The Theodosian Age (A.D. 379-455): Power, place, belief and learning at the end of the Western Empire 9781407311074, 9781407340777

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BAR S2493 2013

Rosa García-Gasco is currently an Instructor of Classical Greek and Latin in the Public System of Secondary Education of the Government of Madrid and an associate researcher in the Department of Greek Philology and Indoeuropean Linguistics at the University Complutense of Madrid, where she has been collaborating since 2004 in several projects. She earned her PhD with her Doctoral Thesis Orpheus and Orphism in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca in 2007. García-Gasco has since then published numerous chapters on Greek religion and myth in collected books, as well as on Greek drama and rhetorics. She is currently working on epics, Dionysus, dramatic literature and performance. Sergio González Sánchez is currently a Ph.D. candidate in the School of Archaeology and Ancient History at the University of Leicester. His research focuses on the creation of ancient and modern myths around RomanBarbarian interactions, their influence on the creation of national identities and the analysis of different traditions of archaeological interpretation. He has published articles on the topic and has participated in archaeological projects in Italy and the UK. He has recently presented papers at different international conferences on Roman archaeology and imperialism. He combines his doctoral activity with the teaching of Latin and Greco-Roman literature at the University of Leicester. David Hernández de la Fuente is Assistant Professor at the Department of Ancient History at Universidad Nacional de Educación a Distancia (Madrid, Spain) and Lecturer at the University of Potsdam (Germany), where he was a Humboldt Fellow (2009-2011). He has published an interpretation on Nonnus’ Dionysiaca (Bakkhos Anax, 2008) stemming from his first PhD dissertation, and numerous articles and reviews on Greek Literature (esp. Nonnus), Philosophy and Religion (Oracles, History of Platonism, etc.). Among his several books, he has edited New Perspectives on Late Antiquity (2011) and authored Vidas de Pitágoras (2011).

GARCÍA-GASCO, GONZÁLEZ SÁNCHEZ & HERNÁNDEZ DE LA FUENTE (Eds)

The Theodosian Age was a controversial and fascinating period in the Late Roman Empire. Religious controversies and barbaric strife distressed the population. However, there was a remarkable blossoming of the arts, as evidenced by the literary and philosophical trends: a paradoxical first Renaissance of the Classical World at a ‘time of anxiety’. The present volume combines diverse interests and methodologies with a single purpose: to give an overall picture of the new trends and perspectives currently used in the research of the epoch of Theodosius the Great and his successors, with special emphasis on the dynamics of places, power, belief and learning, and their mutual interdependencies. This monograph, stemming from the 2010 2nd International Congress on Late Antiquity held in Segovia (Spain), offers a scientific update and a dialogue between several disciplines. The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire is structured in two main sections — Ancient History and Archaeology, and Philosophy and Literature — and includes among the contributors some of the most relevant scholars in their fields: P. Barceló, M. V. Escribano, G. Montes Cala, R. Sanz Serrano, N. Christie, etc.

The Theodosian Age (A.D. 379-455) Power, place, belief and learning at the end of the Western Empire Edited by

Rosa García-Gasco Sergio González Sánchez David Hernández de la Fuente

THE THEODOSIAN AGE

B A R

BAR International Series 2493 2013

The Theodosian Age (A.D. 379-455) Power, place, belief and learning at the end of the Western Empire Edited by

Rosa García-Gasco Sergio González Sánchez David Hernández de la Fuente

BAR International Series 2493 2013

ISBN 9781407311074 paperback ISBN 9781407340777 e-format DOI https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407311074 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

BAR

PUBLISHING

Table of contents List of Figures.............................................................................................................................................................. iii Contact details ............................................................................................................................................................... v Prefacio ........................................................................................................................................................................vi Rosa García-Gasco, Sergio González Sánchez and David Hernández de la Fuente Section I: History and Archaeology The power of Maternus Cynegius in the Theodosian court ........................................................................................... 1 María Victoria Escribano Paño De las catacumbas a las catedrales: sobre la transformación del espacio sacro desde el inicio de la era cristiana hasta la época teodosiana ............................................................................................................................................... 9 Pedro Barceló The Fate of Temples in Late-Antique Rome ............................................................................................................... 19 Chantal Bielmann Sicilian cities between the fourth and fifth centuries AD ............................................................................................ 27 Denis Sami The creation of Christian urban landscapes in Hispania: a rather late development.................................................... 37 Pilar Diarte Blasco Cristianización y violencia religiosa en la bética: tres casos de eliminación de escultura pagana y mitológica en torno a época teodosiana ......................................................................................................................................... 45 Jerónimo Sánchez Velasco El papel de Gala Placidia en la creación de un reino godo en Occidente .................................................................... 53 Rosa Sanz-Serrano Theodosius II and the consolidation of the Visigothic power in the West .................................................................. 67 Fernando López Sánchez Ammianus and Theodosius I concerning the Barbarica Conspiratio.......................................................................... 73 David Álvarez-Jiménez The foedus of 382 or how the Goths did not become integrated into the Roman Empire .......................................... 85 Eike Faber The missorium of Theodosius: imperial elites and the Lusitanian countryside in the Later Roman Empire ............... 91 Saúl Martín González Rural population of farmlands south of the Guadalquivir valley in Late Antiquity (fourth-sixth centuries AD) ........ 99 Enrique García Vargas and Jacobo Vázquez Paz Safe in their homes? Reflections on defending towns and populations in northern Italy, AD 350-450 ................... 123 Neil Christie

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Section II: Philosophy and Literature El retrato de Teodosio I (Epit. 48), una encrucijada en la caracterización imperial de la Antigüedad tardía ............ 133 Isabel Moreno-Ferrero Themistius and the accession of Theodosius I, Oratio XIV ...................................................................................... 145 Aitor Blanco-Pérez La cristianización del calendario oficial romano y la política religiosa de Graciano, Valentiniano II y Teodosio I ................................................................................................................................................................. 153 Esteban Moreno Resano The persecutores in the Late Antique Christian literature (4th-5th century AD): Christian historical retrospective of the period of persecution after the Edict of Thessalonica—AD 380 ..................................................................... 161 Jorge Cuesta Fernández From the cave to the desert: the Platonic myth of the cave and its Christian echoes ................................................ 169 Javier Martínez Reception of Proclus in Pletho and Ficino ................................................................................................................. 175 Jesús de Garay Diogenes Laertius between tradition and innovation: philosophers and θεῖοι ἄνδρες .............................................. 183 Sergi Grau Rhetoric of novelty in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus of Panopolis ................................................................................ 191 Laura Miguélez-Cavero La teúrgia, de época teodosiana a Nono de Panópolis. Una visión panorámica ........................................................ 197 Rosa García-Gasco La frontera entre la prosa y el verso en la sofística del Bajo Imperio: reconsiderando a Himerio ............................ 205 José Guillermo Montes Cala Elio Aristides como modelo retórico desde la Antigüedad tardía al Renacimiento .................................................. 223 David Hernández de la Fuente Bibliography/Reference list ....................................................................................................................................... 229

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List of figures Chantal Bielmann Figure 1. The fourteen Augustan regions of Rome. Figure 2. Location of Rome’s pagan structures. Figure 3. Frequency of temple dedications. Figure 4: The temple of Divine Romulus, later converted into the church of SS Cosma e Damiano.

Denis Sami Figure 1. Late antique Sicily. Figure 2. Late antique Syracuse. Figure 3. Late antique Agrigento. Figure 4. Late antique Lilybaeum. Figure 5. Late antique Palermo. Figure 6. Late antique Catania. Figure 7. The fourth century church of San Pietro intra moenia. Figure 8. Syracuse, the remains of a Byzantine tower and wall.

Pilar Diarte Figure 1. Domestic structures in the theater and the amphitheater of Segobriga. Figure 2: Baths of Carteia. Figure 3: Valentia. Episcopal Group, VI century. Figure 4. Tarraco. Photo and planimetry of the amphitheatre and the Christian basilica.

Jerónimo Sánchez Velasco Figure 1. Archaeological and sculptoric remains found at c/ Duque de Hornachuelos. Figure 2. Statues found in the Villa of Mithra (Cabra). Figure 3. Scene of idols destruction.

Fernando López Sánchez Figure 1. Baduila/Totila, 549-552. Half-siliqua with the name of Anastasius I (491-518). Figure 2. Baduila/Totila., 541-552. Tremissis with the name of Justinian I (527-565). Figure 3. Rechiarius, 448-456. Siliqua with the name of Honorius (395-423). Figure 4. Visigothic coin with the name of Valentinian III (425-455).

David Álvarez-Jiménez Figure 1. Map of Roman Villas damaged in time of the Barbarica Conspiratio. Figure 2. The work of the Count Theodosius.

Saúl Martín González Figure 1. The Missorium of Theodosius. Figure 2. Detail of the bottom part of the Missorium. Figure 3. Satellite map of the archaeological area around Almendralejo. Figure 4. Detail of the Missorium showing, perhaps, the receiver of the piece.

Enrique García Vargas Figure 1. Repertoire of ARS documented in M. Ponsich’s survey in the Guadalquivir valley. Figure 2. ARS. Typographical correspondence between N. Lamboglia and J. Hayes. Figure 3. Number of late-antique sites by centuries in the Guadalquivir valley. Figure 4. Municipalities of the province of Seville within the area under study. Figure 5. Repertoire of third century forms in ARS. Figure 6. Repertoire of fourth century forms in ARS. Figure 7. Repertoire of fifth century forms in ARS. Figure 8. Repertoire of sixth century forms in ARS. Figure 9. Number of sites by centuries in the area under study. Figure 10. Number of sites by municipalities and centuries.

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Figure 11. Rivers and main towns in the area of study mentioned in the text. Figure 12. Distribution of sites in the second and third centuries AD. Figure 13. Distribution of sites in the fourth century AD. Figure 14. Distribution of sites in the fifth century AD. Figure 15. Distribution of sites in the sixth century AD. Figure 16. Relationship between sixth century sites and routes of communication. Figure 17. Roman villa of Las Canteras. Figure 18. Fuente Quintillos. Aerial view. Figure 19. SE-A Salteras. Figure 20. Altos de Valdeparrillos. Figure 21a. Altos de Valdeparrillos. Ceramic material of Phase III: sixth century AD. Figure 21b. Altos de Valdeparrillos. Ceramic material of Phase III: sixth century AD.

Neil Christie Figure 1. Rimini – a much battered fragment of the amphitheatre, forming part of the city’s late Roman defensive circuit. Figure 2. The interior of the gate area of the late Roman citadel/castrum at Susa in the north-west Italian Alps. Figure 3. The 5th-century city walls of Ravenna as depicted in a 16th-century engraving. Figure 4: Susa’s 4th-century northern gateway, Porta Savoia.

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Contact details Dr David Álvarez-Jiménez Universidad Complutense de Madrid [email protected]

Dr Sergi Grau University of Barcelona [email protected]

Prof. Pedro Barceló Universität Potsdam/Universidad Carlos III de Madrid [email protected]

Dr David Hernández de la Fuente (ed.) Universidad Nacional de Educación a Distancia [email protected]

Chantal Bielmann University of Leicester [email protected]

Dr Fernando López Sánchez Universidad Jaume I de Castellón / Wolfson College, University of Oxford [email protected]

Aitor Blanco-Pérez Christ Church University of Oxford [email protected]

Saúl Martín González Universidad Complutense de Madrid [email protected]

Dr Neil Christie University of Leicester [email protected]

Prof. Javier Martínez Universidad de Oviedo [email protected]

Jorge Cuesta Fernández Universidad de Alicante Universidad de Murcia [email protected]

Dr Laura Miguélez-Cavero University of Oxford [email protected] Prof. José Guillermo Montes Cala Universidad de Cádiz [email protected]

Dr Jesús de Garay Universidad de Sevilla [email protected]

Dr Isabel Moreno-Ferrero Universidad de Salamanca [email protected]

Pilar Diarte Blasco Universidad de Zaragoza [email protected]

Dr Esteban Moreno Resano Universidad de Zaragoza [email protected]

Prof. María Victoria Escribano Universidad de Zaragoza [email protected]

Dr Denis Sami University of Leicester [email protected]

Dr Eike Faber Universität Potsdam [email protected]

Jerónimo Sánchez Velasco Universidad de Sevilla [email protected]

Dr Rosa García-Gasco (ed.) Universidad Complutense de Madrid/Universidad Carlos III de Madrid [email protected]

Prof. Rosa Sanz-Serrano Universidad Complutense de Madrid [email protected]

Dr Enrique García Vargas Universidad de Sevilla [email protected] Sergio González Sánchez (ed.) University of Leicester [email protected]

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Prefacio La idea de celebrar una serie de conferencias anuales en la histórica ciudad de Segovia y con el amparo del Centro Asociado de la Universidad Nacional de Educación a Distancia (UNED) en Segovia nació en el año 2009 a partir de una colaboración académica entre los grupos de investigación sobre Antigüedad tardía de varias universidades europeas: la mencionada UNED, la Universidad Complutense, la Universidad Carlos III de Madrid, la Universidad de Potsdam y la Universidad de Leicester. Tras el éxito del primer encuentro, inaugurado por Peter Brown, el segundo coloquio internacional reunió de nuevo en Segovia a algunos de los más reconocidos especialistas internacionales en las últimas tendencias de estudio sobre la época de Teodosio I, el llamado "Renacimiento teodosiano", y sus postrimerías hasta la caída del imperio romano desde una perspectiva interdisciplinaria (historia, arqueología, filología y filosofía). Si tras el primer coloquio se publicó una obra colectiva bajo el título New Perspectives on Late Antiquity (Cambridge Scholar Publishing 2011), esta segunda monografía se propone servir de nuevo como punto de encuentro internacional para la actualización científica y metodológica acerca de esta época concreta. El grupo de autores reunido en esta ocasión combina diversas disciplinas y escuelas nacionales, y sus investigaciones se caracterizan por su inspiración europea y transversal y su movilidad entre la academia inglesa, alemana y española. Para comprender los momentos de transición histórica como la época teodosiana, es preciso aunar diversos puntos de vista, como la historia cultural, la historia literaria, la historia de las religiones o del pensamiento: en ese sentido, como sugiere el título de este libro colectivo, el intento de toda actualización científica debe partir de una consideración transversal, en el espíritu de la Altertumwissenschaft de raigambre alemana, de cómo se ha transmitido y reinterpretado el legado cultural del mundo clásico en un momento histórico concreto clave como la llamada “Antigüedad tardía” (siglos III-VI). El presente volumen se compone de dos secciones que dan fe de la vocación interdisciplinaria de esta propuesta: una primera sección de historia y arqueología y otra de filología y filosofía. Se trata aquí de reflexionar sobre los principales problemas históricos y metodológicos relacionados con la época de Teodosio y sus sucesores y de actualizar los estudios sobre el tema con las últimas tendencias en las secciones monográficas de este volumen, poniendo los resultados a disposición de la comunidad científica. La primera sección, dedicada a la perspectiva histórica y arqueológica en torno a la época de Teodosio y sus sucesores inmediatos, se abre con una contribución sobre la Legislación teodosiana, a cargo de la reconocida experta en la materia María Victoria Escribano Paño. En ella se trata la discutida influencia de los hispanos en el período de Teodosio y, en particular, en el Imperio de Oriente. Esta tarea se realiza con un estudio de caso a través de un examen de las leyes en cuya redacción pudo haber estado involucrado un aristócrata de origen hispano y de nombre Maternus Cynegius. A continuación se abre un interesante conjunto de capítulos dedicados a las perspectivas histórico-arqueológicas sobre la evolución del urbanismo y de la arquitectura como señal de transformación en la antigüedad tardía. Así, en un segundo capítulo, Pedro Barceló discute la evolución del espacio sacro cristiano en la antigüedad tardía, desde los inicios del cristianismo hasta la aprobación oficial del credo niceno bajo Teodosio I. Desde el espacio clandestino de las catacumbas hasta las espléndidas basílicas que dan fe de la imbricación entre cristianismo y estado romano, la evolución de los edificios de culto se analiza de forma diacrónica en esta contribución. También trata la perspectiva espacial Chantal Bielmann, pero desde la parte contraria, la resistencia pagana, y analiza en paralelo a la contribución anterior la evolución en el uso de los templos paganos durante la Antigüedad tardía en la ciudad de Roma. Bielmann centra el debate, al hilo de la reciente discusión académica, en la posibilidad de un llamado “renacimiento pagano” en el siglo IV. Las fuentes literarias, como Símaco, se combinan con los restos arqueológicos para un análisis del fin del culto pagano en la época clave a la que se dedica el presente volumen. La siguiente contribución ahonda en la importancia del urbanismo para la configuración sociopolítica durante la antigüedad tardía, en concreto en el caso de la importante isla de Sicilia. Denis Sami utiliza la moderna metodología arqueológica para arrojar luz sobre la sicilia tardorromana, vándala y bizantina, marcada por las diversas ocupaciones militares a lo largo de los siglos IV-VI. El esudio urbanístico de las ciudades sicilianas le sirve para poner en cuestión puntos de vista tradicionales como el declive económico de la isla bajo los vándalos o la opresiva fiscalidad justinianea. El análisis de Pilar Diarte Blasco se centra en el proceso de cristianización del espacio público en la Hispania tardoantigua. La autora considera que este cambio estructural en la topografía y el urbanismo de las ciudades hispanas, paralelo a la implantación del cristianismo en todo el Imperio, no afectó a todas las ciudades por igual, sino que merece un estudio casuístico y detallado, para el que se sientan algunas consideraciones metodológicas. Cerrando esta línea de investigación cabe mencionar ahora la siguiente contribución, de Jerónimo Sánchez Velasco, que pretende analizar las evidencias arqueológicas de la cristianización de la Bética en un caso particular. La destrucción de templos y esculturas paganas se ejemplifica en algunos ejemplos particulares de la actual provincia de Córdoba: el complejo termal y su transformación en iglesia; la villa de Mitra y su posible reutilización cristiana; la villa romana de Almendinilla, posiblemente un centro rural de culto privado, y su destrucción en el siglo V. Estos tres ejemplos, que parecen corresponder a la época de Teodosio, son utilizados como estudio de caso sobre la cristianización de las estructuras arquitectónicas y del paisaje bético en general.

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El siguiente trabajo, ya desde la perspectiva de la historia personal de Gala Placidia y su papel en el naciente reino visigodo, Rosa Sanz-Serrano analiza los elementos biográficos que apuntan la actividad pública de la emperatriz políticamente más relevante de este periodo. Desde los episodios de su juventud en Roma hasta su matrimonio con Ataulfo, esta contribución analiza la cambiante influencia de Gala Placidia en el gobierno del Imperio de Occidente y su papel en el origen del reino germánico del occidente hispánico. También la octava aportación, a cargo de Fernando López Sánchez, se centra en la consolidación del poderío visigodo en el Occidente galo e hispano, que encuentra sus fundamentos en la época teodosiana. Las fuentes literarias y numismáticas sobre el origen de la monarquía visigoda son analizadas en busca de un reconocimiento imperial entre los reinados de Teodosio I y Honorio, pero no arrojan resultados hasta el reinado de Valentiniano III. Se estudia el tratado firmado en 439 que otorga a los visigodos un reconocimiento insólito y sirve para consolidar de iure su poderío ya efectivo en Occidente y sus antecedentes, analizando los contactos políticos entre el reino visigodo de Tolosa y la corte imperial de oriente. A continuación, David Álvarez-Jiménez aborda el episodio conocido como Conspiratio Barbarica y que designa al ataque marítimo de los bárbaros en las costas de la Galia continental y de Britannia, estudiándolo a partir de fuentes literarias, notablemente el historiador Amiano Marcelino, y centrándose en el intento de recuperación de las provincias británicas. Se analiza especialmente la problemática de contar como fuente casi única con la historia de Amiano, cuya narrativa no está exenta de ambigüedades y posibles errores. Los pactos entre los pueblos germánicos y el Imperio Romano centran el trabajo de Eike Faber, con el estudio detallado del foedus de 382: el autor se pregunta si había alguna posibilidad real de que este tratado resolviera pacíficamente la coexistencia entre ambos pueblos, lo que trata de responder analizando los antecedentes, los actores principales y el contexto histórico de este tratado. La relación entre las élites imperiales tardoantiguas y el medio rural de las provincias occidentales (y, en concreto, la Lusitania) ocupan la atención de Saúl Martín González a propósito de una pieza excepcional, el missorium de Teodosio, que se conserva en la Real Academia de la Historia en Madrid. Martín González analiza el contexto histórico y arqueológico de esta pieza y propone mostrarla como un elemento clave para la mejor comprensión tanto de la Hispania tardorromana como de las directrices de la política del emperador Teodosio I. Enrique García Vargas ofrece una visión panorámica de la arqueología de la Hispania tardoantigua y, en concreto en el valle del bajo Guadalquivir. El autor repasa los fundamentos de la actual arqueología de esta región desde los años setenta y analiza las posibilidades de conocer adecuadamente los patrones de asentamiento tardorromanos en la zona, revisando tanto la metodología como las fuentes y evidencias disponibles. Finalmente, la última contribución de la sección histórico-arqueológica está a cargo de Neil Christie, que analiza el sistema defensivo en el norte de Italia en la época de Teodosio. En este capítulo se estudian los diversos baluartes y fortalezas de la zona desde el punto de vista arqueológico y en comparación con las noticias sobre fronteras y ciudades. Se extraen conclusiones sobre lo que estas construcciones pueden decirmnos sobre la inseguridad general de este periodo y los procesos de cambio que denotan. Completamos el volumen con una segunda sección diez capítulos centrados en las manifestaciones filosóficas, religiosas y literarias de época teodosiana y de las décadas inmediatamente posteriores. Las aportaciones aquí recogidas abarcan un amplio rango de cuestiones, partiendo del tratamiento directo de la figura de Teodosio en fuentes filológicas de importancia clave y llegando a ampliar considerablemente sus miras, al hacer objeto de su visión crítica los más diversos aspectos que configuran el Bajo Imperio. Para empezar, Isabel Moreno ofrece un detallado estudio del retrato de Teodosio recogido en el último capítulo de la obra Epitome de Caesaribus, cuya importancia como fuente para el retrato del emperador, a pesar de su brevedad, reclama la autora. Es precisamente su escasa extensión la razón de su menosprecio frente a otras fuentes más amplias, si bien lo detallado de muchas de sus aportaciones lo salva. En esta obra, la figura de Teodosio resalta más bien por originalidad frente a las restantes del conjunto, y no por la acumulación excesiva de elogios sobre su persona. De la figura de Teodosio se ocupa también el orador Temistio en su discurso XIV, como muestra la aportación de Aitor Blanco, que destaca el valor de la obra como fuente de información del periodo inmediatamente posterior a la batalla de Adrianópolis, de los primeros momentos del reinado de Teodosio desde una perspectiva interna y, además, de la cada vez mayor pujanza de Constantinopla como “segunda Roma”, en un momento fundamental para el Imperio. Esteban Moreno Resano se detiene en determinados pasajes de la legislación de la época y atiende así a buena parte de las actuaciones legales desarrolladas por Teodosio I en lo que respecta al calendario. Partiendo de los cambios que éste había sufrido en los reinados previos de Graciano y Valentiniano II, se observa la índole gradual de dichas modificaciones. Por otro lado, entre las conclusiones más interesantes al respecto se corrobora la necesidad de congraciarse con la Iglesia y mantener esa visión favorable por parte, sobre todo, de los obispos, al tiempo que se ejerce un control directo sobre la vida pública de los súbditos. Adopta una perspectiva centrada en las fuentes cristianas la aportación de Jorge Cuesta, que se ocupa de la literatura cristiana surgida a partir del Edicto de Tesalónica y la oficialización del cristianismo bajo los auspicios de Teodosio I.

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Su capítulo pasa revista al modo en que autores como Melito, Tertuliano, Lactancio, Sulpicio Severo, Orosio o Eusebio miran hacia los siglos anteriores, a emperadores que otros ya habían considerado persecutores de la cristiandad, y a raíz de cuya obra se puede establecer una lista de prototípicos enemigos y “anticristos” encabezada por Nerón. Un considerable número de capítulos de esta sección abordan la cuestión, central en los estudios sobre Antigüedad Tardía, como viene demostrándose en el ámbito de la celebración de las reuniones de este grupo de investigadores, de los influjos mutuos entre el cristinianismo y la que se considera principal corriente de pensamiento pagana, el neoplatonismo. Así, Javier Martínez, parte de la afirmación comúnmente aceptada acerca de la influencia de la teoría de las ideas recibida por el neoplatonismo en la teología cristiana, y va un paso más allá al equiparar la figura del filósofo griego y del eremita. Despreocupados de lo material, se orientan ambos a la búsqueda de lo espiritual e inmutable, llamado Dios por los cristianos y Uno por los neoplatónicos. De otro de los principales autores neoplatónicos, Proclo, se ocupa la aportación de Jesús de Garay, que tiende un puente a nuestros días desde la filosofía de la Antigüedad Tardía, tal como es recibida en el Renacimiento, al tiempo que reivindica su importancia en la Historia de las Ideas. El trabajo de Sergi Grau, por su parte, presenta un brillante panorama de cambio y continuidad de la figura del θεῖος ἀνήρ. Ofreciendo un detenido estudio de textos de Diógenes Laercio, alusivos a la heroización de una serie de filósofos, muestra un camino marcado simultáneamente por la innovación y la tradición. Cambios y continuidad resultan centrales igualmente en las aportaciones que versan sobre la obra de Nono de Panópolis. Mientras Laura Miguélez se ocupa de la atención a los procedimientos retóricos del poeta de las Dionisíacas, a la búsqueda de las huellas de una novedad que no resulta fácil de hallar salvo en pasajes programáticos, la aportación de Rosa García-Gasco presenta un breve recorrido por la historia de la teúrgia, desde sus orígenes a su desvanecimiento en la Antigüedad Tardía. Tras ofrecer un estudio sumario de fuentes neoplatónicas, ahonda en los rasgos del teúrgo, una figura muy similar al θεῖος ἀνήρ, tal como los recibe y los transmite el poeta de Panópolis. Cierran nuestro volumen sendos capítulos que hacen de la retórica su objeto principal. Guillermo Montes Cala, en un profundo estudio genuinamente filológico, propone un examen novedoso de la figura del sofista Himerio. La nostalgia de una παιδεῖα cuya irrecuperabilidad parece segura se nos aparece en la lectura de la aportación de Montes Cala, que la halla y resalta en la expresión multiforme del orador. El aparente rechazo de la poesía y la insistente afirmación de la prosa (por medio de la técnica de la recusatio), complejos juegos de responsión o influencias, e intrincadas estructuras metafóricas, conducen, en fin, a la misma idea. Resulta de gran interés plantearse la fragilidad de las fronteras entre verso y prosa en un tiempo en que, precisamente, las fronteras son frágiles a todos los niveles y en todos los aspectos de la cultura y el pensamiento. Por su parte, David Hernández de la Fuente se detiene en Elio Aristides, una de las figuras más relevantes de la Segunda Sofística: contempla la continuidad de la παιδεῖα griega en general y del estilo aticista, en particular, en la obra de Libanio, orador contemporáneo de Himerio. En época teodosiana arranca con fuerza la tradición manuscrita de Aristides, lo que favorece, como también estudia Hernández de la Fuente, su llegada al Renacimiento y su influencia paradigmática en la obra de Leonardo Bruni. Resta solo agradecer, de nuevo, a las personas e instituciones implicadas en la edición de este volumen: los Departamentos de Historia Antigua de la UNED y de la Universidad Complutense, la cátedra de Historia Antigua de la Universidad de Potsdam (Alemania), la Escuela de Historia Antigua y Arqueología de la Universidad de Leicester y el área de Estudios Clásicos de la Universidad Carlos III, por su apoyo académico. El Centro Asociado de la UNED en Segovia, y la inestimable colaboración de su director D. Antonio López Peláez, el Ayuntamiento de Segovia y la Diputación Provincial de Segovia, así como el Ayuntamiento de la ciudad de Coca deben ser mencionados por su apoyo institucional. Hay que mencionar que, actualmente, la colaboración interuniversitaria entre las mencionadas instituciones en temas de antigüedad tardía ha llevado a crear, a raíz precisamente del coloquio que dio origen a este estudio colectivo de la época teodosiana, un centro de investigación que lleva el nombre del emperador romano en la ciudad de Segovia: el Centro Internacional de Estudios sobre la Antigüedad tardía “Teodosio el Grande”. Por último, pero no por ello con menos importancia, debemos mostrar nuestra enorme deuda, tanto en el plano personal como en el académico, con los profesores Pedro Barceló, Neil Christie y Rosa Sanz Serrano por su presencia insustituible, su carisma personal y su magisterio científico. A lo largo de estos años, han guiado nuestros pasos por la investigación histórica como expertos timoneles en las siempre sinuosas travesías por la evidencia arqueológica y las fuentes literarias de la antigüedad tardía, entre universidades de Alemania, el Reino Unido y España. magistris optimis gratias agimus.

Rosa García-Gasco, Sergio González Sánchez and David Hernández de la Fuente

viii

(1995-6) and McLynn (2005) and, in Spain, by Balil (1965), Castillo García (1982), Caballos Rufino (1990), Blázquez Martínez (1997), García Moreno (1980; 1997), Vilella Masana (1997), Bravo (1996;1997; 2002; 2006) and Arce Martínez (2008), from different quantitative and qualitative perspectives and mainly based on prosopography, has attempted to establish the number, identity and influence of Hispanians in the Theodosian period and, in particular, in the East. Conclusions have resulted in two lines of interpretation. The maximalist interpretation of the scarce data, defended by Matthews, perceived Hispanians as a dominant group within the court and linked Hispanian religiosity to the establishment of Nicenism from Constantinople (Matthews 1975, 113). The minimalist interpretation, defended by McLynn, in absolute terms dissociates Theodosian initiatives, including those in favour of the Nicene orthodoxy, from the emperor’s Hispanian origin (Mclynn 2005, 119-120; Heather 2010, 191-201). As recent research has demonstrated, relations between notables in the fourth century, as in previous centuries – and the Theodosian period was no exception– were competitive rather than sympathetic on the basis of geographical considerations (Vera 2006, 437-447). Antagonisms and alliances turned rescindable due to various contingencies. Nonetheless, aristocracies continued to share the ideology of privilege, consisting of specific practices and codes of conduct, which also included contentiones, clashes and strategies in the struggle to grab hold of power (De Salvo 2006, 141-154).

The power of Maternus Cynegius in the Theodosian court* María Victoria Escribano Paño1 University of Zaragoza Abstract Modern research, from different quantitative and qualitative perspectives and mainly based on prosopography, has attempted to establish the number, identity and influence of Hispanians in the Theodosian period and, in particular, in the East. Conclusions have resulted in two lines of interpretation. The maximalist interpretation of the scarce data, defended by Matthews, perceived Hispanians as a dominant group within the court and linked Hispanian religiosity to the establishment of Nicenism from Constantinople. The minimalist interpretation, defended by McLynn, in absolute terms dissociates Theodosian initiatives, including those in favour of the Nicene orthodoxy, from the emperor’s Hispanian origin. The purpose of this contribution is to establish the weight a Hispanian aristocrat, Maternus Cynegius, may have had in the Theodosian administration in the East. The line of investigation is based on the laws in whose drafting he may have been involved and on those addressed to him within the Codex Theodosianus. KEYWORDS: law, prosopography, Codex Theodosianus, Nicean orthodoxy, heresy

In this sense, a casuistic analysis is pertinent. The purpose of this contribution is to establish the weight a Hispanian aristocrat, Maternus Cynegius, may have had in the Theodosian administration in the East. The line of investigation is based on the laws in whose drafting he may have been involved and on those addressed to him within the Codex Theodosianus. Jones’s prosopographical work (1971-1992) shows the usefulness of the laws compiled in the Codices of Theodosius and Justinian or in private collections –these laws are addressed to a high official, indicating the office, date and place of issue and, occasionally, of publication– in the study of the Late Roman élites (Lee 2002). Many of the laws compiled in the Codex Theodosianus were issued by the imperial chancery in response to requests or suggestions made by the officials to whom they were addressed. On the other hand, 600 of the 2500 constitutiones of the Codice are under Theodosius’ inscriptio. Based on these considerations, it is possible to determine power bases, spheres of interest or predominant official lines of action. Yet, some precaution must be taken. On one side, we have what Volterra (1971; 1980) referred to as the problem of the actual text of the constitutiones compiled in the Code (CTh I, 1, 5. 429; CTh I, 1, 6. 435). This resulted from the manipulation conducted by the compilers, who amended, added and fragmented the laws as appropriate and omitted superfluous aspects to befit recommended briefness and clarity (Honoré 1986; Harries 1993; Matthews 2000, 55-84; 200-253; Sirks 2008, 54-78). On the other side, there is the problem of the amount of laws.

Brief as Theodosius’ presence in Hispania (Escribano Paño 2012a) may have been and despite never returning there after he had become Augustus of the East in AD 379,2 his roots in Hispania were already the subject of praise in AD 383 in the voice of Themistius (Or. 16, 204d/205a), and later magnified, as befitted the occasion and suiting the rules of the genre applicable in each case, by Pacatus (Pan. Lat. 12, 4), by the author of Epitome de Caesaribus (Ps.-Vict. 48,1) and, from a providentialist and Christian perspective, by Orosius (Hist. adv. pag. 7, 34, 2-4). Themistius himself, in his gratiarum actio of 383 (Or. 16, 203d/204a), delivered before Theodosius and the Senate, declared that Theodosius, in his policy to recruit personnel for the higher positions in the imperial administration, had initially honoured family links though he had later followed the criterion of uirtus to pick the best (Vanderspoel 1995, 205; Errington 2000, 893-897; Heather 2010). Based on Themistius’ words, modern research aptly represented by the works of Stroheker (1963), Chastagnol (1965), Alföldy (1969), Matthews (1975), Gabrielli



1 This work is part of the investigation Project HAR 2008-4355, funded by the DGI of the Ministerio de Ciencia e Innovación of Spain. 2 Excluding the first years, he only returned to his homeland after the execution of his father, magister equitum Flavius Theodosius, in Cartago in 375/376 in obscure circumstances. See Demandt (1969); Gasparini (1972); Naude (1987); Errington (1996a); Milin (1997).

1

The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

declared persecutor of pagans and destroyer of temples in Syria and Egypt under the influence of his wife, the most pious and also Hispanian, Acanthia. He is viewed as an exponent of the Theodosian religious agenda, whose main goal was to impose Nicene orthodoxy on the East (Matthews 1975, 140; Matthews 1967; Marique 1963).5 This line of interpretation is based on the laws he drafted as a QSP (383) or the legislation he received as a PPO Orientis under Theodosius (384-388). They are used as the foremost argument to confirm explicit reports in the Consularia Constantinopolitana and by Zosimus6 in this respect where the name of Cynegius is linked to antipagan acts (the closure and destruction of temples in Egypt, the banning of sacrifices), as well as references by Libanius and Theodoret of Cyrrus,7 more questionable, regarding the outrage committed against the temples in Syria by a senior officer, where Cynegius is not explicitly mentioned.8

The Codex Theodosianus does not compile all the laws from Constantine to Theodosius II. On the contrary, it is an incomplete collection per se. Besides, not all the compiled laws preserve the inscriptio indicating the addressee. Despite being selected, abridged, fragmented and summarized, these laws provide unparalleled information and have not been systematically considered for the study of the question we are dealing with here. Without going into the unexpected appointment of Theodosius as Augustus of the East by Gratian in January AD 379 (Theod. hist. eccl. 5, 5-6; Pac. Pan. Lat. 10-12; Themist. Or. 15, 198a; Soc. hist. eccl. 5, 2, 2-3 and 5-6; Soz. hist. eccl. 7, 2, 2 and 7, 4, 1-2; Philostorg. hist. eccl. 9, 17 y 19),3 when the former arrived in Constantinople in November AD 380, after having established his main imperial residence in Thessalonica, he was a stranger in the East: his military career had developed in the West and he lacked solid and widespread political contacts in the territories we was to rule (Leppin 2003, 36; Heather 2010, 191-192). The Gothic problem and the religious disputes after the death of Homaean Valens demanded collaborators and agreements be sought. The initial resort to trustworthy supporters, amongst them some Hispanians, was dictated by the circumstances surrounding his appointment rather than by a desire to place in decisive positions relatives and friends, with whom he may have had supportive links because of geographical origin (Vera 1986; Errington 1996; 1997). In fact, the number of Hispanians identified as such with a high level of certainty in the Theodosian court and administration in the East is very small (Bravo 1997, 2627; Gabrielli 1995-1996, 371-374).

Yet, an analysis of the laws in whose drafting Cynegius may have been involved in his steadily rising career until he reached the status of Praetor Prefect, as the famous inscription in Alexandria recalls,9 reveals that the laws dealing with religious matters are not prevalent in this group. Nonetheless, as a powerful man, he had pragmatism in common with Theodosius and he contributed to the adaptation of legislation to new political and religious circumstances, when Romans tended to be identified as Nicene Christians after 380 (Cracco Ruggini 1985). The traditional link between salus imperii and pietas remained fully applicable and the

Berlin 1892, 244-245: 388]. Regarding the composition of the text see Burgess (1993, 197-8). The legal and religious impediments hindering what scholars call the translatio cadaueris, the strict regulations of the exception to the norm as well as the material difficulties of transporting the sarcophagus containing the remains of Cynegius from the basilica of the Holy Apostles in Constantinople to Hispania lead us to conclude that only the desire to take the body of Cynegius to his homeland for his final rest could justify Acanthia’s undertaking such a formidable endeavour. She resolved to put an end to the burial of her husband next to the Augustus, tackled the ritual of disentombing the corpse and travelled over 2000 Roman miles on foot from Constantinople to Hispania. By doing this, Acanthia was probably responding to the wish of Cynegius to rest ad maiorum sepulcra, impossible to fulfil at the time of his death as a result of Maximus’ usurpation and the circumstances surrounding his end. By mentioning the transfer of the body in his fasti the author of the Consularia not only fulfilled a commemorative function but also implicitly certified the lawfulness of such a transfer. It must be taken into account that Theodosius himself, in a constitutio addressed precisely to Cynegius in 386 had banned the transfer of corpses: Humatum corpus nemo ad alterum locum transferat [CTh IX, 17, 7 (Cynegius pr.pr. d. 26/27 Feb 386 Const.)]. This norm was aimed at preventing the trade in relics but its preamble granted validity to the traditional rule. On legal regulations regarding the transfer of bodies see Paturet (2007) and Laubry (2007). 5 The thesis has been dismantled by Errington (1997), Lizzi Testa (1996) and Mclynn (2005), who highlight empiricism and contingency as the predominant features in Theodosius’ decision-taking process. As regards his anti-pagan policy see Lizzi Testa (2009a). 6 Cons. Const. ad a. 388 (See previous note); Zos. IV, 37, 3; 45,1. 7 Lib. Or. 30 Pro templis, Theodoret. hist. eccl. V, 21, 7. Since Petit (1951), Cynegius has been identified as the instigator. 8 Recent study of the texts (Mclynn 2005, 108-120) soundly questions the identification of the violent official mentioned by Libanius and Theodoret as Cynegius. Wiemer (1995) 9 CIL III 19 = 6587 = D 1273 (Alessandria): per omnes honorum gradus prouecto, praefecto praetorio per Orientem. PLRE I, Maternus Cynegius 3, 235-236.

