through my own foresight, I bought myself a village with no one knowing, and freed myself from having to go down to the city. And I was just and justly guided. In this text the gods acknowledged in the previous inscription have given way to the gleaming figure of a single unknown god who graced Abedrapsas with many benefits; this god, his ancestral protector, revealed himself to Abedrapsas clearly in an epiphany and transformed his life such that he was able to advance in society. Abedrapsas learned a trade that was rewarding enough to allow him to purchase a village, but he kept a low profile so that no one would envy him; he was able to avoid going down to the city unnecessarily and lived a just (and wealthy) life under the god’s guidance. In religious inscriptions the individual usually tries to efface himself before the god,180 but Abedrapsas is as much a protagonist of this story as his god is. On this monument the second text is inscribed next to the first and complements the other without contradiction; these texts are one more testimony that choosing between one god and a plurality of gods was not mandatory in the fourth century. What we have found shows that the step to dogmatic monotheism was certainly not as small as Martin West has suggested. Asking whether Libanius really drifted away from his traditional religious attachments in his old age is a futile question; it is not necessary to force him into a category, making him choose either a supreme God or a plurality of them. It is important to underline, in any case, that before the general public (and I will turn next to his perfor mance in this role) the “sophist of the city” continued to identify himself—and was identified—as a traditional pagan, troubled by the advance of Christianity. His correspondence allows us to fill the outlines of this image and may help explain the divergent later reception of Libanius; we have seen that the later tradition has presented him both as a fierce pagan and as a converted Christian.181 In one view, Libanius corresponds to famous

179. Jalabert and Mouterde 1955: no. 1410. 180. See Baslez 1993. 181. Cf. the Introduction.

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Christian figures in that he converted later in life; but in the other, he was punished because of the persistence of his pagan allegiance. The late letters indicate that various individual gods had slowly become empty for him, like hollow statues with traditional labels, but they continued to be present in his life as a group, together with a still-powerful Zeus. Of course, to perceive the feelings of Libanius as a person is beyond our capacity, but what about Libanius the writer? His last letter, short and fragmentary, contains a striking statement: “The mass of my pains, especially the main one, has made me—and makes me now—wish for death. This is so incessant that I think the gods are angry at me.”182 Were these the same gods who had watched the death of Julian with indifference after enjoying his prayers and sacrifices? Were they for Libanius selfish and uncaring beings, in contrast to the supreme divinity, Zeus? Or was Libanius after all troubled by his increasingly apathetic religious practice and by his interest in what was happening on the other side of the bridge? It is very difficult to know.

c Memory Sites Although we have much of Libanius’s work, we lack his everyday communications with his peers; these can be reconstructed only partly through the letters that portray conversations at the baths, in the market, or in the street. But there were also occasions that shaped communications with a larger public, such as festivals, commemorations, and tributes to public figures. On these occasions Libanius communicated with groups that were to some degree unified by a common image of their past, an image that might be either accepted or resisted. During Libanius’s long life, history flowed at an accelerated pace as the present quickly became the past: emperors succeeded one another—Julian came to power and then was gone—new academic disciplines attracted followers, Christians grew more emboldened by the day, and paganism confronted increasing obstacles. In historical periods like the fourth century, full of turning points, the perception that the old ways of life were disappearing must have been palpable; the frequent jeremiads of Libanius on the superiority of the past and the degeneracy of the present must have originated from some fear that the world he knew was fading away forever. The pessimistic tone he always uses in referring to the times

182. Ep. 1112 comes last in some codices and is the last in Foerster’s edition. To kephalaion could be a great pain, such as for the death of his son or his incessant migraine.

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after Julian is yet another reason that classicists have regarded his work with a certain amount of ennui. But he was not alone in condemning his times; his accusations of corruption and cruelty in high places and his distress at the deterioration of the liberal studies and people’s general ignorance can be found in Ammianus too. The historian condemns the years between Julian’s death and the battle of Adrianople with particular vehemence and declares that the poor moral conduct of individuals resulted in grim events; Jan Den Boeft has remarked that Ammianus’s negative authorial comments abound in the last six books of the Res gestae, where the tone of moral indignation is stronger.183 The society Ammianus describes in the later part of his history was one that preferred the present over the past, the young over the old, and practical disciplines over grueling rhetoric; it is no wonder that Libanius in his public role as a representative of paganism felt the need to construct a collective memory. Elements of the past remained, centered around certain “memory sites,” as Pierre Nora has called them, “like shells on the shore when the sea of living memory has receded.”184 Formal prayers, rites, and the massive temples of the gods, some of which were still extant, were such sites of memory. From them, pagans might at times experience the illusion that memories were securely preserved, and that history had slowed down. Texts too were memory sites. Homer, for example, had become a symbolic component of the memorial heritage of the Greeks. The vitality that these sites retained derived from the fact that they were powerful symbols, visible images of the past, where a sense of historical continuity existed; for those who, like Libanius, were not adventurous in searching for new venues of cult, the texts of classical culture and mythology and the traditional divine statuary in the temples made up for what paganism had lost in vitality. The frozen gods of the late letters of Libanius acquired some new life and meaning in contemporary orations when he was engaged in salvaging the past from obliteration. A speech such as 30 (For the Temples) derives its strength as a document for paganism from its testimony that pagan memory sites were at the center of a crucial debate. On the one hand, pagans fearful of the sites’ destruction insisted that the temples and the statues of the gods were deactivated, silent symbols devoid of any menace; Christians, on the other hand, did not believe that they were only mute vestiges of a bygone era but suspected that,

183. Den Boeft 2007, who comments on Ammianus’s view that historical studies had become trivial, and emperors, besides Julian, did not read history. 184. See Nora 1989:12. The massive project led by Pierre Nora, “Lieux de mémoire,” had a huge impact in France. Cf. Ho Tai 2001 for a comprehensive review.