Maternus Cynegius Vicarius and Comes Sacrarum Largitionum (AD 381-383) It is practically unanimously held amongst scholars that Cynegius4 was a zealous and intransigent Christian, a

3

See Vanderspoel (1995, 187), Sivan (1996), Errington (1996a), Lizzi (1996; 1997), Leppin (2003) and Escribano Paño (2004). 4 The Hispanian origo of Maternus Cynegius, accepted by most of modern historiography since Le Nain de Tillemont, including Mommsen (1892), Seeck (1919), Piganiol (1972), Stroheker (1963), Marique (1963), Chastagnol (1965), Matthews (1967; 1975; 2000), Paschoud (1996), Gabrielli (1995-6) and Mclynn (1975; 2005), has recently been questioned by García Moreno (2002) based mainly on onomastic arguments which led the author to conclude that he may have been an official of oriental provenance. The only indication of his Hispanian origin is his journey to Hispania after he had died. His body was taken to an undetermined place in the Peninsula by his wife, pious Acanthia and the only testimony in this respect are what Mommsen calls Consularia Constantinopolitana, on the assumption that the source was a chronicle from Constantinople. The text is as follows: Theodosio Aug. II et Cynegio. His conss. defunctus est Cynegius praefectus Orientis in consulatu suo Constantinopolim. hic universas provincias longi temporis labe deceptas in statum pristinum revocavit, et usque ad Aegyptum penetravit, et simulacra gentium evertit. unde cum magno fletu totius populi civitatis deductum est corpus ejus ad Apostolos die XIIII kal. April. Et post annum transtulit eum matrona eius Achantia ad Hispanias pedestre. Et ipso anno occiditur hostis publicus Maximus tyrannus a Theodosio Aug. in milliario III ab Aquileia die V kal. Aug. Sed et filius ejus Victor occiditur post paucos dies in Galliis a comite Theudosii Augusti [Cons. Const. Ed. Th. MOMMSEN Chron. Min. I

2

Mª Victoria Escribano – The power of Maternus Cynegius in the Theodosian court

the quaestor is described in Notitia Dignitatum as leges dictandae preces15 and, as pointed out by Cassiodorus, who was quaestor under Theodoric for a five-year period in the Ostrogoth kingdom, it required eloquence and knowledge of the law.16 Scholars believe that the quaestor is responsible for formulating the law in writing after it had been discussed in the consistory. Their contribution as regards style, however, could be modified in the further stage of disseminating the law from the scrinia, which was the responsibility of the magister officiorum (Harries 1988, 148-172; Faro 1984, 133-159). The content of the law was dictated by the suggestio or consultatio of the officer who promoted the law –the urban prefect or the praetor prefect, a provincial governor, a minister– or by the petitio put forward by cities, individual persons or bishops. To the initial text was added the technical contributions made by the scrinia and by the members of the consistory, the quaestor (Harries 1999, 36-55; Coskun 2001, 6) amongst them, during the discussion of the bill. The law was the result of an agreement in the consistory (CJ. I, 14, 8 – 446; Honoré 1986, 136-137; Harries 1988, 165-166), but this does not mean that the quaestor could not take part in the debates giving his opinion or conditioning the meaning of the norm, all the more if his inclinations coincided with imperial preferences (Honoré 1998, 52; Lizzi Testa 2007, 325-363).17 On the other hand, no quaestores are known under Valens, whom Ammianus (31, 6) claims had neglected civil legislation and had enforced criminal law arbitrarily and with negligence. Consequently, Theodosius needed to redefine the figure of the quaestor as a fundamental player in the reorganization of the East and key to seeking consensus and alliances through laws (Errington 2006, 142-168; 211-259). In fact, the change of position, rather than a promotion, within the consistory18 from CSL to QSP is rare before 440 and is only attested to in one more case besides Cynegius. The usual culmination for anyone’s career was the Praetorian prefecture (Delmaire 1989, 113-119).

Christian emperor along with his officials, regardless of their personal beliefs, were obliged to observe the religio of the christiani catholici as set forth in the Cunctos populos (CTh XVI, 1, 2. 380) and the Episcopis tradi (CTh XVI, 1, 3. 381).10 The amount of laws indicates that he was a close collaborator of Theodosius.11 They shared the consulship in 388 (Bagnall et al. 1987, 310-31). He was also the executor of a large part of his policy, not only in the religious field, especially from 384 onwards. Prior to this, only three laws addressed to Cynegius have been transmitted. The oldest preserved law is dated to 381 and was included in the Codex Iustinianus. He appears as PPO, although Mommsen already suggested replacing this for vicarious.12 The law deals with the economic system of marriage and the regulation of the dowry. He received the other two laws as a comes sacrarum largitionum in March 383 (Delmaire 1989, 95). The first of these laws13 banned access to positions in the curia to any person after ten years serving in the palatine militia (de priuilegiis eorum qui in sacro palatio militant). The second law14 excluded curiales from the susceptio of the uectigalia (de decurionibus). There is a larger number of laws drafted by him as a quaestor in 383 (16) and laws he received as the Praetorian Prefect of the East between 384 and 388 (51).

Maternus Cynegius Quaestor (Sacri Palatii) (AD 383) According to Honoré, Cynegius, the only one of the 8 quaestores established in the Theodosian court up until September 388 whose name is known (Lib. Or. 49, 3), drafted 16 laws in the short period from May to July 383 (Honoré 1995; 1998; De Bonfils 2000, 289). The role of



The 16 constitutiones, issued between 3 May and 3 December 383, are highly heterogeneous.19 This was

10

See in this respect (Liebeschuetz 1979, 201-304). On the link between salus imperii and pietas and the role of the Christian prince as the keeper of a good balance between the two see Noetlichs (2006). 11 The decisive argument in favour of his closeness to Theodosius is not the treatment the emperor grants him in the rescript in response to the libellus precum in 384/385. The formula used in the heading of the Lex Augusta (LA 1: Salue, Cynegi carissime nobis), as that used in the execution order (LA 7: Cynegi, parens carissime atque amantissime) are part of the epistolary protocol and common in the imperial chancery since the Constantinian period to address senior officers. Just in the constitutiones Sirmondianae, it appears 8 times (Sirm 1. 333; 2. 404; 4. 336; 7. 380/381; 9. 408; 12. 407; 14. 409; 16.408). Theodosius uses this expression in Sirmondiana 7 to address Eutropius (Eutropi parens carissime atque amantissime). The burial of Cynegius in the basilica of the Holy Apostles in Constantinople, where Constantine and his predecessors lay, as highlighted by the author of the Consularia Constantinopolitana and the later and exceptional permission granted by the emperor to transfer his body to Hispania may be perceived as indications of a probable family link between Cynegius and Theodosius and of his political stature. 12 CJ. V, 20, 1: (Cynegio vicar./pr.pr. d. 2 Sept./Oct. 381): Sive ex iure sive ex consuetudine lex proficiscitur, ut vir uxori fideiussorem servandae dotis exhibeat, eam iubemus aboleri. 13 CTh VI, 35, 12 (ad Cynegium com.sacr.larg. d. 5 Mart. 383 Const.). Delmaire (1989, 135). 14 CTh XII, 1, 97 (Cynegio com.sacr.larg. d. 8 Mart. 383 Const.). Delmaire (1989, 291).



15 Not. Dig. Or. 12,3-5 = Occ. 10,3-5: sub dispositione viri illustris quaestoris: leges dictandae, preces. 16 Cass.Var. 6,5,1-6: quaesturam... quam nostrae linguae vocem esse censemus... armarium legum... adesse debet scientia iuris, cautela sermonis, ut nemo debeat reprehendere quod principem constiterit censuisse... et necesse tibi est omnibus sufficere, quantos a nobis contigerit legum remedia postulare. 17 Symm. Ep. 1, 23, 3: quaestor es, memini, consilii regalis particeps, scio, precum arbiter, legum conditor, recognosco. 18 CTh VI, 9, 2. 380, on the equality of positions within the consistory. 19 CTh XI, 7, 12 (Constantiniano vicar. Ponticae d. 3 Mai. 383); 36, 27 (Hypatio praef. August. d. 8 Mai. 383 Const.); CTh XII, 6, 18 (Flaviano procons. Asiae d. 10 Mai. 383 Const.); CTh XVI, 7, 2 (Postumiano pr.pr. d. 20 May 383 Const.); CTh VI, 22, 7 (Postumiano pr.pr. d. 29 Mai./Dec. 383 Const.); 5, 1 (ad Clearchum pr.urb. d. 29 Mai./Dec.? 383 Const.); CTh XV, 1, 22 ( d. 11 Iun. 383 Const.); CTh XVI, 5, 10 (Constantiniano vicar. dioec. Ponticae d. 20 Iun. 383 Const.); CTh VIII, 4, 14 (ad Proculum com. Orient. d. 6 Iul. 383 Const.); CTh VII, 18, 7 (Constantiano/Constantino vicar. dioec. Ponticae d. 12 Iul. 383 Const.); CTh VII, 2, 1 (Postumiano pr.pr. II? d. 19 Iul. 383 Const.); CTh XII, 1, 102 (mismo destinatario y fecha); CJ 10.23.1 (Lolliano d. 21 Iul. 383); CTh XVI, 5, 11 (Postumiano pr.pr. d. 25/24 Iul. 383 Const.); CTh XII, 1, 103 (ad Proculum com. Orient. d. 27

3

The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire



However, attending to a quantitative criterion, we may note two main fields of intervention: the problem of the recruitment to the curiae and the religious issue, with three and four laws respectively. Three laws deal with the former issue, dating from July 383 (CTh VII, 2, 1; XII, 1, 102-103). They are an attempt to put an end to elusive strategies to evade curial duties and may be perceived as connected to the task of inspection entrusted to Cynegius by Theodosius himself, according to Libanius (Or. 49, 3),20 which took Cynegius to Antioch and Alexandria. In the meantime he became praetor prefect, which makes us place the beginning of his journey to Syria and Egypt between the end of 383 and early 384.21

the son of God, ought to be expelled from cities (the law bans their meetings in churches and specifies that only in cases where such a ban is breached must they be ejected from the places where they meet), the other two laws contemplated new provisions which meant higher severity in the enforcement of anti-heretic legislation. They are both subsequent to the synod, which Socrates calls the synod of all heresies (Soc. HE 5, 10, 2), held in Constantinople in the first half of 383, on Theodosius’ initiative, to restore religious concord through debate (Wallraff 1997, 271-279). To this end, he had invited the heads of the main sects to openly discuss their theological ideas. After this had failed, Cynegius drafted two harsh laws addressed to Postumianus, the Christian praetorian prefect. On the occasion of the synod, Gregory of Nazianzus, who was very critical of the meeting, had addressed his epistle 173 to the prefect urging him to put into practice punitive methods against heretics. Postumianus could, therefore, have been the author of this suggestion (Mclynn 1997a, 298-308). But the experience of the council forces us to admit that the emperor’s circle played a decisive role in the desire to make apparent the imperial support for the Nicene.

As regards the four laws dealing with religious matters, the first (CTh XVI, 7, 2), was addressed to the PPO Orientis Postumianus, a western Christian who exchanged correspondence with Gregory of Nazianzus (PLRE I, 718) and who was probably the author of the suggestio. This law dispossessed apostates, that is, Christians who migrated towards pagan rites and cults (qui ad paganos ritus cultusque migrarunt, ad aras et templa transierit) from testamentary rights, except for legitimate inheritances. The exclusion from testamenti factio had already been decided by the chancery of Theodosius against Manicheans and similar sects in constitutiones of 381 (CTh XVI, 5, 7) and 382 (CTh XVI, 16, 59) respectively (Escribano Paño 2012b). The novelty rested on the fact that for the first time this degrading punishment was inflicted upon Christians who converted to paganism and it equated to social relegation. It is well known that the right to testate is one of the fundamental attributes of Roman citizens. Inheritance and testaments actually hold a privileged position in the system of the ius ciuile (Lauria 1963, 55 ff).

The first law (CTh XVI, 5, 11), of July 383, besides repeating the prohibition on assembly for heretic groups, who are referred to by their names (Eunomians, Arians, Macedonians, Pneumatomachians, Manichaeans, Encratites, Saccophori, Apotactites and Hydroparastatae), granted all those who followed a recta observantia, that is Nicene Christians, the facultas accusandi, the possibility to actively prosecute those who contravened the norm. Thus, denunciation was encouraged in order to unveil heretics. This entailed equating heresy to crimen publicum, committed against the community. Anybody was entitled to prosecute it (CTh XVI, 5, 40; Pietrini 1996, 58-70). The second law (CTh XVI, 5, 12. 383) ordered the praetorian prefect to act ex officio in search of information to locate them -perquisiti-, without the need to receive a formal accusation. It set forth that heretics were to be repatriated to the lands they came from with a proviso restricting their freedom of movement so they could no longer go from one place to another or enter the cities. Cities and orthodoxy conformed to a conceptual unity which excluded casuistically identified dissidents.

The other three laws drafted by Cynegius as a quaestor were compiled under the title de haereticis. Leaving aside the first one, (CTh XVI, 5, 10), probably a response to a consultation made by Constantianus, the vicar of the diocese of Pontus, about whether the Tascodrogites, a Galatian sect which rejected baptism and that Christ was

In order to ensure the desired result, the law urged members of the officia such as provincial governors and principales urbium, where the meetings had been held and where evidence had been found, to enforce the laws with due diligence. Failing to do so would result in conviction and sentence (Escribano Paño 2009a, 39-66). The provision revealed the passivity of provincial and local authorities in the enforcement of anti-heretic legislation because of ignorance, failure to act or complicity.

perceived by the compilers, who grouped them under diverse titles, such as de exactionibus, quorum appellationes non recipiantur, de susceptoribus, praepositis et arcariis, de apostatis, de honorariis codicillis, ut dignitatum ordo seruetur, de operibus publicis, de haereticis, de cohortalibus, de dessertoribus et occultatoribus, quid probare debeant ad quamcumque militiam uenientes, de decurionibus, de canone largitionalium titulorum.

Iul. 383 Salamaria); CTh XI, 36, 28 (Euchario/Eutrechio procons. Palaestinae d. 22 Nov. 383 Const.); CTh XVI, 5, 12 (Postumiano pr.pr. d. 3 Dec. 383 Const.). 20 According to Libanius, it was a failure although Cynegius tried to disguise it. Theodosius, however, promoted him. It is difficult to establish with certainty whether this was as a reward for his efficiency (the problem of the curiae persisted) or to strengthen his authority and secure the success of the mission with extra power, which seems more likely. 21 The first law as PPO Orientis dates to 18 January 384 (CTh XII, 13, 5).

A clear aim of moral correction may be noted in the norm as well as severe penal repression. This is conveyed forcefully through emphasis and repetition, a style which must be attributed to Cynegius (Honoré 1995, 153-157). If Postumianus was the promoter of these laws seeking

4

Mª Victoria Escribano – The power of Maternus Cynegius in the Theodosian court

orders to see to their enforcement by means of his own edicts. He could also issue norms regarding the exercise of jurisdiction duties (Arcaria 1997, 301-341). The greatest praise given to him by the author of the Consularia Constantinopolitana, having returned to the provinces their pristine status after a critical period (hic uniuersas prouincias longi temporis labe deceptas in statum pristinum reuocauit - Cons. Const, Chron. Min.; Mommsen 1892, 244-245), a recognition which seems addressed to an emperor, denotes the level of involvement of Cynegius in the legislative management of the Empire, even if we take into consideration the tribute part in the encomiastic nature of the rhetoric of obituaries.

more severity in the social exclusion of heretics to satisfy the Nicene, he was met with the appropriate collaboration from the quaestor. Promoting denunciation and the threat to governors and principales urbium should they neglect the enforcement of the laws were novelties, probably agreed upon by the prefect and the quaestor. These measures were dictated not so much by the personal creed they both shared but by a desire to put into effect official Nicenism, fulfilling the duties attached to their office.

Maternus Cynegius PPO Or. (AD 384-388) Between 18 January 384 and March 388 Cynegius received 51 laws as the Praetorian Prefect of the East. This is a quarter of the total amount of preserved laws from Theodosius for the period between 379 and 388, when Cynegius died and Maximus was defeated (Honoré 1995, 142).22

The constitutiones of decurionibus regarding the status of the curiales and the layout of their duties are a separate matter. These are the most abundant —10 of them between May 384 and July 387.23 Bearing in mind the continuity in Cynegius’ involvement in the legislation regarding the curiae and the common objective of the laws of revitalizing local governance (Leppin 2003, 138154), first as a comes sacrarum largitionum, later as a quaestor sacri palatii and finally as the praefectus praetorio Orientis, it may be concluded that this was one of the spheres where Cynegius might have had an influence in the orientation of Theodosius’ policy, before, during and after his mission to the East reported by Libanius (Or. 49, 3).24

The vast legislative ensemble is linked to the plurality of duties and functions carried out by the PPO and their aim can be gathered from the titles they were put under by the compilers of the Theodosian (and Justinian) code: de auro coronario, de haereticis, de cursu publico, de re militari, de decurionibus, de contrahenda emptione, de metallis et metallariis, de fide testium, de operibus publicis, de accusationibus, de paganis sacrificiis et templis, de scaenicis, de officio rectoris prouinciae, ad legem Iuliam de adulteriis, tributa in ipsis speciebus inferri, de cohortalibus, de famosis libellis, de appellationibus, de fundis patrimonialibus et emphyteuticis, de sepulchri uiolati, de proximis, comitibus dispositionum ceterisque, qui in sacris scriniis militant, de agentibus in rebus, de censitoribus, de lustrali conlatione, de his qui ad statuas confugiunt, de annona et tributis, de usuris, de susceptoribus, de praediis et mancipiis curialium, de medicis et professoribus, de procuratoribus gynecaei et metall., de incestis et inutilibus nuptiis, de nuptiis.

Conversely, the laws do not confirm the destruction of idols and temples during his visit to Egypt attributed to him by the writer of Consularia Constantinopolitana and by Zosimus. He only appears as the addressee of an antipagan law in 385. He may have sponsored this law to put an end to the serious acts of violence against temples in some cities in the East reported by Libanius, around 385386, in his Pro templis.25 This law banned, under penalty of supplicium (Grodzynski 1984), sacrifices for divinatory purposes. It did not entail a novelty after Constantine’s (Delmaire 2004; Moreno Resano 2007, 143-172; Colling 2007; Bonamente 2010; Escribano Paño 2011), and above all, Constantius’ legislation in this respect, since they had passed laws against any form of public or private divination (Gaudemet 1990; Bradbury 1995; Cuneo 1997; Leppin 1999). Probably, if we heed Libanius’ report regarding the destruction of temples by Christian fanatics (Klein 1995; Sandwell 2005; Bonamente 2009), Cynegius urged the emperor to specify in the law what was strictly disapproved of, that is, divinatory sacrifices, implying, through omission, that there was not a general prohibition of pagan rites and that

The main lines of official intervention followed by Cynegius and his goals can be deduced by the tenor of the texts, namely seeking higher efficiency in the tax system to tackle economic hardship in the Empire and regulating the hierarchic structure of public officers (Leppin 2003, 138- 154). While we cannot claim absolutely that Cynegius was behind each and every one of the 51 laws issued, he may have had a direct involvement in their enactment: the praetor prefect was at the head of the hierarchy in the Empire in the Notitia Dignitatum in partibus Orientis. He was the most powerful civil officer and the head of provincial administration (Porena 2003; 2006; Bonamente 2007). In the communication line within the clerical organization, the praetor prefect acted as a filter for the requests put forward to the emperor. He vetoed or supported the petitions made by officers, groups of people or individual persons (CTh XII, 12, 3. 364; CTh XII, 12, 12. 392; Jones 1964, 370 ff; Gutsfeld 1998, 75-102). Besides, he was in charge of making laws public and gave the appropriate

23

CTh XII, 1, 105 (d. 6 Mai 384 Const.); CTh XII, 1, 106 (d. 8 Iul. 384 Heraclea); CTh XII, 1, 107 (d. 31 Aug. 384 Verona?); CTh XII, 1, 108 (d. 6 Nov. 384 Const.); CTh XII, 1, 109 (d. 26 Apr. 385); CTh XII, 1, 111 (d. 30 Apr. 386 Const.); CTh XII, 1, 115 (d. 31 Dec. 386 Const.); CTh XII, 1, 116 (d. 27 Mart. 387 Const.); CTh XII, 1, 117 (d. 31 Mart. 387 Const.); CTh XII, 1, 118 (d. 6 Iul. 387 Const.). 24 See comment and chronology of the mission in Mclynn (2005, 112115). 25 CTh XVI, 10, 9 (d. 25/26 Mai 385 Const.). On the date of Pro templis see Petit (1951, 285 ff); Liebeschuetz (1972, 224-242); Romano (1982, 17 ff).



22 Up until September 388, up to 221 laws by Theodosius for the East have been transmitted (Honoré 1998).

5

The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

evident both in the purview and in the penal clause. It set forth the expulsion from Constantinople of heretics who usurped the name of the bishop and presbyter, their religio was branded criminosa and it was determined that they should live in other places away from the congressus of the boni (in aliis locis uiuant ac penitus a bonorum congressibus separentur). To this end, a house-to-house search for heretics was ordered –indagine curiosiore– as well as their outright expulsion without the possibility of any form of mediation or petition of pardon in their favour –sine ulla gratiae interventionis pellantur (CTh XVI, 5, 13 - d. 21 Ian. 384 Const.). The phrase in aliis locis uiuant may be considered the summary of the philosophy applied by the chancery, which was not alien to Cynegius, regarding heretics. This very philosophy prevails in the law of 10 March 388 against the Apollinarians and other followers of heresies: it banned the ordaining of clerics or the appointment of bishops as well as their meetings and they were to be expelled, ab omnibus locis, from all locations, to beyond the city walls, from the reunion of the just, from the communion of the saints; heretics were to move to places which isolated them from human contact more than a vallum (Adeant loca, quae eos potissimum quasi vallo quodam ab humana communione secludant - CTh XVI, 5, 14 - d. 10 Mart. 388 Thessalonica; Escribano Paño 2007) and with no possibility of remission because they were denied any form of appeal to the emperor (atque interpellandi serenitatem nostram aditus denegetur).

the destruction of their temples was not endorsed (Bonamente 2007, 27-31). On the other hand, Theodosius himself had ordered that these temples were to be preserved and remain open for civil and cultural use in 382, provided that no illegal sacrifices were performed there (CTh XVI, 10, 8. Palladio duci Osdroenae d. 30 Nov. 382 Const.).26 This resolution to preserve temples would be consistent with the law of the following year (386) which allowed the traditional practice of the right of sanctuary alongside imperial statues (ad statuas confugere), implicitly recognising their sacred nature (CTh IX, 44, 1 - d. 6 Iul. 386 Const.; Manfredi 1986; Kahlos 2007, 93-112). Besides, we know that the arrival of Cynegius in Alexandria, the apex of his tour of the East, was marked by the local clarissimi with the erection of an honorary statue to celebrate his many virtues and to perpetuate his reputation (ILS 1273; Mclynn 2005, 115 ff). He later interceded before Theodosius in favour of the wealthy landlords of the city. This can be deduced from a constitutio addressed by the emperor, in 387, to the senators of the city of Alexandria reassuring them against slanderous denunciation,27 where Cynegius is mentioned as an interested party. These reports hardly match the image of the prefect as an iconoclast transmitted by Libanius and Theodoret. Cynegius’ refusal to take part in pagan ceremonies in his honour28 or the cancelation of celebrations on the occasion of his visit, bearing in mind what these rites meant in the traditional civic life, probably prompted the recounting of this in his obituary, later compiled by Zosimus (Mclynn 2005, 116). As a matter of fact, he took no measures against the huge Serapeum of Alexandria which he cannot have failed to notice (Hahn 2008a).

This coherent attitude as a Nicene Christian did not prevent him from enforcing in the East the rescript whereby Theodosius, in 384/385, heeded the preces of Luciferian clerics Faustinus and Marcellinus. They submitted to the emperor of Constantinople a pleading libellous where they denounced the abusive use bishops made of anti-heretic legislation as well as their corrupt practices in Hispania, Rome, Palestine and Egypt. Amongst these bishops, Damasus of Rome, who had been included by Theodosius in the Cunctos populos as a model of orthodoxy,29 held a leading position. The emperor could rectify and issue contradictory laws should circumstances demand it (Escribano Paño 2010). In this case, Theodosius entrusted Cynegius with enforcing his decision to help a group whose protection was hardly compatible with the episcopal hierarchy resulting from the council of Constantinople (381) and endorsed with the Episcopis tradi (CTh 16.1.3. 381; Errington 1997; Tuillier 1997).

Anti-heretic legislation in this period, limited to two provisions of 384 and 388 respectively, reflects the constant determination to eject from Constantinople and from the cities of the East all heretic leaders. This goal was not fully achieved, despite the number of years which had elapsed since the enactment of the Cunctos populos (380). The true church had to be identified by differentiating it from the many other existing churches. In the first, which was the second law Cynegius received as the praetor prefect on 21 January 384, correspondences with anti-heretic laws he had drafted as a quaestor are



26 Regarding Theodosius’ anti-pagan legislation, its contingent nature and limited enforcement, see Lizzi Testa (2009; 2009a; 2010) and Cameron (2011). Regarding the destruction of temples, see Hahn (2008). 27 CTh X, 10, 19 (ad senatores civitatis Alexandrinae d. 2 Mart. 387 Const.): Securitati vestrae studentes et iustitia necessariae legationis animati dedimus litteras ad virum clarissimum et illustrem Cynegium praefectum praetorio, quibus iussimus, ut delatores, quos iam etiam sua sententia meritis poenis affecit, ubi reppererit (r. Cuiac. repperit V), pari supplicio persequatur fundatis omnibus, quae super possessionibus ac terris, quas hoc nomen huc usque vexavit, idem vir illustris constituit. Agite igitur securi atque ita patrimonia vestra tenete colite frequentate, ut boni saeculi poscit affectio. 28 He was coming from Constantinople, a city where sacrifices were not performed according to Eus. Caes., VC, 3, 48; Paul. Oros., 7, 28, 27; Aug. Hipp., De ciu. Dei, 5, 25.

Of higher significance is Cynegius involvement as PPO in the Theodosian legislation regarding Jews. Three of the seven laws issued by the chancery of Theodosius regarding Judaism (De Bonfils 1989-1990) were addressed to Cynegius between 384 and 388 and two of them share a common purpose: to avoid the intermingling of Jews and Christians (Sandwell 2007). The first law (CTh III, 1, 5 - d. 22 Sept. 384 acc. Regium) partially

29

Canellis (2006, 236-243): Cynegi, parens carissime atque amantissime, sublimitas tua praeceptum nostrae serenitatis[...] ita iubeat custodiri [...]. See Escribano Paño (2008).

6

Mª Victoria Escribano – The power of Maternus Cynegius in the Theodosian court

repeated the law issued by Constantius in 33930 and contained a double prohibition: Hebrews were banned from trading in Christian slaves and contaminating them with Hebraic sacraments. Should the owner be discovered after public inquiry, he would lose his property and endure the corresponding penalty, which is not specified, although it was probably registered in the original. Furthermore, Hebrews were forced to sell such slaves at their purchase price and Christians were authorized to buy them competenti pretio, that is, to rescue them back to their faith.

he considered public enemies any Roman who mixed with Barbarians and Persians. On the other hand, interaction between Jews and Christians had also taken on a violent form in some cities. This can be inferred from the renowned epistle 74 from Ambrose to Theodosius I, in the autumn of the same year of 388. In this, as is well known, Ambrose censured the imperial decision of forcing the bishop to rebuild, at his own expense, the synagogue burnt by Christians of Callinicum at his instigation. In his effort to have the norm revoked, the bishop of Milan recalled the cities where Jews had burnt Christian buildings: Gaza, Ascalon, Beirut, Alexandria (Sargenti and Bruno Siola 1991, 9293).33 Cynegius could personally verify the effects of Judaization amongst Christians and the Jewish hostility towards Nicene orthodoxy, receive some petitions and suggest to Theodosius the need to separate them. It was a question of preventing Jewish practices from contaminating Christians through marriages, which were the prime example of intermingling.

The second law, of December 387, compiled only in the Codex Iustinianus, set forth the abolition of levirate marriages, already banned by Constantius in 355.31 The third law is even more noteworthy. It was issued by Theodosius in 14 March 388, when he was in Thessalonica32 on his way to the West to command the war against Maximus. The law banned, in this order, Jews from marrying Christian women, Christians from choosing the coniugium of a Jewish woman, equating mixed marriages between Christians and Jews to adultery thus providing a legal instrument to invalidate them. It implicitly threatened those who married contra legem with the penalties applicable to this crime, which included the death penalty. Besides, it expanded the libertas in accusandum to anyone who wished to make use of it (voces publicae), thus diverging from Constantinian legislation on adultery, whereby accusation was restricted to the husband and closest relatives. The law introduced novelties regarding marriage and adultery. In the case of the former, it set forth, for the first time, the disparitas cultus as a marriage impediment. In the case of the latter, it increased the practices which could fall within adulterium and granted, for this particular case, the ius accusandi to anybody who wished to use it, beyond family links (Escribano Paño 2009b).

Conclusion The constitutiones drafted by Maternus Cynegius as a QSP (383) or received by him as a PPO Orientis from Theodosius (384-388) denote that he may have had an influence, through advice or suggestion, in administrative and religious decisions taken by Theodosius. They do not confirm, however, the information provided by the author of the Consularia Constantinopolitana and Zosimus regarding Cynegius’ anti-pagan initiatives and even less so the religious intransigence attributed to him by modern research based on the questionable references made by Libanius and Theodoret of Cyrrhus. The analysis of the 70 laws in whose enactment Cynegius may have played a part indicates that religion-related laws do not prevail in the ensemble. Yet, as part of his duties, he did contribute to the adaptation of the legal system to the new political and religious circumstances which tended to identify Romans as Nicene Christians from the year 380 onwards. The traditional link salus imperii and pietas remained fully applicable and the Christian emperor and his officials, regardless of their personal beliefs, were forced to observe the religio ...quam diuinum Petrum apostolum tradidisse Romanis in the terms set forth in the Cunctos populos. Yet, no signs of discontinuity or singularity can be noticed in the religious laws which would result from Cynegius’ Hispanian origins.

Theodosius never banned marriages with heretics, pagans or apostates. Cynegius may have inspired this criminalization of mixed marriages, which constitutes an exception within regulations concerning Jews. During his journey to the East he visited Antioch and Alexandria, where he was able to see for himself the ineffectiveness of the previous laws and the high number of Judaizer Christians, those who attended the synagogue and also followed the Christian cult. In the case of Antioch we have evidence of the situation thanks to the inflammatory speeches of John Chrysostom against the Jews given in 386 (1-3) and 387 (4-8) (Van de Paverd 1991, 255-293). In them, he clamoured against mixing what could not be mixed and represented Judaizer Christians as enemies of Christianity in the same terms as



30 CTh XVI, 9, 2 - 339. It is probable, as suggested by G. De Bonfils (1989-1990), that it echoes a Constantinian law which can be traced in a constitutio by Theodosius II of 415 (CTh XVI, 8, 22). 31 CJ V, 5, 5 (d. 14 Nov-1 Dec 384-7/393). See law by Constantius (CTh III, 12, 2 – 355). The allusion in the text to licentiam submouemus, makes us believe that levirate marriages had been allowed again. 32 CTh III, 7, 2 = IX, 7, 5 (d. 14 March 388 Thessalonica). See CTh IX, 7, 4 (Cynegius pr.pr. d. 11 Dec./29 Nov. 385 Const.). See Sivan (2001).



33 Ambr. Ep. 74 y Epistula extra collect. I (Maur. 41), posteriores al episodio de Callinicum, de la segunda mitad de 388. See Vismara (1990); Stroumsa 2007; Cracco Ruggini (2008).

7

se mostraban dispuestos a reconocer a Jesús como Mesías y a aceptar sus enseñanzas y su doctrina.

De las catacumbas a las catedrales: sobre la transformación del espacio sacro desde el inicio de la era cristiana hasta la época teodosiana / From the catacombs to the cathedrals: on the transformation of sacred space from the beginning of the Christian era to the Theodosian age

Aparte del templo de Jerusalén, escenario de los ritualizados sacrificios y de las máximas celebraciones litúrgicas, la sinagoga era el núcleo de la vida religiosa de las comunidades judías. Allí se leían y comentaban las Sagradas Escrituras, lo que las convertía en centros de adoctrinamiento y de debate teológico a la vez. Cuando los cristianos de procedencia judía viajaban al extranjero, visitaban regularmente las sinagogas de la diáspora, donde intentaban con más tesón que en su patria, si cabe, atraer a su entorno, extendiendo adicionalmente su actividad misionera hacia los gentiles, que generalmente se mostraban más susceptibles hacia las propuestas del evangelio que sus propios compatriotas.

Pedro Barceló Universität Potsdam Universidad Carlos III de Madrid

Abstract

Si nos preguntamos cuáles fueron las primitivas áreas de predicación de la nueva doctrina en la era que sucedió a la muerte de Jesús, no cabe ninguna duda que la sinagoga ocupó un sitio preferente en esta primera fase de afirmación cristiana, como lugar de recepción y punto de referencia teológica. La biografía de San Pablo ilustra muy bien este proceso de búsqueda de un espacio sacro, íntimamente ligado a la propagación de la fe cristiana, a la veneración de Dios y a la captación de adictos. Fuera de las sinagogas, Pablo, para fomentar la fe en Jesús, se movió en los más dispares ámbitos públicos y privados del mundo grecorromano (en el teatro de Éfeso, en casas privadas, en el ágora y en el Areópago de Atenas, en las cárceles de Roma, etc.).1

This paper deals with the transformation of the sacred space from the beginnings of Christianism under Roman rule until the official approval of the Nicene Creed under Theodosius the Great. The space devoted to Christian cult evolves in a very interesting manner from the catacombs to the splendid basilicae and cathedrals of the bishops of Late Antiquity. At the very beginnings Christian liturgy and preaching took place in similar places to Jewish synagogue, in private and clandestine meetings apart from the Roman society. The evolution of a separate Christian sacred space away from the Jewish religious communities can be attested in the usage of several words as ecclesia or conventiculum referring to the Christian assembly. A strong ritualization of the Christian cult takes place in the fourth century under Constantine the Great, when the state begins favouring the Christian communities and their buildings. From this moment major churches, (temples, basilicae or cathedrals) shall be built and the distribution of the priests and the faithful in the sacred space within will be object of regulation. This regulation of the liturgy shall raise also the question of the place that must be occupied by the Christian emperor, whether in a privileged place near the priests or among the faithful in the church: an interesting controversy between Theodosius and Ambrosius of Milan shall give a solution to this question. In way of conclusion, this contribution puts forward a diachronic analyse of the main characteristics of the Christian sacred space from the general assembly (ecclesia) of the faithful to the separated space of priests.

Al acentuarse la división doctrinaria entre judíos y cristianos, la sinagoga, baluarte del judaísmo ortodoxo, dejará de ser la plataforma natural de acogida de los judeo-cristianos, que se verán obligados a procurarse otros lugares alternativos para congregarse y celebrar sus actividades religiosas. La pronta impugnación de las creencias cristianas por parte de las autoridades judías y, ante todo, el acoso e incluso la persecución de los que profesaban la doctrina cristiana por parte de los representantes del Imperio Romano dificultará enormemente la creación de un espacio sacro cristiano de cara a la esfera pública.2 A partir de este momento, es decir desde mediados del siglo I, los focos de reunión de las comunidades cristianas se desplazarán a zonas periféricas, alejadas de la atención social. Según parece, la casa de María en Jerusalén fue uno de los primeros puntos de encuentro de los seguidores de Jesús.

KEYWORDS: Sacred space, Religion in Late Antiquity, Early Christianism, Christian Cult, Theodosius I

Un explícito testimonio que hace referencia al significado que otorgaban los cristianos más antiguos al concepto de ‘morada divina’ aparece en el contexto de la controversia entre los judíos ortodoxos fieles a la Ley Mosaica y los seguidores de Jesús que terminará con la condena de San Esteban, el primer mártir cristiano. Remitiéndose a Jesaías (66, 1.2), Esteban afirma que Dios no habitaba en

Comienzo de la predicación Cristiana en la sinagoga, en la privacidad y en la clandestinidad Al igual que hiciera Jesús de Nazaret, sus más antiguos partidarios, judíos en su mayoría, frecuentaban regularmente las sinagogas. Los tradicionales lugares del culto judío les brindaban la oportunidad de congregarse y de explicar los motivos que les inducían a seguir las enseñanzas de su maestro. También hacían allí proselitismo, circunstancia que conllevó un aumento del conflicto con la mayor parte de sus compatriotas, que no

1

De ello dan cuenta las cartas de Pablo a los romanos, corintios, gálatas, etc., véase también Hechos de los Apóstoles (17, 16-34; 19, 23-40). 2 Acerca de la opresión del cristianismo en la era de Nerón véase Tácito (Annales XV, 44, 2-5); Suetonio (Vida de Nerón 16, 2); Clemente (1, Epistula 5-6).

9

The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

edificios hechos por los hombres, sino en el universo, resaltando así su majestad e inconmensurabilidad y relativizando a la vez la validez del templo como punto de referencia cultual exclusivo (Hechos de los Apóstoles 7, 48). Esta apreciación obtendrá carácter paradigmático. Frente a los múltiples santuarios paganos, considerados como moradas específicas de determinadas deidades, el espacio de convocatoria de los creyentes servía primordialmente como lugar de oración y de culto a la memoria de Jesús a través de la celebración de la eucaristía (Chenoll Alfaro 2002).

Génesis del espacio cultual cristiano: conventiculum, templum, basilica, catedral

ecclesia,

Los autores antiguos, tanto cristianos como paganos, que tratan desde su diferente perspectiva las peculiaridades, la doctrina, las prácticas religiosas así como el impacto del cristianismo en la sociedad grecorromana, no dedican una especial atención al espacio donde tenían lugar las tareas del culto. ¿Era éste irrelevante? y, si no, ¿cómo debemos entender tal omisión? Posiblemente lo más acertado sea presuponer que, hasta bien entrado el siglo III y a causa de las esporádicas persecuciones de cristianos, aún no se había desarrollado un concepto nítido que definiera la naturaleza y la función del área religiosa reservada al cumplimiento del rito litúrgico. Todo lo que más tarde denominaremos iglesias, templos, basílicas o catedrales considerándolos elementos identificativos del espacio cultual cristiano son términos que reflejan un posterior proceso evolutivo que depende de la expansión del cristianismo y su aceptación por parte de las autoridades del Imperio Romano. De todos estos vocablos ‘iglesia’ puede ser utilizado en un doble sentido. Escrito en mayúscula denomina la totalidad de la institución, es decir la suma de todas las comunidades. Escrito en minúscula designa, sin embargo, un edificio en concreto o una determinada comunidad.

La famosa carta de Plinio a Trajano de principios del siglo II (Epistulas X, 96), uno de los documentos más antiguos sobre las prácticas cristianas en Asia Menor, nos sugiere que los adeptos de Jesús se congregaban en casas privadas o al aire libre para evitar el acecho de su entorno (Barceló 2002a). A través de la polémica pagana recogida en la obra Octavio del autor cristiano Minucio Félix percibimos una sugestiva imagen acerca de la impresión que causaba la profesión del cristianismo, visto desde la óptica de sus adversarios. Dice el texto refiriéndose a los seguidores de Cristo: Quae nocturnis congregationibus, et jejuniis solemnibus et inhumanis cibis, non sacro quodam sed piaculo foederantur.3 Esta clase de noticias que pueden ser generalizadas nos confirma que durante el siglo II las comunidades cristianas celebraban sus rituales de forma discreta, muchas veces a escondidas, en sitios que oscilaban entre la privacidad y la clandestinidad.

Independientemente de la tendencia general hay que consignar, sin embargo, ciertos lugares, donde ya existían iglesias desde tiempos muy antiguos como, por ejemplo, en las cuevas capadocias de la región de Göreme, en Dura Europos o en Edesa, sedes de los primeros recintos cristianos conocidos.5

Motivado en parte por la ubicación marginal de sus áreas de culto y sus prácticas exclusivistas, se echará en cara a aquellos que las seguían un marcado absentismo frente a la vida social de su entorno y un imperdonable desinterés por los asuntos públicos. Al no participar en el culto oficial del Estado se les acusará adicionalmente de ateísmo. Celso, uno de sus mayores detractores, constata en pleno siglo III que los cristianos de su época no poseían ni templos, ni altares, ni imágenes de los dioses.4

Con la paulatina transformación de la esfera sacra desde la estrechez de las viviendas privadas a espacios mayores más o menos tolerados por las autoridades, a lo largo de los tres primeros siglos, se producirá una modificación de las prácticas litúrgicas, o dicho de otra manera: unos rituales religiosos cada vez más complejos planteaban nuevas y mayores exigencias al espacio cultual. La primitiva predicación por parte de los contemporáneos de Jesús, plena de improvisación y éxtasis, impulsada por profetas, maestros y aquellos que gozaban de un carisma especial, confería un amplio margen de acción a los fieles que se implicaban intensivamente en unos oficios de marcado carácter espontáneo.

También las catacumbas, enormes cementerios subterráneos producto de la escasez de suelo urbano en Roma, fueron utilizadas temporalmente como centros de reunión y enterramiento de una comunidad cristiana sumida en la ilegalidad y acosada repetidamente por la militancia de su entorno.

Con el transcurso del tiempo se irá imponiendo una ordenación del ceremonial en cuyo centro se insertará una liturgia ritualizada que propiciaba el protagonismo de los que la organizaban y dirigían, es decir del clero. El obispo como director espiritual de la comunidad cristiana tomaba asiento en la ‘cathedra’ (de donde se deriva la voz catedral), rodeado de sus presbíteros y diáconos, al este del edificio, la zona más venerable de la localidad por estar orientada hacia el lugar de la Pasión y Resurrección de Jesús. Presidía y oficiaba los servicios religiosos que constaban de plegarias, cánticos, lecturas y una homilía.

3

‘En reuniones nocturnas, tras ayunos solemnes, después de una comida contraria a la naturaleza se erigían no con un juramento, sino con un sacrificio’. Véase al respecto Walsh and Gottlieb (1992). 4 Los cristianos no eran sólo acusados de ateísmo, sino también de subversión (Justino, Apología I 6; 9; Apuleyo, Metamorfosis IX, 14; Tertuliano, Apologeticum 10, 1; 35-36, 1; Minucius Felix, Octavius 8, 1-2; 8, 3-5; Orígenes, Contra Celsum I 1-2; III, 5). Véase Blázquez Martínez (1990, 64-72).

5 Sobre los edificios protocristianos de culto en Dura Europos véase Kraeling (1967).

10

Pedro Barceló – De las catacumbas a las catedrales

Antes de celebrarse la eucaristía en la que sólo podían tomar parte los que estaban bautizados y habían realizado previamente un acto de penitencia para obtener el perdón de sus pecados, los catecúmenos, postulantes y demás personas que no pertenecían a la comunidad tenían que abandonar el interior de la iglesia en cuyo centro se alzaba el altar.

sacro cristiano. Por una parte, las persecuciones de Valeriano (257-260) y de los tetrarcas Diocleciano, Maximiano, Galerio y Constancio (303-311) supondrían la última fase de opresión estatal del culto cristiano.8 Por otra parte, la tolerancia otorgada primero por Galieno a partir del año 2609 y luego, y de forma definitiva, por Constantino,10 fomentarían la creación de nuevos recintos eclesiásticos que, además de sustraerse definitivamente a la clandestinidad, establecieron los precedentes de nuestro actual concepto de templo cristiano. Durante la segunda mitad del siglo III y como consecuencia de la política permisiva de Galieno ya se perfila la basílica como prototipo del espacio público cristiano del futuro. Esta consistía regularmente en una construcción rectangular, cuya entrada se instalaba frente al ábside, posibilitando así una nueva orientación topográfica de todo el recinto hacia el altar mayor. El edificio sacro cristiano estaba fuertemente influenciado por la basílica clásica, lugar de interacción social y de actividades comerciales, lúdicas y jurídicas, y referente arquitectónico obligado en los foros de todas las ciudades del mundo grecorromano (Bering 2007, 182-184).

A tenor de la evolución de la liturgia y de la diferenciación del personal encargado del culto, se reorganizaron las comunidades. Los líderes carismáticos que hasta entonces habían marcado la vida de las iglesias locales dieron paso a una jerarquía institucional cuyo distintivo será el episcopado, de corte monárquico, propagado por el obispo Ignacio de Antioquía.6 Una diatriba de principios del siglo III, obra de un obispo sirio, planteaba la dicotomía entre la asistencia a los espectaculos lúdicos y a la iglesia, conminando a los cristianos a no dejarse llevar por la desidia y a no ausentarse de sus obligaciones religiosas. El texto es uno de los raros testimonios que se refieren a la profesión del culto cristiano en la vida cotidiana, contrastando dos vitales focos sociales antagónicos de la cultura grecorromana, i.e. el templo cristiano y el teatro:

En el texto de los edictos de Nicomedia encontramos la expresión ‘ecclesia’ para designar el espacio donde se celebraba la eucaristía, que como centro de la comunidad, servía adicionalmente como depósito de los objetos del culto. En este contexto Lactancio, con la intención de minimizar la responsabilidad de Constancio I, padre de Constantino, que como los otros tetrarcas hizo cumplir los edictos anticristianos, nos cuenta que el emperador mandó derrumbar las paredes de las iglesias (que nuestro autor denomina conventicula), sin embargo, dejó en paz a los que profesaban la fe cristiana, según Lactancio los verdaderos depositarios del templo de Dios; aquí utiliza Lactancio (De mortibus persecutorum 15, 7) el término templum para calificarlo.11 Este sofisma teológico, que deja entrever la existencia de casas dedicadas al culto cristiano en las regiones occidentales del Imperio bajo el gobierno de Constancio I, pone de relieve una aleccionadora metáfora acerca de la distinción entre el espacio físico y la esfera espiritual que engloba el concepto ‘iglesia’.

Operam igitur date, ne unquam a conventu ecclesiae vos subducatis. Si quis autem conventum ecclesiae Dei relinquit et in conventum gentilium intrat, quid ist dicet et quam excusationem habebit apud Deum in die iudicii, quia reliquit ecclesiam sanctam et verba Dei viventis, quae viva sunt ac vivifica possuntque eruere et liberare ab ligne ac vivificare, et ad conventum gentilium se contulit, avidus videndi theatrum? (Didascalia Apostolorum II, 61-62).7

También los decretos del emperador Valeriano, promulgados en la década de los años cincuenta del siglo III contra el clero y las prácticas cristianas, confirman, aunque de forma indirecta, la existencia de lugares cultuales cristianos, donde se reunían periódicamente las comunidades de creyentes (Cipriano, Epistula 80; Acta Proconsularia S. Cypriani 1-5; Eusebio, Historia Eclesiástica VII, 11, 2-11). Allí se veneraban también los libros sagrados, los objetos del culto, las reliquias de los mártires y determinadas imágenes que suscitaban la devoción de los fieles.

Es básicamente durante la época que inaugura Constantino cuando se produce un notable salto cuantitativo y cualitativo en la concepción, el diseño y la función de la arquitectura del culto cristiano. El propio emperador y los miembros de su familia (aquí hay que mencionar ante todo a su madre Elena) protagonizaron un destacado mecenazgo en Aquileía, Antioquía, Belén,

En vista de la información disponible podemos concluir que en la transición del siglo III al IV se desarrollaron los parámetros decisivos en la configuración del espacio 6 Sobre Ignacio de Antioquía y la constitución monárquica del episcopado véase Lohse (1980). En la opinión de Cipriano de Cartago (Epistula 66, 8): el obispo está en la Iglesia y la Iglesia está en el obispo y quien no está con el obispo, no está tampoco en la Iglesia. Véase Saxer (1996). 7 ‘Así, por lo tanto, obrad de forma que nunca os sustraigáis a una asamblea de la iglesia. Pero si alguien sale de la asamblea de la iglesia de Dios y pasa a la de los paganos, ¿qué será lo que dirá como excusa ante Dios en el día del Juicio acerca de por qué se salió de la santa iglesia y de las palabras sagradas del Dios vivo (pues son vivas y vivificantes y pueden salvar, liberar de la pira y dar la vida), y se dirigió a la compañía de los paganos, ansioso por ver su teatro?’

8 Sobre la gran persecución dioclecianea véase Lactancio (De mortibus persecutorum 10-15); Eusebio (Historia de la Iglesia VIII, 2, 4-5; VIII, 6, 7-10); Mártires de Palestina (3, 1); Guyot and Klein (1993, 166-191). 9 En el texto del edicto imperial de Galieno recogido por Eusebio (Historia de la Iglesia VII, 12) se permite explícitamente el culto cristiano en las iglesias, interrumpido por la prohibición ordenada por su padre Valeriano (Guyot and Klein 1993, 161-163). 10 Sobre el inicio de la política de tolerancia frente al cristianismo véase Barceló (2008). 11 Nam Constantius, ne dissentire a maiorum praeceptis videretur, conventicula id est parietes, qui restitui poterant, dirui passus est, verum autem die templum, quod est in hominibus, incolumne servavit.

11

The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

Constantinopla, Jerusalén, Roma y otros sitios más donde se erigieron basílicas que servirán de modelo a innumerables templos que, a partir de ahora, proliferarán en múltiples regiones del Imperio.12 Durante el gobierno de Constantino la iglesia, que desde la época de Galieno ya había estado esporádicamente presente en la vida pública de las ciudades del Imperio, abandona definitivamente la clandestinidad proyectándose con enorme vigor hacia el exterior, constituyéndose en una esfera de culto protegida y privilegiada. Este último aspecto lo certifica una legislación que otorga a los clérigos cristianos inmunidad tributaria (CTh XVI, 2, 2) y a los templos cristianos entre otras cosas subvenciones del Estado, así como el derecho de asilo, hasta entonces exclusivamente en manos de los santuarios paganos (Maraval 2001, 178-185).

Constantino, como supervisores del culto (pontifices maximi), habían ocupado la cima del complejo entresijo de relaciones cultuales que garantizaban el orden político y social del Estado, los sucesores cristianos de Constantino se verán desplazados paulatinamente a su periferia (Barceló 2002). ‘¿Qué lugar correspondía al emperador en la Iglesia?’, se cuestionaba públicamente un obispo del siglo IV. Una pregunta que poco antes hubiera sido impensable no causaba ahora mayor sorpresa.16 La atmósfera que permitía semejante clase de divagaciones nos indica la profunda alteración de valores jerárquicos que se está gestando en el tejido social del Estado. Por primera vez, las autoridades políticas y religiosas podían entrar en mutua competencia a la hora de definir el lugar de cada una en un mundo pluriconfesional, sumergido en un intenso y complejo proceso de transformación religiosa que redundará en la progresiva cristianización del Imperio.

Tenemos constancia de que el emperador asistía ocasionalmente a las principales celebraciones litúrgicas, presidiendo los actos sentado en la zona más distinguida del templo, en medio del ábside frente al altar mayor, rodeado de obispos, sacerdotes y diáconos que oficiaban los servicios religiosos.13 Esta presencia del emperador, al principio esporádica, luego regular, en el centro del culto cristiano marcará una dinámica fase en la interacción entre los representantes del poder político y la jerarquía eclesiástica dentro de los muros de la iglesia. Comienza la pugna por el control del espacio sacro.

Sin embargo, el tema de la ubicación del emperador en el seno de la cristiandad en su doble vertiente, es decir, su posición jurisdiccional en relación con los obispos y su lugar protocolario en la liturgia (¿quién presidía la misa, el obispo que la oficiaba o el emperador cuando éste asistía?) no se puso en evidencia durante el gobierno de Constantino. Todavía estaba demasiado vivo el recuerdo de que fue él quien había liberado a la Iglesia de la persecución y le había concedido un sinfín de donaciones y privilegios.

Ritualización del culto en época constantiniana: ¿Qué lugar ocupa el emperador cristiano en la Iglesia?

Por su parte, Constantino, en su calidad de pontifex maximus, ejercía de protector de todas las comunidades de fe, tanto paganas como cristianas. Además, ostentaba la indiscutible dirección en todo lo relacionado con el culto, procurando que reinara la armonía religiosa en sus dominios.17 Al mismo tiempo gozaba de un prestigio y una admiración reverencial por parte de la recién redimida población cristiana de los estragos de la persecución. Gratitud y devoción son los adjetivos que caracterizan igualmente los sentimientos del clero ante el ‘primer emperador cristiano’. Nadie le disputaba la preeminencia dentro de la cristiandad, como su cabeza visible, como inspirador de concilios y sínodos episcopales, así como centro de gravedad y última instancia decisiva en asuntos doctrinales y disciplinarios concernientes a la jerarquía eclesiástica.

El panorama político y religioso del Imperio se transforma radicalmente con la legalización del cristianismo por el emperador Constantino como consecuencia del derrumbamiento de la Tetrarquía, último baluarte del paganismo (Kolb 1987).14 Ningún otro fenómeno adquirirá tanta relevancia para el futuro del Imperio como la expansión y la consolidación de la nueva doctrina (Herrmann-Otto 2007, 48 ss). Constantino y sus sucesores, de acuerdo con una ambiciosa jerarquía clerical que consigue incrementar con asombrosa celeridad sus recursos y su presencia social,15 sentarán las bases de una relación de privilegio entre la Iglesia y el Estado conmoviendo con ello los cimientos de la milenaria tradición romana. Lo que hasta ahora era un hecho indiscutible, es decir, la ubicación del emperador en el centro del culto pagano, empezará a tambalearse. Mientras que los antecesores de

Veamos algunos ejemplos que ilustran el protagonismo del emperador en el ámbito sacro. A su iniciativa y bajo su supervisión se celebrará el concilio de Nicea (325), el mayor sínodo episcopal visto hasta entonces, donde confluyeron representantes de todo el Imperio, preferentemente de Oriente.18 Será Constantino quien

12 Véase también la carta de Constantino a Zeusis y otros obispos (Keil 1989, 90-95) acerca de la donación de una parcela para construir una basílica a expensas del emperador en una ciudad africana. 13 Amiano Marcelino (XXI, 2, 5) atestigua la presencia del César Juliano en el culto cristiano durante su larga estancia en las Galias. 14 Véanse los artículos en torno a la relación entre Constantino y el cristianismo recogidos en Schlange-Schöningen (2007). 15 Ya en el año 318 se crea la audentia episcopalis, un tribunal que actua dentro de las paredes de la iglesia confiriendo al obispo una amplia potestad jurisdiccional que no sólo abarcaba la esfera eclesiástica, sino también la civil (CTh I, 27, 1).

16

Esta famosa frase atribuida a Donato será posteriormente recogida en la obra de Optato de Mileve (Contra Parmenianum Donatistam III, 3). 17 Sobre la dimensión política y significado de la dignidad pontifical de Constantino véase Ronning (2007). 18 Cuando el emperador Constantino asistía a una asamblea conciliar era él quien la presidía. Esto no sucedió sólo en Nicea, sino también en los sínodos de Nicomedia (327) y Constantinopla (336). Véase Girardet (1991).

12

Pedro Barceló – De las catacumbas a las catedrales

elevará las decisiones allí adoptadas al rango de leyes, promulgando de esta forma directivas, tanto teológicas como jurídicas, de validez universal que configurarán la esencia del credo cristiano.19

de los rituales litúrgicos con motivo de inauguraciones de iglesias, de aniversarios dinásticos, de fiestas del calendario cristiano es notorio y aparece reiteradamente atestiguado por las fuentes. En ellas se reúne la cúpula dirigente bajo la presidencia del emperador. Aquí obtienen los obispos cercanos al poder la oportunidad de anudar lazos de amistad con la elite política. Es de suponer que la asistencia asidua de las autoridades a las celebraciones religiosas moderara las reglas del culto, dotando a la liturgía de más solemnidad y a la homilía de un papel destacado. Pocas veces tenían los obispos la oportunidad de ser oídos por las autoridades o incluso por el mismo emperador. Por otra parte, la preponderancia protocolaria del poder político dentro del templo podía ser contrarrestada mediante el derecho al uso de la palabra por parte del clero. Con ello ambas instituciones, que dominaban y compartían el espacio sacro, generaban un precario equilibrio a través de la liturgia y del ceremonial, como muy bien demuestra un famoso episodio protagonizado por el emperador Teodosio y el obispo Ambrosio de Milán que luego comentaremos.

No menos instructiva para definir su relación con el clero cristiano es la percepción de sí mismo y de su propia dignidad sacerdotal que tenía Constantino. Según Eusebio de Cesarea (Vida de Constantino IV, 24), Constantino se consideraba, y así era catalogado desde fuera, como una especie de obispo plenipotenciario. Las expresiones que nos transmite el Padre de la Iglesia al respecto, episkopos ton ektos y episkopos koinos, deben ser interpretadas en un sentido maximalista y jerárquico: de todos los obispos del Imperio era Constantino el que más sobresalía, hecho que incrementaba sus atribuciones y su responsabilidad, tanto dentro como fuera de la Iglesia. En este sentido hay que observar la escenificación de sus comparecencias en la comunidad cristiana y su más o menos entusiasta aceptación por parte del clero. En las asambleas de obispos, Constantino se sentaba en un trono dorado, ocupando un lugar preferente y destacado de los demás, moderaba el debate teológico confiriendo a través de su presencia una especial validez a las decisiones adoptadas.20

A propósito de la solemne inauguración de la basílica de Tiro, Eusebio de Cesarea pronuncia un discurso, recogido en su Historia de la Iglesia (X, 4, 23), en el que entona el elogio del obispo Paulino, titular de la renombrada sede fenicia, y que al mismo tiempo nos ilustra acerca de una marcada y sorprendente autoestima del estamento clerical, elevada hasta esferas cósmicas:

La construcción de la basílica de los Doce Apóstoles en Constantinopla, destinada a ser su tumba-mausoleo, en cuyo interior descansaba Constantino, como decimotercer apóstol, subrayaba su ubicación en el cosmos cristiano, perpetuando el dominio que había ejercido en vida sobre el espacio cultual hasta después de su muerte, escenificada como un episodio de la historia sagrada. ¿O no sería incluso que Constantino se identificaba con Cristo, que también aparece, según la tradición evangélica, rodeado de sus doce apóstoles?21

τάχα δὲ καὶ ἄλλῳ δευτερεύειν μετὰ τοῦτον ἑνὶ μόνῳ τῶν ἴσων ἐφικτόν, τῷδε τῷ προκαθημένῳ τῆσδε τῆς στρατιᾶς ἡγεμόνι, ὃν αὐτὸς ὁ πρῶτος καὶ μέγας ἀρχιερεὺς δευτερείοις τῶν τῇδε ἱερείων τιμήσας, ποιμένα τῆς ὑμετέρας ἐνθέου ποίμνης κλήρῳ καὶ κρίσει τοῦ πατρὸς τὸν ὑμέτερον λαχόντα λαόν, ὡς ἂν θεραπευτὴν καὶ ὑποφήτην αὐτὸς ἑαυτοῦ κατετάξατο, τὸν νέον Ἀαρὼν ἢ Μελχισεδεκ ἀφωμοιωμένον τῷ υἱῷ τοῦ θεοῦ μένοντά τε καὶ πρὸς αὐτοῦ τηρούμενον εἰς τὸ διηνεκὲς ταῖς κοιναῖς ἁπάντων ἡμῶν εὐχαῖς.22

Muy consciente del relevante papel desempeñado por su padre, su hijo y sucesor educado por mentores cristianos, no dudará un momento en ocupar el vacío dejado por su predecesor. Constancio II (324-361) impondrá al igual que Constantino su voluntad a varios sínodos episcopales, aprobando o censurando algunas veces nombramientos de obispos, promulgando decisiones teológicas de su agrado, procurando lograr la unidad de credo según su criterio dentro de una Iglesia segmentada por disidencias doctrinales, ocupando un lugar preferente en el ceremonial religioso, presidiendo celebraciones y documentando públicamente la supervisión imperial en temas de índole dogmático, disciplinario y litúrgico.

El elocuente texto citado nos muestra cómo la comunidad cristiana se definía a través del obispo, su director espiritual y máxima autoridad en asuntos de la fe y en todo lo relacionado con la disciplina interna, la representación hacia el exterior, la supervisión del clero y la administración del patrimonio; este último punto le confería, de hecho, la potestad sobre el recinto del culto.23 Celebraba la misa asistido por sus presbíteros, diáconos y otros clérigos menores (cantores, lectores, ostiarios, subdiáconos, etc.). El acceso al interior del templo era 22 ‘Mas quizá se concede a otro, a uno solo, después de Él los mismos cometidos, es decir, al capitán destacado al frete de este ejército a quien el propio gran sacerdote, el primero y principal, le ha honrado con el segundo lugar en esta iglesia, y al que él, como pastor de su venerable rebaño obtenido según elección y juicio del Padre para vuestro pueblo, le ha convertido en su siervo e intérprete, como un Aaron o Melquisedec, hecho a imagen del hijo de Dios y permaneciendo siempre protegido por él según vuestras oraciones conjuntas.’ 23 Muy instructivo al respecto es el conflicto entre Pablo de Samosata y los obispos que le depusieron de su cargo que apelaron al emperador Aureliano para que éste confirmara la pertenencia de la iglesia de Antioquía a su sucesor (Eusebio, Historia de la Iglesia VII, 30, 19; Piétri and Marschies 1996, 69 s.).

La implicación de los emperadores de la dinastía constantiniana en las festividades religiosas se convierte en una parte integrante de su tarea de gobierno. El fasto 19

Sobre los principales puntos de debate tratados en Nicea véase Kany (2007). 20 Sobre la solemne inauguración del concilio de Nicea y el destacado papel del emperador Constantino en el acto véase Eusebio (Vida de Constantino III, 10-11). 21 Op. Cit. (IV, 64-75); Clauss (1996, 97).

13

The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

regulado por un diácono que se encargaba de vetar la asistencia al sacrificio de la eucaristía a los catecúmenos y de asignar a los fieles sus correspondientes lugares según su condición y rango. Hombres y mujeres estaban separados, los mayores se acomodaban delante de los menores y en el lugar preeminente, a la vista de todos, se instalaba el clero. La estructuración del espacio sacro cristiano seguía criterios sociológicos, teológicos, litúrgicos y protocolarios a la vez. Era un fiel espejo del espíritu jerárquico de la sociedad tardorromana.

Entre las basílicas cristianas de Palestina destaca el emblemático templo construido en la ciudad donde se conmemoraba la Pasión de Jesús. La iglesia del Santo Sepulcro de Jerusalén era, y sigue siendo, uno de los lugares más prestigiosos del culto cristiano, junto con la monumental basílica de Belén, edificada en honor al lugar donde se recuerda el nacimiento de Jesús (Op. Cit., 192-195). Sobre la iglesia de Tiro poseemos un extenso testimonio literario procedente de Eusebio de Cesarea (Historia de la Iglesia X, 4, 39-45) que, como testigo presencial de su apertura nos relata las peculiaridades del templo y el impacto que causaba a los que lo visitaban, alabando al mismo tiempo el buen gusto del obispo Paulino al que se le atribuía la autoría del impresionante monumento:

Auge de las iglesias en el Imperium Romanum Christianum La progresiva cristianización de la sociedad romana fue acompañada de un notable auge de la actividad edilicia: observamos por todas partes un incremento en la construcción de iglesias. En la medida en que el santuario cristiano se convierte en el único espacio sacro reconocido por el Estado, se multiplican las edificaciones de templos de gran magnitud que destacan por su calidad arquitectónica y su monumentalidad. Para su emplazamiento se escogen preferentemente sitios relacionados con episodios de la vida y muerte de Jesús, de los apóstoles y de los mártires, o lugares donde se conservaba alguna renombrada reliquia, apostando por el influjo milagroso que confería su cercanía.

39. εἴσω δὲ παρελθόντι πυλῶν οὐκ εὐθὺς ἐφῆκεν ἀνάγνοις καὶ ἀνίπτοις ποσὶν τῶν ἔνδον ἐπιβαίνειν ἁγίων, διαλαβὼν δὲ πλεῖστον ὅσον τὸ μεταξὺ τοῦ τε νεὼ καὶ τῶν πρώτων εἰσόδων, τέτταρσι μὲν πέριξ ἐγκαρσίοις κατεκόσμησεν στοαῖς… 41. ἀλλὰ γὰρ καὶ τὴν τούτων θέαν παραμειψάμενος, πλείοσιν ἔτι μᾶλλον τοῖς ἐνδοτάτω προπύλοις τὰς ἐπὶ τὸν νεὼν παρόδους ἀναπεπταμένας ἐποίει, … 42. τὸν αὐτὸν δὲ τρόπον καὶ ταῖς παρ' ἑκάτερα τοῦ παντὸς νεὼ στοαῖς … διατάξας, … καὶ τὸν περὶ αὐτὰς κόσμον καταποικίλλων. τὸν δὲ βασίλειον οἶκον πλουσιωτέραις ἤδη καὶ δαψιλέσι ταῖς ὕλαις ὠχύρου, ἀφθόνῳ φιλοτιμίᾳ τῶν ἀναλωμάτων χρώμενος· 44. ἀλλὰ γὰρ ὧδε καὶ τὸν νεὼν ἐπιτελέσας θρόνοις τε τοῖς ἀνωτάτω εἰς τὴν τῶν προέδρων τιμὴν καὶ προσέτι βάθροις ἐν τάξει τοῖς καθ' ὅλου κατὰ τὸ πρέπον κοσμήσας ἐφ' ἅπασίν τε τὸ τῶν ἁγίων ἅγιον θυσιαστήριον ἐν μέσῳ θείς, αὖθις καὶ τάδε, ὡς ἂν εἴη τοῖς πολλοῖς ἄβατα, τοῖς ἀπὸ ξύλου περιέφραττε δικτύοις εἰς ἄκρον ἐντέχνου λεπτουργίας ἐξησκημένοις, ὡς θαυμάσιον τοῖς ὁρῶσιν παρέχειν τὴν θέαν. 45. ἀλλ' οὐδὲ τοὔδαφος ἄρα εἰς ἀμελὲς ἔκειτο αὐτῷ· καὶ τόδε γοῦν λίθῳ μαρμάρῳ εὖ μάλα κόσμῳ παντὶ λαμπρύνας…25

Casi todas las grandes ciudades del Imperio obtienen nuevas basílicas patrocinadas por la familia imperial, las aristocracias locales, las comunidades urbanas o fieles acaudalados. A muchas de ellas se añaden fundaciones que dotan a las nuevas plataformas eclesiásticas de la necesaria solvencia económica para sufragar los gastos del culto, otorgándoles así una creciente cuota de independencia con respecto al poder político. Veamos algunos significativos ejemplos. Inmediatamente después de derrotar a Majencio, Constantino, al entrar en Roma, cedió la propiedad del área urbana donde se ubicaban los cuarteles de los equites singulares Augusti, una tropa de elite fiel a su rival, al obispo de la ciudad,24 mandando edificar allí la basílica de Letrán, que se convertirá en el prototipo de la arquitectura sacra cristiana por antonomasia. Este templo, centro de la topografía cristiana de Roma, constaba de cinco naves en las que se entraba tras cruzar un atrio. El edificio, sede episcopal romana, estaba ricamente adornado gracias a donaciones imperiales y era muy apropiado para escenificar grandes celebraciones religiosas. Constaba además de una serie de elementos típicos de la arquitectura palacial que servían para magnificarlo (Bering 2007, 179-181). Otra famosa iglesia romana, entre las muchas que se podrían aducir aquí, era la dedicada a la memoria de San Pedro, erigida en el campo Vaticano y que constituye los fundamentos de la actual basílica Vaticana, actual centro del catolicismo universal (Op. Cit., 184 s). 24

Al igual que la basílica de Tiro, numerosas casas de culto que se asemejaban más a los palacios imperiales que a sitios de oración, aparecen adornados por frescos, mosaicos, pinturas e imágenes de alta calidad artística y coste material. Dada su enorme relevancia religiosa y política, las iglesias se configuraban como núcleos de atracción social, como monumentos memoriales y 25 ‘Mas cuando uno entra por las puertas no se permite directamente el acceso al santuario interior con pies impuros y mancillados, sino que dejando el mayor espacio posible entre el templo y la primera entrada, lo ha adornado en derredor con cuatro claustros transversales... Y tras pasar por este panorama, hizo corredores abiertos de entrada al templo aún en mayor número, que se desplegaban hacia el interior… De la misma manera dispuso también a uno y otro lado del templo entero columnatas... y las adornó lujosamente con trabajo. Pero la casa real la proveyó de materiales aún más bellos lujosos, sin tener en cuenta los dispendios... Y después de completar el templo, dispuso asientos elevados para honrar a los superiores y sobre ellos aún más, sitios en orden según lo conveniente que adornaban todo el edificio y al fin, en el medio, puso el sanctasanctórum, el altar, y para que fuese inaccesible a la multitud, lo encerró con una rejilla de madera, ejecutada con un arte muy refinado, y que presentaba una visión maravillosa para quienes lo observaban. Y ni siquiera el suelo fue descuidado por él, sino que lo adornó también con mármol en brillante ornato…’

Sobre el trasfondo de la donación véase Barceló (1991-1992).

14

Pedro Barceló – De las catacumbas a las catedrales

también como símbolos de poder. Con la revitalización y creciente importancia del espacio cultual cristiano se transforma su función y significado. Los antiguos lugares de reunión y recogimiento sumidos antaño en un relativo anonimato y sencillez, se convirtieron en centros de adoración y prestigio. Al penetrar en ellos los fieles quedaban deslumbrados ante la majestuosidad y solemnidad que imprimían las espléndidas mansiones de Dios. El aura celestial que emanaba de las ostentosas realizaciones arquitectónicas y artísticas recaía igualmente sobre el estamento clerical que las administraba y regía. Cada patriarca, metropolita u obispo que se preciaba de desempeñar un relevante papel en la política religiosa podía subrayar sus ansias de preeminencia a través de la magnificencia de su respectiva sede episcopal. Al esplendor del edificio correspondía una compleja liturgia. Como si del adventus del propio emperador se tratase, el obispo orquestaba su entrada en la basílica con gran boato y pompa. Oficiaba la misa ataviado con unas lujosas vestiduras, exhibiendo ante la comunidad de creyentes su autoridad eclesiástica y espiritual.

Clericalización del espacio sacro en época teodosiana: Ambrosio y Teodosio A pesar del auge que experimenta la expansión del cristianismo, la evolución religiosa desde Constancio II a Teodosio presenta tanto elementos de continuidad como de ruptura. El episodio de la restauración pagana impulsada por Juliano (361-363) así como la agudizada segmentación religiosa entre Occidente, gobernado por Valentiniano (364-375) y partidario de la fe de Nicea, y Oriente, gobernado por Valente (364-378) defensor de la doctrina arriana, debilitan a la larga la unidad de la Iglesia así como la posición mediadora del primer hombre del Estado. La pérdida de su capacidad de integración merma el protagonismo religioso del emperador, que pasará cada vez más a depender de la facción episcopal mayoritaria en sus respectivos dominios.27 De forma paralela al desplazamiento del emperador del ámbito cultual se acentúa la filiación cristiana de los regentes que ven con creciente desagrado en el legado pagano una carga anacrónica que no están dispuestos a soportar. Por este motivo Graciano (375-383), el hijo de Valentiniano, renunciará a su dignidad pontifical (Stepper 2002) y Teodosio (379-395), elevado al Imperio por Graciano tras la desaparición de Valente, será el primer emperador que tras su proclamación ya no asumirá el título de pontifex maximus, hecho insólito, si lo comparamos con la actitud de Constantino o Constancio II que siempre tuvieron la última palabra en todo lo relacionado con la regulación del complejo entramado religioso del Estado.

Aunque el lujo de detalles descritos en nuestras fuentes se circunscriben preferentemente a las renombradas basílicas de las grandes ciudades, no debemos olvidar la función modélica que éstas ejercían sobre el mundo provinciano y rural, del que poseemos muchas menos noticias. No obstante podemos afirmar que las reducidas iglesias de las pequeñas localidades intentaban, en la medida de sus posibilidades, imitar el estilo arquitectónico y litúrgico de los grandes centros de la cristiandad.

Con la renuncia voluntaria al sumo pontificado, Teodosio se deshizo de su tradicional función directora en el ámbito de las competencias sacras que, entre otras cosas, englobaban la supervisión de los sacerdotes y del culto. Lo que a primera vista sólo parece haber causado repercusiones inmediatas en la administración del culto pagano, se revelará como factor esencial a la hora de definir la relación entre un emperador, que ya no era pontifex maximus, y el clero cristiano, afectando igualmente a su capacidad de decisión en asuntos del credo.

En su totalidad, los factores enumerados evidencian un notable cambio en la apreciación y la utilización del templo cristiano en relación con su antigua función. Desde mitad del siglo IV las flamantes basílicas cristianas se definían en el ámbito jerárquico primordialmente como sedes metropolitanas o episcopales y en el ámbito espiritual como moradas divinas, santuarios de mártires o centros de identificación religiosa que suscitaban la sentida admiración y devoción de los fieles. Al igual que en las residencias de los emperadores, donde una pléyade de silentiarii se encargaba de conferir solemnidad y decoro al sacrum palatium, en el templo cristiano reinaba igualmente un silencio reverencial que recalcaba la santidad del lugar. No obstante el auge de la iglesia de la época teodosiana, algunos contemporáneos, cristianos comprometidos, como era el caso de San Jerónimo, criticaban acerbamente las deficiencias internas que afectaban al clero, comparándolas con el esplendor externo de los templos. En una carta al presbítero Nepotiano (Ep. 52, 10) el Padre de la Iglesia subraya con amargura: Multi aedificant parietes et columnas ecclesiae subtrahunt: marmora nitent, auro splendent lacunaria, gemmis altare distinguitur et ministrorum Christi nulla electio est.26

Cuando en su legislación Teodosio se pronunciará en materia de fe, lo hará apoyándose con expertos en teología. En esta línea de actuación se inserta su famoso edicto cunctos populos, que prescribe el seguimiento obligatorio de la doctrina católico-nicena, iniciativa avalada por renombrados obispos (Pedro de Alejandría y Dámaso de Roma) que asumen la autoría espiritual de la legislación imperial (CTh XVI, 1, 2). El emperador se había posicionado claramente al principio de su gobierno a favor de la ortodoxia nicena, condenando el arrianismo así como otras desviaciones doctrinales catalogadas como heréticas, que no tardarán a ser sancionadas por el derecho penal. Al igual que sus antecesores cristianos en piedras preciosas, pero no se presta cuidado en la elección de los servidores de Cristo.’ 27 Salvo pocas excepciones los emperadores del siglo IV solo gobiernan una determinada parte del Imperio.