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as retainers of collective memories, they still contained threatening elements. The temples were poised between time and eternity, the immutable and the changeable. The fires of past sacrifices could be rekindled by devotional prayers, and gestures and rituals traditionally repeated might activate a dormant divinity. Pagans wanted to forget the decadent present by valorizing the past; Christians who based their hopes for the future on the present feared the retained religious significance of those symbols. At the end of the fourth century, in order to survive, paganism had to accept considerable compromises, and the Oration for the Temples sheds light on this situation.185 The beginning of the speech shows that Libanius did not have a personal memory of the past grandeur of the temples but rather had to rely on collective memory;186 during his lifetime the temples, at least in cities, had become poor and deprived of honor (5). In the course of the speech Libanius vacillates between two slightly contradictory poles. On the one hand, he regards the temples as the “soul of the countryside” (9), crucial in the lives of the peasants, and also calls them the “eyes of the cities” (42), which would become blind if the temples should be demolished. Thus he devotes some time to painting an idyllic picture of sacrifices in beautiful rural spots accompanied by drinking, incense, singing, and hymns to the gods;187 presenting the temples as sites of collective memory, however, as he seems to do with this characterization, might to some degree trouble a Christian audience as a sign that pagan rites might be revitalized. The temples per se were not considered dangerous, but the acts that could be performed in them were and could pollute a Christian who took part in them. Christians continued to fear the power of the pagan gods and demons; Libanius remarks, in fact, that temple demolition was extremely laborious because it involved “tearing apart stones that had been bound together by the strongest of ties” (38). On the other hand, the sophist also followed a different strategy: he pleaded for the continued existence of temples on the grounds that they were by now desacralized and should be

185. Several scholars have examined this oration, e.g., Trombley 1993: 1, 6–9; and Wiemer 2011. The traditionally accepted date of the oration is 386. Wiemer 1995b: 123–29 argues that it was composed earlier but then delivered in 390 after the prefect Cynegius, who was attacked, had died. The oration had become by then only a fictive showpiece. I agree with McLynn 2009a: 58–81 that this speech must be taken as a serious response to a crucial problem. Considering, moreover, that Libanius produced two versions of other speeches, it is not impossible that he perhaps eliminated the attack on Cynegius from the public version. On doublets, see Chapter 2. 186. Or. 30.4–5; see also 17–19. 187. Or. 30.17–19.

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regarded only as buildings deprived of religious significance; they were used not for cult worship but for other purposes, such as education, the practice of the law, and tax collection (42).188 Temples, Libanius argued, were imperial property, built with much labor and time, and could be put to other use; therefore, the monks who vandalized them were criminals.189 Libanius thus apparently feigned belief that the temples had ceased to be sites of memory; they were only attractive, valuable, and functional masses of stones. The two lines of reasoning, the nostalgic contention and the rational claim, pervade the oratorical texture of the speech and point to the diversity of Libanius’s audience: not only Theodosius, his Christian courtiers, and Christians in Antioch but also the community of pagans in the city who were by now frustrated by the persecution they were suffering.190 The rational argument that aimed at the preservation of the temples also affected the gods more directly through their statuary, as we can see from an inspired passage discussing a statue of Asclepius: In the city of Beroea there was a bronze statue of Asclepius, in the likeness of the handsome son of Cleinias, in which art imitated nature. Such was its beauty that even those who could see it every day still desired to look at it. No one was so disgraceful to dare say that sacrifice was performed to it. Yet this statue, Sire, which had been made no doubt with great toil and by a brilliant mind, has been broken up and now is gone. Many hands tore apart the masterwork of Pheidias. For what blood offering? For what sacrificial knife? For what illegal worship? Although they could not allege any sacrifice there, nevertheless they smashed Alcibiades, or rather Asclepius, into many pieces, stripping the city by what they did to the statue. (Or. 30.22–23) The identification of the god Asclepius with the figure of Alcibiades is stated in Thucydidean terms (nature versus art) and is reiterated and completed at the end of the passage when the sophist feigns a slip of the tongue. We do not know whether Libanius made up this particular statue’s resemblance to Alcibiades, a quality that might make the image more acceptable to Christians, but statues of other gods had in fact been known to appropriate

188. See Or. 1.102 and 45.26 and Ep. 847. 189. Cf. Eunapius, VS 6.11–11.5, 472, on Christians making war on “stones” and boasting that they had overcome the gods. 190. See the menacing tone of the speech’s ending, 30.55.

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the appearance of the statesman.191 The attribution of the work to Pheidias was, to be sure, only a creation of Libanius’s emotive exasperation.192 When the sophist argues that divine statues, such as the one of Asclepius at Beroea, no longer attracted direct cult worship and therefore should be regarded merely as valuable objets d’art that should be carefully preserved, he seems to be playing down their religious significance for pragmatic reasons.193 This passage in Libanius’s speech, with its indulgent account of the bronze statue’s artistic beauties and its insistence that the statue no longer attracted blood offerings or sacrifices, has always been regarded as an exclusively rhetorical attempt at desacralization.194 But was it really only rhetorical? In the third century the philosopher Plotinus had claimed that the gods were present in their statues.195 His pupil Porphyry, however, was hesitant to agree; although he recognized the importance of images of the gods as manifestation of the gods’ power, he would go no further and wavered in his acceptance of theurgy.196 His contemporary Iamblichus, admired by Libanius, continued in this direction. His limited acceptance of theurgy was intellectually subtle.197 He claimed that nothing that was made of matter could be divine, and that a statue participated in a divine world only because of its wondrous aesthetic appearance.198 It is helpful also to consider the issue as seen in the same period by the African Arnobius, who converted from paganism to Christianity in 295 or 296 and wrote a treatise on the matter in 297, before the Diocletianic persecution erupted in 303.199 Even though Libanius had no access to Arnobius’s writings in Latin, it is useful to consider this writer’s point of view because it represents a somewhat popular, rather than learned, outlook; he did not have an accomplished Christian education and did not know the sacred scriptures well. In the sixth book of

191. On Hermes in Athens resembling Alcibiades, see Arnobius, Adversus nationes, 6.13.2. 192. Pheidias was considered the model of perfect craftmanship. See Ep. 1342.3 B148, where Libanius regards the rhetor Acacius as an oratorical Pheidias. 193. See Or. 30.22–24. 194. See on this Perry 2008. 195. Plotinus, Enneades 4.3.11. 196. J. Bidez, Vie de Porphyre, le philosophe néo-platonicien avec les fragments des traités Peri; agalmavtwn (fragm. 1–23) et De regressu animae (Gent, 1913; repr. Hildesheim, 1964). On Statues 6.8.6, 6.16.10, and chapters 19, 20, and 24. 197. R. Smith 1995: 104–8. 198. See Athanassiadi 1993: 122. 199. In any case he knew the sacred scriptures imperfectly, and only some passages, because his Christian education was recent.

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his Adversus nationes, Arnobius sets out to argue that statues cannot contain gods because raw materials are not divine, and he offers certain proofs of this assertion.200 In spite of Iamblichus’s warnings against the practice of magic, the purification of statues in order to attract the divine for the purpose of prophecies was accepted by his successor Maximus of Ephesus, a miracle monger who greatly influenced Julian. In a letter to a priest, Julian maintains that in worshipping the gods men had to look at their temples and images as if they were present.201 Eunapius, who says that even the pupils of Maximus’s eyes were “winged,” remarks that he made a statue of Hecate smile and laugh.202 Libanius mentions Maximus a few times because of the latter’s influence on Julian but seems to have kept him at a distance, perhaps because the philosopher was apparently responsible for the initial coolness between Libanius and the emperor;203 a letter he addressed to Maximus is overly pompous and formal.204 Incidentally, centuries later, for some pagans, the gods remained active in their statues. Damascius says that the philosopher Heraiscus had found a sacred statue of Aion in Alexandria, which he was able to identify because he had extraordinary powers that allowed him to distinguish statues that still hosted the gods.205 Returning to the initial question, can we see only rhetorical manipulation in Libanius’s desacralization of Asclepius? Was Libanius only playing with his audience, trying to fool Christians by pretending that Asclepius was merely a marvelous bronze artifact? I have shown that in those later years Asclepius had lost much of the power he once had for the sophist, but of course it is impossible to know whether the Asclepius at Beroea had truly become a statue with no soul (apsychon) for Libanius. We have seen in many ways that there was nothing ridiculous in the traditionalism of elite pagans like Libanius.206 Many fourth-century pagans grappled with religious anxiety and confusion, misgivings that were caused only in part by external hostile circumstances. My account of the struggle of one such man unfortunately does not end with a neat, all-solving conclusion but rather contains some suggestive but inescapable loose ends.

200. Arnobius, Contre les gentils 6.8–26 on statues, ed. B. Fragu. 201. Julian, Ep. 89b.137. 202. Maximus 21; Eunapius, VS 473, 7.1 and 475, 7.2.7–10. 203. See Libanius Or. 18.155–56 and 203; 14.32. The reference at Or. 1.123 could be to Maximus. 204. Ep. 694 N80. 205. Damascius, Vit. Is. 76 D–E. Cf. Bowersock 1990: 58; and Watts 2010: 58–59. 206. See Rüpke 2007b: 237. Cf. the Introduction.

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A modern interpreter has remarked, “What Libanius believed about the gods is somewhat obscure, but it is clear enough that he believed they existed.”207 Although not all the problems are solved (nor did I expect them to be), I think that some progress has been made, particularly in that we have become more able to draw some distinction between the public Libanius, with his protestations of militant paganism, and the man of the letters, who does not seem to believe with equal intensity in an all-powerful pantheon of divinities.

207. Limberis 2000: 386.

Conclusion Julian’s School Edict Again Masters of studies and teachers must excel first in character, then in eloquence. But since I cannot be present in person in all the municipalities, I command that if any man should wish to teach, he shall not leap forth suddenly and rashly to this task, but he shall be approved by the judgment of the municipal senate and shall obtain the decree of the decurions with the consent and agreement of the best citizens. For this decree shall be referred to me for consideration, in order that such teachers may enter upon their pursuits in the municipalities with a certain higher honor because of Our judgment. —Codex Theodosianus 13.3.5 I think that true education does not consist of laboriously acquired graceful phrases and language, but of a healthy condition of the mind, having understanding and true opinions about both good and evil things and both noble and base things. So whoever thinks one thing and teaches his pupils another, in my opinion this man fails to educate as much as he fails to be a good man too. . . . Thus all who profess to teach anything must be men of suitable character and must not carry in their souls opinions opposed to what they profess in public. . . . The gods were guides of all learning for Homer and Hesiod and Demosthenes and Herodotus and Thucydides and Isocrates and Lysias. . . . I think it is absurd that men who expound the works of these writers should dishonor the gods who were honored by them. . . . But I do not assert that they ought to change their opinion in order to instruct the young. I give them a choice, either not to teach what they do not think is excellent or if they wish to teach, first they must persuade their pupils that neither Homer nor Hesiod . . . are guilty of impiety, folly, and error in regard to the gods. . . . Any youth who wishes to go to school is not excluded, for it would not be fair to shut out from the best path boys who are still too ignorant to know which way to turn. —Julian, Ep. 61c. 229