26

‘Muchos construyen iglesias y las fundan sobre columnas: los mármoles brillan, sus techos brillan con el oro, el altar es adornado por

15

The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

el trono, también Teodosio movilizará el aparato estatal para intentar unificar una Iglesia dividida por profundas disidencias dogmáticas (Gottlieb y Barceló 1993).

cristiana ortodoxa con el mundo pagano o con grupos cristianos disidentes, anteponía con vehemencia el derecho de la Iglesia que él representaba a cualquier razonamiento, indistintamente de quien la formulara y sin reparar en la lógica de los argumentos ajenos.29

Una esencial importancia dentro del proceso de sociologización cristiana en la biografía del emperador Teodosio recae en su bautismo. Sus consecuencias fueron notables. A diferencia de sus emblemáticos predecesores Constantino y Constancio II, que sólo hicieron acto de profesión de fe poco antes de fallecer, Teodosio, al salir en vida de una gravísima enfermedad, se dejó bautizar por el obispo Acolio de Tesalónica poco después de haber sido elevado al Imperio (380) (Sócrates, Historia de la Iglesia 5, 6). A través de esta medida, Teodosio quedaba plenamente integrado en la comunidad cristiana, y, lo que será más determinante, a partir de este momento, el emperador, como creyente, podía pasar a depender de la tutela espiritual de la autoridad clerical pertinente. Esta circunstancia es básica para entender el desenlace del acto de penitencia de Milán.

¿Cómo habría reaccionado el obispo de Milán si los autores del genocidio hubieran sido católicos nicenos y los masacrados arrianos? Un episodio acontecido dos años antes en Calínico (388) nos da una respuesta a ello. En esta ciudad cercana a la frontera persa, en la región del Eúfrates, había sido incendiada una sinagoga judía por una turba cristiana espoleada por su propio obispo (Ambrosio, Epistula 1a; 5; 14; 20; 31; Groß-Albenhausen 1999, 101-110). Teodosio, que por aquel entonces también se encontraba en Milán, ordenó restablecer el deteriorado órden público castigando a los sediciosos y condenando al obispo de Calinico a reconstruir la derruida sinagoga. Ambrosio se opuso rotundamente a la decisión del emperador, instándole a que desistiera de penalizar a los culpables del atropello. El enfrentamiento entre obispo y emperador, del que tenemos constancia gracias a una carta de Ambrosio a su hermana Marcela (Epistula 41, 27-28; Migne, extra coll. 1 [41]), tuvo lugar entre las paredes de la basílica de Milán durante una misa, entre el final del sermón y el inicio de la eucaristía, cuando de repente se interrumpió el acto religioso produciéndose un acalorado enfrentamiento:

Los antecedentes de este notable evento, dotado de una extraordinaria carga simbólica, hay que buscarlos en Tesalónica. Allí se desató en la primera mitad del año 390 un tumulto en el hipódromo, en cuyo transcurso fue linchado el magister militum Boterico, comandante de la guarnición goda de la ciudad. Por aquel entonces, Teodosio, que se encontraba cerca de Milán reorganizando las provincias occidentales después de superar la usurpación de Máximo, reaccionó encolerizado ante esta inadmisible alteración del orden público mandando castigar ejemplarmente a los culpables.28 Temiendo, sin embargo, una escalada de la espiral de violencia y que la situación se escapase de su control, no tardó en suavizar su anterior mandato. Pero la guarnición goda ya lo había ejecutado antes de que llegara la contraorden, probablemente para evitar el posible cambio de opinión del emperador, orquestando una indiscriminada matanza. El conflicto se saldó con miles de víctimas masacradas en el circo por las tropas godas ávidas de venganza por la muerte de su comandante (Larson 1970; Just 2003, 200; Larson 1970). Fue el episodio más oscuro del reinado de Teodosio.

Ubi descendi ait mihi: ‘De nobis proposuisti’. Respondi: ‘Hoc tractavi quod ad utilitatem tuam pertineret’. Tunc ait: ‘Revera de synagoga reparanda ab episcopo durius statueram sed emendatum est. Monachi multa scelera faciunt’. Tunc Timasius magister equitum et peditum coepit adversum monachos esse vehementior. Respondi ei: ‘Ego cum imperatore ago ut oportet quia novi quod habeat domini timorem, te cum autem aliter mihi agendum qui tam dura loqueris’. Deinde cum aliquandiu starem dico imperatori: ‘Fac me securum pro te offerre, absolve animum meum’. Cum assideret non tamen aperte polliceretur atque ego starem dixit se emendaturum, stare coepi ut omnem cognitionem tolleret ne occasione cognitionis comes aliqua Christianos attereret iniuria. Promisit futurum. Aio illi: ‘Ago fide tua’ et repetivi: ‘Ago fide tua’. ‘Age’ inquit. Ita ad altare accessi non aliter accessurus nisi plene promisisset mihi. Et vere tanta oblationis fuit gratia ut sentirem etiam ipse eam deo nostro commendatiorem fuisse et divinam praesentiam non defuisse. Omnia itaque gesta sunt ex sententia.30

Los sangrientos sucesos de Tesalónica produjeron un fuerte impacto no sólo en el ánimo de Teodosio, sino también en la opinión pública y en las autoridades eclesiásticas. Un sínodo episcopal reunido en Milán condenó el hecho y Ambrosio, obispo de la ciudad, se sumó a los críticos del emperador (Teodoreto, Historia de la Iglesia 5, 17; Sozómeno, Historia de la Iglesia 7, 25, 4). En este contexto conviene recordar que los soldados godos que causaron la brutal represión profesaban la fe arriana, mientras que las víctimas pertenecían mayoritariamente al credo católico niceno, al igual que Ambrosio, acérrimo enemigo del arrianismo, al igual que el mismo emperador. No era la primera vez que el obispo de Milán, en situaciones donde entraba en conflicto la fe

29 En la controversia desatada por la expulsión del altar de la Victoria de la sala de sesiones del Senado romano, Ambrosio se impuso a Símaco, portavoz del grupo de senadores paganos, que abogaba por mantener en su sitio al emblemático monumento, estrechamente ligado a la historia de Roma. A través de una diatriba dirigida al emperador, el obispo de Milán se pronunció contra el altar pagano amenazando implicitamente con la excomunión a aquellos que apoyaran la propuesta de Simaco. 30 Sobre la valoración del episodio de Calinico, véase K. GroßAlbenhausen (1999, 99-112); Leppin (2003, 139-143).

28 La situación era políticamente en extremo delicada pues desde el foedus de 382 los godos asentados en Tracia eran una fuerza militar imprescindible y peligrosa a la vez con la que Teodosio estaba obligado a convivir (Faber 2011).

16

Pedro Barceló – De las catacumbas a las catedrales

Como el elocuente texto muy bien ilustra, Teodosio y Ambrosio se enzarzaron en plena celebración litúrgica en una apasionada disputa en la que el recurso a la clementia principis desbarató la intransigencia del obispo. El emperador no levantó el castigo de los culpables, pero lo suavizó sensiblemente. Sin dar del todo la razón a Ambrosio, Teodosio reconcilió ambas posturas, por una parte el deber del gobierno de penalizar atropellos y las pretensiones del obispo de defender a la Iglesia por otra, evitando así el mutuo deterioro de la autoridad civil y eclesiástica. Especial interés recae en la justificación del atropello por parte de Ambrosio.

a Dios, según la opinión del imperturbable Ambrosio (Epistula 20, 8, 16), no estaba sujeto al poder imperial. Si analizamos desde la perspectiva de los sucesos de Calínico el tema de la matanza de Tesalónica y sus repercusiones, se perfila con mayor nitidez la volatibilidad de la postura de Ambrosio, así como el posterior remordimiento de conciencia que se generó en el alma de un emperador que era un cristiano convencido, después de enterarse de la catástrofe humana que él mismo había provocado. En una carta dirigida al regente a raíz de los trágicos sucesos de Tesalónica, Ambrosio (Epistula extra collectionem), como sacerdote, recriminó el comportamiento ético del cristiano niceno Teodosio echándole en cara su culpa como responsable de la riada de sangre desatada entre la población niceno-católica de Tesalónica e incitándole al arrepentimiento para obtener el perdón de Dios:

El principal argumento del obispo (Epistula 74, 40) era que la sinagoga representaba un monumento a la idolatría que debía desaparecer. Con ello Ambrosio atenuaba y justificaba la violencia cristiana, contrastando al mismo tiempo la impureza de un lugar de culto pagano con la innata sacralidad del templo cristiano. En opinión del obispo de Milán todo aquel edificio cultual que no servía a las prácticas cristianas no sólo era prescindible, sino que constituía una intolerable provocación frente a la que había de reaccionar. Ambrosio, dotado de una notable capacidad de persuación, apelaba a los instintos cristianos del emperador a sabiendas que éstos podían hacer mella en su ánimo. Según esta valoración, únicamente el templo cristiano merecía el calificativo de legítimo. El comportamiento de Ambrosio, aparte de estar impregnado de motivos partidistas, pues sus miramientos se extendían exclusivamente a sus correligionarios, pone también de manifiesto una tendencia hacia la monopolización del espacio sacro por parte de la jerarquía eclesiástica que pretendía imponer su punto de vista a los representantes del Estado.

non enim mirandum peccare hominem, sed illud reprehensibile si non se cognoscat errasse, non humiliet deo [11 (51) 9]… Peccatum non tollitur nisi lacrimis et poenitentia [11]….Suadeo rogo hortor admoneo, quia dolori est mihi, ut tu qui pietatis inauditae exemplum eras, qui apicem clementiae tenebas, qui singulos nocentes non patiebaris periclitari, tot perisse non doleas innocentes. Etsi in proeliis felicissime egeris, etsi in aliis quoque laudabilis, tamen apex tuorum operum pietas semper fuit. Tibi invidit diabolus quod habebas praestantissimum. Vince eum dum habes adhuc unde possis vincere. Noli peccato tuo aliud peccatum addere, ut usurpes quod usurpasse multis obfuit.32[12]

El tema poseía una segunda vertiente, plena de actualidad. Entraba también aquí en juego el control del espacio sacro en aquellas ciudades donde los seguidores de las diferentes tendencias dogmáticas (católicos nicenos, arrianos, priscilianistas, etc.) competían por la supremacia espiritual y por la posesión de determinados templos cristianos.31 Justina, simpatizante de la doctrina arriana y madre del emperador Valentiniano II, había reclamado unos años antes para sí y para su escolta goda la basílica Porciana situada en las afueras de Milán (385). Después de una serie de escenas tumultuosas en las que una parte de la guarnición urbana apoyó a Ambrosio, se frustró el proyecto. En medio de esta tensa situación de enfrentamiento entre el obispo y la corte, Ambrosio emitió una declaración de principios. Manifestó reconocer la potestad del emperador de disponer libremente de los recursos tanto públicos como privados, incluso de las vidas de los súbditos si fuera necesario, pero excluyendo al mismo tiempo las propiedades de la Iglesia de la disponibilidad del Estado: lo que pertenecía

El tenaz y consecuente Ambrosio, muy seguro de sí mismo al sentirse arropado por una fuerza sobrenatural, capaz de intimidar al mismísimo emperador, incitaba a Teodosio a rectificar. Como obispo amonestaba a un miembro de la comunidad cristiana excluyéndole de la celebración de la eucaristía, si no mostraba su contrición mediante obras de penitencia. En vísperas de Pascua del año 391, posiblemente el Jueves Santo, después de haber estado meses sin asistir a los oficios religiosos, apareció Teodosio, desprovisto de las insignias de su alto rango, como un fiel más, ante la basílica de Milán pidiendo ser admitido en la celebración litúrgica, haciendo pública penitencia e implorando el perdón de sus pecados (Just 2003, 200 s.; Bergmeier 2010, 67 s.). Mediante semejante 32 ‘No es, en fin, sorprendente que un hombre cometa pecado, pero es censurable que no reconoce que se ha equivocado y no se humilla ante Dios… El pecado no se quita sino por medio de las lágrimas y la penitencia… Persuado, ruego, exhorto y aconsejo, pues me causa dolor que tú que eras ejemplo de una piedad inaudita y ostentabas la cumbre de la piedad, no permitas que el pecador salga del peligro y no sientas dolor por la destrucción de tantos inocentes. Aunque has resultado siempre victorioso en las batallas y también en otros asuntos has sido digno de elogio, sin embargo la cumbre de tus trabajos siempre fue la piedad. Siempre te envidió el diablo porque te mantenías con excelente virtud. Véncele mientras eres capaz de vencer como hasta ahora. No añadas a tu pecado otro pecado, de forma que te apoderes de lo que a muchos se impidió obtener.’ Sobre el acto de penitencia de Milán véase Groß-Albenhausen (1999, 113-119); Leppin (2003, 153-167).

31

Sobre las peleas dogmáticas dentro del cristianismo por la posesión de las iglesias del bando ajeno véanse Atanasio (Hist. Ar. 22), Sócrates (Historia de la Iglesia II, 23) y Sozomeno (Historia de la Iglesia III, 20), donde se narra un episodio de la vida de Atanasio en el que se trasluce que cuando Constancio II ordenó a Atanasio a que cediera una iglesia de Alejandría a los arrianos, éste pidió en compensación la cesión de una iglesia nicena en Antioquía.

17

The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

actitud Teodosio traspasaba el límite que mediaba entre su conciencia cristiana y la majestad de su cargo. Al plegarse ante las exigencias del obispo, lograba acceder al culto y reconciliarse con sus creencias. Entre las consecuencias de esta acción se contaba el pleno reconocimiento de la primacía de la jerarquía clerical sobre la esfera sacra.

La novedad de la situación se debía también al hecho que fuera precisamente el templo cristiano el campo de acción donde se dirimió el pulso entre el poder imperial y la autoridad eclesiástica, transgrediendo fronteras hasta entonces claramente delimitadas. En este sentido el cara a cara entre Teodosio y Ambrosio evidenciaba la enorme politización de la basílica cristiana, depósito de sacralidad, que, al ser utilizado como recurso intimidatorio, se convertía en un foco de poder. La ‘cathedra’ del obispo asumirá así una especie de función oracular.

Si el hecho de que un emperador se rebajara ante sus súbditos, al asumir el papel de mero miembro de la comunidad cristiana dependiente de su obispo, era de por sí espectacular, lo que sucederá poco después dentro del templo no lo será menos. El cronista eclesiástico Teodoreto (Teodoreto, Historia de la Iglesia 5, 18, 20 s.) lo ha transmitido de la siguiente manera:

A finales de la época teodosiana, el enérgico obispo Cirilo, patriarca de Alejandría y uno de los principales teólogos del credo niceno, en un memorando dirigido a Teodosio II y a la corte imperial de Constantinopla, plagado de reminiscencias bíblicas, formulará las obligaciones del emperador con la Iglesia poniendo especial énfasis en la subordinación del primer hombre del Estado a la voluntad de Dios (De la ortodoxia, I).

ἐπειδὴ δὲ ὁ καιρὸς ἐκάλει τῇ ἱερᾷ τραπέζῃ τὰ δῶρα προσενεγκεῖν, ἀναστὰς μετὰ τῶν ἴσων δακρύων τῶν ἀνακτόρων ἐπέβη· προσενεγκὼν δὲ ὥσπερ εἰώθει, ἔνδον παρὰ τὰς κιγκλίδας μεμένηκεν. ἀλλὰ πάλιν ὁ μέγας Ἀμβρόσιος οὐκ ἐσίγησεν, ἀλλ' ἐξεπαίδευσε τὴν τῶν τόπων διαφοράν. καὶ πρῶτον μὲν ἤρετο εἴ τινος δέοιτο· τοῦ δὲ βασιλέως εἰρηκότος ὡς προσμένει τὴν τῶν θείων μυστηρίων μετάληψιν, ἐδήλωσεν ὑπουργῷ τῷ τῶν διακόνων ἡγουμένῳ χρησάμενος ὅτι· «τὰ ἔνδον, ὦ βασιλεῦ, μόνοις ἐστὶν ἱερεῦσι βατά, τοῖς δὲ ἄλλοις ἅπασιν ἄδυτά τε καὶ ἄψαυστα. ἔξιθι τοίνυν καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις κοινώνει τῆς στάσεως· ἁλουργὶς γὰρ βασιλέας, οὐχ ἱερέας ποιεῖ.33

La basílica, sinónimo del considerable potencial espiritual de la religión cristiana, y el palacio, símbolo de la autoridad terrenal del emperador, enlazados entre sí a través de un complejo equilibrio personal e institucional, se perfilan como los centros de poder de la cristianizada sociedad tardorromana. Durante el siglo V la balanza se irá decantando en favor del templo cristiano cuyos titulares irán paulatinamente asumiendo funciones otrora ejercidas por los representantes de un Imperio que, debido a segmentaciones internas, a las invasiones germánicas en su parte occidental y a la formación de núcleos centrifugales independientes del poder central entrará en un dilatado proceso de desmembración. A partir del siglo V el obispo de Roma revitalizará el título que desechó Teodosio precisamente por su connotación pagana, dandóle ahora un nuevo significado dentro del mundo cristiano. Como pontifex maximus aspirará al reconocimiento universal de la primacía de su sede episcopal.

También en esta ocasión obedeció Teodosio al obispo. El traslado del lugar que ocupaba tradicionalmente el emperador en las celebraciones litúrgicas a instancias de Ambrosio, del ábside de la basílica, reservada a la jerarquía clerical, a las gradas asignadas a los fieles, es posiblemente la imagen más emblemática del triunfo del clero sobre el emperador dentro de las paredes de la iglesia. Milán no fue un caso aislado. Al regresar a Constantinopla y asistir a los servicios religiosos en su basílica, Teodosio, ante la perplejidad del obispo de su residencia imperial, volverá a ocupar las gradas adjudicadas a los fieles, ausentándose de la zona en torno al altar mayor, reservada a los que oficiaban los ministerios divinos. Desde entonces, el clero incrementará su autoestima en detrimento del primer hombre del Estado que, al contrario de sus antecesores cristianos de la dinastías constantiniana y valentiniana, ya no era sacerdote, como le había recordado Ambrosio, sino laico, quedando con ello teóricamente sujeto a la dirección espiritual de su respectivo obispo.

Es básicamente durante la época teodosiana cuando se produce el salto definitivo dentro del proceso de clericalización del área del culto cuyas consecuencias tendrán una relevancia secular. La inicialmente difusa esfera del ministerio cristiano, dependiente en gran parte de las diversas fases de amalgamación del cristianismo a la sociedad romana, se transforma a lo largo de la época analizada en un lugar público dotado de un enorme simbolismo religioso y al mismo tiempo de no menos relevancia económica, política, jurídica y social. Se configura como un área estratificada, sacralizada y estructurada por el ritual litúrgico y por la interacción entre los fieles y el clero. Será este último estamento quien, finalmente, asumirá el control del espacio sacro, imprimiéndole su peculiar sello hasta la actualidad.

33 ‘Cuando llegó el momento de llevar las ofrendas al altar, Teodosio se levantó llorando y se aproximó al santuario. Tras realizar la ofrenda se dirigió, como era su costumbre, se quedó dentro del recinto sagrado. Una vez más Ambrosió no se quedó en silencio sino que le enseñó la importancia de distinguir cada lugar. Primero le preguntó si quería algo y cuando el emperador le replicó que esperaba recibir el santo sacramento, Ambrosio le mandó decir, por medio del primer diácono, lo siguiente: “El sanctasanctórum, señor, solo está abierto para los sacerdotes; todos los demás deben permanecer afuera; apártate, pues, y quédate allí donde están los demás, que la púrpura hace emperadores, pero no sacerdotes”.’ (Parmentier and Scheidweiler 1954, 312). Véase también Sozomeno (7, 25, 9); Groß-Albenhausen (1999, 99); Leppin (2003, 138-143; 153-167).

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vessel welded on to lofty columns, the temples built on massy crags where the hand of man has added to the work of nature, the countless triumphal arches glittering with spoils. The eyes are dazed by the blaze of metal and blink outwearied by the surrounding gold.

The fate of temples in Late-Antique Rome Chantal Bielmann University of Leicester

Like Ammianus, Claudian’s silences ‘must be given at least as much weight as his statements (Cameron 1970, 154). Nonetheless, these descriptions of Rome highlight the importance of temples in Rome and how late-antique visitors perceived this sacred topography as an integral part of the capital.

Abstract This paper examines the fate of temples during Late Antiquity in Rome, using both archaeological and literary evidence. Since Cameron’s recent book ‘The Last Pagans of Rome’ in 2011, studies on Rome’s late-antique religious history has seen resurgence. The main debate centres on questions of a ‘pagan revival’ in the fourth century as well as continued maintenance and worship of the religion into the fifth and even sixth centuries. Research on this question, however, has largely focused on historical literature, such as the plea of Symmachus for the return of the Altar of Victory as well as the Carmen contra paganos, both written in the late fourth century. Thus, this paper considers the depositional history of temples and whether the findings support or oppose ideas of pagan worship into the early medieval period.

Yet these accounts only mention a small number of temples. What was Rome’s pagan sacred landscape in the fourth century? Which regions of Rome saw the greatest number of shrines and temples? To answer these questions, the Notitia and Curiosum are invaluable sources. These catalogues are divided into the fourteen regions created by Augustus (Figure 1) and have been dated to the mid-fourth century. The lists consist of a range of monuments, such as temples, fora, columns, statues, baths, and other public works. The catalogues also list the number of neighbourhoods within each region, subdividing the sections into the number of houses, shrines, roads and other urban topographic details. Of concern here are the lists of aedes (temples), templi (temples), nymphea (water sanctuaries), and aediculae (shrines).

KEYWORDS: Rome, Late Antiquity, temples, Christianity, fourth century

Introduction: Rome’s Pagan Sacred Landscape When Constantius II (337-361) visited Rome in AD 357, Ammianus Marcellinus described Rome’s architectural splendour and historical richness (Amm. Marc. XVI, 521). His descriptions included aspects of Rome’s pagan sacred landscape, with mentions to a temple of Tarpeian Jupiter, the Pantheon and the ‘temple of the city’ (Temple of Venus and Rome). Past scholarship has, of course, drawn attention to Ammianus’ silence on Rome’s Christian topography during this visit (Hunt 1985, 190). At least two intramural churches were standing by the mid-fourth century, the Lateran and S Croce in Gerusalemme; both built by Constantine the Great (313337). Others, such as Kelly (2003, 606-607), emphasize how Ammianus perceived the rise of Christianity and Constantinople as ‘interpolations into the history of Rome’. Ammianus was not the only writer who described late-antique Rome in the late fourth century. Claudian (De Sexto Consulati Honorii Augusti, 41-55), a Latin poet and panegyricist, wrote about the grandeur of Rome in the early fifth century: Of a truth no other city could fitly be the home of the world's rulers; on this hill is majesty most herself, and knows the height of her supreme sway; the palace, raising its head above the forum that lies at its feet, sees around it so many temples and is surrounded by so many protecting deities. See below the Thunderer's temple the Giants suspended from the Tarpeian rock, behold the sculptured doors, the cloud-capped statues, the sky-towering temples, the brazen prows of many a

Figure 1. The fourteen Augustan regions of Rome: I Porta Capena. II Caelimontium. III Isis et Serapis. IV Templum Pacis. V Esquiliae. VI Alta Semita. VII Via Lata. VIII Forum Romanum. IX Circus Flaminius. X Palatium. XI Circus Maximus. XII Piscina Publica. XIII Aventinus. XIV Transtiberim. (Coarelli 2007: 7).

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

Location of Rome's pagan structures (Figure 2) Temples (aedes, templi)

Nymphea

Shrines (aediculae) 78

35

34

30 I

10 10 II

7

12 20 III

4

8

17

15

0

11

IV

V

4

0 VI

20

16 8

21 VII

8 0

0

30

VIII

IX

X

19 5

0 XI

17 10 XII

17 21

20

XIII

XIV

Frequency of temple dedications (Figure 3) 18 16 14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

Pantheon and was responsible for the appearance it has now - namely the dome. An inscription found on the lower architrave (CIL VI, 896) illustrates the temple saw further restoration under Severus and Caracalla in AD 202.

Figure 2 shows how Regions VIII and IX were foci of aedes and templi dedications. From this centre moving outward, Regions IV (Templum Pacis), VI (Alta Semina), and XI (Circus Maximus) contain a greater number of temples than the remaining regions. This focus of sacred buildings at the centre of Rome is expected. An area known for its public buildings and associated with important sacred sites, such as the temple of Vesta and the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, both senators and emperors had commissioned public buildings here for political and religious purposes. This concentration of dedicated temples (i.e. listed with an associated deity) consists largely of buildings set up during the Republic and the early Empire, with renovations and additions in the subsequent centuries (Figure 3). The Pantheon, for example, was originally built around 25-27 BC by Marcus Agrippa but was damaged by a fire in AD 80, restored by Domitian, and again damaged by fire the reign of Trajan. Hadrian subsequently rebuilt the

Turning our attention to aediculae, these shrines were set up in each region and always have an identical figure to the number of neighbourhoods (vici). Lott (2004, 18) explains that the Augustan reform required each neighbourhood to have a central shrine for the worship of Lares, guardian deities. These shrines had overlapping functions, often used to celebrate the cults of Lares Augusti (celebrated on the first of August, identified with the Imperial Roman magistracies) and Lares Praestites, guardian deities associated with Vesta (Lott 2004, 116-117). The large amount found in Regions VIII and IX thus do not necessarily reflect upon the sacrality of these two regions but rather the number of neighbourhoods. Region XIV had the greatest number

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Chantal Bielmann – The fate of temples in Late-Antique Rome

of aediculae, possibly alluding to an increase in population (Hermansen 1978, 161-162). The other Region XIV figures attest as much: 4405 insulae and 150 domus.

Decline and Continuity A common argument for proponents suggesting ‘paganism’ had petered out by the fourth century is a decline in temple building. Indeed, if we examine the foundation dates of temples listed in the Regionary, the majority were erected during the Republic and first three centuries of the Empire (Figure 3). Outside the Regionary, there are just two other temples thought to have been built during the fourth century: the temple of divine Romulus and a Templum Bonus Eventum. The latter building was mentioned by Ammianus Marcellinus (29.6.19), who recounts it was built by a city prefect, but no other information is known concerning the type of building or where it was located. In contrast, Maxentius’ temple, built for his son, Romulus, probably existed: a building situated on the edge of the Forum Romanum on the Via Sacra is believed to be the temple. A rotunda with apsidal chambers, the building was studied in detail by Luschi (1984) and Coarelli (1986), who both agree that the depositional history indicates an early fourthcentury date (Figure 4). Numismatic evidence suggests that this building is the temple Maxentius built in honour of his dead son, Romulus. Scepticism, however, still remains. Constantine’s name found on an inscription on the façade and evidence of first-century building material raises doubts whether Maxentius’ temple was a reality (CIL VI, 1147). Moreover, it is debatable whether this was a newly built in the fourth century. Coarelli (1999a, 155-158) believes the round rotunda was originally the Temple of Jupiter Stator. If accurate, Maxentius’ temple of Divine Romulus would fall into the ‘reuse’ category.

The reliability of the Regionary, however, has been questioned. Hermansen (1978, 129-168) challenges the validity of any statistical value, citing the probable inflation of figures to describe a monumental Rome. This is associated with the attitude towards Rome by late-antique writers, such as Ammianus and Jerome, who both describe Rome with admiration and awe (Hermansen 1978, 138-140). Yet if we compare the Regionary to itineraries from Alexandria, the catalogues seem woefully incomplete. At Alexandria 2500 temples are listed in the mid-fourth century; at Rome only 354 temples, shrines and nymphea are listed (Hahn 2008a, 336-337). Indeed, temples known to be standing in the fourth century, such as the temples of Hercules Victor (Region XI), Portunus (Region XI), Apollo Sosianus (Region IX), Jupiter Dolichenus (Region XIV), and Jupiter Heliopolitanus (Region XIV), are not listed in the Regionary. Late-antique sanctuaries, such as the Porticus Deorum Consentium, are also absent from the catalogues. Missing also are mithraea, a popular cult with around twenty-five sanctuaries (Price 2000, 205). Therefore, the survey of temples presented here will include those mentioned in the Regionary catalogues as well as unlisted temples thought to be standing. By including these, the number of temples increases in Regions XIV, XI and IX but in general the sacred landscape of Rome still reflects the Roman Forum as being the centre of cultic activity with a large number of lesser shrines in Region XIV. It also suggests there was a larger following of the eastern deities (Dolichenus and Helopolitanus) in Region XIV, an observation noted by the large number of inscriptions dedications (Savage 1940, 55-56). There is a sense that the cultic activity in Rome pertained to the imperial cult and the traditional Graeco-Roman gods, whereas Regions XIV and XIII may have been more associated with foreign cults. This again reflects the heritage and tradition of Rome: the centre of Rome and the surrounding regions existed within the pomerium, the sacred boundary of Rome, whereas Regions XIV and XIII lay outside.

The concept that a decline in temple construction relates to a decline in paganism, however, neglects certain factors. “Neither Christianity nor paganism are as easy to define as was once assumed and their interaction in the fourth century was far more complex than a simplified vision of conflict and Christian triumph can allow” (Gwynn 2011, 137). While there can be no doubt that the status of Rome’s religious cults and practices in the fourth century underwent changes, the reasoning behind a lack of temple construction cannot be explained as a lack of pagan worship. More studies have begun to examine the impact of the division of the Empire in the late third century. Curran (2000, 3-70) and Mitchell (2007, 229234) both note that the establishment of a new capital in the east decentralised Rome. Essentially, imperial patronage became focused in Constantinople and Ravenna rather than Rome. Finally, a drop-off in temple construction may be accounted for by saturation: “people concentrated on rebuilding and embellishing existing temples” (Goodman 2011, 167).

Understanding this sacred landscape provides the setting for discussions on the fate of temples after the fourth century. By comparing these fates as well as the region in which the temples or shrines were located, we can gain insight into the atmosphere and changes in attitude to buildings and the space they occupied over time. Moreover, it will provide the setting to question concepts of ‘decline’ or ‘continuity’ as well as ideas of a ‘pagan revival’ towards the end of the fourth century. To start, we shall examine the question of a decline of paganism by examining evidence for temple building and use in the fourth century.

Indeed, restorations and rebuilding continued in the fourth century. The Codex-Calendar of 354 list festivals and games celebrated in the name of a variety of deities (Venus, Magna Mater, Ceres, Flora, Castor and Pollux) demonstrates the heritage and culture associated with non-Christian cults was still quite active (Beard, North, and Price 1998, 382-383; 123-130). Inscriptions attest to

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

Figure 4. The temple of Divine Romulus, later converted into the church of SS. Cosma e Damiano (Image: Neil Christie).

any maintenance to temples and shrines thereafter would have required private rather than public funding. This is confirmed in the plea by Symmachus to Valentinian II (375-384): acting as prefect of Rome, Symmachus requested the return of the Altar of Victory alongside the restoration of endowments to the temples, Vestal Virgins and college priests (Symm. Rel. 3, 6; Beard, North and Price 1998, 374; Cameron 2011, 40-51; Curran 2000, 206-208). His petition brought about the intervention of Bishop Ambrose of Milan, who argued against the return (Cameron 2011, 40-41). Ambrose’s words, however, betray that people still presented gifts to shrines, used augurs, and even sacrificed with incense, which suggests that Gratian’s actions did not have an immediate effect on the followers of the old religions in Rome (Ambr. Ep. 18, 31; Curran 2000, 207).

upkeep of temples by urban prefects, such as the dedication of a shrine to Apollo by Urban Prefect Memmius Vitrasius Orfitus (353-358) (CIL VI, 45). During the reign of Julian the Apostate, the temple of Jupiter Heliopolitanus was restored, one of the few examples determined by excavation (Goodhue 1975, 5355; Richardson 1992, 219-220). An inscription on the architrave of the Porticus Deorum Consentium, indicates that Urban Prefect Praetextatus (AD 367) restored the sanctuary. This latter restoration may have also assisted in the maintenance of the temple of Vespasian and Titus since the Porticus occupied a part of the temple complex (Cameron 2011, 49-50; Curran 2000, 199; Gwynn 2011, 138). A law within the Theodosian Codex also reflects continued temple maintenance: Valentinian, in a letter to Urban Prefect Symmachus (AD 364), ordered Christians could not be forced to maintain temples (CTh 16, 1, 1). This statement implies that temple maintenance continued in Rome during the reign of Valentinian and complaints reached the emperor pushing him to send the edict to the urban prefect.

Furthermore, temple restoration is still accounted for at Rome after the reigns of Gratian and Valentianin II. Between 380 and 392, a temple of Flora or Venus next to the Circus Maximus was restored (Mulyran 2011, 209227). Based largely from the Carmen contra paganos, a relevant passage refers to an ‘heir of Symmachus’ repairing a temple to either Flora or Venus. Mulyran (2011, 212) states that there is no good reason to doubt its veracity and argues that that despite the polemical nature of the poem, the statement concerning temple repair was an aside and does not refer to the target of the author’s

Significant blows to paganism occurred under the reign of Gratian (375-383). The emperor refused to accept the title of pontifex maximus, removed state subsidies for the main cults in Rome that were still upheld, and removed the Altar of Victory. All three acts stress the end of imperial support for non-Christian cults and imply that

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Chantal Bielmann – The fate of temples in Late-Antique Rome

narrates how St Martin of Tours in AD 396 ‘demolished the sacrilegious temple down to its foundations and reduced all its altars and images to powder’. Jerome’s letter to a young woman of Roman aristocratic birth in AD 403 refers to the destruction of a mithraeum at Rome, by urban prefect Gracchus (376/7):

ire. He (2011, 214-223) continues to examine the surrounding topography and cultic activity, such as the ‘quasi-religious’ site of the Circus Maximus , where many pagan shrines and statues were dedicated, as well as the festivals of Flora and Venus, to allude to the continued worship and use of a temple in this region. While it remains debatable whether this restoration occurred during the reign of Eugenius, a usurper in the West, it is generally regarded that Eugenius supported Rome’s pagan cults, especially the mystery cults (Bloch 1963; Cameron 2011; Mulyran 2011). Bloch (1963, 193218) argues that it was ‘orientalist’ senators who urged Eugenius to make concessions to non-Christian cults in the late fourth century. Eugenius’ death saw the end of state funds for the maintenance of pagan temples, rites and restorations thereafter are nonexistent (Cameron 2011, 93-107; Gwynn 2011, 139).

…did not your relative Gracchus (whose name makes plain his aristocratic lineage) only a few years ago when he was in charge of the urban prefecture, overthrow, destroy and burn the cave of Mithras and all the monstrous images by which the grades are initiated…

A purpose of this topos was to enforce and reassure readers of the triumph of Christianity over paganism (Goodman 2011, 175). The letter by Jerome, for example, continues on to state that ‘even in the city [of Rome] paganism is undergoing abandonment’, painting an overoptimistic picture of Christianity in the mid-fourth century (Lee 2000, 125). In the Life of St Martin, after the razing of the sanctuary, the idolaters swiftly converted to Christianity and the land is reused for churches and monasteries (Goodman 2011, 176; Sulp. Sev. V. Mart. 1314), again showing conversion with respect to a religious battle and eventual triumph.

In addition to the temples mentioned above, four other structures are known to have been repaired in the midfourth century: the temples of Apollo, Saturn, Concord and Minerva. In total there would have been eight restorations, which accounts for 12% of the temples (not including aediculae) known to have been standing based on the Regionary and other sources. On account of the seemingly few cases for temple restoration, Mulyran (2011, 223) concludes it was a rare occurrence in the fourth century. However, whether this attests to the failing support for the maintenance of these structures or simply a decline in public funds remains debatable. Moreover, it is unlikely that every temple required maintenance, especially considering the rebuilding and temple dedications of the third century. For example, the templum solis located in Region VII was built in AD 273 by Aurelian. No evidence exists to suggest it was rebuilt or restored during the fourth century but we know the temple was standing in the sixth century (Platner and Ashby 1929, 491; Anon. de Antiq. Cpl. IV, 66). This might indicate that not all temples required repairs during this period. Thus, despite the low figures, fourth-century Rome should be considered a period of continued nonChristian activity amidst a decline in imperial support and a rise of Christianity as the official state religion. Moreover, the difficulty of ascertaining whether the aediculae of the 14 Regions, as well as any private worship at altars or open space sanctuaries, raises questions to how the decline in imperial support affected private worship. Certainly evidence for continued festivals such as the Lupercalia and Saturnalia in the fifth and sixth centuries might suggest continued private support and attempts to keep the ‘pagan’ traditions alive under a new Christian environment (Salzman 1999, 126).

Despite the agenda behind these literary works, temple destruction should not be dismissed as a phenomenon of Late Antiquity. The destruction of the Serapeum in Alexandria during the reign of Theodosius most certainly happened. This event commanded the attention of not only one contemporary writer (Rufinus) and three prolific Christian writers (Socrates, Sozomen, and Theodoretus half-century later) but also a pagan writer, Eunapius (Hahn 2008a, 360). The number of Mithras sculptures defaced and purposefully cut into smaller pieces, as discussed by Sauer (2003), illustrate that religious violence was a reality of this period. For the case of Rome, Jerome’s letter remains one of the few accounts of deliberate temple destruction by Christians. The Liber Pontificalis gives vague descriptions of popes reusing parts of temples: Pope Sylvester (314-335), at the bequest of Constantine, appropriating a shrine of Apollo in order to build the basilica of St Peter but does not elaborate further on whether this ‘reuse’ involved destruction (Lib. Pont. XXXIV); Pope Honorius (625-638), with the permission of Heraclius, removed the bronze ties of the temple of Venus and Rome to cover a church he built (Lib. Pont. LXXII). Accounts also allude to temples suffering when Rome was under duress; the Capitoline temple saw three separate times where parts of the building were plundered: Stilicho removing the golden doors c. AD 400 (Zos. V, 38); Genseric taking half of the gilt tiles during the plunder of the city in 455 (Procop. BV, I, 5); and Narses removing the temple’s statues in 571 (Chron. Min. I, 336; Platner and Ashby 1929, 297-302). The Capitoline temple is a rare example where literary sources provide some ideas of its fate. Other cases are much rarer but we can wonder whether the fires caused by the sack of Rome and subsequent raids may have affected some temples (Proc. IV,15-21; Oro. Hist. Pag. VII, 39).