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In the preceding chapters I have reflected on the fact that pagans and Christians in the fourth century were not two diametrically opposed groups. Rather than belonging to bounded, closed entities and organizations, many people had a practical, cultural, and social interest in what happened on the other side of the bridge (to use Guignebert’s metaphor).1 Although some stood in rigidly discrete groups, others shared with their opposite numbers a cultural and social discourse that sometimes produced moments of extraordinary solidarity, displaying an affinity that challenged conventions. Julian’s school law has attracted much scholarly attention, but it will be worthwhile to examine it again, together with all the issues it raises, now that we have investigated the various degrees of intensity inherent in religious allegiance.2 On 17 June 362, some seven months after becoming emperor, Julian issued an edict that was then followed by a rescript that is now contained in one of his letters. The edict was most likely issued in Ancyra when the emperor was on his way to Antioch.3 It was directed at teachers of higher education and may have appeared innocuous at first; character, said Julian, had to be prioritized over eloquence when selecting teachers, and educators were supposed to evaluate their professional choice with a great sense of responsibility. This decree seemed to people at the time to be not much more than what Quintilian had asserted with regard to the moral duty of teachers centuries earlier; in this case, however, the novelty consisted of the role the emperor would play in the selection of educators, until then exclusively in the hands of municipal magistrates and councilors. Certainly a reform of higher education was needed, for instance, with regard to the competition of teachers for municipal posts, a brutal struggle in which rivals had recourse even to magic. In a valuable book that considers all the elements of and sources for the issue, Emilio Germino has rightly underlined that the edict was part of the emperor’s ambitious general program of reforms. This scholar, whose main interest lies in the legal aspects of the school law and in investigating the influence of Christianity on late antique legislation, doubts the tight connection between the edict and the imperial letter, which traditionally has been given the force of law. The nature of this letter and its relation to the

1. On the texts, see Tougher 2007: 92– 93 and 107. Codex Theodosianus 13.3.5 was received at Spoleto on 29 July 362. The second epigraph consists of part of Julian’s Ep. 61c Bidez; cf. chapter 3. 2. Julian’s school law received much attention. See, e.g., R. Smith 1995:18–19 and 199; Elm 2003 and 2012: 139–43 and passim; Bringmann 2004: 123–28; and Stenger 2009: 102–10. 3. See Wiemer 1995a: 108–10, esp. 108.

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edict are indeed obscure.4 It may not have been a document to be divulged publicly but part of the “private” correspondence of the emperor, responding to an eminent Christian addressee, a bishop, for example.5 But even if we agree with this view and recognize that scholars have concluded too readily that Julian’s letter was a direct explanation of the edict and ought be taken in strict conjunction with it,6 the existence and tone of the letter cannot be denied. It shows unmistakably the direction in which Julian had decided to proceed. The letter most likely did not have the force of law, but it nonetheless stated the emperor’s convictions at the time and was part of a policy on behalf of the traditional gods. According to the imperial document, no discrepancy was supposed to exist between the personal religious conviction of instructors and what they professed in their classroom; when teachers were expounding the works of the classical writers who honored the gods, they should uphold those writers’ message and must not maintain that they were wrong or guilty of impiety. The letter states explicitly that those teachers who did not agree with the message of the ancient writers concerning the gods should “go to the churches of the Galilaeans to expound Matthew and Luke,” that is, confine their teachings to Christian churches and doctrine. According to the imperial letter, Christian teachers of higher education who held public chairs had to resign but could continue to teach classical education privately. The policy had a huge impact that extended far beyond practical issues of organization; the emperor’s plans were astute and ambitious. “Within little more than a generation the educated élite of the empire would be pagan.”7 The violent reaction of Gregory of Nazianzus, the first Christian to condemn Julian’s policy on culture, was contained in two invectives published after the emperor’s death (Orations 4 and 5). Julian, writes Gregory, had barred Christians from a cultural patrimony to which they were supposed to have no claim, but “Greekness” was not a religion, and neither Greek learning nor the Greek language belonged exclusively to the Hellenes. Gregory’s voice of protest and condemnation has reverberated through

4. See also Bouffartigue 2010: 118–20. 5. The most comprehensive treatment of all the issues is Germino 2004; see especially 135–66 and passim on the imperial letter and 163–64 on its addressee. The arguments of this book, which are valid from the legal standpoint, should be taken with some caution when they apply to the general policy of Julian toward Christians. 6. On the letter as another element in Julian’s legislation on education or as a rescript meant to explain the code, see Banchich 1993. 7. Bowersock 1978: 84.

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time; from late antiquity to the Renaissance and beyond, the school policy has always been considered a clear manifestation of Julian’s deep hostility toward Christians.8 The voice of Gregory, which has profoundly influenced not only subsequent Christian reaction but also the modern perception of Julian’s educational policy, resonates shrilly from his invective, similar to those examples that I have investigated in Chapter 2. As we have seen, the connection with reality and history in these oratorical pieces could be tenuous, but a contemporary audience would be able to see through that strategy of communication more acutely than modern critics can. Gregory was a comparatively young priest at the time, educated according to the best oratorical paideia; his education was fresh and vibrant, and the occasion called for a powerful application of it. Julian, moreover, as the incarnation of the devil, would remain his target constantly, even obsessively, in the future. Gregory, having reluctantly accepted the priesthood, had just spent some time in ascetic retreat with his friend Basil in the monastery of Annesoi and then had returned to Nazianzus and his duties. What was the audience for Gregory’s invective against Julian? It may have been Basil and men like him, other Christian pepaideumenoi who could appreciate Gregory’s turgid style, his cultural claims, and his vindication of Christians’ right to the continued study of classical literature. Scholars have sometimes questioned the historicity of Gregory’s strident accusations against Julian, wondering whether he had access to the emperor’s works and remarking on the lack of clear connections with the emperor’s policy regarding Christian teachers.9 Gregory tried to reclaim for Christian intellectuals access to a traditional culture, already endangered, that he believed was being denied to them. He does not refer to the school legislation itself and in fact does not mention the issue of teaching at all but characterizes Julian’s prohibitions as barring Christians from the study of classical literature; the imperial letter, however, had expressly confirmed the right of everyone, pagan and Christian alike, to study the classical texts. Gregory’s testimony is significant because it was contemporaneous with the edict; therefore, its overall value cannot be discounted, even though it is undeniable that he rhetorically inflated the whole matter by making Julian’s threats seem more inflammatory than they really were. What matters here is that his evidence strongly influenced and inflamed the

8. On the many people through time who condemned the anti-Christian tenor of the law, see Carmon Hardy 1968: 131–34. 9. On the question, see Germino 55–77 with abundant bibliography. On the portrait of Julian in the whole work of Gregory, see Molac 2001.