Temple Destruction and Spolia Late antiquity was a period of prolific Christian literature, in which temple destruction became a popular theme. Eusebius describes how Constantine destroyed the temple of Asclepius in Aigeai, Cilicia in AD 325 (V. Const. LVI). Sulpicius Severus (V. Mart. 14, 6-7; Lee 2000, 129)

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

The last reference to the temple of Solis in Region VII in the sixth century recounts how eight of its porphyry columns were removed and shipped to Constantinople for the church of S Sophie (Anon. De Antiq. Cpl. IV.66; cf. Platner and Ashby 1929, 491). Most of these references date to the sixth and seventh century. This ‘delay’ in temple spoliation may have arisen from edicts protecting publish works. For example in AD 399, Theodosius II and Honorius decreed the following (CTh 16.10.15; trans. by Pharr 1957, 474):

Archaeological excavations have also yet to yield substantial evidence for temple destruction in Rome during Late Antiquity. A mithraeum found during excavations of the church of S Clemente was likely destroyed in the fourth century —the vaulted room was deliberately filled with earth and the door walled up. The excavations found the niche stripped and mosaic lunettes intentionally destroyed (Richardson 1992, 257). In most cases, we need to turn to the depositional histories of churches and other buildings to ascertain what stood before their construction. The church of S Nicola in Carcere, for instance, stands on the ruins of three temples (temples of Janus, Juno Sospita, and Hope). Possibly built in the sixth century, although earliest reference dates to the tenth century, the construction of this church incorporated large amounts of spolia from the pre-existing temples, including Doric travertine columns found embedded into the wall (Coarelli 1999b, 336-337). Similar sequences include the ruined temple of Minerva (possibly Minerva Chalcidica in Region IX), completely demolished when Pope Zachary (741-752) built up a church, now known as S Maria sopra Minerva (Platner and Ashby 1929, 552-554), and the temple of Venus and Rome, destroyed during the reign of Leo IV (847-853) to accommodate the construction of S Maria Nove (Grundmann and Fürst 1998, 96-97; Platner and Ashby 1929, 552-554; Richardson 1992, 256). However, these cases should not be viewed as simply cases of religious hatred and Christian iconoclasm. The need to appropriate defunct urban space, such as unused temples, for churches and other buildings may have also been a factor.

Just as we forbid sacrifices, so it is our will that the ornaments of public works shall be preserved. If any person attempts to destroy such works, he shall not have the right to flatter himself as relying on any authority, if perchance he should produce any receipt or any law in his defence.

While the law does not specify temples, the location of this law in Book 16 which pertains to pagans, sacrifices, and temples, would suggest temples are considered ‘public works’. Moreover, another decree by the same emperors forbade the destruction of temples ‘which are empty of illicit things’ (CTh 16, 10, 18). These laws have been interpreted by some as changing attitudes towards temples as monuments and works of art, rather than religious buildings (Saradi-Mendelovici 1990, 46-61), explaining the preservation of temples into the early medieval period. Saradi-Mendelovici (1990, 60) concludes that another explanation for an ‘ambiguous attitude’ towards classical monuments might be that the “Christian concept of the sacred was simply a very different one from that of the pagans”.

The example of S Nicola in Carcere brings us to the question of spolia, defined here as the incorporation of building material from older monuments into new structures. Traditionally, it was thought that temples were dismantled throughout Late Antiquity for parts to be reused in churches or other buildings (Vasari 1550, 119120, as discussed by Kinney 1995, 54). Studies, such as Van Stekelenburg’s (1994, 116-120) statistical approach to the levels of spolia in churches, illustrate that churches were often constructed with reused marble columns or other decorative pieces. More recent work, however, argue that the spoils may have come from stockpiles of previous dismantling (Christie 2006, 206-213; WardPerkins 1999, 233-237). Statuary and column bases excavated from the first levels of the Aurelianic Walls of the third century allude to previous destructions (CoatesStephen 2002, 291-296; Pensabene 2000, 341-343). Such stockpiles may have been full by the time Constantine began to construct the first churches in Rome, a theory based on the belief Constantine would not have destroyed temples in Rome at a time when paganism was still a public Roman religion. Furthermore, Pensabene (2000, 345-350) proposes that spolia stockpiles were replenished after the fifth-century raids.

Temple destruction clearly did happen throughout the Roman Empire. The examples of the Serapeum and Sauer’s work on Mithraeum in late Roman Gaul attest as much. In Rome, however, destruction of temples, shrines, and even statuary is not apparent. The literary sources are, for the most part, silent on the subject, a silence which should be regarded with significance, perhaps indicating that Roman Christians indeed viewed temples as monuments to be preserved for their artistic and historic value. The dismantlement of temples for spolia and other reasons at Rome was more prevalent, contrasting this speculation. This act, however, does not share the same motive as the religious violence inspired by Christian iconoclasts and zealots.

Temple Reuse In recent years, scholars have begun to investigate the phenomenon commonly referred to as ‘temple conversion’. The idea ultimately stems from the seminal article by Deichmann (1939, 115-136) in which he suggested that temple conversion epitomises how Christianity transformed the pagan sacred landscape throughout the Roman Empire. Indeed, if we examine hagiographical and other Christian texts, accounts abound of saints demolishing sanctuaries and building churches in the ruins (i.e. Sulp. Sev. V. Mart. 13). Like temple

Literary evidence for the dismantlement of temples, whether for spolia or another use, is present at Rome. The examples of the spoliation of the Capitoline temple, already mentioned, may have seen reuse as well as the removal of gilt bronze tiles from the Pantheon in AD 663.

24

Chantal Bielmann – The fate of temples in Late-Antique Rome

destruction, the questions of how widespread temple conversions were and the significances of such transitions remains a contested debate. Numerous regional studies, such as Bayliss (2004) in Cilicia and Dijkstra (2008) in Philae, Goodman in Gaul (2011) and Arce Martínez(2011) in Spain, examine the phenomenon in conjunction with the overall question of the fate of temples during Late Antiquity. Most have found temple conversions to be relatively rare and the motives behind conversions were not always associated with a Christian agenda. WardPerkins (1999, 233-237) distinguishes three different types of reuse that occurred in the fourth and fifth centuries: the appropriation of the imperial past, the ‘pagan past’, and public buildings. Temple reuse applies to the second type and Ward-Perkins (1999, 236) states that identifying the ideological and pragmatic issues is much more complex and less apparent than previously thought due to the rarity of the phenomenon. The ideological component is especially complex because Christians must have had to explain and justify the appropriation of the building. Moreover, the reuse of temples cannot always be explained in pragmatic terms; some temples could not be remade to accommodate large gatherings of people. In Rome, currently seven temples are recorded as being reused for as a church. While the specific dates for conversions are usually determined by analysing the literary evidence, temple reuse has been identified by archaeological excavation and analysis of the standing ruins. The main difficulty relating to temple conversion is the relationship between temple and church, which as Goodman (2011, 182) highlights, is ‘seldom direct’. The hiatus between the closure of the temple and its eventual reuse usually remains a mystery, with abandonment as the main explanation (Goodman 2011, 182; Bayliss 2004, 5864). Moreover, in some cases, temples are not directly built in the main cella of the temple, but nearby or in an associated room. An example of this latter type of temple reuse is the welldocumented church of S. Maria Antiqua. Located on the Palatine hill, this church is perceived as the earliest and most important Christian monument within the Roman Forum. The pre-existing temple was first built and dedicated to Augustus in the first century AD but the standing remains are associated with Domitian, who rebuilt the sanctuary, alongside a large building complex, after a fire. The temple was not listed in the Regionary and last mention of it dates to AD 248 (Platner and Ashby 1929, 62-65). However, excavation work from the 1980s near the apse of the church examined the stratigraphy of the palimpsest, consisting of seven layers, of which the earliest dates to the fourth and fifth century suggesting the complex saw continued upkeep. It was in the sixth century that a church was installed in one of the adjacent wings of the larger temple, rather than the cella. The reasons for building within the wings of the larger temple may have been more for practical purposes: the atrium court was easily transformed into three naves and the innermost chamber became the presbyter. This church saw patronage through late antiquity with a number of murals and extensions, including the establishment of the Oratory of

25

the Forty Martyrs. The building was eventually destroyed by an earthquake and was discovered in 1900 after the overlaying Gothic church S. Maria Liberatrice was demolished (Toriello 2012). While not a direct temple-tochurch conversion, since only a part of the building complex was used, this church not only represents the first example of Christian monumental activity in the Forum but also demonstrates how pragmatism may influence how parts of temple are reused rather than ideological reasons. The complete reuse of a temple as a church is first testified in AD 527. The temple of Divine Romulus and a part of the temple of Peace were donated by King Theodoric to Pope Felix IV (526-530), who consecrated these as SS. Cosma e Damiano. The temple of Divine Romulus became a vestibule for the church whereas the corner of the temple of Peace became the nave (Richardson 1992, 334). Felix IV adapted the buildings by adding mosaics to the apse and the semi-dome, including depictions of SS. Peter and Paul introducing SS. Cosmas and Damian to Christ (Watkin 2007, 110). The choice for dedication has led some scholars to postulate whether this was to contrast the likely ruined remains of Castor and Pollux (Watkins 2007, 42-44). The building’s consecration as a church probably contributed to its remarkable preservation today. The Liber Pontificalis credits Pope Sergius (687-701) with building an ambo and canopy, as well as ‘strengthening the cupola of the basilica by casting sheets of lead’ especially since in AD 684/685 Pope Benedict restored the church as well as adorned the interior with a new silk altarcloth (Lib. Pont. LXXXIII). The continuation of Liber Pontificalis also lists Pope Hadrian (772-779) as a patron of SS. Cosma e Damiano, donating altar cloths, as well as restoring decayed beams (Lib. Pont. XCVII). A similar sequence occurred at the Pantheon. Pope Boniface IV (608-615) requested Emperor Phocas (602-610) for the temple to be converted as Sancta Maria ad Martyres. Like SS. Cosma e Damiano, the architectural structure of the Pantheon remain largely unchanged and benefited from the consecration, with restorations occurring in AD 684 under Benedict II (684-685) (Lib. Pont. LXIX; LXXXIII). Interestingly, the need for imperial permission indicates that temples, despite centuries after their closure and the end for imperial support for their preservation, continued to be considered imperial property. Other examples include the temples of Portunus and Hercules Victor, reused in 872 and 1132 respectively and both relatively intact. The temple of Antoninus and Faustae may have seen reuse in the eighth century but is only attested as S. Lorenzo in Miranda in the tenth century (Coarelli 2007). The transitory phase of all these temples remains relatively unknown, although excavations at the temple of Antoninus and Faustae might suggest the area was used for bathing around the fifth century (Claridge 1998, 107-109). The remarkable preservation of temples Portunus and Hercules Victor up to the ninth and beyond strongly indicates their maintenance and use in Late Antiquity before their eventual consecrations as churches. Other forms of reuse, such as for secular use or to act as store rooms, are absent, with the exception of the temple

The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

of Antoninus and Faustae. Overall, complete reuse where large components of the original building survive, are very rare. Out of the temples listed in the Regionary, as well as those included based on evidence for their fourthcentury survival, less than 1% saw reuse as a church. Yet this small percentage raises questions as to why some temples saw reuse and others did not. Why were certain temples in good condition by the ninth century to warrant reuse as a church (i.e. Temple of Portunus) and others saw complete dismantlement in order for their space to be reused as a church (i.e. temple of Minerva Chalchica)? These questions can only be answered by understanding the intermediary phase, the time from when the temple was close and then reused. Details on this transitory period, however, remain the most elusive.

and other Christian emperors would have affected ‘ordinary’ citizens and their private worship.

Conclusions

Attitudes towards temples by Christians are made even more complex with reuses of these buildings as churches. While this was not a widespread phenomenon, the reuse of some sanctuaries and not others raises questions to the purposes of such reuses. Moreover, the survivals of some temples into the ninth and even tenth centuries suggest their maintenance during the late-antique period. The rededication of some temples to similar Christian dedications, such as the Pantheon (all the gods) to S. Maria ad Martyres (all the martyrs), strongly hints that popes were not only aware of the significance behind certain temples but also preserved aspects of that heritage by reusing the buildings and keeping a similar dedication.

Temple destructions in Rome at the hands of Christians are interesting absences. This has often been equated to the resistance of fourth-century pagan senators but even during the fifth century, this theme is noticeably lacking within both Christian and non-Christian writings. Edicts protecting temples from dismantlement and destruction demonstrates a certain degree of imperial protection. Moreover, the requests from popes in the sixth and seventh centuries to emperors indicate temples were likely considered imperial property and thus protected. Dismantlement for spolia, however, raises questions whether this was the case, especially considering the removal of the Pantheon’s gilt tiles after its rededication to S. Maria ad Martyres.

The story of the Rome’s temples during Late Antiquity is not an easy task. A large number of temples have no mention after the fourth century and their uncertain depositions results in a large proportion of temples for which we know nothing. In examining the Regionary Catalogues alone, 62.7% of the listed templi and aedes have an unknown fate. Considering evidence for the absence of temples as well, this figure may be even more substantial. Of the listed aediculae, there is no mention of these small shrines after the fourth century; little descriptive evidence exists to determine their location thus archaeology can offer no assistance. The tendency of nineteenth- and early twentieth-century archaeologists to excavate through late-antique layers also does not assist in finding evidence for reuse, destruction, or even identifying many of these pagan monuments. Despite these shortcomings in both archaeological and literary levels, the fates of a number of temples discussed here reveals an interesting story of continuity, amidst decline, and attempts to preserve parts of Rome’s heritage.

In conclusion, the fates of Rome’s temples during Late Antiquity reflect trends found throughout the Roman Empire. Continuity is evident with the dedications and temple restorations during the fourth century. The same period also has cases for decline, although arguably this decline is only apparent in the public sphere. The standing remains of these temples, however, speak volumes, implying a certain degree of preservation into the medieval period, a survival connected in some cases to their conversions into churches or possibly other types of buildings. This reuse not only demonstrates a certain degree of pragmatism, perhaps in saving the cost in demolishing and then completely rebuilding a new structure, but also an attitude that these structures represented the ‘glory days’ of Rome, especially considering the raids and subsequent problems in the fifth and sixth centuries. While many of these structures histories remain unknown, the few standing are testimony of how people measured the past; as monuments, they remind us of an older religion and thus a religion which is not forgotten. In the end, as much as scholars argue that to perceive this period as one of a battle between religions, the standing remains of temples surely should be perceived as a small victory for paganism amidst the growing dominance of Christianity.

The fourth century, in particular, was a period of decline, continuity, and preservation. The absence of imperial support and edicts closing temples, banning worship and sacrifices, demonstrates that the Graeco-Roman cults were no longer a state-subsidized religion. Progressively, Christianity became the favoured religion, whereas paganism only had two short-lived imperial supporters (Julian and Eugenius). Regardless of these drawbacks, temples continued to see restorations and maintenance, indicating that the pagan sacred landscape of Rome was relatively unchanged. Whether these restorations should be considered the product of a ‘pagan revival’, however, remains debatable. Gratian’s decision to cut off the traditional cults from the state subsidies would have surely been a detriment to not only temple upkeep but also payment to priests. Eugenius’ reign, which presumably returned state subsidies to the college of priests and temple restoration, might be regarded as a revival of sorts. Yet all these questions relate to the activities of emperors and senators, leaving open the question of whether the bans and impositions of Gratian

26

 

Sicilian cities between the fourth and fifth centuries AD

the fall of Rome and the capture of Taormina by the Arabs in 902 (Cosentino 2008).

Denis Sami

The role of Sicilian cities during the Late Roman and Byzantine Empire has been notoriously poorly explored and debated by historians, and almost completely ignored by archaeologists. 2 The reasons for such disregard have different origins attributed: nationalistic, religious and academic. The creation of the Italian nation in 1861, initiated a process of construction and consolidation of a national identity coagulated around Rome and the idea of Regno d’Italia, in which the history of Sicily was adapted to fit the history of the peninsula (Neff and Prigent 2006, 11; 2010). Similarly, but with much older motivations, the Church had interest in undervaluing the ChristianOrthodox presence on the island in favour of a more Catholic identity. Finally, the emphasis placed on the Classic Hellenistic period as the high point of Sicilian civilisation often resulted in the removal of Late Roman, Byzantine and Islamic contexts without any sort of documentation. Luckily, in the last years the Late Roman and Byzantine phases have attracted the attention of scholars, reflecting an improvement of Sicilian urban archaeology (Maurici 2010). In spite of this, the lack of publication of post-excavation reports together with the difficulty of access to grey literature, as well as to publications released in journals or monographs poorly distributed, discourage and dampen international discussion. Paradigmatic of this situation was the conference Archeologia della Sicilia Bizantina held in Corleone in 1998, where urban contexts received no attention and the participation of non Italian speakers was very limited (von Falkenhausen, Belke, Johns and Kislinger). The recent meeting dedicated to Sicilian Byzantine urbanism: From Polis to Madina certainly marks an important step for the discipline, however, despite the English titles at the conference with the exception of French scholars Annalise Neff and Vivien Prigent, only Sicilian speakers were present, therefore sadly not allowing the opportunity of involving and tackling international debate.3

University of Leicester

Abstract While a young generation of researchers and archaeologists is working hard to update Sicilian studies with modern methodological approaches and to fill the gap of information due to traditional lack of interest in the Late Roman and Byzantine periods, old theories and patterns still deeply influence current research. Ideas such as economical decline caused by Vandal raids, the tyrannical and oppressive fiscal government of Constantinople, the decadence of urban centres and the tendency towards independence from Byzantium control, are only some of the common theories still accepted without critical debate. In this presentation, I will provide an introduction to the nature of Sicilian cities at the time of the House of Theodosius through the analysis of four relevant topics of urban archaeology (the reduction of civic space, the Christianisation of the townscape, the military and economical roles of cities) accompanied by a critical discussion of traditional hermeneutic patterns. KEYWORDS: Sicily, Late antiquity, Byzantine, Archaeology, city

Introduction Defining the chronological range of this paper offers some aspects of ambiguity. The late fourth to the late fifth century has been assigned a variety of different labels such as ‘Late Roman’, ‘Byzantine’ and the more controversial ‘paleocristiano’ often used in Italian sources, running alongside the ‘Early Medieval’ or, as is more commonly used in Southern Mediterranean regions, the ‘Early Byzantine’. The widely accepted term ‘Late Antiquity’ presents notorious points of controversy because it amalgamates processes of transformation spanning from the Late Roman and Medieval periods. Moreover, there is not full agreement on the chronological duration of Late Antiquity, whose extremes have been recently expanded to the third and the nine centuries. 1 Therefore, because this paper’s focus on the short period of the reign of Theodosius (379-95) and his direct descendants Honorius (393-423) and Valentinian III (42555), in using the word ‘Late Roman’, I am referring to the period from the second half of the fourth century until AD 476. Inevitably, I will extend part of my discussion to the late fifth and early sixth centuries and therefore, given the capacity of Constantinople to influence the Sicilian, and more generally, Italian politics, I will use the word Byzantine when referring to the period comprised from

                                                            

1 For an example of the different interpretations of the chronological span of Late Antiquity compare: Fowden (2002) and Cameron (1993).

A general agreement has been found around the idea that Sicilian cities were in decline from the second half of the fourth century and that the real importance of the island in this period lay in its rural areas. 4 The discovery of important Late Roman villae such as that of Piazza Armerina, Tellaro and Patti attracted much of the attention and, as a consequence, urban centres have been relegated to a minor role.

                                                            

2 Only fragmentary research exploring funerary contexts of other urban site are available and so far an archaeological account of Sicilian urban centres from the late fourth to the seventh century is missing. R. J. A. Wilson (1990) in his analysis of Roman Sicilian cities also comprehends the fourth and fifth centuries, but more work is needed. 3 The conference was held in Syracuse 21st-23rd June 2012 and when the proceedings will be published the volume will add a great contribute to the study of Late Roman and Byzantine urban centres in Sicily. 4 Paradigmatic is the paper Sicilia nel III-IV secolo: il volto della noncittà, by Cracco Ruggini (1982-83). The rural production occupies an important part in 1980s, discussion by Cracco Ruggini. In addition, see Vera (1997-98), for the potential grain production of Sicily.

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

Figure 1. Late antique Sicily, places mentioned in the text.

According to the ‘decline’ theory, the evident proof of urban decline is the shrinkage of the civic space, the abandonment or reuse of public monuments such as theatres, amphitheatres or temples, and the loss of good quality residential buildings (Ward-Perkins 2005; Christie 2006; Brogiolo and Gelichi 1998). The construction of the idea of decline also involves the decrease of the civic economy as well as the inability of providing urban defence in the province (Wilson 1990, 237-76; 330-37). Such theory, however, is just one category through which we can observe cities in the transitional period of the socalled Late Antiquity and Sicilian urban centres represent a good case study because they continued to be populated and function as political and religious foci until the Arab occupation of the island.5

new phase of Sicilian studies offered different perspectives in urban studies, Catania certainly being the leading centre of this renaissance of Late Roman and Byzantine research. Following the excavation of the churches of S. Agata la Vetere (Arcifa 2009) and S. Maria della Rotonda (Branciforti and Guastella 2008) and those of the theatre, odeion (Branciforti and Pagano 2008) and amphitheatre (Bestem, Becker and Spigo 2007), an important amount of new data have been added to the discussion. In the context of new debate Trapani, Lilybaeum (Maurici 2003), Syracuse (Sami 2010) and Catania (Arcifa 2009) are today under new examination (Figure 1). Below, four traditional topics of Late Roman and Early Medieval urbanism will be discussed in the light of Sicilian information. The phenomenon of the reduction of civic space will be explored seeking to uncover the potential existence of a common pattern between Sicilian cities. The reduction of the urbanised area was a consequence of political, economical, military and demographic factors related to a more general crisis of the Roman Empire, but also linked to local reasons (Christie 2006). Is it therefore possible that all the Sicilian urban centres declined at the same time and followed the same trajectories, or can we observe element of differences?

Describing the rise of Christianity in Sicily, it has been proposed that the new religion was unanimously accepted and, by the first half of the fifth century, traditional Roman religions disappeared from cities (Otranto 1991; Rizzo 1988-89). Some of these ideas have been elaborated between the end of the nineteenth and the early decades of the twentieth century reflecting both the contemporary status of the research and the cultural environment still deeply influenced by antiquarianism (Crisà 2012). These theories were perpetuated through the entire twentieth century without a substantial critical approach or a significant discussion. It is only very recently that a

The move of Christianity within the urban space was certainly a major factor of urban transformation implying the creation of new foci, modifying the flux of people through the network of streets, but also communicating in a new way an emerging authority: that of the Church. Such presence in the urban landscape without doubt altered social and religious stability. Therefore, was the

                                                             5

In the sixth century there were in Sicily eleven bishoprics, in the eighth century were sixteenth sign that urbanised centres played a fundamental role in the administration of the orovince – although some of these bishoprics were not more than villages such as Triokala (Caltabellotta), Tindari and Lentini.

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Denis Sami – Sicilianc cities between the fourth and fifth centuries AD

 

Figure 2. Late antique Syracuse.

appearance of Christianity fast, consistent and widely accepted everywhere in the region?

The Reduction of the Civic Space It is still a common opinion that Late Roman and Byzantine Syracuse was confined to the island of Ortigia, but it is has never been clearly explained on the basis of which data this idea was developed (Figure 2). 6 Archaeological investigations in the Acradina district, in piazza della Repubblica, uncovered a monumental road on which maintenance was still active in the second half of the seventh century demonstrating that the mainland of Syracuse was still considered an appropriate place to communicate authority (Agnello 1990). In addition, excavations at the domus of via dell’arsenale, and at the residential building in via Paolo Orsi, also offer scope for speculating about the use of the Acradina district in Late Roman and Byzantine period. The domus of via dell’arsenale for its size and its quality of construction must have belonged to a wealthy owner. Its origin can be

The agricultural production of Sicily became in the late fourth and early fifth century fundamental for the supply of grain to Rome, in particular the political instability of North Africa resulting in the rebellion of Firmius (379) and Gildus (397-8) made it clear to Rome that Sicily was an essential alternative of food supply. If the island was then so important how is it possible that it was an undefended province, while other centres set up defences? Finally, central in the Mediterranean, Sicily was the crossing point of trade routes and certainly imports were an important part of the urban consumption, however, what was the productive potential of Sicilian cities? Sicilian urban society and in particular the local aristocracy might have attracted goods from North Africa or the eastern provinces, but at the same time they originated and stimulated local productions.

                                                             6

Santi Luigi Agnello (1990) already noted the incongruence of such proposal.

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

Figure 3. Late antique Agrigento.

Figure 4. Late antique Lilybaeum.

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Denis Sami – Sicilianc cities between the fourth and fifth centuries AD

 

Figure 5. Late antique Palermo.

traced back to the fourth century and it had a long life and underwent several transformations and partitions until the seventh century (Cultera 1954; Wilson 1990, 125). 7 A fairly similar context was recorded in via Paolo Orsi where floors of good quality were restored after the fifth century and coins of Jovian (363-64), Constantine III (409-421), Valentinian III (423-455) and Jiustinian II (685-95; 705-11) were collected (Cultera 1954; Wilson 1990, 125). Data suggest, therefore, that the Acradina remained a residential district with some wealthy residential areas probably until the eighth century.

Mosaic floors within domus were neglected, covered or removed, nonetheless the district remained a residential space that, from the presence of the numerous nearby funerary areas and the amount of finds, should have been settled quite densely (Parello and Rizzo, forthcoming). The life of Bishop Gregory describes Agrigento as a still populated and active society organised around the forum where the imperial authority was publicly manifested.9 In contrast with Agrigento, the area of capo Boeo in Lilybaeum was until the early fifth century occupied by sumptuous domus decorated with elegant mosaics. This space underwent a radical transformation around the second quarter of the fifth century when the domus were deserted and replaced with a funerary area (Giglio 2001; 2007). Palermo, as we shall see below, maintained its classical extension well protected by the civic defences (Figure 5). The claimed decline of the urban landscape based on the subdivision of the residential space occurred between the fourth and the fifth centuries in the domus of Piazza della Vittoria cannot be taken as sign of urban decline since most probably there is scope to suggest a change of use of the domus transformed from residential to a religious space (Sami 2010: 137-38).

Agrigento and Lilybaeum are two controversial case studies that can be used to prove both the decline in urban functions and the transformation in the use of urban landscape (Figures 3-4). Agrigento has been described as a declining centre, but the city was until the seventh century a relevant economical pole provided with a harbour and an emporium connected with other Sicilian ports in North Africa and Italy.8 However, despite this, it is thought that by the mid-fifth century the Greek-Roman quarter was depopulated, domus fractioned and subdivided in smaller domestic spaces and burials cut into former residential space (Wilson 1990, 114-19). This idea is based on old excavations undertaken in the 1950s-80s and therefore this source needs to be carefully examined.

                                                             7

Coins of Constans II have been documented. The life of Saint Gregory of Agrigento written by Leontius offers details about the route connecting Agrigento to other Sicilian and Mediterranean coastal centres (Leontius Abbot, Life of Saint Gregory).

                                                            

8

9

After Bishop Gregory was arrested a preliminary trial was organised in the forum by the imperial legate (Leont. 58).

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

Figure 6. Late antique Catania.

Thus, abandonment, continuity or reinterpretation of the civic space? The contexts need to be explored singularly. Catania, in spite of being one of the most important centres of the province, underwent a reduction of space (Figure 6), Palermo maintained its Classical perimeter, and if the residential district of Agrigento underwent a slow process of decline, the rich domus of Capo Boeo were rapidly replaced by burials and devotional monuments.

than Christian narrative accounts describe. When in late fourth century, in his Praefatio in lib. IV Jeremiae, St. Jerome condemned an uncertain doctrine named impeccantia, Sicily witnessed different heretical movements (Rizzo 2005-06, II, ii, 272). Pelagius was in fact, in the same years, visiting the island most probably making proselytes concerning Syracusan Ilarius who asked for advice from St. Augustine (Rizzo 2005-06, II, i, 148-52). Moreover, the specification of the catholic faith in the late fifth century funerary inscription of Proba found in Lipari was in the opinion of S. L. Agnello (1988, 83-103), proof of the presence of non-catholic worshipers on the small island. Heresy and residual traditional Roman religions were still diffused in Sicilian rural areas until the end of the sixth century. Pope Gregory the Great, alarmed by such presence, wrote to the bishop of Tindari about the Angelii worshipers in that parish (Greg. Let. III, 59). Also, it is assumed that Goths residing in Syracuse, Catania and Palermo attended rituals in Arian churches, therefore signifying that these monuments might have been present in the fifth century Sicilian urban landscape.11

The Christianization of the Townscape The development of Christianity has received great emphasis in Sicilian studies, and when available, archaeological data have been used to demonstrate the precocious conversion of citizens to the new faith (Otranto 1991; Pricoco 1997-8; Rizzo 2005-6). However, the idea of a fast conversion of Sicilians to the Nicean Creed needs to be re-explored on the light of a more shaded background where syncretism was largely diffused, heresy spread and a consistent and important Jewish community resided in the major Sicilian cities (Greco 1999).10 The religious context of fourth and fifth century Sicily was indeed more complex and articulated

Material culture certainly offers an invaluable source of information for questioning the early Christianisation or Sicilian urban population. Excavation of funerary contexts

                                                            

                                                            

11 In Catania there was a Gate of the Arian (Acconcia Longo 1989). However, the peculiarity of Arian architecture and decoration is difficult to identify, therefore it is problematic to clearly distinguish a Catholic from an Arian monument. See Gwynn (2010) and Ward-Perkins (2010).

10

In 593, Pope Gregory I, was still lamenting the presence of ‘idol worshipers’ in the island (Greg. Let. III, 59). About the Jewish community see Scadaliato and Mulè (2002).

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Denis Sami – Sicilianc cities between the fourth and fifth centuries AD

  in Syracuse reveals how ambiguous the difference was between faiths and how the use of non-Christian objects was common also in clearly defined Christian burials. Among the hundreds lamps collected in the fourth-fifth century hypogea Pupillo I and II, in Syracuse, several displayed traditional Roman, neutral, Christian and Jewish scenes denoting how the object crossed the boundaries of religious identity (Orsi 1909; Agnello, G. 1969).

and fifth century rural Christian monuments.13 The reason for such a lack of civic Christian monuments may be the priority given by the Church in the Christianization of the rural areas where heresy and residual traditional Roman religion was still spreading and to secure the control of the rising properties of the Church.

In a similar way, the line between rituals was blurred; Christian burials associated with traditional Roman funerary practice of the refrigerium are documented in the fifth-sixth century funerary area of Piana degli Albanesi near Palermo (Greco et al. 1991, 165) and the necropolis sub-divo of Agrigento (Bonacasa Carra 1995).

The Defence of Urban Centres City-walls are an essential part of the urban landscape and core to the civic defence and urban identity. In fact, cities are often represented in ancient sources through their enceinte and are defined as castra (Latimer 2010). 14 Sicilian Hellenistic cities were heavily protected by walls, towers and ditches, but the status of these civic monuments in the Late Roman period needs to be explored on the light of recent archaeological excavations (Winter 1971).

The fourth and early fifth century organisation of the Christian community within the enceinte remains problematic to identify. The so called ‘basilichetta’ in Agrigento and the three-apse monument in Catania are most probably mid-fourth century buildings that, together with funerary areas, document a certain degree of Christian activity. However, these building in fact had no direct impact in the urban intramural landscape (De Miro 1980; Cultera 1964). So far, the only fourth century basilica known within the defences is the church of San Pietro intra moenia in Syracuse (Figure 7). This church was built by bishop Germanus in Ortigia between the reign of Valentinian I and Theodosius and later modified in the Byzantine and medieval periods. This monument in not of large size and therefore we can suppose there were, in Syracuse, other contemporary churches to host the Christian community of the city (Agnello 1952, 89-106).12

On the base of Procopius description of Catania as unwalled city (Gothic War VII, xl, 2), it has been thought that the city was undefended. However, the note of Procopius is controversial and not confirmed by other sources. We know that in late fifth century the curiales and possessores of Catania asked King Theodoric permission to use the stones from the ruined Amphitheatre for restoring the urban enceinte (Cassiodorus, Variae XLIX). Moreover, in the eighth century Life of St Leo of Catania a Gate of the Arians is reported, probably belonging to the urban defences, dated to the late fifth or early sixth century when the town was garrisoned by the Ostrogoths (Acconcia Longo 1989). In addition, it should be taken into consideration that Catania was not only one of the main Sicilian urban centres, but was also a temporary seat of the provincial consularis, and together with Syracuse, shared the regional synod that was held every three years in one of the two cities. It is therefore indeed difficult to think of such an important centre being without defences.15

To explain the degree of the difficulty of marking the fourth and early fifth century religious intramural buildings, the case of the domus excavated in Piazza della Vitoria in Palermo may be exemplar. Here the Imperial domus was at some point in the fifth century altered with room partitions, burials were dug in the peristilium and part of the mosaic floors representing mythological images were patched with good quality neutral geometric and floral motives (David 2000; Wilson 1990, 127). Given the position of this domus near the now lost church of Santa Maria della Pinta that has been dated to the period spanning between the late fourth to the mid-sixth century, it is not excluded that the domus was converted from a residence to one of the early urban Christian monuments of Palermo (Bonacasa Carra 1987, 312-14; Agnello 1962, 69-70; Pace 1949, 329-30).

In the second quarter of the first century AD Caligula restored the city-walls of Syracuse: ‘which had fallen into ruin though lapse of time’ (Svetonius, Life of Caligula 21), but we do not know if these restorations interested all the defensive system or were limited to some specific monumental parts, perhaps a gate. Later, during the Gothic war Procopius indirectly confirmed the existence of urban fortifications that might have been that of Acradina. The Byzantine fleet in fact: ‘[...] forced his way through the barbarian lines, sailed into the harbour, and so got inside the fortifications with the whole fleet’ (Proc. Gothic War VII, xl, 12). To some extent these defences might have been maintained through all the Byzantine period. From the account of monk Theodosius who

The impact of Christian monuments on the alteration of the civic space in the period spanning the late fourth and fifth centuries is indeed still difficult to evaluate. Christian building activity was in this period rare in Sicilian cities and we lack material evidence to support such a program. On the contrary, we possess documentation about fourth

                                                             13

Several cases are analysed in Giglio (2003). For a general overview on the Italian context see Christie (2006: 281348). 15 For Catania as temporary seat of the Consularis see Mazzarino (1980, 351-54). Pope Gregory the Great stated the regional synod should be held every year either in Syracuse and Catania (Greg. Let. I, 1). 14

                                                             12

An idea of the size of the Christian community of Syracuse can be guessed by the number of hypogea and the size of catacombs in Syracuse.

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

Figure 7. The fourth century church of S. Pietro intra moenia.

Figure 8. Syracuse, the remains of a Byzantine tower and wall.

34

Denis Sami – Sicilianc cities between the fourth and fifth centuries AD

  influence and spread concerns about the defence of Sicilian cities exhorting Sicilians to fortify their cities.

witnesses the siege of Syracuse in 878, we understand that the walls of Acradina still existed, since the Arabs used to dig tunnels to enter the city and this was clearly not possible if the wall described by Theodosius were those of sandy Ortigia.16

The Economy of Late Roman and Byzantine Sicilian Centres

The defences of Syracuse have been recently archaeologically explored. Excavations undertaken in the 2000s for the construction of the new sewage system have been resulted in the systematic exploration of the fortification in Ortigia (Basile and Mirabella 2003; Figure 8). During excavation were recovered part of the Hellenistic, Byzantine, Medieval and post-Medieval defence structures, but investigations failed to identify any Roman and Late Roman phase and a gap of circa twelfth centuries exists between the Hellenistic enceinte and the Byzantine structures. It is also not clear when the Byzantine city-wall was founded since only deposits and structures of seventh to ninth centuries were documented (Basile and Mirabella 2003). 17 Maybe the Byzantine enceinte developed from the Late Roman walls, as documented in Palermo, but evidence is needed to shed light on the subject.

The current idea is that of an island split in three different economical areas linked to three Mediterranean regions. The western-south connected with Carthage and the North African provinces, the northern coast bound with Rome and the Tyrrhenian centres and finally the Ionian cities gravitating around the eastern provinces, but also to the Adriatic regions (Ardizzone 2010; Arcifa 2010). It is reasonable to suggest that the economic life of Sicilian centres lean on the grain market. Grain for the payment of the annona was moved from rural areas through a network of roads, stored in cities and then dispatched to Rome activating the work of a multitude of persons active in the stores, manufacture of containers and boxes, loading ships and all the activities related to a dockyard and trades. Urban economy thus was stimulated by the movement and shipping of the annona. These activities can be partially observed in funerary dedications uncovered in Syracuse. We are in fact informed of: ship owners, bankers, purple dyers and weavers, a linatarius (Petrus Linatarius: Pace 1949, 237; 240-241) is known in the late fifth or early sixth century in Palermo and an important Jewish community of merchants is well documented also (Sgarlata 1991, 134). However, together with the trade activity developed local manufacturing for regional consumption. A workshop producing lamps was active in the second and third centuries in Syracuse in the area of Villa Maria, later also producing cooking pottery until the fifth century and there is scope to propose production continued until the early Byzantine period in the sixth and perhaps in the seventh century.18

Despite the lack of material conservation of the ancient city-wall of Palermo, thanks to textual accounts the topic of the urban defence of the city is clearer. In AD 441, Palermo resisted the Vandal siege thanks to its exceptional fortification, and it required a great effort and all the military skills of Belisarius to take the city in 535. Thus Palermo was a fortified city in the first half of the fifth century (Maurici 1992, 23-26). In the small town of Tindari a defensive wall was set up at the time of Emperor Honorius using spolia from the nearby theatre or other abandoned public monuments (Maurici 1992, 14, 27; Wilson 1990, 170; 333). Lilybaeum was taken by Vandals in 440, and old excavations seem to document third century poor residential structures built over the classical city-wall remains and probably for this reason it was thought that the city had no walls (Caruso 2003, 187; Wilson 1990, 170; Di Stefano 1976-7, 762; 1982-3). However, Procopius (Gothic War V, iii, 15-18) describes the city as defended: ‘The fortress of Lilybaeum (that was a Vandal territory) which is ours, you have taken by force [...]’.

Among the topics here considered, the economical and productive aspect of Sicilian urban centres is certainly the most susceptible to fast and radical changes. The very recent attention in ceramic studies to the late and post Roman phases together with the publication of material from old excavations is changing our view of the economical capacity of these provincial cities. Together with the traditional Late Roman ceramics, such as the dominant presence of African Red Slip ware and North African amphorae, or the oriental fine wares, in both rural and urban excavations are emerging Sicilian production centres before ignored (Giorgetti 2006). The well know small container Keay 52, produced in Sicily and Calabria between in the fourth and the seventh century is a common find in urban excavations, but more recently new data about the manufacture of a different type of container has been uncovered in particular at the excavation of the

The evidence concerning the protection of Sicilian urban centres is indeed still scarce and despite confirmation of the existence of urban defences from the first half of the fifth century in Palermo and Tindari, the majority of Sicilian centres still wait for more data. The program of urban fortification inaugurated from the late fourth century in most of the Western provinces included the near North African centres might have a certain degree of

                                                             16

Theodosius monk, Epistola: ‘[...] when the tortoise-shed that destroys cities had been used against us, and those things which they call subterranean rats [...]’. 17 Residential and a ceramic kiln of the eighth and ninth century were uncovered, but from the report it is not clear when the walls were erected (Basile and Mirabella 2003).

                                                             18

Fallico (1971) at the time of the publication did not recognise later production. Sicilian lamps are widely exported from the seventh to the eight century especially to Rome (Bacchelli and Pasqualucci 1998; Pavolini 1998).

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

church dedicated to Sant’Agata la vetere in Catania.19 The study of these amphorae will certainly shade light on the potential export and urban consumption of regional products such as wine, olives and olive oil, fish sauce and dry fruits that were usually carried in these containers (Arcifa 2009; 2010). It was most likely in one of the larger cities that some of the metalwork found in Sicily was produced. Bronze incense burners, jugs and candelabras, as well as gold necklaces and earrings and personal decorations such as belt buckles, must have been not all been imports, but also products of local manufactures.20 Data so far known offer a general and superficial idea of the movement of goods, the economic activity and the real capacity of urban production still remains difficult to understand.

Conclusions Because of the fragmentation of our knowledge and the amount of data still waiting to be published, the history Late Roman and Byzantine Sicilian cities cannot be at the moment synthesized and reduced to a regional pattern. However, despite the discrepancy in the documentation of different urban contexts, the picture that appears through our data is that of a province where variation seems to be the general rule. The differences between cities merge in the degree of the reduction of the urbanised area, as well as in the dissimilar chronology of their decline and reinterpretation. Problematic is also the evaluation of the urban impact of Christianity and its potential modification of the landscape, cathedrals and episcopia set in extramural and intramural contexts. The location of the cathedral was a major change in the urban setting since it entailed the development of the surrounding areas in terms of consumption, but also created a new pole of authority. The position of the cathedral between the fifth and the sixth century differ from intramural to extramural. In a similar way Sicilian cities might differ in their defence system, although it appears odd the lack of an urban-wall in such relevant coastal centres while contemporary cities of North Africa and Italy were defended. Our perception of Late Roman Sicily is definitely changing and in the next years we shall see the rise of new patterns and new debate on the role of this island at the end of the Roman Empire.

                                                            

19 For the amphora Key 52, see Pacetti (1998); Di Gangi and Lebole di Gangi (1998); More recent discovery of fourth century Keay 52, from a shipwreck at Levanzo in Royal and Tusa (2012). Small container similar to the oriental Late Roman Amphora 1 have been documented by Arcifa (2010). 20 Wilson (1990, 272-274) sees limited evidences for Sicilian metal production. On the contrary Pace (1949, 434-435) document in the Byzantine period the activity of Sicilian laboratories producing goods of good quality.

36

  One must recognise that the populus christianus belonged mainly to the great urban centres. Even there were many Christian voices rising against the corruption of urban life,2 the truth is that cities remained the backbone of was left of the Empire. In fact, the Church’s bishops, are the ones who slowly took over urban administration, acting as sponsors for a series of activities that had been previously sponsored by pagan benefactors. The Christianization of urban topography is certainly the most innovative development of Late Antique cities and their society. For most scholars, urban transformation in the Late Empire is chiefly identified with two phenomena: Christianity and the construction or repair of city walls.3

The creation of Christian urban landscapes in Hispania: a rather late development 1 Pilar Diarte Blasco Universidad de Zaragoza Escuela Española de Historia y Arqueología en Roma EEHAR-CSIC

Abstract The transformation of public spaces is probably one of the most significant changes in the cities during Late Antiquity. In many cases, the process began during the Early Empire, directly affecting the appearance of cities. This marked the beginning of a structural, topographic and aesthetic change in urban areas, which was consolidated with the Christianization of cities. Despite being a long process, this Christianization only took place once the main features of classical urbanism had disappeared or their loss was well advanced. However, the implementation of the new religion throughout the Empire did not affect every city in the same manner nor at the same time. Although the process, probably starting in the late third century, was not completed until the sixth or seventh century, the fourth and fifth centuries were the principal turning points in the genesis of Late Antique urbanism, marking the road to what would became the Medieval city.

The implementation of the new religion throughout the Empire did not affect every city in the same manner or at the same time. The Christianization process began at the end of the third century and did not conclude until the sixth or even the seventh century, although the most significant moment of impact took place between the fourth and the fifth. Before this timespan, there are no coherent archaeological data to reveal any possible form of ‘Christian urbanism’, not even of the presence of communities or places of worship. Followers probably met in domus ecclesiae, 4 perhaps no more than a few rooms in a discreet, non-monumental house, where they could carry out the necessary rites. Although these domus ecclesiae are mentioned in the literary sources, unfortunately, we still await secure or reliable archaeological proof. Some studies claim to have found the traces of Christian buildings pre-dating the fourth century, often private spaces beneath ecclesiastical ones, but the fact is that these cannot be architecturally proven before the Constantinian Peace of AD 312.5 And yet the domus ecclesiae must have been relatively common in the build-up of the tolerant Edict of Milan which opened the doors for a new reality. The first churches to be considered public and ‘monumental’ were built in the urban centres of Episcopal sees, although the sequence of creating bishoprics themselves was uneven. Churches construction in other, less notable towns often did not occur until well into the fifth century (Cantino Wataghin, Gurt and Guyon 1996, 29-30). In fact, churches prior to the fifth century are rare in the Iberian Peninsula, indicating that the Christianization of urban topography did not begin until the religion was already well established.

This study focuses on the sequence of urban change and Christianization in the specific context of Hispania, discussing about its more sluggish transformation. KEYWORDS: Hispania, Late Antiquity, Public Spaces, Christian Topography

Introduction The emperor Constantine issued the Edict of Milan in the early fourth century, effectively opening the door wide to a public Christianity. Decades later, in the 380s, Theodosius issued the Edict of Thessalonica, elevating Christianity to the official religion of the Empire. The consolidation of St. Peter’s traditio signalled the onset of changing times, with paganism progressively sidelined in favour of the new religion, as a gradual process, creating a rift in the traditional indivisibility between politics and religion (Bonamente 2000, 113-138). The emerging religious homogeneity in the Empire did not only transform mentalities and the social fabric: from an archaeological viewpoint, more ‘tangible’ alterations may also be observed in the material and structural record, particularly in terms of urbanism.

                                                            

2 An interesting appreciation is by L. Cracco Ruggini, who points to possible inspirations for negative views on the urban model, based on Babel, Sodom, Gomorrah, and Christian conceptions and traditions – where Cain is the founder of the city and the chosen people are characterized by their nomadism, not precisely urbanitas (Cracco Ruggini 1982, 70). 3 Christian urban topography has been the subject of many exhaustive studies in the last twenty years. Revisions and appraisals of the state of affairs include: Cantino Wataghin (1992, 171-192); Cantino Wataghin, Gurt and Guyon (1996, 17-41); Brenk (1994, 129-135); Gauthier (1999, 195-205); Christie (2006, 91-112). 4 Private houses, adapted to Christian worship, are not identifiable in the archaeological record, but seem to have existed already in the third century, lasting throughout the fourth (Guidobaldi 1993, 69-83; 2000, 123-129). 5 For the specific case of Rome see Reekmans (1989, 861-915).

                                                             1

This article is part of a larger study within the project “URBS II: Modelos edilicios y prototipos en la monumentalización de las ciudades de Hispania” of Ministerio de Ciencia e Innovación (HAR 2008-03752) and also part of the research, which resulted in the author’s doctoral thesis Morfología del cambio urbano en Hispania: la adaptación de los espacios públicos romanos a la nueva realidad tardoantigua.

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, place, belief and learning at the end of the Western Empire

  The Christianization of urban landscapes was headed by the construction of Episcopal churches and promoted by bishops. Nevertheless, other factors should be taken into consideration, such as the incorporation of cemeteries and other kinds of churches associated with burial grounds or with martyrs, which also proliferated during the period and which augment the image of the emerging civitas christiana.The Christian urban centres adapted to the make-up of the existing Imperial cities, re-arranging space to meet new needs and ways of life. This present study focuses on the Christianization of public spaces, core defining features of Classical towns, and questions about how Christian architecture merged into Classical urbanism and the extent to which the new religion played a determining role in the transformation of these centres into new cities.

entertainment buildings, baths and commercial areas signal the beginning of the end of the Ancient urban form and the emergence of a different one (Diarte 2009, 71-84), leading to a new urban concept, wherein public spaces, as conceived and defined by Classical urbanism, play no role. In Hispania, most structural transformations to public spaces began to take shape even before any alteration or loss of their original function. In particular, public buildings experienced some material changes very intensely as early as the latter second century and well into the third century, but continued serving the same function. For example, the forum at Caesaraugusta suffered silting of its drainage system and saw the reuse of some of its space as waste disposal areas in the second half of the third century (Mostalac and Pérez 1989, 110111). Despite this, there is evidence that the forum continued in use and its floor plan remained intact throughout the fourth century. The forum at Segobriga experienced the collapse of the northern cryptoporticus in the third century (Abascal et al. 2006, 141) but while this might indicate abandonment of at least this part of the building, pedestals and statuary were still being placed in other areas of the plaza and porticos. The evidence for the continuation of these practices is found in an Imperial inscription with a damnatio memoriae and a sculpture with contabulatio (Abascal et al. 2004, 242).

The beginning of urban transformation: public spaces The reasons and motivations behind the transformation of Classical cities into the new urban forms of Late Antiquity are much debated. For many years it was assumed than in Hispania the phenomenon was caused or at least prompted by the necessary adaptations to the crises of the third century including the invasions of Franks and Alamanni (Arce Martínez 1978, 264-265; 1982). However, the destructions presumably caused by these Germanic incursions are very rarely attested in the archaeological record. For instance, in Tarraconensis, allegedly one of the most affected provinces, destruction levels have only been recorded in Turiaso and Pompaelo. Tarraco, by contrast, only contains evidence for violence in some of the extramural areas and around the port (Macías 2000, 260-261), even though this city is mentioned in the literary sources as a notable victim of Germanic destruction 6 . Finally, there are no recorded destruction levels at all for the third century in other cities of Tarraconensis. With or without destruction, from the 280s or in the 300s, many urban centres experienced a series of material transformations, which gradually meant a move away from the Classical conception of urbanism. It is difficult to establish the many steps followed by this process; not all urban centres featured the same characteristics, nor were they subject to the same events and developments. Nevertheless, the main elements associated with Late Antique urbanism can already be observed in the very early stages: modifications to the town grid, a gradual encroachment of the roadways or the abandonment of certain areas inside the walls. These were generally earlier transformations than those affecting Roman public buildings, which would later define the morphology adopted by Late Antique cities (Brogiolo and WardPerkins 1999; Gurt 2000-2001, 433-442)

 

Public spaces not only determined the appearance of a Roman city, but also the image and assessment made of them. Therefore, the transformations suffered by fora,

Figure 1. Domestic structures in the theatre (Abascal et al. 2006) and the amphitheatre (Almagro 1977) of Segobriga.

                                                             6

Aurelio Victor, Liber de Caesaribus, XXXIII, 3.

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Pilar Diarte Blasco – The creation of Christian urban landscapes in Hispania

2009, 36). No doubt, these constructions retained their original function longer, therefore making more difficult the scope of inserting any Christian ritual at the place (although this does not exclude Christian blessings becoming part of the ceremonial of the circus). The Christianization of fora was especially common in Hispania. While elsewhere in the Roman Empire the Christianization of baths was also common (Jimenez and Sales 2004, 185–190), there are only a handful of examples in Hispania that can be confirmed: the baths outside the walls of Segobriga (Abascal et al. 2007, 54), the Oriental baths at Ilici (Poveda 2005, 336), those at Clunia (De Palol et al. 1991, 299; De Palol and Guitart 2000, 180), and, finally, those at Carteia (Presedo and Caballos 1987, 387-391) (Figure 2). With the sole exception of the latter, which may also have housed a religious building, the space seems to have been simply occupied by burials. Nevertheless, there are suspicions that other urban baths lay at the origin of palaeochristian, and later medieval, churches, although to date this has only been archaeologically recorded at the medieval church of Sant Miquel in Barcelona, which was built over some Early Imperial baths (Beltrán de Heredia 2008, 252253). Considering that in Hispania at least this phenomenon is very difficult to prove, it becomes necessary to question the wider hypothesis that views public baths as one of the main foci for Christianization and structural conversion.

As these examples show, any initial transformation did not necessarily involve an immediate end to the old roles played by public spaces. In a majority of the cities in Hispania, these buildings continued in use alongside the first symptoms of privatization, which would ultimately prevail. The private exploitation of Ancient public places increased with time and gradually took over completely. Theatres, fora and baths, all were witnessed of the construction of domestic spaces over their structural skeletons (Figure 1), suffering looting of architectural and decorative materials for reuse. The only exception to this process was the circus, generally located far from the main urban centre. Furthermore, the circus shape did not adapt easily to any other use than horse racing. For all other buildings, transformation for domestic use was the norm throughout most of the Iberian Peninsula. Examples are multiple, including, for example, in the fora of Tarraco, Augusta Emerita, Segobriga, Caesaraugusta, and Uxama, among others, but also the public baths of Carthago Spartia, Clunia, Gigia, and Toletum. But the essential appearance of the Roman cities in Hispania did not experience any substantial change until the privatization of its public spaces in Late Antiquity. Without doubt, this was the process that signalled the end of Classical urbanism. The resulting urban network favoured a city fundamentally composed by domestic space and smaller productive and commercial areas. At any rate, a series of buildings lost their common defining factor, namely their public nature. Below we chart these changes more closely.

In contrast, many fora played an important role in the Christianization of the urban topography in Hispania, either as burial grounds or church sites (but in fewer cases). This transformation has been recorded at a variety of sites; more importantly, the range in the category of the examples is very wide. For instance, in the provincial capital of Tarraco, the area of the Concilium Provinciae was Christianized around the sixth century (TED’A 1989, 447; Aquilué 1993; Bosch et al. 2005, 170); while at medium-sized cities such as Valentia (Ribera and Rosselló, 1999; Ribera 2008, 377-434) (Figure 3), or even smaller sites like Ercavica (Barroso and Morín 1994, 229), Pollentia (Arribas and Tarradell 1987, 135) and Carteia (Roldán 1992, 38; Bernal 2006, 454), we find cemeteries located in the plaza of the forum – this situation leading to the supposition that the surrounding temples would have been converted into churches, although, again, this suggestive hypothesis has yet to be proven.

Christianization and the changing urban landscape The first transformations to be observed in public places were directly related to this new, private use of space. Former public buildings were adapted new roles, which facilitated the use of their perimeter/outer walls, the recycling of architectural materials (Gurt and Diarte, 2011), and, above all, a re-occupation of space (built and open). The revised urban centres lacked active fora, entertainment buildings and baths, which had previously defined the Classical city. Although in some places change began as early as the mid-second century, the phenomenon expanded throughout the third. The second and definitive phase of change that these buildings would undergo was the Christianization of their space, mostly through the proliferation of cemeteries and the construction of churches in, near or close to them. However, it is worth noting that, although most public buildings go through the first phase of transformation, the second, Christianizing phase, is not always present. Even so, all types of buildings - fora, entertainment buildings, baths, macella - were susceptible to being Christianized, with, as noted, the only probable exception of circuses. The few known circuses in Hispania seem to indicate that their space was very rarely Christianized, particularly if omitting the questionable site at Segobriga (Abascal et al.

Various public entertainment buildings were also Christianized. Traditionally, the rise of the new religion has been linked to the demise of the ludi7. But in reality the implementation and expansion of Christianity was only one among a wide number of different phenomena affecting theatres and amphitheatres. In fact, in a majority of cities in Hispania, the transformation of these buildings was already under way before Christianity was established as the new religion in the Empire: we see this

                                                             7

On the emergence of the issue of the end of the ludi and its possible relationship with Christianity, see García Moreno (2001a, 7-17).

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, place, belief and learning at the end of the Western Empire

 

Figure 2. The Public Baths of Carteia. The caldarium - space 14- could have been reused as a church (García et al. 2006).

the amphitheatre’s fossae have yielded evidence for an abandonment since the mid-fifth century, which was followed by an initial phase of exploitation or looting, finally to be transformed, in the late sixth century, through the insertion of a basilica (Figure 4).

process of decline beginning in the Iberian Peninsula as early as the mid-second century, and was not completed until the fourth. There are exceptions, such as Caesaraugusta, where the early implantation of Christianity did not affect the theatre, which continued putting on shows – although not necessarily staged ones – fully into the sixth century (Beltrán 1993, 105-106; Escribano Paño 2008a, 523). However, this was not the norm, and in general, we can observe an early decline to theatre usage. Amphitheatres, on the other hand, seem to survive through the third century; it is not until the end of this century or early in the following one that they start to show signs of decay and of transformations.

Strikingly, we also know that the amphitheatre was already abandoned for some time before the construction of the basilica, thanks to the preservation of natural silting in a sector of the building’s fossa, which could only have been caused by the loss of its original function (TED’A 1990, 233). The basilica built over the arena was divided into three naves with an adjacent, small room in the north-eastern sector, which was used as a sacristy, and probably also as a funerary chamber. The location of the basilica in the south-eastern area of the arena is probably due to a Christian tradition, which claimed the place to have been the scene for the martyrdom of the bishop Fructuosus and his two deacons. The use of spolia from the amphitheatre has been previously interpreted as symbolising Christianity’s triumph over paganism, although it may equally be due to straightforward pragmatism. Whatever the reason, the material evidence shows that the foundations of the chancel were constructed using fragments from the podium and the letters from the

A good example of the whole process of change impacting on entertainment structures can be found at Tarraco. In the last quarter of the second century, the theatre was heavily refurbished, only to be abandoned shortly after (Mar et al. 1993, 22; Dupré 2004, 60). Once again, Christianity does not seem to be at the root of the end of this entertainment building; the date is far too early. Part of the material of Tarraco’s theatre was probably then used for the construction of the amphitheatre – definitely ruling out the Church as the determining factor in the theatre’s demise. By contrast,

40

Pilar Diarte Blasco – The creation of Christian urban landscapes in Hispania

Figure 3. Valentia. Episcopal Group, sixth century, on the former area of the forum (Escrivà et al. 2010).

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, place, belief and learning at the end of the Western Empire

 

Figure 4. Tarraco. Photo and planimetry of the amphitheatre and the Christian basilica (TED’A 1990).

costs of these works– this was a burden imposed on wealthy individuals and the town authorities, being dependent on their desire and moneys.

inscription dedicated to Elagabalus. Moreover, the body of the building, 14 metres long, was separated into three naves by two rows of six columns, the bases of which were reworked from Classical statue pedestals and altars (TED’A 1990, 205-211). Finally, some time after the construction of the basilica, a cemetery began to develop in the free space of the arena and fossae – another burial ground to add to those recorded in the suburbium of Tarraco (TED’A 1990, 235-240; Macías 2000, 265-266). Thus, we see here a blatant imposition of a Christian church in a former Classical public space, wholly transforming its role, re-using its setting and materials.

The overall extent to which Christianity influenced the demise of these entertainment buildings in Hispania is difficult to assess. Nevertheless, the above examples seem to indicate that while Christian morals may have affected the development of other public spaces, it was not a clear determining factor in the destiny of entertainment buildings. In fact, there is often a considerable time lapse spanning the moment these buildings cease to play their original roles and the appearance of Christian remains. In Malaca, for example, the Ancient theatre first housed several workshops, as evidenced by the discovery of several troughs covered with opus signinum next to the northern aditus (Corrales 2007, 72), which later spilled over into even more space. It was not until the fifth, or even sixth century, when the decline of Malaca’s garum market probably impacted on wider industrial activity in the city, that the workshop area covering the Ancient theatre was replaced by a cemetery (Corrales 2004, 50; Sánchez et al. 2005, 179; Corrales 2005, 128-129).

Other interesting examples for the Christianization of space are the amphitheatres of Carmo and perhaps Corduba. In Carmo, the amphitheatre was abandoned in the fourth century, and later occupied by a cemetery (Fernández 1975, 855-860; Verdugo 2003, 373). Corduba lacks any recorded cemetery, although in the area of the old Veterinary Faculty, the excavation of a Late Roman-Visigothic child burial revealed the reuse of Roman marble, probably spolia from the amphitheatre. Although at first sight this burial may seem insignificant for the emerging urban landscape, numerous decorated bricks were found in the same area (Carrillo et al. 1999; Murillo et al. 2009, 670). This kind of material is generally related with palaeochristian churches dated between the fourth and fifth centuries, which may be suggestive of the nearby presence of a Late Antique basilica (Sánchez 2002, 325-342). The hypothesis is further supported by potentially associated finds: notices refering to the discovery and later looting of several lead sarcophagi in the Medina Azahara Avenue, the physical characteristics of which are unknown (Martín 2002, 312); in addition, we know of the discovery of the remains of a masonry grave, five metres away, during the construction of the former faculty in the 1920s (Santos Gener 1950, 37-64; Murillo et al. 2009, 670).

Although Caesaragusta is exceptional in the longevity of its theatre, the process still resembles others recorded in other cities. Its theatre ceased all activity in the mid-sixth century, specifically between AD 540-560 (Escribano 2008a, 523), after which the Ancient building was turned into domestic space as well as an area of waste disposal. There was a later burial ground, dated to the eighth century, which developed over a deep, terraced level (Mostalac 2009, 84). It has been suggested that the cemetery, known as San Millán, may have been established around a sacred location (Beltrán 1993, 111), although not all researchers agree with this hypothesis, given the lack of solid evidence. Despite this, it is worthwhile mentioning the discovery of a mould for ampullae – small receptacles used to carry holy water, made of metal, glass or pottery, and quite common in the fourth and fifth centuries – which may point to the existence in Caesaragusta of a metal-workshop for these artefacts (Mostalac 2009, 100-101). The find came from

The end of works in these costly buildings does not therefore always seem to be related to the establishment of a new religion. The beginning of the process dates further back, and may be due to a gradual loss of interest, coupled with the difficulties incurred by the elevated

42

Pilar Diarte Blasco – The creation of Christian urban landscapes in Hispania

The above examples have shown that any Early Imperial public building was subject to conversion as a result of the emerging urban trends, either by making use of its structures or just its space. But for Hispania, it is important to observe how fora appear particularly affected by the occupation of their spaces by churches and cemeteries, once these started appearing inside the city walls. Although many of these places had already experienced a long development of transformation prior to their consecration as Church zones, it is highly possible that memory of their former relevance as Classical public spaces remained, and this subsequently influenced the choice for the setting and imposition of Christian sites. The placing of these religious sites was not, we can argue, random but may actually have sought to forge or express links of continuity with the Ancient landscapes of urban power.

the theatre, although that does not necessarily mean that the workshop was located there. Nevertheless, it would make sense that the Christian artefacts produced at the site, if the space was indeed Christianized – might perhaps also signify that the church here formed a focus for pilgrimage.

Conclusions Christianity was a determining factor in the development of what we can term ‘Late Antique urbanism’. In Hispania, as throughout the Empire, after the initial phase of transformation inherent to Late Antiquity, we can argue for a profound process of change influenced by the new religion, which in many cases ended with the elimination of the most relevant feature of Classical urbanism, namely public spaces and venues. These spaces had lost their function and no longer had a role to play in the population’s needs. Subsequently, these spaces and edifices underwent diverse modifications, which would ultimately reconfigure the appearance of these urban centres.

Fora had played a central role in Roman topography and were therefore necessarily incorporated into Christian urbanism. Nevertheless, they were not the only public spaces to undergo transformation and so contribute to the creation of a new, revised Late Antique city form. Such a process was in all cases a very gradual one. HispanoRoman cities did not experience the emergence of Christian architecture and use of space as a radical change in terms of a planned programme of building and resdesign; on the contrary, Christianization was one new (but major) aspect in a series of transformations that, in combination, paved the way towards the rise of a diverse urban model. One that differed but borrowed from the past and which would ultimately develop into the medieval city form.

Nevertheless, as stressed above, not all of the first transformations were linked to the spread of Christianity, but rather relate to a series of urban dynamics, which tended to convert public space for private use. Privatization seems to have always preceded the Christianization of these spaces. Therefore one may question the actual character and scale of ‘Christianization’ of Classical cities in Hispania, if the process only took place once the main features of classical urbanism had disappeared or were well on the way to decay. Archaeologically it is recognised that churches and cemeteries found over Ancient public spaces do not belong to the first phases of reoccupation or of ‘re-colonization’; rather, they appear later in time, following a period of abandonment or of other uses. It makes sense that the Christianization of public space should belong to the second phase of transformation. The first changes experienced by the cities began in many places as early as the third century when economic and social changes were being affected by wider changes in the Empire, when the emergent Christian religion and its bishops still lacked any kind of relevance in Rome’s urban centres. In this regard, there is no archaeological evidence to back up the literary references to Christian populations in Hispania in the third century. In fact, from an urban perspective, there is no substantial change in the period spanning from the Constantinian Peace and Theodosius’ Edict of Thessalonica; the first Christian buildings inside city walls date only to the fifth century. Consequently, Christian transformations to public spaces always belong to a second phase, when the Imperial administration was either extinct or about to disappear and when the bishops had become the main urban benefactors and providers.

43

systematically mutilated, destroyed, humiliated and thrown to pools or ponds which are filled with rubble from destroyed buildings nearby. In some cases, churches were edified instead. These common processes are interpreted by the author as a deliberate destruction of centres of ‘sin’ or of pagan cult in a moment in which Christianity became the official religion of the Roman Empire. Furthermore, those destructions have a marked ritual and sacred character, relating the actions over the idols to the physical punishments, tortures and humiliations that were taking place in Roman times. The fact that the remains of the sculptures were thrown to hydraulic structures could be explained through the use of water in different punishments at the time, some of them with full religious content. However, we should not discard its possible link to purification rites.

Cristianización y violencia religiosa en la bética: tres casos de eliminación de escultura pagana y mitológica en torno a época teodosiana / Christianization and religious violence in Baetica: three case-studies of destruction of pagan and mythological sculpture around the Theodosian age Jerónimo Sánchez Velasco Universidad de Sevilla

KEYWORDS: Destruction, Christianism, Pagan Sculpture, Roman Baetica Province, Theodosian Times

Abstract The aim of this work is to analyze one of the most striking archaeological evidence of the so-called ‘Christianization’ of Baetica, i.e. intentional destruction of pagan and mythological sculpture and its concealing.

A modo de justificación

Three examples from Baetica, all of them located within the Province of Córdoba, will allow us to study this process from different perspectives as they respond to different archaeological contexts and describe different ulterior evolutions: a) urban baths; b) suburban villa; c) rural villa. However, the processes of destruction of their sculptoric groups have many points in common and, as far as we know, all three developed in Theodosian times. Nevertheless, data has not been provided exclusively by Archaeology. For the study of such destruction processes consultation of restoration reports of those pieces have been also vital, revealing interesting information.

Este artículo toma como base parte de la conferencia que impartimos en el marco del II Coloquio Internacional Nuevas Perspectivas sobre la Antigüedad Tardía, que versó sobre las huellas que el Cristianismo pudo dejar en torno a la época del emperador Teodosio I en el registro arqueológico de la Bética. Por motivos de extensión de la publicación, nos centraremos en el aspecto que, quizás, sea el más novedoso (y controvertido): la demostración arqueológica de la eliminación violenta de estatuaria de temática religiosa pagana y mitológica que, en determinados lugares, pueden significar, asimismo, la eliminación de centros de culto y su conversión en iglesias cristianas, tanto rurales como urbanas.

In the first case study, the thermal complex found in the city of Cordoba (calle Duque de Hornachuelos) was transformed into a church at some point during the early fifth century. The sculptoric group there was systematically destroyed, mutilated, dragged and ultimately hidden in most of the natatio of the baths.

Con esta propuesta no se pretende ser ni mucho menos sistemático sobre la cuestión de la destrucción de esculturas o la transformación de centros paganos de culto en iglesias, entre otras razones porque esto supondría una revisión de decenas de excavaciones deficientemente interpretadas y contextualizadas. Pero sí se pretende trazar un boceto del llamado proceso de ‘Cristianización’ de la sociedad a través de algunas huellas materiales muy significativas, en concreto la destrucción intencionada y sistemática de grupos escultóricos paganos (decorativos y/o de culto) y que en algún caso llevo aparejada la trasmutación de los edificios que los albergaban en iglesias cristianas, en un momento histórico que supone el definitivo triunfo del Cristianismo oficial, la formación del Imperio Cristiano. Y para ello nos centraremos en la confrontación de tres interesantes excavaciones llevadas a cabo en una de las zonas más cristianizadas de la Península: la actual provincia de Córdoba, centro geográfico, económico, religioso y político de la antigua provincia de la Bética.

The second case study refers to the famous villa of Mithra (also in the city of Córdoba) and the recent excavations which allow us to describe with certainty the development of the destruction process. This suburban villa, situated c. 500 meters from the ancient Egabrum, suffered its destruction process between the late fourth and early fifth centuries and affected a group of sculptures that were buried at the impluuium of the villa: Mithra’s was found face down among broken ceramics and rubble; Dionisius’ had its decapitated body against a corner and his head was found by his feet; the sleeping Eros and the sculpture of a child with hare were also found in the pool with no order. As some Visigothic remains show, on top of this baths a church could possibly had been built. Finally, the third case study is the Roman villa of Almendinilla, possibly a rural centre of private and aristocratic cult, severely destroyed on the late fifth century. A magnificent sculptoric group in bronze, in which the figure of the God Hypnos is central, was mutilated, smashed and thoroughly deformed. Most of its remains were thrown into the impluuium of the villa and the rest scattered along different rooms. After that, the entire pars urbana of the villa is demolished and the residual population reused the pars rustica until Visigothic age.

Valga esta pequeña (pero uniforme) muestra para incidir en la importancia de un análisis riguroso del registro arqueológico cuya interpretación no sólo tenga en cuenta todos los datos conocidos (estratigráficos, estilísticos,

All three cases seem to have occurred in Theodosian age, and in all instances (except for the figure of Mithra) sculptures are

45

The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

Figure 1. Restos arqueológicos y escultóricos hallados en c/ Duque de Hornachuelos.

informes de restauración, etc.), sino que sea coherente con la época en que se desenvuelve.

programa escultórico de calidad en época altoimperial, que está relacionado con la construcción de una piscina relativamente grande. Ya en época bajoimperial, a finales del III d.C. o inicios del IV d.C., se produce una gran intervención en todo el conjunto, que consistirá en remodelar las estancias y, sobre todo, el alcantarillado, remozado y mejorado por una nueva canalización hecha de ladrillo. Nuevos pavimentos y mosaicos decorarán las nuevas estancias (Figure 1).

También hay que decir que en este trabajo, por motivos de espacio, no se tratarán otros aspectos relacionados con las vicisitudes de la estatuaria clásica en época tardoantigua, como ocultamientos, abandonos o reutilizaciones diversas, que también tenemos constatados en la Bética, donde existe una amplia casuística relacionada con este tipo de elementos.

Pero, sin duda, la etapa histórico-arqueológica más interesante a efectos de este trabajo es la que comprende las dos últimas fases de la excavación, donde podemos apreciar la transformación desde un urbanismo civil, de uso público y ambiente pagano, a otro religioso y cristiano.

La ciudad Caso 1. Excavación en la calle duque de hornachuelos (córdoba). De termas a iglesia.

Gracias a piezas conservadas en el MAECO que podemos relacionar con este lugar (Sánchez Velasco 2006, nn. Cat. 25, 31, 64, 87, 107 y 113,) sabíamos que, en un reducido espacio de apenas 50 m. lineales, debió de encontrarse un complejo edilicio de grandes proporciones, con al menos dos fases importantes de construcción. Una podría fecharse durante el s. VI d.C., a la que corresponderían, entre otras piezas, una ventana geminada decorada y una magnífica placa de mármol que, en nuestra opinión, sería importada directamente desde Bizancio. Además, la presencia de capiteles y columnas de pequeño tamaño nos permitían suponer la existencia de estructuras arquitectónicas de menor entidad, como atrios, tribunas, ciborios, etc. En esta fase no se podría descartar la

Hay que destacar la importancia que para el conocimiento arqueológico de Córdoba posee la excavación llevada a cabo en la c/ Duque de Hornachuelos1, por la importante secuencia histórica que reflejan. En ella se han hallado los restos de una domus de época republicana (Ruiz Nieto 2003). Tras la destrucción de la ciudad llevada a cabo por las tropas de César, se produce una refundación que, en este caso, implica la construcción de unas termas que, por su tamaño y distribución, bien podrían ser privadas de uso público. Éstas serán embellecidas con mosaicos y un

1

Queremos agradecer a E. Ruiz, director de esta excavación, el habernos facilitado todos los datos de la misma, así como fotografía y planimetrías de toda la zona excavada.

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Jerónimo Sánchez Velasco – Cristianización y violencia en la Bética

informe del equipo de Restauración del Museo Arqueológico de Córdoba (MAECO), que no deja lugar a muchas dudas: las esculturas fueron rotas (presumiblemente a martillazos), aserradas, golpeadas con objetos punzantes metálicos, apedreadas, arrastradas y, finalmente, amontonadas dentro de la natatio. Mucho esfuerzo para, simplemente, deshacerse de unas estatuas que bien hubieran podido acabar en el horno para convertirse en cal, o dentro de un muro, como material constructivo.4

presencia de material reutilizado o reelaborado, de gran calidad, como sería el caso de una columna helicoidal, hallada en un contexto arqueológico donde aparecieron gran cantidad de ladrillos decorados. La segunda fase, y a tenor de la inscripción hallada junto a varias columnas, sería un remozado completo del edificio (por no decir una refundación), que debió contar con importantes columnas, impostas monumentales y una decoración un tanto más tosca que la que caracterizó la fase anterior. La persistencia en el registro de elementos de pequeño tamaño nos lleva a pensar que el edificio resultante de esta fase estaría también dotado de elementos de mobiliario litúrgico y, por lo tanto, terminado y en uso. La explicación de la presencia de esas columnas en batería habría que vincularla, pues, al desmonte de este edificio en una época posterior, seguramente islámica.

Además, el mismo sistema de colmatación intencionada se empleó para la ocultación de todos los pavimentos musivarios. Pensamos en estos hechos como la demostración palpable de la conversión de un espacio pagano en otro cristiano, después de una intensa acción de destrucción y enterramiento intencionado de la arquitectura y la escultura pagana precedente. Y a pesar de que resultaría imposible asegurarlo sin referencias explícitas en los textos, el registro arqueológico nos permite suponer que dicha transformación fue traumática y, seguramente, no exenta de ritos de purificación y/o exorcismos asociados. Recientes investigaciones han demostrado la pertinaz persecución que la Iglesia llevó a cabo hacia edificios como las termas,5 considerados impuros e impíos, focos de pecado que había que hacer desaparecer, aunque en ciertas ocasiones, y si la necesidad así lo aconsejaba, las salas columnadas de las grandes termas eran reutilizadas como iglesias, previo exorcismo claro (Jiménez Sánchez y Sales 2004, 198, figura 1).

La secuencia estratigráfica muestra una interesante sucesión arquitectónica y urbanística. En un momento no precisado del s. V d.C., las termas privadas son amortizadas, junto con el pórtico y parte de la calle (Sánchez Velasco 2006, 197-204), y cuyo sistema de alcantarillado, es, paradójicamente, reconstruido (Sánchez Velasco 2011b). En su lugar, se construye un gran edificio, de planta aún por determinar en su totalidad, del que se ha podido constatar un ingreso gracias al hallazgo de una gran quicialera de mármol blanco. La anulación de todo recuerdo del edificio precedente, así como la posterior constatación epigráfica de la reforma de una iglesia (CIL II, 7, 640), nos lleva a pensar que estemos ante la destrucción de unas termas privadas cuyo arrasamiento serviría para la construcción de una iglesia ya en el s. V d.C., que es reformada en época visigoda (siglo VII d.C.). De ésta última nos han quedado algunos muros, realizados de forma un tanto tosca y masiva, así como algunos spolia de edificios romanos.2

El ámbito suburbial Caso 2. Villa del Mithra, Cabra (Córdoba). De mithreo a iglesia. El yacimiento de Fuente de las Piedras es un continuo de restos tardíos sobre la conocida Villa del Mithra,6 donde aparecieron abundantes restos de época visigoda (Sánchez Velasco et al. 2009) como cruces caladas, tapas de sarcófago, canceles calados, ladrillos decorados y epigráficos, jarritos funerarios de época visigoda, etc., definiendo una hasta ahora desconocida fase tardía de gran importancia para dicha villa, que aún está por

La construcción del primer edificio tardoantiguo supone, como ya hemos mencionado, la amortización de las termas. Es este un aspecto interesante, ya que esta amortización supone la destrucción intencionada de lo que debió ser el grupo escultórico altoimperial que las decoraba, enterrado posteriormente en la piscina, que luego fue sellada bajo espesos estratos de arcillas compactadas con grava y nódulos de cal (Ruiz Nieto 2003, 263).