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later Christian sources, which either echoed his testimony or took his distortions even further. The city of Ancyra, where the edict was proclaimed, was only a few days travel from Antioch; Libanius, who had a vested interest in paideia, must have heard of the emperor’s educational declaration almost immediately. He was in close contact with people in that city and had sent several letters there in the period between Julian’s nomination as sole emperor and his arrival in Antioch.10 These letters concern certain of Libanius’s students and friends and contain no allusion to the school law, but it is likely that Libanius received letters at that time informing him about it; yet Libanius responded with silence.11 Neither then nor in later years did he make any direct allusion to Julian’s edict, although he always insisted on a tight literary connection between the logoi (literature, but especially eloquence) and the worship of the gods. Having encountered Julian in Nicomedia some fifteen years earlier, he met him again in Antioch in July 362; the emperor did not recognize him immediately, but once he was told who Libanius was, he greeted him with enthusiasm and affection and asked him to compose an oration. The sophist wrote a letter to the pagan Celsus to commemorate this encounter with Julian (in which he also mentions his Christian friend Olympius); he makes sure to underline his own independence from the emperor and to emphasize the fact that the request for a speech had come unsolicited from Julian, and that Libanius had not asked for any favors.12 In writing his Autobiography many years later, the sophist insisted on characterizing their relationship as devoid of any flattery.13 Thus at the end of July, after the proclamation of the edict, Libanius composed Oration 13, the Prosphonetikos (address) to Julian. The proem of the speech introduces its main theme: “Together with the worship of the gods [hiera], Sire, the reverence for the practice of eloquence has returned, not merely because eloquence is no small part of such hiera, but also because you have been moved toward reverence for the gods by eloquence itself.” We have seen that an appreciation for eloquence formed a fundamental part of Libanius’s relationship with the emperor; the sophist felt vindicated in his passion for a traditional rhetoric based on mythology by the emperor’s

10. See Epp. 698, 702, 704, 728, 730, 731, 732, and 733; and Wiemer 1995a: 109 n124. 11. Libanius never referred to the school law directly, although scholars sometimes claim that he did, e.g., Elm 2003: 514n45. 12. Ep. 736 N88; cf. 797.3 N97. See also Or. 15.7, where he emphasizes that summer and winter, Julian continued to invite him to compose. 13. Or. 1.121–25.

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enjoyment of the same studies. In his Prosphonetikos Libanius repeatedly emphasizes the fundamental part education had played in Julian’s conversion to paganism: from the beginning, the gods had nurtured young Julian’s soul through the logoi so that he would be able to break his bonds and jump out of the darkness “to grasp truth instead of ignorance, the legitimate instead of the false, our old gods instead of this recent intruder and his evil rites.”14 In the imperial letter on education, Julian had declared that all students, Christians included, could obtain a higher education based on the traditional texts at the hands of pagan teachers; no doubt he hoped that Christian youth might be seduced by the gods of the ancient writers, as he had been. But although in his oration Libanius insists on the huge impact that the logoi had on the religious allegiance of the future emperor, he does not go beyond this, nor does he mention Julian’s policy on education. One could maintain that his silence was a measure of prudence because the proclamation was so recent that its effects were still unknown, as was public reaction to it. But the sophist made no direct reference to the measure even later; in the speech he wrote in the spring of 363 to upbraid the Antiochenes for their hostile conduct toward Julian, he refers to the fact that they were proud of their educational system but entrusted the teaching of epic poetry to “other teachers,” a reference, but only a vague one, to Julian’s policy.15 It is even more surprising that he maintains his silence in Oration 18 ( Julian’s Epitaphios), in which he reviews the whole life of the emperor in precise detail. Besides a wish not to jeopardize a reclaimed relationship with Julian, I think that there were other reasons that prompted Libanius’s seeming neutrality. There is no doubt that Julian’s school edict affected Christians, who were the main focus of his attention, but we should take into account that, as modern scholarship recognizes, he was not, after all, obsessed with the battle against Christians; it was the Christians themselves who put a disproportionate emphasis on the religious aspect of his policies.16 I suggest that the edict also targeted others, those pagans who were not absorbed in the cult of the traditional gods with the same intensity and passion as the emperor.17 With Julian the shades of religion lost their variation of nuance and

14. Or. 13.12. 15. Or. 16.47. Libanius said that the Antiocheans were instructed about the gods by Homer and Hesiod but now asked “other” (that is, Christian) teachers to teach epic. This is the closest Libanius comes to referring to the edict. 16. For a summary and restatement of this issue, see Marcos 2009. 17. Stenger 2009: 104–10 thinks that the edict showed the desire of Julian to instill a moral conduct in teachers (not only Christians) that was in line with the emperor’s philosophical tendencies