Las esculturas aún no han sido objeto de un estudio monográfico, aunque todo parece indicar que estaríamos ante una posible cabeza de Apolo, un atleta y un torso indeterminado.3 Muy interesante se muestra, asimismo, el

ninv=DJ033181/1&volver=busquedaAvanzada&k=C/%20Duque%20de %20Hornachuelos 4 Queremos agradecer a Carlos Costa, restaurador del Museo Arqueológico de Córdoba y autor del informe, que nos haya permitido consultar este documento, así como sus valiosas apreciaciones y detalles sobre el proceso de restauración y sus conclusiones, que sin duda definen claramente toda una serie de agresiones intencionadas y especialmente violentas sobre las esculturas antes de ser depositadas en la natatio y enterradas. 5 Sobre ejemplos de iglesias hispanas construidas sobre termas ver Jiménez Sánchez y Sales (2004, 194-201). 6 La villa, así como sus excavaciones en el contexto de la Igabrum romana, ha contado con numerosas publicaciones (Blanco et al. 1972; Segura Arista 1988; Jiménez y Martín 1992), que sin embargo no recogen en ningún momento los importantes restos aparecidos en este lugar y de los que se tiene noticia desde, al menos, 1909, en que son publicados por Albornoz y Portocarrero; una historia de los hallazgos y su publicación se puede encontrar en Sánchez Velasco et al. (2009, 137 y 156).

2

En varias ocasiones hemos publicado la importancia de los restos aquí hallados a lo largo de décadas de excavaciones y movimientos de tierra, no siempre bien documentados. Nos hemos ocupado de estudiar tanto la excavación como los restos de decoración arquitectónica y litúrgica de época tardoantigua (Sánchez Velasco 2006); para la contextualización urbana de esta iglesia dentro de la ciudad de Córdoba, ver Sánchez Velasco (2011a, 209-210). 3 Parte del estudio provisional de las esculturas puede consultarse en el registro correspondiente del programa de catalogación DOMUS del Ministerio de Cultura, y al que se puede acceder en esta web: http://www.juntadeandalucia.es/cultura/WEBDomus/fichaCompleta.do?

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

Figure 2. Estatuaria hallada en la Villa del Mithra (Cabra).

determinar en su justa medida. Dichos restos fueron sacados a la luz por D. Joaquín Urbano, propietario de la finca, y fueron fotografiados y publicados por Albornoz a inicios del siglo XX (Albornoz 1909, 40-42). Destacan, entre ellos, canceles y cruces caladas, un fragmento de lo que parece una tapa de sarcófago muy parecida a la acogería la inscripción de Euresius (CIL II, 5, 235), así como un interesantísimo tipo de tapa de sarcófago que, hasta ahora, ha pasado desapercibido en la bibliografía, y que ya definimos en su momento (Sánchez Velasco et al. 2009). Si a todo ello unimos los datos que poseemos sobre la villa y su programa escultórico, el panorama se vuelve complejo y muy atractivo.

esquina y su cabeza, cortada, estaba pegada a sus pies; el Eros Dormido y el Niño con Liebre, también hallados en el estanque, fueron encontrados ‘tirados de cualquier forma’, no colocados, como los anteriores y, por supuesto, rotos. Las posteriores excavaciones que se llevaron a cabo, tanto por el primer equipo (Blanco et al. 1972) como por el segundo (Jiménez y Martín 1992, nota 6), se centraron en recuperar estancias y afinar cronologías de uso, coincidiendo básicamente en la existencia de varias fases de la villa. Lo que nos interesa, a efectos de este trabajo, es que los dos equipos de investigación consideran que las esculturas se colocaron, en una segunda fase de utilización de la villa, en torno al estanque, y que durante la destrucción de la misma, una vez abandonada, cayeron o fueron tiradas al estanque que decoraban (Blanco et al. 1972, 303-305; Martín y Jiménez 1992, 67-70). Esta teoría, a la luz de los hechos del hallazgo narrados por los descubridores, no puede seguir sosteniéndose, porque en realidad lo que se está describiendo es la eliminación ritual de esculturas de divinidades paganas arrojadas dentro de un estanque, luego amortizado con los restos del derrumbe del edificio que, en ese lugar, no ha sufrido incendio, como ocurre con una de las habitaciones documentadas. Es el mismo proceso que hemos visto en las termas de c/ Duque de Hornachuelos (vid. supra) y que veremos en la villa de Almedinilla (vid. infra), en este caso con esculturas de bronce, y donde la socorrida interpretación de ladrones, bárbaros o saqueadores se queda sin argumentos. La datación de esta fase es controvertida, aunque de nuevo ambos equipos parecen coincidir en el s. IV (¿avanzado?), de forma genérica y sin demasiados datos estratigráficos precisos. En nuestra opinión, teniendo en cuenta la fecha propuesta y el tipo de destrucción, habría que hablar, al igual que en los casos anteriormente citados, de un proceso de destrucción intencionado de un

En torno a 1951, Francisco y Antonio Castro Villar descubren,7 de forma casual y mientras trabajaban su pequeña huerta, la escultura del Mithra Tauroktonos, que fue regalada a Rafael Moreno de la Hoz (secretario del Ayto. de Cabra), que a su vez la donó al Museo Arqueológico de Córdoba en 1952. Al poco tiempo, y llevados por la curiosidad, desenterraron el resto del estanque, en el que encontraron las demás esculturas. La narración no ofrece dudas y es muy explícita sobre cómo y dónde se hallaron las figuras (Figure 2): la escultura de Mithra se encontraba boca abajo, enterrado entre arcillas y cascotes; la de Diónisos tenía el cuerpo apoyado en una

7

Para una detallada explicación de cómo se extraen las esculturas y se descubre el estanque central, es imprescindible el testimonio original de los dos hermanos descubridores, recogido por Margarita Suárez en el documental sufragado por el Ayto. de Cabra y que ella ha escrito y dirigido, bajo el título El hallazgo del Mithra de Cabra. Testimonio de un descubrimiento (2010). Fue presentado con motivo de las II Jornadas Mithraicas de Cabra y como homenaje a los descubridores. Queremos agradecer a Antonio Suárez que nos haya facilitado una copia de dicho documental, así como a Antonio Moreno, director del Museo de Cabra, su buena disposición para facilitarnos todo tipo de información referente a la actualidad arqueológica de la villa.

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Jerónimo Sánchez Velasco – Cristianización y violencia en la Bética

(finales del siglo III, mediados del IV d.C.) y su Fase IV (segunda mitad del siglo V d.C.) ha pasado por alto aspectos fundamentales para nuestro estudio. Se ha considerado que el paso entre la fase de esplendor aristocrático de la villa (Fase III) y el abandono de la misma, así como la reutilización de alguna de sus estancias (Fase IV), ha sido pacífico y progresivo (Vaquerizo Gil y Noguera Celdrán 1997, 35; Muñiz Jaén y Bravo 2000, 182-183; Muñiz Jaén 2007, 28) atendiendo a la ausencia de ‘pruebas de destrucción violenta’ (Muñiz Jaén 2007, 28)9 a pesar de que los recientes responsables de las excavaciones, apoyándose en el informe de la restauración de la famosa escultura de Somnus, aseguran que todos los bronces fueron objeto de violentas y sistemáticas roturas intencionadas (Muñiz Jaén 2007, 28 y 30; citando a Baglioni y Bouzas 1999)10 y que se no se reutilizaron -y por ello han llegado a nuestras manos- con motivo, tal vez, de ‘signos de violencia de posible vinculación con las nuevas creencias cristianas’ (Muñiz Jaén 2007, 28). Si a ello unimos que se produce una ‘colmatación’ de prácticamente toda la zona noble y que, por este motivo, se han conservado mosaicos, pavimentos, muros hasta una altura bastante considerable y revestimientos pictóricos, las preguntas surgen por sí mismas, cuando también sabemos que existe una reocupación marginal del espacio y una continuidad en el uso de la necrópolis hasta el siglo VII d.C., ahora con algunos signos claramente cristianos (Muñiz Jaén y Bravo 2000, 183).

centro de culto pagano de la periferia urbana egabrense, en este caso, un Mithraeum instalado en una villa suburbana. Sobre este lugar se ubicaría, a juzgar por los restos hallados de época visigoda, una iglesia, con enterramientos (varios sarcófagos), interiores o en una zona anexa. Por lo que debemos decir que se trataría del único caso que conocemos para la Bética Occidental de posible destrucción de un centro de culto pagano sobre el que se construye un templo cristiano: las termas de la c/ Duque de Hornachuelos no pueden ser consideradas un centro de culto y la villa de Almedinilla no tiene estructuras sobre ella, y cabe la posibilidad, como veremos, de que no se pueda considerar estrictamente un santuario, ni tan siquiera privado.

El ámbito rural Caso 3. Villa de El Ruedo, Almendinilla (Córdoba). De residencia aristocrática pagana a villula. El final de nuestro recorrido es la famosa villa de El Ruedo, en la localidad de Almedinilla, sobre la que vamos a realizar una nueva interpretación de ciertos aspectos puntuales que, a la luz de nuevos datos recientemente publicados, deben ser analizados desde la perspectiva del mundo tardoantiguo y del inicio del Cristianismo, y no tanto desde el estudio del final de las villas altoimperiales, imbricándolo de paso dentro de lo que actualmente sabemos de la época en este territorio.

En nuestra opinión, asistimos aquí a un proceso intencionado de destrucción de la zona residencial aristocrática, así como de un posible ámbito privado de culto pagano de la villa a mediados del siglo V d.C.,11 relacionado con la implantación del Cristianismo y la eliminación de núcleos de paganismo. Las pruebas ya han sido recogidas, aunque no han sido interpretadas en este sentido de forma integral. Y a pesar de que la destrucción violenta de las esculturas ya ha sido relacionada con el Cristianismo, ésta es sólo una parte de procesos bien

Las publicaciones sobre la villa son, afortunadamente, abundantísimas y prolongadas en el tiempo, por lo que nos centraremos en aquellas que exclusivamente comentan los aspectos que interesan al sentido de este trabajo, evitándonos hacer tediosas contextualizaciones. Tanto el primer equipo de investigación como el segundo8 coinciden básicamente en las cuatro fases evolutivas del complejo, así como en la interpretación que se le da al tránsito entre la tercera y la cuarta. Sólo incidiremos en los detalles de la ubicación de las piezas cuando fueron halladas: a) toda la escultura aparece fragmentada desde antiguo, proceso que, a juicio de sus primeros excavadores, ‘obedeció a una acción perfectamente calculada por visitantes ajenos a la villa, tal vez en época visigoda’ (Vaquerizo Gil 1999, 126); b) un elevado número de figuras fragmentadas son recuperadas del interior del estanque de la Estancia X, en concreto de la zona de su exedra norte (Vaquerizo Gil 1999); c) el resto de fragmentos aparecieron diseminados por diferentes estancias, con un elevado nivel de destrucción (Vaquerizo Gil 1999).



9 Cuando se hace referencia a esta ausencia de datos de una ‘destrucción violenta’ ambos equipos de investigación –entendemos- se refieren a la ausencia de rastros de incendio. 10 En dicho informe dice así sobre la escultura del dios: ‘El estado de conservación de la pieza, a pesar de haber estado enterrada durante siglos, era bueno. La escultura se hallaba fracturada e incompleta, debido a la rotura intencionada que sufrió en un momento indeterminado. Se encontraron varias piezas principales: tronco, pie, pierna izquierda, brazo derecho e izquierdo, mano derecha y cabeza. La mano izquierda ha desaparecido y la derecha ha perdido los atributos que portaba. […] La agresión antrópica que sufrió la pieza en un momento indeterminado ha provocado deformaciones estructurales importantes en las zonas de fractura, hacia el exterior o el interior de la pieza. Se aprecian sobre todo en el brazo y su muñeca derecha, la unión de los brazos con los hombros, en la unión de la pierna izquierda con el torso y en la pierna derecha con su pie. Las fracturas no corresponden al lugar exacto de las uniones originales. Las deformaciones que sufren las piezas son irreversibles’. Se pueden consultar imágenes del proceso de restauración en la siguiente dirección web: http://www.iaph.es/web/canales/conservacion-yrestauracion/catalogo-de-obrasrestauradas/contenido/Hypnos_de_Almedinilla_Cordoba 11 Que la villa pueda ser un centro de culto pagano relacionado con el dios Somnus y, tal vez, con la medicina y las ninfas, es una cuestión que cada vez parece más evidente gracias a las recientes investigaciones (Muñiz Jaén 2007).

Consideramos que, a pesar de la prolongada investigación llevada a cabo en la villa, el tránsito entre su Fase III



8 Utilizaremos tres publicaciones que, en síntesis, resumen a la perfección aquello que deseamos matizar y donde, además, se hace referencia a prácticamente toda la producción bibliográfica existente: Varquerizo Gil y Noguera Celdrán (1997), Muñiz Jaén y Bravo (2000) y Muñiz Jaén (2007).

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

proceso contaría con las siguientes fases: a) la destrucción intencionada, concienzuda y violenta de diferentes grupos escultóricos de temática pagana o mitológica realizados en mármol o bronce, donde tan sólo el Mithra de Cabra conserva su integridad, salvo daños menores, aunque fue colocada boca abajo, como señal de degradación total de un ídolo vencido (Caseau 2011, 492); b) la posterior deposición de dichos grupos, en su totalidad o en gran parte, en estructuras hidráulicas, como piscinas o estanques; c) la demolición total o parcial de los edificios en las que se ubicaban, de forma intencionada y sin huellas de haber existido incendio alguno, lo que ha dado lugar a interpretaciones ligadas a abandonos y procesos deposicionales prolongados en el tiempo, que entendemos que no pueden seguir sosteniéndose; y d) la ocultación de los restos bajo importantes estratos de arcillas y/o escombros propios de los edificios eliminados (esto en menor medida). En dos de los casos (1 y 2) existe la evidencia arqueológica de la superposición de edificios religiosos sobre las ruinas resultantes, mientras que en la villa de Almedinilla (caso 3) se produce un abandono casi total, con una población residual de la que apenas sabemos que sigue existiendo gracias a la necrópolis asociada a la antigua villa (Carmona Berenguer 1998; Muñiz Jaén 2007). Por lo tanto, estaríamos ante los primeros casos (2 y 3) documentados de destrucción de lugares de culto paganos de dicha provincia, en este caso vinculados a establecimientos privados.

conocidos y repetidos a lo largo de todo el Mediterráneo (aunque especialmente en Oriente), donde esta destrucción de los signa es acompañada, asimismo, de exorcismos purificadores y de la amortización de las estatuas y de los espacios ‘impíos’ donde éstas existían o se les rendía culto.12 En este sentido, la ausencia de rastros de destrucción violenta ha sido inferida a partir de la falta de restos claros de incendio en la villa, lo que sólo significa eso mismo, que no se incendió, pero no se puede deducir automáticamente, como se ha hecho (Vaquerizo Gil y Noguera Celdrán 1997, 36) que esto signifique un abandono paulatino, y mucho menos a consecuencia de ‘inseguridad’ por las invasiones. Ni bárbaros ni bandidos dejarían decenas de kilos de bronce abandonados en una villa. Más bien, el enterramiento de imágenes y la amortización de todo un sector de la villa bajo ingentes cantidades de ‘derrumbes’, cuando otra parte sí sigue en uso (al igual que la necrópolis), nos estaría indicando que se habría realizado una destrucción intencionada de la zona vinculada al culto pagano, rellenando con estos materiales unas habitaciones que, gracias a esta circunstancia, han llegado hasta nosotros en un estado de conservación único en la provincia de Córdoba. Tampoco es una explicación lógica pensar que continúa el poblamiento y que los habitantes que permanecen en la parte de la villa que sigue en uso no reutilizan ni el bronce ni los materiales constructivos que les ofrece la zona del complejo que, supuestamente, está ‘abandonada’.

En Hispania, los estudios a nivel arqueológico sobre este tipo de destrucciones son escasos, por no decir prácticamente inexistentes, centrándose, cuando se dan, en generalizaciones poco precisas sobre los grandes templos urbanos13 o en aspectos excesivamente concretos, como la rotura intencionada de partes de mosaicos mitológicos (López Monteagudo 1990). Y esto a pesar de que los estudios sobre la cuestión, a nivel de fuentes escritas, cuentan con tradición y con destacados especialistas, tanto para el ámbito mediterráneo como para el hispano (Blázquez Martínez 2008; 2010; Sanz Serrano 1995; 1998; 2003; 2007).

Conclusiones Hemos podido comprobar, con la documentación arriba expuesta, que estamos ante la destrucción intencionada y el enterramiento, posiblemente ritual, de tres grupos escultóricos con piezas de temática pagana y mitológica. Como se ha visto, nos encontramos con tres emplazamientos muy diferentes con desarrollos históricos muy diversos: unas termas urbanas que ocupaban un céntrico espacio en la ciudad, a pocos metros del Concilio Provincial de la Bética (Sánchez Velasco 2006); un mithraeum situado en la periferia de una ciudad relativamente grande –Egabrum; y un posible centro de culto (seguramente privado, ¿a Somnus, a las ninfas?, aunque esto no es un dato definitivo) en una importante uilla rural de claro ambiente aristocrático. En todos los casos, si usamos las dataciones de los distintos excavadores, se destruyeron esculturas de divinidades o mitológicas entre finales del siglo IV d.C. y los inicios del siglo V d.C. En todos los casos, estas destrucciones son llevadas a cabo con violencia, apreciándose numerosos puntos comunes en el proceso de destrucción, bien documentados gracias a exhaustivos informes de los restauradores o a relatos precisos de los hallazgos. Dicho

Las motivaciones últimas que supusieron las destrucciones de los grupos escultóricos que hemos presentado se nos escapan, pero pensamos que habría que ponerlas en relación con otras similares en otros lugares del Mediterráneo, como Egipto (Aja Sánchez 2007), donde estos episodios se han relacionado con la existencia de cristianos intransigentes, obispos integristas y monjes fervientemente antipaganos, que enmarcaban sus acciones en un ambiente generalizado de revueltas sociales (Haas 2006), aunque estudios recientes



13 Es el caso de la polémica científica entre los posicionamientos a favor de la desaparición temprana del paganismo (Arce Martínez 2006) o de su perduración, sobre todo a nivel rural (López y Martínez 2006), con la respectiva dualidad entre perduración y/o eliminación de centros de culto no cristianos. La supuesta falta de datos arqueológicos hace que, al final, este tipo de estudios bascule en exceso hacia unas fuentes parcas y, por supuesto, parciales, que no pueden ser debidamente contrastadas. Este hecho, en el caso de la Bética, es más acuciante, ya que apenas hay fuentes escritas conservadas sobre el periodo tardoantiguo.



12 Un caso bien estudiado de la transformación de espacios ‘impíos’ en iglesias son las termas, cuyo proceso pueden verse en Jiménez Sánchez y Sales (2004). Para Córdoba, un caso similar de transformación de termas en iglesia ha sido publicado en Sánchez Velasco (2006, 196204).

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Jerónimo Sánchez Velasco – Cristianización y violencia en la Bética

consiguiente, es muy posible que la vinculación con el agua de los tres casos béticos que hemos visto esté relacionada con un castigo ritual, con una ejecución sagrada, siguiendo procedimientos bien conocidos para suplicios, torturas y humillaciones.

demuestran que la disparidad de motivos y objetivos de las destrucciones es ciertamente muy variado (Kristensen 2010), y que no siempre se puede extrapolar la destrucción del Serapeum a todos y cada uno de los hallazgos. También en Francia, este tipo de acciones se generalizan a partir del siglo V d.C., con incitación de altas jerarquías eclesiásticas, donde obispos como Martín de Tours o Cesáreo de Arlés invitan a todos sus feligreses a destruir los templos rurales (López y Martínez, 2006: 131, y notas 47-48), algo que se corresponde con algunas pruebas arqueológicas que han podido ser recogidas, tanto para termas convertidas en iglesias (Heijmans 2006, 37) como para la cristianización del ámbito rural (Codou y Collin 2007). En Italia, en el hipogeo de Via Paisiello se conservan unas pinturas, fechadas en el siglo IV d.C., donde se aprecia claramente una escena de destrucción de una estatua con atributos divinos, que un personaje pretende derribar tirando de una cuerda que le ha sido atada al cuello, mientras otro de los actores de la escena está en posición orante (Stewart 1999, 172-176, figure 8.2).

De todos modos, es este un tema absolutamente abierto, y sujeto a revisión, debido a que en los tres casos, la zona arqueológica no ha agotado su potencial estratigráfico y existen nuevos proyectos de excavación para, al menos, una de las uillae (caso 2). Por lo que tal vez podamos, en el futuro, aquilatar aún más la secuencia estratigráfica y explicar la ‘cristianización’ de áreas de manantiales (caso 2 y, posiblemente 3), temática fruto de recientes investigaciones (Sauer 2011). Sin embargo, también es evidente que queda mucho trabajo por hacer en Hispania, a nivel arqueológico, y que sería conveniente una revisión de otros contextos y hallazgos tanto a nivel rural (Caseau 2004) como en las grandes ciudades (Rothaus 2000; Hinge y Krasilnikoff 2010), con el fin de generar resultados científicos que, en esta cuestión, nos permitan situar la Península en el contexto mediterráneo en el que se desenvuelve, y para el que ya existe una abultada nómina de estudios de síntesis y nuevas propuestas (Lavan y Mulryan 2011; Jacobs 2011; Bowden et al. 2004).

En este sentido, la zona sur de la provincia de Córdoba cuenta con un obispado muy activo e importante (Egabrum) que posee pruebas arqueológicas y epigráficas que permiten suponer la existencia de comunidades de monjes y eremitas (Sánchez Velasco et al. 2009), aunque sin dataciones demasiado seguras que las puedan vincular, directamente, con este momento. Lo que resulta evidente a todas luces es la voluntariedad de la destrucción, de la humillación, de la ‘neutralización’ del ídolo, y del ocultamiento de las estatuas de forma ritual en estructuras hidráulicas, algo que nos cuesta creer como fruto de la casualidad en los tres casos, y que debió corresponderse con algún tipo de exorcismo relacionado con la capacidad de ‘purificación’ del agua, ya presente tanto en el paganismo greco-latino como en la religión judía, y que se encuentra en la base del bautismo (Ferguson 2009, 25-82). Al hilo de esta cuestión habría que tener en cuenta, también, otras posibles vertientes interpretativas, ya que el agua es un elemento común en muchas penas capitales y castigos a condenados (noxii) en época romana (Cantarella 1996; Robinson 2007), especialmente si el suplicio implicaba la precipitación, que podía ser tanto en tierra (desde la roca Tarpeya, a una fosa…) como en agua, ya que ‘tanto en el agua como en la tierra el cuerpo alcazaba las profundidades misteriosas en donde habitaban los dioses, dando cumplimiento a los contenidos de la ejecución sagrada’ (Cantarella 1996, 238). Recientes investigaciones (Kristensen, 2009) han puesto de manifiesto el paralelismo entre el proceso de destrucción de esculturas de divinidades y los castigos corporales, torturas o humillaciones llevados a cabo sobre personas, debido a la creencia de que los ídolos poseían cualidades del cuerpo humano: ‘By highlighting the performative aspects of iconoclasm, it additionally has been shown that the mutilation of images in late antique Egypt was linked to contemporary forms of corporal punishment and the ways that sinners were believed to be punished in the afterlife.’ (Kristensen 2009, 249). Por

Figure 3. Escenas de destrucción de ídolos: (arriba) en el hipogeo de Via Paisiello (a partir de un dibujo de De Rossi publicado por Stewart 1999); y (abajo) escena con el obispo Teófilo de Alejandría triunfante encima del templo de Serapis, con la estatua del dios representada dentro y con fieles al lado tirándole piedras al ídolo (BauerStrzygowski 1906, folio VI verso A).

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dinastía cristiana reinante (pariente de los emperadores Valentiniano I, Valentiniano II, Graciano, Honorio Arcadio y Teodosio II, esposa de Constancio III y madre de Valentiniano III). Por esta misma razón este tipo de documentos no suele enfatizar su papel como esposa de un rey godo ni las estrechas relaciones que mantuvo a lo largo de toda su vida con algunos pueblos y personajes bárbaros o semi-bárbaros y que la caracterizan como una mujer tolerante y acostumbrada a vivir entre dos mundos: el de la vieja nobleza romana que asistía a las transformaciones del estado romano y el de la nueva nobleza de origen bárbaro que las aceleraba.

El papel de Gala Placidia en la creación de un reino Godo en occidente / The role of Gala Placidia in the creation of the Gothic Western kingdom Rosa Sanz-Serrano Universidad Complutense de Madrid

Abstract

Esta característica de la información que recibimos acerca de Gala Placidia se refleja principalmente en el relato de su relación con los godos que es el tema que en este momento me ocupa. Sin duda es precisamente el vínculo especial que mantuvo con este pueblo durante su juventud y madurez lo que aparece como especialmente singular en los textos, pero también como un comportamiento aceptado e incluso aceptable en los mismos. Lo que en cierto modo sorprende si tenemos en cuenta la problemática general de las relaciones entre bárbaros y romanos en los siglos IV y V y las dificultades por las que éstas atravesaban a finales del siglo IV, en especial durante las dinastías Valentiniana y Teodosiana. La compleja situación política y militar del Imperio de Occidente, los fracasos en los intentos de los emperadores por mantener el control de las provincias, la amenaza constante de usurpación por parte de generales ambiciosos o el empobrecimiento de las arcas imperiales como principales factores, influyeron en la radicalización de los conflictos fronterizos y convirtieron en amenaza pública a los movimientos poblacionales que se estaban produciendo en el Barbaricum. Basta recordar dos hechos determinantes como son la muerte en campaña de los emperadores Valentiniano I —abuelo de Gala Placidia en Brigetium en el año 374 (Zósimo IV, 17, 2) — al parecer por un ataque al corazón ante una delegación bárbara y Valente —en la idealizada batalla de Adrianópolis en el año 378 frente a los godos—, cuyo cuerpo, al parecer calcinado, nunca fue encontrado (Zósimo IV, 24, 1). Sabemos además que fue precisamente la situación fronteriza la que determinó la decisión del emperador Graciano de asociar al poder al padre de Gala Placidia, Teodosio, quien tras los asesinatos de Graciano —a manos de Máximo cerca de Lyon en el año 383— y del joven Valentiniano II —en el contexto de la usurpación de Eugenio vencido por Teodosio en el río Frigidus (actual Isonzo-Wipbach) en 394— consiguió de nuevo el mando sobre las dos partes del Imperio e intensificó la política de pactos y asentamientos en territorio romano de los bárbaros que presionaban en los límites de las provincias occidentales.

This paper intends to show the active participation of the Augustan Aelia Gala Placidia on the politics of her time and the autonomy she enjoyed when making her most important decisions during her youth, first in Rome and later on during her marriage with Ataulfus. Furthermore, free collaboration and the influence of Placidia in Autaulfus’ project to govern part of the Western Empire are highlighted as ways to move away from her brother’s Honorius politics and to avoid marriage and submission to General Constantius. KEYWORDS: Alianza Gala Placidia-Ataúlfo, el desencuentro entre Placidia y Honorio, claves del matrimonio en Narbona, Hospitium en la Tarraconense, la pérdida de las Hispanias

La formación de la personalidad de Gala Placidia en la corte de Estilicón Aelia Galia Placidia es uno de los personajes femeninos más apasionantes de la Antigüedad por el singular papel que desempeñó dentro de su época, a mi entender no lo suficientemente valorado por una buena parte de la historiografía que, lejos de buscar al personaje en sí, han preferido considerarlo esencialmente como un valioso instrumento político en manos de los hombres de su tiempo.1 Esta lectura de su figura está relacionada con una forma conservadora de analizar el momento histórico en el que vivió Gala Placidia, a pesar de la existencia de datos en las fuentes que permiten sostener hipótesis alternativas sobre las razones de sus actuaciones personales y de sus decisiones políticas. Así al menos se desprende no solo de las informaciones del sofista alejandrino Olimpiodoro, ricas en matices sobre su carácter y sus insólitas decisiones —a veces atípicas y contradictorias con la época—, también se observa en otros textos con mayor carga ideológica como son los autores cristianos a quienes sorprendió una personalidad rebelde y poco habitual a la que, no obstante, intentaron describir con las virtudes acordes a un miembro de la

Gala Placidia nació en este contexto y con él se explica su peculiar personalidad; nació de la unión de Teodosio con Gala, la hija de Valentiniano I (entre 388 y 392) y hermana de Valentiniano II para entonces bajo la tutela

1

La mayor parte de los estudios sobre esta figura desde finales del siglo XVIII hasta nuestros días han resaltado más el papel de su contemporáneos masculinos que el de Placidia, en unos acontecimientos en los que tuvo un claro protagonismo. Se puede consultar Ensslin (1910), Stein (1914), Leclercq (1777, 248-275) y Oost (1968). Incluso en obras que analizan muy detenidamente al personaje como Sirago (1961), Demougeot (1985a), Storoni Mazzolani (1987) y Fuentes Hinojo (2004).

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

de su madre Justina. En el tempus barbaricum2 en el que no se puede entender la política imperial sin aceptar los intentos de los emperadores por dar cabida en ella a las externae gentes cuya presencia, de acuerdo con el conocido discurso de Sinesio de Cirene, alcanzaba todas las esferas sociales, desde el senado y el magisterio militar hasta los más apartados rincones de las casas romanas donde servían como esclavos. Esta situación — que se encuentra también recogida en otras fuentes— explica la presencia de bárbaros en el entorno familiar y social de Gala Placidia ya desde su nacimiento en Constantinopla, como documenta la llegada a la ciudad del godo Atanarico con su familia y sus fieles acogido por el emperador Teodosio al que había prestado ayuda militar y también la afirmación de Zósimo (V, 56, 5) de que junto a Teodosio se encontraban muchos bárbaros a los que acogía en su mesa. De esta manera podemos aceptar la posibilidad de identificar como de origen bárbaro las siervas Spadusa y Helpidia, según Olimpiodoro (Frag. 40), acompañaron a Gala Placidia de niña a Roma donde ejercieron sobre ella una fuerte influencia. Estas mujeres probablemente habían formado parte del servicio de su madre Gala junto con el filósofo alejandrino Leonteo en la corte de Oriente hasta la muerte de ésta en extrañas circunstancias pero que Zósimo (IV, 57, 3) soluciona afirmando que murió de un parto junto con el niño antes de que su hijastro Arcadio —hijo de la primera esposa de Teodosio, Aelia Flavia Fraccilla— se hiciera cargo del gobierno de Oriente con apenas 17 años de edad mientras Teodosio se encontraba en Occidente luchando contra el usurpador Eugenio. La sospecha de los protectores del joven, entre ellos el magíster officiorum Rufino, de que la esposa de Teodosio pudiese haber maquinado contra los intereses de Arcadio en provecho de sus propios hijos, fue la causa también de que Gala fuera alejada de Constantinopla y de que, muy poco tiempo después, tras la muerte del emperador en Milán en enero de 395 quedase bajo la tutela de Serena, la sobrina de Teodosio, junto con su hermano Honorio recién nombrado emperador de Occidente.3

sobre Gala Placidia desde su infancia, lo que le permitió una temprana adaptación a las diferentes culturas, mentalidades y formas de vida que la rodeaban; hecho que se ve reflejado en las buenas relaciones que tuvo con los godos y otros pueblos no solo en su juventud, sino también en su etapa de Augusta. Incluso la estricta educación cristiana que su prima Serena le pudo imponer y sobre la que informan las fuentes refiriéndose a sus años de madurez (Cassiodoro, Variae 11, 1, 9; Orosio VII, 43, 5-6), se vio en parte compensada por las otras experiencias religiosas que pudo observar en su infancia y que le permitieron actuar con tolerancia con otras formas de pensamiento, especialmente en su etapa de soberana de los godos. De hecho la Chronica Gallica (452) no señala su conversión al catolicismo hasta su estancia en Rávena, ya como Augusta. Independientemente de estas peculiares circunstancias hubo otros factores importantes que colaboraron a conformar su personalidad durante la infancia, la época de mayor dependencia familiar, y que pueden hacernos entender mejor sus actuaciones posteriores. En mi opinión uno de los más importantes fue la sujeción obligada a las ambiciones de sus tutores, Estilicón y Serena, quienes la utilizaron como a su hermano Honorio en una política matrimonial dirigida a mantener en sus manos el control del gobierno del Imperio de Occidente. En las estrategias que desarrollaron para ello se beneficiaron de las peculiaridades físicas y anímicas del emperador, todavía un niño inmaduro y fácilmente manipulable, aunque precisamente éstas permitieron también la existencia en el entorno del niño de otras fuerzas opositoras a la pareja que se articularon con éxito como se comprueba en el mismo fracaso de esa política matrimonial y posteriormente en la caída en desgracia de Estilicón. Pues aunque el general, buscando perpetuar su estirpe con una descendencia imperial, casó a Honorio siendo muy joven primero con su hija María en el año 398 (Claudiano, Ephitalamio), la muerte temprana de ésta en extrañas circunstancias no aclaradas por las fuentes le obligó a cerrar un nuevo matrimonio con su segunda hija Termancia ante el temor de ver desbaratados sus planes, lo que no evitó que ésta fuera también repudiada por Honorio en el mismo contexto en que se producía la caída en desgracia de su padre.

En la casa de Serena como en Constantinopla se mezclaban gentes de distintas procedencias pues, como sabemos, estaba casada con Estilicón, el magíster utriusque militiae de origen vándalo que tenía a su cargo un ejército profundamente ‘barbarizado’ y quien, al ejercer de tutor del emperador, había convertido su mansión en una auténtica corte vigilada y protegida por una guardia personal de hunos y alanos y una serie de sirvientes de origen bárbaro. Es por lo tanto lógico suponer que algunos de los miembros del servicio privado en Roma con ese origen pudieron haber influido

A pesar de estos fracasos matrimoniales y de la falta de descendencia, el emperador no volvió a contraer matrimonio ni parece que tuvo interés en asegurar el mantenimiento de su dinastía en Occidente, lo que supuso una ventaja para quienes aspiraban a sucederle y abrió una crisis dinástica que marcó para siempre la vida de Gala Placidia sobre la que recayó el peso de la supervivencia de la casa Teodosiana. La supuesta ‘castidad’ que atribuye Orosio (VII, 36,3) a Honorio no parece haber sido aceptada por sus contemporáneos, ya que en su tiempo se desató la polémica sobre su capacidad reproductora y, aunque Zósimo y el panegirista de la corte de Estilicón, Claudiano, atribuyen a Honorio interés por contraer matrimonio con las hijas de Estilicón, también dejan constancia de que fue el general quien facilitó las uniones y, en especial Zósimo

2 Definición contenida en un sermón espureo atribuido a Agustín de Hipona y recogido en PL (40, 699-708). 3 La madre debió fallecer hacia 390 y se sospechaba que maquinaba contra Arcadio (Zósimo IV, 52-57; Chronica comes Marcellinus 390, 2). Pudo haber tenido un hijo varón al que parece estar aludiendo una inscripción de la iglesia de S. Juan Evangelista en Rávena. De hecho tras la muerte de la emperatriz Gala se produjo la caída del prefecto de Constantinopla Taciano y su hijo Próculo, los posibles apoyos de la emperatriz que eran conocidos paganos. Juan de Antioquía (Frg. 187) informa del odio de Arcadio hacia su madrastra Gala. Una buena información en Lippold (1980).

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Rosa Sanz-Serrano – El papel de Gala Placidia en la creación de un reino Godo en Occidente

recoge en su obra la acusación que cayó sobre Serena de ser la culpable de la impotencia sexual (que no castidad) de Honorio al propiciar un acto no bien explicado por el autor (que podría estar relacionado con la ingesta de una pócima) en la noche de bodas:

importante porque Euquerio era hijo de Serena, sobrina de Teodosio I, y por lo tanto pertenecía a la familia imperial. En relación con este último punto debemos tener en cuenta la afirmación del poeta Claudiano, panegirista de Estilicón, de que Euquerio ‘tiene sangre real por ambos progenitores’ (VI cons. De Honorio, 543 ss), pudiendo estar sosteniendo con ello la posibilidad de que Estilicón proviniese de alguna familia real del Barbaricum. Sin embargo, y ante la ausencia de documentación sobre esta probabilidad, la afirmación nos obliga a indagar en el mensaje que el mismo autor pretende difundir (VI Cons. De Honorio, 525 s.) cuando atribuye a Serena una relación especial con su tío Teodosio en su juventud cuando éste antes de entregarla a Estilicón como esposa la cubría de besos en público y cuando después de su matrimonio la mantuvo a su lado en Roma mientras su marido estaba en la guerra, además de haber cogido en sus manos al niño Euquerio al nacer como si fuera su propio hijo, estando revestido este acto de un gran significado simbólico que puede llevar a sospechar que Euquerio era hijo del emperador, o, de no serlo, que éste le había tratado como tal, lo que explicaría su doble ‘realeza’ y, en parte su derecho a dirigir los destinos del Imperio.

Finalizado el otoño, a la llegada del invierno, Baso y Filipo fueron nombrados cónsules, mientras que el emperador Honorio, cuya esposa María había muerto no hacía mucho, solicitaba que le fuese dada en matrimonio la hermana de ésta, Termancia. Si Estilicón dudaba al respecto, Serena insistía, teniendo la siguiente razón para que el matrimonio se realizase: cuando Honorio iba a contraer matrimonio con María, la madre de ésta veía que la joven aún no tenía edad para el matrimonio; dado que no soportaba la edad de retrasarlo, pero de otro lado consideraba que acceder a la unión sexual sin edad para ello no es sino violentar las leyes de la naturaleza. Como casualmente diese con una mujer versada en tales menesteres, consigue por medio de ella que su hija case con el Emperador y comparta su lecho sin que aquél pueda ni siquiera cumplir con lo que al matrimonio toca. A todo esto murió la joven en ignorancia de la vida matrimonial, en vista de lo cual Serena, lógicamente deseosa de descendencia imperial y ante el temor de que su considerable poder se viese disminuido, empeñó sus fuerzas en desposar a Honorio con su segunda hija, conseguido lo cual, muere al poco tiempo la joven tras sufrir igual suerte que la primera (Zósimo, Nueva Historia V, 28,1).