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reverted to a stark black and white: believers had to be in or out, and divergences of any kind were not permitted. The pagan front had to be united. Julian had been educated as a young man by Christian teachers and was very aware not only of the profound learning of some of them but also of the subtle ways in which they made use of (and distanced themselves from) the religious content of the cultural heritage of the Greeks. He himself had struggled to overcome these obstacles to full acceptance of the pagan gods; as emperor, he who had walked the path from Christianity to the worship of the gods knew exactly the pitfalls that could make one turn back, the resistance and lingering doubts that stalled one’s course, and the rewards of reaching one’s destination. Of course, Julian was also a man of the world who dealt ably with powerful Christians and sometimes employed them in office; he knew intimately how Christians had penetrated fourth-century society, and that his program necessitated coherence among pagans. Julian had the burning zeal of the neophyte. Reflecting on the inefficacy of forcing pagans to embrace Christianity by destroying their temples, Libanius compares an ardent pagan believer to a lover who passionately desires the beloved;18 we know that some pagans were not so earnest, but Julian certainly was such a lover. The emperor possessed an intimate knowledge of religious nuances that enabled him to distinguish in subtle ways those who were fervent pagans like himself from the gray pagans for whom the worship of the gods was little more than a traditional way of life. The combination in Julian of the intransigence of a fundamentalist with the recent memories of his own struggles sensitized him to the various degrees of religious allegiance. No doubt some pagans must have felt threatened by the emperor’s devotional enthusiasm, a fervor that promised to change the expectations of their own commitment, but they were mostly silent. Ammianus, however, voiced his disapproval of the edict, which he judged too harsh (inclemens) because “it forbade Christian rhetors and grammarians to teach unless they consented to worship the pagan gods.”19 His statement that the measure “had to be buried in eternal silence” conveyed his stern censure,20 but it can also be viewed as a rhetorical strategy, a sort of praeteritio that allowed him to refer to something without delving into it. As a historian, he

and the link between ethics and culture in his thought. This may be partly right, but my claim is different. 18. Or. 30.26. 19. Ammianus 25.4.20 and 22.10.7. 20. Ammianus. Cf. also his desire (28.1) that silence could consign to oblivion the cruel lawsuits at Rome from 368 onward. In this case, however, the historian described the crisis and executions in detail.

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could not fail to mention Julian’s educational policy, but he could make it appear to be an unfortunate parenthesis “in the glories of his career” (gloriarum multiplices cursus).21 We have seen that Libanius suspected Maximus of Ephesus of poisoning his relationship with Julian; the philosopher, a fanatical extremist, must have disapproved of Libanius’s casual and confident relations with Christians. The sophist’s lack of active commitment and the literary nature of his religious affiliation must not have escaped Maximus’s attention. Libanius was a pagan all’acqua di rose, that is, rather superficial, and Maximus did not regard him as an ideal mentor for the young emperor in his crusade on behalf of the pagan deities. The sophist’s friendship with the Christian Olympius dated to their childhoods, and a passage in the Autobiography suggests that Libanius had good relations with some Christians when he was teaching in Nicomedia in the late 340s: “My reputation had increased, and there were countless tongues that praised me, but there also were those who said that I associated with people whom Apollo would have considered unworthy.”22 Libanius here uses one of his customary antitheses, and we perceive the invisible presence of the judging Tyche balancing his accomplishments. Scholars have tentatively connected this reference to censure with his Oration 59, the panegyric on Constantius II and Constans, in which he had deferred to the Christian rulers.23 However, nothing prevents us from envisioning an even more general situation. Libanius navigated in and out of many circles and felt comfortable with cultivated individuals regardless of their religious affiliation. We have seen that his reception during the centuries has been dependent on different views of his position; those who reproached him in this case were active pagans who did not share his religious stance. History is also made of small coincidences and of apparently trivial events. In that summer, near the time of Julian’s proclamation of the edict, Libanius sent his Christian friend Olympius up Mount Casius; he had to represent the sophist, who may have been ailing, before a powerful pagan officer and the emperor himself. I suggest that the school edict and the following imperial letter sent pagans a troubling, controversial message that they too had to conform to the emperor’s strict religious guidelines. Those pagans who were in charge of the education of the young could not be content with “graceful phrases”

21. Ammianus 22.10.6. 22. Or. 1.74. 23. J. Martin and Petit 1979: 224. Or. 59 was composed between 344 and 349.

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but had to maintain “a healthy condition of the mind.” The historian Ammianus had a scholarly duty to report on Julian’s measures, but the silence of Libanius and other pagans concerning the educational policy was not only an implicit condemnation of the exclusion of learned Christians from teaching and an indication of solidarity among pepaideumenoi; it was also induced by personal concerns and resentment against the intrusion into one’s private commitment to pagan devotion. The school edict forced pagans to confront anew the gods of Homer, Hesiod, and Demosthenes and to compare them with those harbored in their own souls.

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Abedrapsas, 220–21 Aegae, 147–48 Aeschines, 21, 36, 48, 77, 84, 95, 108–111, 113; sexual invective in, 97–105 alazones, 101, 105, 118 Ambrose, Aurelius, 193 Ammianus Marcellinus 49, 53, 78, 118, 144, 154, 168–69, 184, 219–20, 223; on Julian’s edict regarding teachers, 24, 235–37; religious attitude of, 168–69, 219–20 anachoresis. See isolation Ancyra, 230, 233 anger, 91–93, 105, 117, 130, 203 Andronicus of Rhodes, 93 Antioch, 3, 19, 28, 36, 41, 43–44, 48, 51–54, 56, 74, 79–80, 123, 127, 133, 176, 179, 185, 188, 196; gods of, 52, 143, 147, 207–11; schism of, 64–65, 191– 93 Antony the Great, 50, 57, 61–62, 70–73, 186; compared to Libanius, 71–72; illiteracy of, 66–69; Aphrodite, 115, 144–45, 198, 208–09, 218–19 Aphthonius of Antioch, 108, 113 Apollo, 56–57, 59, 136, 144, 158, 183, 206, 210, 236 Apollonius of Tyana, 20, 56–60, 68, 85–86 Aradius Rufinus (no. 11), 178 Aratus, 217 Archilochus, 112 Aristides, Aelius, 42, 48, 88, 90, 95, 144, 147, 212, 217 Aristophanes, 45, 100, 104–05, 119 Aristotle, 58, 79, 89–93, 104, 106 Arnobius of Sicca, 226–27 Artemis, 142, 157, 188, 208–09 asceticism, ascetic, 51, 55–59, 62, 68–72, 192, 198–200, 232 Asclepius, 144, 147–49, 154–55, 159, 167, 212–14, 225–27 astrology, 219

Athanasius of Alexandria, 20–21, 57, 61–62, 65–74, 192 Athena, 205–06, 208–09, 218–19 Athens, 50, 68, 89, 106, 176 audience, 2–3, 5–6, 19–21, 25–27, 30, 77–80, 106–07, 124; court room, 98–99; education of, 43, 84–85, 116–19; modern, 27, 207; pagan or Christian, 13, 73–74, 220, 224–27, 232; size of, 41, 80, 83–89, 111 Augustine of Hippo, 25, 42, 171, 173 Autobiography, 6, 20, 38–54, 82–83, 86, 127, 148, 165, 184–85, 201, 233, 236; audience of, 41–43, 51, 74; compared to Vita Antonii, 71–72; genre of, 39, 42–44; historical accuracy of, 39–49; narrator of, 44; religion in, 61, 143, 145–46, 203; style of, 42–43, 49 Basil of Caesarea, 12, 15, 64–65, 68, 71, 159, 176, 192, 232; letter exchange with Libanius of, 13, 16 Bios. See Autobiography Bithynia, 44, 47–48, 176 Cavafy, Constantine P., 137, 182–83 Celsus, 175–76, 189, 217, 233 Christianity, Christian: called “enemies of the gods,” 195– 97; conversion, 16, 171, 173–74, 226; invective, 21, 120–23; Letters to, 197, 214; moderate, 139, 172–73; prayer, 145; reception, 11–17; relation to paganism, 8–10, 13, 54–55, 73–74, 139–40, 159–161, 166–67, 180–85, 229–32; rise of, 7, 221–22; rule, 28, 140, 153–55, 160–63, 168, 173–75, 184, 215, 225, 236; theology, 66, 132, 150, 213; view of oratory, 38, 71, 74; women, 178–79, 198– 99 Cicero, Marcus Tullius, 25, 29, 31, 34, 91–92, 96, 106–08, 117, 124–25 Claudius Claudianus, 118–19 257

258

I NDE X

Clearchus (no. 1), 177, 190 Clemens of Alexandria, 67 Constantinople, 45–48, 78, 203 Daphne (locality), 80, 136, 158, 188–89, 210 Datianus, Censorius (no. 1), 152, 184–85, 188, 190 dating of corpus, 17–20 Decentius, 1–2, 167–68 De Coincy, Gautier, 14–15 deinotes, 97 Demetrius (no. 2), 83, 148, 179 Demosthenes, 11, 21, 36, 48, 77, 84–85, 95, 108–11, 113, 116, 126, 196–97, 229, 237; sexual invective in, 97–105 Dio Chrysostom, 36, 42, 85, 108 Diogenes Laertius, 67 Dionysius of Halicarnassus, 11, 84 Dionysus, 141–42, 210–12, 214 dissemination, 21, 79, 84–86, 126, 130 dreams, 16, 92, 149 ekphrasis, 91, 107 emotions, 89–95 encomium, 17, 77, 80, 95, 108, 113, 129, 189, 236; contracts for, 81–83 Entrechius, 176 epistolary, 6, 125–26, 130; as genre, 29, 35, 40; etiquette of, 33–34; protection of, 31–33; public or private, 28–30 ethnicity, 138–39 Eunapius, 50, 55, 68, 227; compared to Ammianus, 168–69; on Libanius, 10–11, 46 Eusebius (no. 17), 158–59, 179 Evagrius of Antioch, 21, 23, 62–66, 69, 74, 185–86, 191–94, 202–03 fiction vs. realism, 3–5, 6–7, 21–22, 39–49, 96, 114–19, 232 Fortune. See Tyche free speech. See parresia friendship, 34, 41, 47, 65, 125, 129–30, 176; interfaith, 9, 13, 182–85 genre, 17, 19, 20–21, 26–27, 35–36, 88–89, 110, 118, 124–25, 130, 140, 186, 196 Gibbon, Edward, 3, 12, 132, 163 Godefroy, Jacques, 10 Gospels, 53 grammata, 66–69

Gregory of Nazianzus, 8, 12, 13, 38–39, 60–61, 68, 179, 192, 231–32 Gregory of Nyssa, 13, 196 grief, 93–95, 155, 164 Hellenism, 44, 109, 160, 207, 231; denoting paganism, 7–8, 178, 184 Helpidius (no. 4), 92–93, 112–13 Helpidius (no. 6), 176–77 henotheism, 213–22 Hermes, 150, 211–12, 214 holy men, 9, 20, 51, 56, 60–61, 63, 184 Hygieia, 144, 147–48 Hypatius, 82 Iamblichus, 55, 58–60, 73, 218, 226–27 identity, 120, 137–38, 159, 199, 221 invective, 17, 35, 76–79, 84, 116–19, 130, 169, 232; Christian, 21, 120–23; compared to satire, 110–12; as entertainment, 100–05, 108, 121–24; laws against, 99, 117; sexual, 21, 76–78, 96–107, 112–16; topoi of, 112–14, 128 Isocrates, 57, 71, 89, 187, 229 isolation, 50–51, 60, 62, 68–70 Jerome, 64–65, 69–70, 192–93, 198–99 John Chrysostom, 10, 53, 64, 74, 120–23, 138, 193, 198, 200 Julian, 8, 53–55, 120, 144, 155–60, 175–77, 204, 211; and Christians, 15–16, 168, 180–81, 233–36; correspondence with Libanius of, 28, 142, 150; death of, 84, 143, 161, 164–65; edict regarding teachers of, 24, 229–37; orations regarding, 11, 35–36, 84, 92–93, 112–13, 150, 213, 217, 233; reign of, 155–60; friendship with Libanius of, 13–14, 28, 44, 56, 59, 163–66, 233, 236; writings of, 218 Latin, 21, 62–65, 69, 106, 114, 118, 128, 184, 186, 226 Lemmatius, 1–2, 167 Letters, 12–13, 129, 140; audience of, 30, 130; to Christians, 152, 197, 214; interruption in, 28, 151, 161; to Julian, 28, 142, 150; religious references of, 151–63 letter writing. See epistolary Libanius: and Christians, 11, 13, 16–17, 82–83, 149, 152, 154–60, 166, 169, 183–85; early life of, 49; education of,

INDEX 50–51, 187; expulsion from Constantinople of, 46–47; friendship with Julian of, 13–14, 35–36, 44, 56, 59, 92–93, 143, 163–66, 233, 236; friendship with Olympius of, 23, 63, 176, 183, 186–91, 203–05, 236; health problems of, 45–46, 146–49, 154–55, 212–13, 215, 222; on Julian’s edict regarding teachers, 24, 233–34, 237; religious attitude of, 8, 14–15, 22–23, 26, 61, 135–138, 140–63, 213–15, 217–19, 222; transmission of, 10–12, 87 lightning, 45–46 Lucian of Samosata, 43, 85, 106–07, 118, 196 Lycurgus of Athens, 100 magic, 47, 51, 58, 123, 146, 149, 198, 204, 227, 230 marriage: interfaith, 178–80; spiritual, 197–200 Maximus (no. 19), 177–78 Maximus of Ephesus, 33, 157, 227, 236 memorization, 50, 71–72, 80 memory sites, 223–25 Menander, 119 Menander Rhetor, 90, 93–94, 113 Miccalus, 186, 189–91, 198–99, 202 miracles, 14–16, 46, 51–54, 56, 59, 72–73, 227 Mixidemus, 94, 114–17 Muses, 82, 94, 119, 144, 153, 189, 206, 210 Neoplatonism, 20, 58–61, 213–20 Nicocles, 165–66, 177, 179 Nicomedia, 19, 90–91 Olympic Games, 80, 110, 143, 152, 177, 208 Olympius (no. 3), 144, 157, 183, 197–202, 233; friendship with Libanius of, 23, 63, 176, 183, 186–91, 203–05, 236; religious affiliation of, 179, 194–97 oratory, orators, 44, 71–72, 77–78, 123–24, 211, 233–34; amateur, 105–07, 201; categories of, 35–37, 87–89; Christian view of, 38, 71, 74; Roman, 37–38, 106–07; in schools, 87, 95– 96, 114, 229–34 Origen, 9 paganism, pagan: belief, 132–36; conversion, 171, 234; definition of, 7–8, 170;

259

divination, 154–55; fanatic, 23, 165–67, 235–36; moderate, 23–24, 139, 161, 168, 173–81, 206, 234–37; monotheism (see henotheism); myth, 136–37, 149, 153–56, 162, 185, 205–07; opportunism, 9, 23, 137–39, 170–71, 213; prayer, 145–46; relation to Christianity, 8–10, 13, 54–55, 73–74, 139–40, 159–161, 166–67, 180–85, 229–32; ritual, 22, 134, 141–45, 149, 156, 224–27; social distinctions in, 7, 133; statuary, 225–27; temples, 223–25; texts destroyed, 8– 9; women, 178–79 paideia, 8, 13, 26, 72–73, 96, 118, 155, 160, 166, 211, 232–33, 237 panegyric. See encomium parresia, 82–84, 149, 215, 234 Paulinus, 64, 192–93 Paul of Thebes, 69–70 Paul the Apostle, 150 Paulus Catena, 150–51 pepaideumenoi. See paideia perfor mance venues, 21, 79–81 persona. See self-presentation philanthropia, 13, 51, 78 philosophy, 58–61, 66, 73, 124, 175, 217 Philostratus, 20, 37, 45, 55–58, 68, 85–86, 97 pity, 90–92 Pliny the Elder, 45 Plotinus, 58–60, 226 Plutarch, 49, 55, 67, 107, 118 Porphyry, 9–10, 58–62, 73, 226 positivism, 22, 135–36 Proclus, 60 Proclus (no. 6), 127–29, 143, 203 progymnasmata, 108, 113 pseudonym, 114–17, 202 psogos. See invective Pythagoras, 58–61, 73 Quintilian, 85, 230 reception, 5, 12, 26, 136, 221, 236; Christian, 11–17; early modern, 10 religion. See paganism rhetoric. See oratory satire, 21, 77, 110–12, 118 Scopelianus, 45–46 Second Sophistic, 21, 36–38, 42, 77, 79, 196

260

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Secundus Salutius (no. 3), 64, 175, 218–19 self-presentation, 3, 6, 25–27, 50–53, 137, 155, 160–63, 186 Silvanus, 91, 114 slander. See invective Socrates, 58, 203 Socrates Scholasticus, 11–12, 63, 171, 200 sophrosyne, 120 spectacles, 49, 120–23, 209 Strategius Musonianus, 47, 81, 184 style, 10–12, 79, 84–85, 87–89, 104, 108–09, 169 Symmachus, 183 Thales, 133 theater, 38, 96–98, 100, 118–23

Themistius, 36, 76, 176–77, 187, 189, 209, 213, 219 Theocritus, 53 Third Sophistic, 21, 36–37 travel, 34, 43–44, 50, 59–60, 68 Tyana, 56–57 Tyche, 39, 41–42, 51–53, 61, 71, 145–46, 150, 159, 167, 203, 217, 236 Valens, 2, 28, 80–81, 176, 192 violence, 78, 91, 127–28, 135, 143, 158, 160–61, 167 Zenobius, 48–49, 53–54 Zeus, 15, 23, 41, 46, 54, 142–45, 150, 152, 154, 163, 179, 190, 207–08; and henotheism, 213–14, 217–20, 222