De acuerdo con lo expuesto, la posibilidad de convertirse el emperador de Occidente era grande para Euquerio y la vía para legitimar su poder era la niña Gala Placidia cuya relación con su hermano Honorio debía de ser muy distante. A su vez ésta pudo percibir desde muy temprano el importante papel que se le había designado en la política ambiciosa de sus parientes —aunque estuviera en principio relegada, a pesar de todo, a un papel secundario frente a las hijas de Estilicón y Serena y siempre supeditada a los intereses de la familia— y la posición privilegiada en que se encontraba en la cadena de la transmisión de la legalidad sucesoria; de manera que esta realidad jugó un importante papel en sus decisiones personales y políticas, fundamentalmente aquellas que tuvieron relación con el futuro de los godos en Occidente. Ambos supuestos pueden ayudarnos a entender mejor su actitud en el episodio de la muerte de Serena, su tutora y madre de su prometido, que fue su primer acto institucional narrado de forma oscura en las fuentes y analizado a veces como un hecho extravagante de difícil comprensión, y que a mi modo de ver fue la primera manifestación de su libertad frente a la familia de la que había dependido hasta ese momento. Pues, como sabemos, este suceso se encuentra estrechamente relacionado con la caída en desgracia de Estilicón ante Honorio promovida por sus enemigos en la corte y con su ejecución en Rávena en 23 de agosto de 408 como consecuencia de las maquinaciones del magister officiorum Olimpio —el hombre más influyente después de Estilicón y también su más importante rival en la corte (Filostorgio XII, 1)— y de otros cortesanos como Jovino y el general de origen godo Saro.

De ser falsa esta acusación podemos suponer que con ella se intentaba encubrir la impotencia natural del emperador para consumar el matrimonio, pero de ser cierta bien podría deberse, como pretende Zósimo, al temor de una madre a las consecuencias de un matrimonio temprano o podemos ponerla en relación con su deseo de perpetuar la dinastía con la descendencia habida de su propio hijo con Gala Placidia. El desarrollo de los acontecimientos parece abogar por esta segunda intención al menos hasta la llegada de Alarico a Roma y se comprueban en algunas informaciones. En primer lugar, al mismo tiempo que Honorio fue encadenado sentimentalmente a las hijas de la pareja, Gala Placidia, su hermana y siendo todavía muy niña, fue entregada al hijo de Serena y Estilicón, Euquerio (Claudiano Cons. St. II, 340). Según esta estrategia la muerte temprana de Honorio o la ausencia de hijos varones del emperador (con la que quizás ya contaban) pondría el Imperio de Occidente en manos del joven, por lo tanto del control directo de Estilicón, por dos razones: la primera y principal porque su prometida era la única hija de Teodosio I y había recibido el título de nobilísima que le capacitaba para transmitir el Imperium (CIL, XV, 7153);4 la segunda y no menos 4

Rebenich (1985, 372) señala que Gala Placidia había nacido en la sala sagrada revestida de pórfiro rojo del palacio de Constantinopla y que allí mismo se le había otorgado el título. En cualquier caso aparece como Augusta en la ceremonia del cortejo de triunfo del sexto consulado de Honorio en Roma (Claudiano, V Cons de Est. 350-359). Sus tutores tenían capacidad jurídica para decidir los compromisos siempre que hubiera una unión entre iguales, inter pares honestae según M. Sargenti (1986, 240).

Aunque no es este el lugar para analizar con detenimiento las razones del suceso, sabemos que entre ellas destaca la política de pactos de Estilicón con Alarico con el fin de poder mantener el control de las provincias galas después

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de la irrupción en ellas de poblaciones de origen bárbaro como los alanos, suevos y vándalos que habían atravesado el Rin en el año 406 y del reciente pronunciamiento en Britania de Constantino III que suponía la pérdida de una buena parte del territorio de Occidente.5 Como también es evidente que el éxito de Estilicón suponía un peligro para Olimpio y sus partidarios que temían la gran acumulación de poder por su parte que podía aumentar si prosperaban los intentos, tras la muerte de Arcadio, de tutelar al nuevo emperador de Oriente Teodosio II, todavía un niño. Las intrigas en cuyos pormenores no podemos entrar pero que se encuentran relatadas en Zósimo y otros autores (Zósimo V, 30-32; Orosio VII, 38,1; Sozomeno IX, 4,7 ) —de una manera muy desigual y a veces confundida— culminaron en la acusación de Estilicón ante Honorio de pretender movilizar su ejército para acudir a Constantinopla con la idea de colocar en el trono de Oriente a su propio hijo Euquerio que se encontraba en ese momento a su lado y, por consiguiente, fueron determinantes en la condena final del general y su ejecución en Rávena junto con algunos de sus más fieles servidores de origen bárbaro. Precisamente estos hechos determinaron el inicio de la relación entre Gala Placidia y los godos de Alarico y un cambio de rumbo en la vida de la joven tras producirse la huída del joven Euquerio a Roma buscando el amparo de su madre, de su prometida Placidia y de sus clientelas, entre ellas familias senatoriales que en su día habían aceptado el pacto de Estilicón con Alarico (Zósimo V, 29) y que rivalizaban con la corte de Rávena. De acuerdo con ello, el amparo que recibió en la ciudad convertía hasta cierto punto a sus habitantes en sospechosos y acrecentaba el temor de que su matrimonio con Gala Placidia acabase derivando en un intento de usurpación del poder desde la antigua capital. La rivalidad era tal, que el emperador no dudó en enviar repudiada a Roma a su esposa Termancia, hermana de Euquerio e hija de Estilicón, con la exigencia paralela de la entrega del joven y la orden al senado de efectuar la requisa de los bienes familiares. Por los textos sabemos también que, después de un tiempo durante el cual desconocemos todo acerca de los pormenores de la negociación, Euquerio tuvo que refugiarse buscando protección en una iglesia de donde fue sacado por los eunucos del emperador que procedieron a su captura y posterior ejecución mientras todo parece señalar que finalmente el senado de Roma decidió mantenerse fiel al emperador Honorio (Zosimo V, 37; Filostorgio XII, 3; Soz. IX, 4).6

que vivían en Roma, la ciudad donde se encontraban los apoyos de Estilicón y en la que habían permanecido cuando Honorio cambió la capitalidad a Ravena. Zósimo (V, 29,6), que no da noticias de Placidia, sí que admite que fue Serena que se oponía a la política de su esposo de pactar con Alarico y había aconsejado a Honorio que se marchase a Rávena, dejando desprotegida la ciudad, porque estaría más seguro frente a la camarilla senatorial y podía recibir ayuda militar por mar desde Oriente. Por lo tanto deja entrever el autor una cierta incomprensión entre Serena y Estilicón y la paradójica actitud de protección de ésta hacia el emperador y de connivencia con los enemigos de su esposo, a no ser que la moviera de nuevo el interés de pretender un mejor futuro para su hijo Euquerio alejando al emperador de la capital del Imperio. En el caso de que así fuera, la muerte de Estilicón y de su hijo rompía con sus planes y, a la vez, la ruptura de los pactos con los godos de Alarico dejaba todavía más desprotegida a la ciudad de Roma, ya abandonada por las fuerzas militares del emperador, y junto con ella a quienes vivían dentro de sus muros, entre ellos la propia Serena, su hija Termancia, Gala Placidia y Leta, la esposa del anterior emperador Graciano a quienes Honorio no quiso o no pudo trasladar consigo muy probablemente porque el soberano no estaba muy seguro de su fidelidad y del apoyo que pudieran haber ofrecido a Euquerio. Solo aceptando esta hipótesis podemos entender la completa desprotección en que quedó Gala Placidia a partir de ese momento.

En esta debacle que arrastró a la casa de Estilicón quedan muy confusas las figuras de Serena y de Gala Placidia

El hecho resulta sorprendente por lo inusual a pesar de que las fuentes lo consideraron una decisión política al actuar como el único representante de la casa de Teodosio en la ciudad. Según Zósimo (V, 36-38) —que anteriormente guarda silencio sobre la posición de Placidia respecto a la muerte de Estilicón y Euquerio— la condena se hizo en colaboración con el senado de Roma cuando cundió la sospecha de que había sido Serena quien atrajo a Alarico a Roma, lo que el autor pone en duda ya que el dato contradice su siempre firme apoyo a Honorio incluso a costa de enfrentarse con Estilicón. Aunque para entonces las cosas para Serena habían cambiado por la ejecución de su esposo y de su

Es precisamente en relación con estos hechos y con la aparición de Alarico en Roma ante la negativa de Honorio de cerrar los acuerdos iniciados por Estilicón cuando las fuentes informan por primera vez sobre la actuación de Gala Placidia después de vivir la indefensión militar de la ciudad y la hambruna a la que se condenó a sus habitantes cuando los godos controlaron el puerto de Ostia e impidieron la llegada de alimentos. No sabemos el impacto que pudo tener en la muchacha el contemplar el despliegue de hombres y mujeres, carretas y tropas de bárbaros y romanos que se habían unido a Alarico en el asedio junto con la miseria y desesperación que se vivía dentro de las murallas por la falta de recursos en una ciudad que, según Zósimo (V, 41) se había convertido en ‘una tumba ocupada por muertos’. Pero es precisamente entonces cuando se sitúa su brutal reacción contra Serena, su tutora y madre de su prometido, a la que condenó a muerte.

5

Alarico había ayudado anteriormente a Teodosio contra el usurpador Eugenio y no había recibido las pagas prometidas; de ahí sus correrías por las provincias griegas antes de entrar en Italia, hecho que determinó la huída del emperador Honorio a Rávena. Estilicón intentó atraerle con nuevos pactos para la defensa de Galia pero su muerte precipitó la ruptura de los mismos y su posterior marcha hacia Roma (Zósimo V, 27-29). La bibliografía sobre los acontecimientos es muy extensa, remito al estudio que he realizado sobre la problemática general de la época en R. Sanz-Serrano (2009, 95). 6 Entre otros apoyos cayó Batanario, cuñado de Estilicón que había sido comes de África, la provincia clave para mantener las provisiones de trigo a Italia. Remito al buen trabajo de Fuentes Hinojo (2004).

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Rosa Sanz-Serrano – El papel de Gala Placidia en la creación de un reino Godo en Occidente

momento de salir, que sobre Serena misma, su marido y sus hijos cayera todo el castigo que esta impiedad merecía (Zósimo, Nueva Historia V, 38, 1).

hijo y no debe resultar extraña la llamada al antiguo aliado de la familia quien, según Zósimo, no tenía al principio la intención de asediar la ciudad, sino solo de forzar al emperador a un pacto. Por esto mismo, el autor continúa afirmando que Serena fue ejecutada en realidad en castigo por violar los templos y por hacer escarnio a los dioses y a una vestal que vaticinó la ruina de su familia, además de tener un comportamiento déspota con la ciudad. Sobre este último punto, sabemos por otras fuentes como Geroncio (Vita Melania, 7-8) que Serena se había atrevido a contravenir las decisiones del senado pagano al permitir vender sus posesiones en Roma — beneficiándose personalmente de esta venta— a la pareja de nobles cristianos Melania y Piniano dispuestos a iniciar una vida de dedicación religiosa en contra de los intereses familiares (Blázquez Martínez 1995). Por lo tanto debemos aceptar un cierto enfrentamiento desde mucho antes de esta mujer que actuaba como una emperatriz protegida por sus orígenes y su matrimonio con Estilicón con una parte importante de los senadores. Por lo tanto, la fuerte personalidad de esta mujer y su manera de actuar con el pueblo de Roma y en su entorno, manteniendo a Gala Placidia en la sumisión a sus decisiones desde niña, podría también explicar la reacción de la joven y de los antiguos sirvientes de su madre. De ahí que fuese el senado en pleno, junto con Gala Placidia, la hermana del emperador, quien autorizara su condena y ejecución, al considerarla responsable de los males que abatían a la ciudad y con la esperanza de que Alarico se retirase al no contar con apoyos en el interior:

Lamentablemente, ante la escasas y a en ocasiones contradictorias informaciones de Zósimo no podemos asegurar si Serena llamó o no en su ayuda a Alarico contraviniendo los deseos del senado y también del emperador, pero podemos relacionar este hecho con la afirmación del autor de que Euquerio se hubiera podido salvar de la muerte si Alarico hubiese llegado antes a Roma, lo que situaría a Serena actuando como una madre preocupada por salvar la vida de su hijo. Fuese cual fuese la realidad, lo que sorprende es la actitud de Gala Placidia, todavía una niña, ratificando la condena de quien hasta ese momento había sido su protectora y la madre de su prometido. Además también contrasta el hecho de que una jovencita de su edad, miembro de la muy cristiana dinastía teodosiana, actuase de acuerdo con los intereses de un senado de mayoría pagana que castigaba la soberbia política y religiosa de Serena. Pero su actitud tomada con frialdad y una evidente falta de piedad hacia quien hasta este momento decidía su destino, incluido el matrimonio con Euquerio, recuerda bastante a la reacción vengativa de Honorio respecto a Estilicón, al que mandó perseguir y ejecutar. Si aceptamos que la decisión de Gala Placidia fue meditada y voluntaria —aunque sin dejar de lado su importancia como máximo representante de la casa de Teodosio en la ciudad— y que no actuó como un mero instrumento de los intereses de los senadores romanos, podemos entender mejor sus actuaciones posteriores. Porque no hay que olvidar que la muchacha no estaba sola, sino que contaba con apoyos familiares propios y fieles sirvientes de los que no sabemos cómo vivieron la política matrimonial de Estilicón ni el papel que tuvieron, quizás importante, en la decisión de Placidia de condenar a Serena. Estas clientelas y sirvientes, algunos como dije llegados desde Constantinopla, no tenían porqué comulgar con los intereses de Serena a la que pudieron haber considerado siempre una rival para la niña, pero tampoco con los de Honorio ya que éste, no lo olvidemos, era hermano de Placidia solo por parte de padre, mayor que ella por lo no habían coincidido en Constantinopla y apenas en Roma donde el emperador se encontraba en manos de la camarilla de cortesanos que le rodeaban. De hecho cuando Honorio se refugió en Rávena dejó a Placidia en Roma con sus tutores y sus sirvientes y tengo la sospecha de que no entraba en los planes de Olimpio que la prometida de Euquerio y pupila de Estilicón formara parte del séquito imperial. Es decir, la venganza de Placidia respecto a Serena no significa indefectiblemente un apoyo a la política de la facción que dominaba a Honorio aunque este presupuesto se ha venido manejando persistentemente en la historiografía actual. Aún más, la joven y sus sirvientes pudieron haber tenido dudas sobre su seguridad en un una corte adversa en caso de una muerte temprana del emperador y temían que la joven fuese utilizada como un instrumento de promoción de algún ambicioso cortesano. Estas

Estando ya Alarico en las inmediaciones de Roma y habiendo sometido a cerco a sus habitantes, concibió el Senado sospechas respecto a Serena en el sentido de que había atraído a los bárbaros a la ciudad; por ello el Senado todo, en unánime decisión, y Gala Placidia, la hermana por parte de padre del Emperador, decidieron la ejecución de aquélla como responsable de los males que se habían abatido sobre la ciudad. En efecto, una vez suprimida Serena, el mismo Alarico se había de retirar, pensaban, de la ciudad, al no haber ya nadie de quienes pudiese esperarse el propósito de traicionarla. Pues bien, la sospecha era en realidad falsa (ya que Serena no había concebido ningún propósito semejante), pero aportó justo castigo a las impiedades perpetradas por ésta contra la divinidad, según inmediatamente voy a exponer: Cuando Teodosio el Viejo, tras suprimir al usurpador Eugenio, tomó Roma e incitó a todos a despreciar los cultos sagrados negándose a promover pública financiación para los sacrificios, sacerdotes y sacerdotisas hubieron de partir, y los recintos culturales quedaron vacíos de cualquier ceremonia religiosa. Serena decidió entonces, haciendo escarnio de todo ello, visitar el templo de la Gran Madre, y al reparar en que el cuello de la estatua estaba ceñido por un adorno en correspondencia con la dignidad del culto debido a aquella diosa, lo quitó de la estatua para colocarlo en torno a su propio cuello. Y cuando una anciana, resto aún subsistente de las vírgenes vestales, le echó en cara esa impiedad, respondió de forma ofensiva y dio a sus acompañantes orden de expulsarla. La anciana pidió a los dioses, en el

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sospechas pudieron determinar su permanencia en Roma donde se sentía más segura, incluso en momentos tan difíciles como fueron el asedio y saqueo de la ciudad por los godos, precisamente cuando muchos nobles de la ciudad, incluido su obispo, corrían a buscar refugio en Rávena o en otras partes del Imperio y el emperador se mostraba impotente para enviarles ayuda. Pero también se percibe en la condena de Serena que tras la muerte de Estilicón y Euquerio la joven consideraba rotos sus lazos con la familia que la había criado y con las imposiciones que de este hecho se habían derivado, de manera que la condena e su tutora puede percibirse como el comienzo de su autonomía y de su libertad.

Imperio de Occidente que ahora se desgajaba, como parece indicar Zósimo (VI, 8, 1-3), y llenaba de temor a Honorio quien pensó incluso en huir cuando, según Olimpiodoro (Frag. 11-13) Atalo rechazó compartir el poder e intentó llegar a acuerdos en este sentido con Joviano. Este hecho finalmente dejaba también al albedrío del nuevo magister el futuro de la ciudad y de su nuevo emperador como se puede comprobar en las fuentes. Pero también la nueva situación terminaba perjudicando en cierto modo a Gala Placidia quien perdía sus atribuciones como representante de la familia imperial en Roma y su posición relevante ante el senado y Alarico, aunque seguía teniendo importancia al ser hermana del emperador de Rávena. Además aunque la joven dejaba de tener valor como transmisora del derecho dinástico en el territorio de Atalo, la sospecha de que eliminar a Honorio no era fácil hizo que siguiera siendo considerada como un importante elemento para el futuro de los godos. La función de garante de la pervivencia de la dinastía Teodosiana la recuperó Gala Placidia tras las conocidas disensiones entre Alarico y el nuevo emperador ante la negativa de Atalo de permitir al magister enviar tropas a África donde el comes Heracliano se mantenía fiel a Honorio, probablemente para evitar que los godos acabasen dominando esa provincia que era tan importante para la llegada de trigo a Roma. Como es sabido el conflicto terminó con la deposición de Atalo en Rímini y un nuevo intento por parte de Alarico de acercarse a Honorio en busca de un pacto, coyuntura que puso de nuevo a Gala Placidia en el lugar que le correspondía. Si buscamos una cierta coherencia en los acontecimientos narrados de forma caótica por las fuentes, debemos aceptar como válida su presencia junto a la delegación de godos que se encontraba cerca de Rávena a la espera de negociar con Honorio y entregarle a cambio a su hermana, quien según Zósimo (VI, 12, 3) se encontraba allí de alguna manera en calidad de rehén pero disfrutaba de toda suerte de pleitesía y prerrogativas reales.8 Pero ante el nuevo fracaso de las negociaciones que reafirmaron a Placidia y sus soportes en la idea de la enorme distancia que había entre los hermanos y del poco interés del emperador por salvar su vida, se queda sin respuesta la cuestión de si la joven y Atalo fueron devueltos a la ciudad de Roma o permanecieron en el campamento godo durante el tercer asedio y el saqueo que sufrió la ciudad poco tiempo después. Pero al respecto me parece significativa la afirmación de Olimpiodoro (Frag. 13) de que, al menos Atalo se unió a la comitiva de Alarico como un ciudadano particular, es decir, de manera voluntaria. En cualquiera de los dos casos, la seguridad de Placidia acabó dependiendo paradójicamente de quienes podían ser considerados como enemigos, esos godos con los que llevaban meses compartiendo la vida a pesar de que ciertas fuentes como

La alianza con los godos y el dominio en Occidente Desconocemos las circunstancias de la vida de Gala Placidia en Roma entre el primer asedio, del que se libró la ciudad gracias a la entrega de un sustancioso botín a Alarico,7 y el saco de Roma. Sabemos, sin embargo, que los godos dejaron libre la ciudad tras el primer asedio retirándose más al norte desde donde siguieron intentando presionar sobre Honorio, sin éxito, para la firma de un tratado con la ayuda de senadores romanos como Ceciliano y Atalo. Es evidente que Roma estuvo todo el tiempo muy involucrada por su propia seguridad en los intentos realizados por ambas partes y que en los episodios ocurridos en este tiempo volvieron a enfrentarse los intereses de las antiguas facciones de la corte de Honorio y Estilicón y de los distintos senados de Roma y Rávena. Cabe incluso preguntarse si la ejecución de Serena no tuvo algo que ver con la intención por parte del senado romano de acercar ambos intereses. En cualquier caso Gala Placidia permaneció en Roma y vivió la colaboración del senado romano con los godos para presionar aún más a Honorio y Joviano —que había reemplazado a Olimpio tras su muerte— para la firma de un tratado con Alarico en los meses que transcurrieron desde el primer asedio de la ciudad al segundo. Bajo mi punto de vista fue el fracaso de estos intentos lo que motivó, como es sabido, el nombramiento en Roma como emperador del cónsul Atalo quien estuvo apoyado sobre todo por los senadores paganos en contra de los intereses de la poderosa familia cristiana de los Anicios (Sozomeno IX, 8, 1). Pero aunque con ello la ciudad pretendía también recuperar su antiguo prestigio como capital del Imperio y su senado el poder perdido, lo cierto es que el nuevo emperador no podía mantenerse sin la ayuda del ejército de Alarico, quien con ello devolvía la paz a la ciudad y recibía el título de magíster militum para Italia y África mientras algunos de sus partidarios obtenían importantes cargos en el gobierno de la ciudad. Por lo tanto, el caudillo godo recuperaba parte de los atributos y beneficios que años antes había obtenido de Estilicón y del emperador Teodosio en una parte del 7

El primer asedio puso en manos de Alarico los bienes de cristianos y paganos por el rescate pagado en Navidad de 5000 libras de oro, 30.000 de plata, 4000 túnicas de seda, 300.000 pieles teñidas de escarlata y 30.000 libras de pimienta. Al respecto, Fuentes Hinojo (2004, 182) y Sanz-Serrano (2006, 40).

8 En el 409 o comienzos del 410. Paschoud (1967, 123) consideraba, siguiendo a otros autores, que Gala era entonces ya un rehén de los godos aunque las fuentes como Orosio (VII, 40, 2) afirman que no fue hasta la toma de Roma. Véase también Demougeot (1985a).

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Orosio pretendan hacernos creer que el primer contacto con sus captores se dio después el saco de Roma.

A tenor de la documentación con que contamos, y en contra de lo que la historiografía ha defendido, no es tan evidente que la presencia de Gala Placidia y de otros romanos entre las tiendas de los godos fuera humillante y en calidad de sometidos, aunque persista la denuncia en los textos escritos de que eran rehenes, ya que éstos no podían admitir la cooperación de miembros y clientes de la casa imperial con los godos. Aún más, Orosio (VII, 40, 2) asegura que siempre fue de mucha utilidad al estado romano después, como si por decisión divina le fuese entregada como rehén por ello. Todo lo contrario, en la caravana de la que formaban parte estaban expuestos a los mismos peligros que los godos y los romanos que se les habían sumado, entre ellos el acecho constante de las tropas del emperador que ponía en peligro la vida de su hermana, la búsqueda de alimento y los diversos enfrentamientos de mayor o menor dimensión con las poblaciones de los lugares que recorrían en el periplo que llevó a Alarico hasta el sur de Italia con la idea de pasar al norte de África. En el deambular de los godos por territorio romano Gala Placidia estuvo rodeada de sus principales sirvientes y apoyos y, a pesar del interés de los textos por echar la culpa a Alarico de que la joven no fuese entregada a su hermano, la actuación del emperador al respecto es bastante ambigua y dispuesta a exponer a su hermana a todo tipo de peligros antes que aceptar las condiciones del caudillo bárbaro, a la vez que de desamparo para los romanos que estaban en la comitiva. Ante esta realidad y a pesar de la interpretación que los textos hacen de los hechos podemos sospechar una disposición de la nobleza romana, entre ellos Gala Placidia y sus soportes, a colaborar con sus denominados raptores. Así parece evidenciarlo el voluntario matrimonio de la joven augusta con el godo Ataúlfo que parece demostrar la sintonía entre los godos y los romanos que la rodeaban.

Por lo tanto, es lógico suponer que quienes tenían un valor para Alarico no corrieron peligro en los terribles hechos de los días 24 y 27 de agosto del año 410 en que se produjo el saqueo. Por estar razón Gala Placidia no tiene lugar en los distintos relatos y versiones del mismo, entre ellas las dos contrapuestas que presenta Procopio (BV 3, 2, 14-27): la creencia de algunos de que la Puerta Salaria la abrieron, después de matar a los guardias, unos jóvenes esclavos que Alarico había regalado anteriormente a los senadores romanos mientras éstos dormían —versión que intenta exculpar a los romanos que pudieron ayudar al enemigo a entrar— y la que acusa a la facción cristiana del senado romano, en concreto la rica anciana Anicia Faltonia Proba quien, sintiendo pena por lo ciudadanos y viendo que el río y el puerto estaba en manos de los godos, ordenó a sus domésticos que abrieran las puertas durante la noche. Precisamente esta última versión viene a resaltar un pacto previo de la aristocracia cristiana recogido por otros autores y que permitía a los habitantes de Roma acogerse al amparo de las iglesias que debían ser respetadas, además de permitir a Proba, sus familiares y esclavas la huída a África para librarse de la violación y la muerte (Agustín, sermo 296, 7; De civ. Dei I, 16; Jerónimo, ep. 130). Pues una buena parte de las fuentes admiten la violencia del saqueo como castigo al paganismo de la ciudad,9 castigo que según Orosio (VII, 39, 15) cayó sobre todos sus habitantes, eso si, con el menor derramamiento de sangre posible dada la confesión cristiana de los godos, salvo los que se encontraban refugiados en los santos lugares y en la basílicas de Pedro y Pablo. Como he dicho, en las distintas construcciones historiográficas de la caída de Roma no tienen lugar Gala Placidia ni Átalo ni otros personajes que formaban parte de la comitiva del caudillo godo, pero dentro o fuera de sus muros es evidente que ante una situación tan descontrolada y brutal como es un saqueo, ellos y otros nobles gozaron de la protección de Alarico. Y aunque los textos se empeñan en mostrarlos después como rehenes de los godos a los que se les vetó la posibilidad de huir, la información de estas mismas fuentes sobre lo ocurrido muy poco después parece contrariar su discurso e incluso cabe plantearse si, al marchar con Alarico, no conseguían escapar, teniendo en cuenta que Atalo había usurpado un tiempo el poder y Placidia firmó la pena de muerte de Serena y había sido la prometido o quizás ya esposa de Euquerio, de las represalias de las tropas imperiales que con Honorio al frente llegaron poco después como triunfantes a la ciudad sin haber dado la batalla al enemigo.10

Las fuentes presentan esta unión como aceptada por ambas partes después del fracaso de la huída a África y de que, tras la muerte de Alarico en Bosento, Ataúlfo heredase la jefatura. Jordanes (Getica, 159-160), una fuente posterior a los acontecimientos, pone el énfasis en el deseo del godo de contraer este matrimonio gracias al noble nacimiento de la joven, su belleza física y su casta pureza y también, como no, porque ello podía suponer el principio de una alianza con el emperador del que se convertía en pariente. También Olimpiodoro (Frag. 2529), que vivió los hechos más directamente, pone el peso de la decisión en Ataúlfo, pero ningún documento de la época señala la menor rebeldía en la joven hija del emperador Teodosio frente a este enlace con un bárbaro, hecho que, de haberse producido, hubiera sido recogido para salvar el prestigio de la dinastía. Aún más, Orosio (VII, 46,5-6) en un conocido pasaje llega a asegurar la armonía de la relación entre los esposos y la ayuda que Gala ofrecía a Ataúlfo. Jordanes en el pasaje antes citado califica además el matrimonio de legal (consensum) ya desde cuando se celebró la unión —se supone carnal y posiblemente mediante una ceremonia goda— en forum Iulii (Forli, en la Emilia) y Olimpiodoro deja constancia de una ceremonia posterior en Narbona, no solo legal y acorde con el rito romano, sino con el boato y los

9 Agustín en su sermones (296, 7; 2, 2) al menos admitía que Roma era perecedera, como lo son todos los imperios y que, pese al relato general cristiano, paganos y cristianos habían sufrido sus consecuencias. El monje Pelagio escribía a Demetia, la nieta de Anicia Proba sobre el suceso y afirma que la nobleza no pudo salvar a Roma porque todos estaban muertos de temor, que cada familia había tenido su dolor y que esclavos y nobles sufrieron juntos las consecuencias. Una reflexión sobre el problema en Marcos (2001, 139). 10 Sobre la ceremonia del triunfo de Honorio en Roma, véase comes Marcellinus 411, 1 y Filostorgio XII.

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requisitos de un matrimonio imperial, en la que tuvo un papel primordial Candidiano, uno de los soportes familiares de Gala Placidia y el general que algunos años después le iba a facilitar el acceso al trono.

tendría acceso directo al trono. En mi opinión la decisión de Placidia de aceptar el enlace se convertía así en un claro acto de rebeldía frente a Honorio y también en una provocación y un reto hacia quienes, sin tenerla en cuenta y abandonándola en Roma, quizás a la espera de su desaparición, dominaban la voluntad de Honorio en la corte y esperaban establecer sus propios candidatos al trono imperial. Este hecho viene a dar consistencia a mi argumento de que la joven había sospechado desde hacía tiempo que no formaba parte de los planes de las facciones enemigas de Estilicón y que vio a Ataúlfo, además de cómo a un esposo respetado y consentido, quizás también amado, el instrumento para una venganza, quizás no tanto hacia Honorio, cuanto hacia sus colaboradores. Es decir, si su primer acto de libertad recogido por las fuentes fue el de una posible venganza contra Serena, el segundo que los documentos señalan es una clara provocación contra la actuación política del emperador bajo la influencia de sus favoritos. Gala Placidia iniciaba todavía muy joven una nueva vida lejos de Roma y se convertía en reina de los godos además de conservar su condición de Augusta y la de transmisora del poder imperial al menos en Occidente. Un golpe de efecto para los romanos que la Narratio de imperatoribus domus Valentinianae et Theodosianae concebía como una deshonra a su época al convertirse en la esposa de un rey bárbaro.12 Respecto a Ataúlfo, era la primera vez, aunque no sería la última, que un caudillo con estos orígenes aspiraba a la más alta magistratura romana a través de un tipo de matrimonio que las leyes romanas habían intentado evitar.

Con la ayuda y el consejo de Candidiano, Ataúlfo decidió celebrar el matrimonio con Placidia. Tuvo lugar en Narbona, al inicio de enero en casa de un tal Ingenio, notable de la ciudad. Allí Placidia fue conducida a una estancia nupcial adornada a la moda romana y con ornamentos imperiales. Ataúlfo sentado al lado de ella con un manto y otros vestidos de tipo romano. Entre los otros dones nupciales, Ataúlfo presentó cincuenta jóvenes vestidos de seda, algunos llevaban en la mano dos grandes fuentes, una llena de oro, la otra de piedras preciosas y por mejor decir, sin precio. Eran el fruto del saqueo de los godos de Roma después de la conquista de la ciudad. Venían cantando canciones de epitalamio, comenzando Átalo seguido de Rusticio y Febadio. El matrimonio se llevó a cabo con la participación en la fiesta de bárbaros y romanos juntos (Olympiodoro, Fragmentos, 29).

La ceremonia de Narbona se organizó para sancionar una primera unión y después del largo recorrido de la formación de romanos y godos por la Galia buscando un lugar para vivir no exento de episodios violentos en ciudades como Burdigala y Massalia que se les resistieron. Pero no solo para legalizar lo evidente, ya que incluso Placidia había curado las heridas de Ataúlfo (Olimpiodoro, Frag. 23), sino sobre todo, como se comprueba en la narración de Olimpiodoro, para realizar unas bodas imperiales ya que Gala Placidia era miembro de la dinastía reinante y Augusta, por lo tanto recuperaba de nuevo su posición en la transmisión de la legitimidad de la dinastía. La presencia de Atalo, quizás repuesto por poco tiempo como emperador, daba a la ceremonia un carácter todavía más cortesano pero sobre todo ratificaba la más que probable concesión del derecho de ciudadanía romana a Ataúlfo, sin la que cual se estaría violando la ley que prohibía desde la época de Valentiano los matrimonios mixtos con extranjeros y también entre ciudadanos de distinta condición (CTh III, 10, 1; 14, 1).11 Como se comprueba también en el texto, la ceremonia estuvo presidida no solo por Atalo, también por Candiniano y el obispo de la ciudad y se desarrolló en una estancia ‘con ornamentos imperiales’ donde el godo estaba vestido con el manto e hizo entrega de la dote que era parte del botín procedente del saqueo de Roma. Por lo tanto el ritual se adecuaba al esperado para unas bodas de esta categoría pero quien revestía a las misma de un significado mayor era la esposa, hermana de uno de los emperadores de Occidente y tía del emperador de Oriente cuyo consorte, en el caso de falta de descendencia en alguna de las partes del Imperio, podía reivindicar sus derechos por matrimonio ya que era pariente de los emperadores y su descendencia mestiza

Lo que no parece encajar en este discurso es la afirmación de Jordanes (Getica, 159-160), décadas después y tratando de ensalzar a las incipientes monarquías germánicas de su tiempo en las provincias de Occidente, de que previamente había existido una alianza entre Honorio y Ataúlfo, porque todos los hechos lo desmienten, tanto su continua huída de los ataques de los ejércitos del magister de Honorio, Constancio, a través de Galia, cuanto sus intentos de alcanzar el extremo Occidente y la propia posición de Gala Placidia en la narración. Aunque el mismo autor (Getica, 152) pretenda explicarlo aceptando o inventando la leyenda —que favorecía a los godos de su época ya asentados en Hispania— de que fue Honorio quien, después de que Ataúlfo le plantearse vivir con los romanos como un mismo pueblo, les aconsejó y permitió que reclamasen como propia las Galias y las Hispanias, provincias lejanas que él ya tenía perdidas y devastadas por la presencia de los vándalos, y prosiga afirmando que el acuerdo fue confirmado por un oráculo sagrado, los hechos parecen querer demostrar lo contrario. También Olimpiodoro (Frag. 20 ss) pretende presentar una situación, si no de pacto, al menos de acercamiento con Honorio en distintas ocasiones, pero de haber existido un foedus difícilmente se entiende la presión constante de los ejércitos del patricio Constancio sobre Ataúlfo para impedirles

11 En realidad estas prohibiciones tendían a evitar la ascensión a la máxima magistratura de no ciudadanos por matrimonio. He tratado más detenidamente el problema en Sanz-Serrano (2004).

12 La Narratio es una fuente anónima fechada hacia el 423 y editada por Th. Mommsen (1892), Chronica Minora saec. IV-VII, col. 1, 629-30. También en Muhlberger (1990).

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asentarse en Galia, ni el apoyo del jefe godo al nuevo usurpador Jovino, ni el asesinato de Saro —que había traicionado a Honorio en un episodio un tanto oscuro en el contexto del pronunciamiento de Jovino— y otra serie de hechos conocidos que se enmarcan en una serie de desencuentros continuos con Honorio.13 Ni siquiera el abandono de Jovino por Ataúlfo parece haber conseguido un mediano éxito en las negociaciones, ya que Olimpidoro (Frag. 22 ss) sigue insistiendo que éste se resistía a devolver a Placidia a su hermano pese a la insistencia del magister Constancio y que, por el otro lado, el emperador no proveía a los godos del trigo que les había prometido, una de las razones de que éstos se decidiesen a atacar Massilia. Y por supuesto tampoco se podría entender el matrimonio romano con Gala en Narbona, nunca reconocido por Honorio, que seguía reclamando sus derechos sobre su hermana. Finalmente, de haberse cerrado un tratado duradero con el emperador con las claves descritas, Orosio (VII, 43, 1) no hubiera afirmado que fue Constancio quien les obligó a salir de Carbona y no se hubiera producido la muerte de Ataúlfo de la manera que conocemos ni la desaparición de la descendencia que hubiera garantizado el sueño de Placidia y Ataúlfo.

descendencia al gobierno de un territorio o al del Imperio de Occidente si moría Honorio y encontraba los suficientes apoyos. De momento podía aspirar al gobierno de las provincias más extremas de Galia e Hispania, provincias que recientemente habían escapado al control imperial. Aún así había fracasado en una buena parte de la Galia y no tardaría en salir de Narbona para dirigirse hacia la Tarraconense donde Gala Placidia como hija del hispano Teodosio podía contar con el apoyo de las clientelas de su padre, lo que quizás también había facilitado su entrada en Narbona. La razón de esperar una mejor acogida en territorio hispano podía estribar en la situación de caos en la que se encontraban sus provincias que permitía suponer a ciertas aristocracias que la colaboración con Ataúlfo suponía una defensa frente a las presiones y correrías de otros grupos de bárbaros. Por lo que respecta a Placidia, independientemente de la atracción que ejerciera sobre ella el godo, la aceptación del matrimonio con Ataúlfo le permitía afianzar su papel como madre de un futuro rey o emperador y rebelándose contra el derecho de su hermano a ejercer la tutoría, le imponía a su vez una descendencia mestiza, como bien dice Orosio, romano-gótica, e intentaba arrebatarle el gobierno de una parte de su Imperio, primero en Narbona y después en Barcino en el 415. En el caso de Hispania, la muerte conocida y bien narrada en la obra de Zósimo y Orosio de sus defensores locales, por cierto familiares de Placidia, Dídimo y Veriniano, en lucha contra el usurpador Constantino III a partir del año 406 y que supuso la entrada en sus regiones de grupos de suevos, vándalos y alanos que merodeaban por Galia, había dejado sus territorios indefensos y sin la esperanza de recibir ayuda de Honorio.14 De manera que las circunstancias beneficiaban a Ataúlfo, casado con una hispana y caudillo de un movimiento que podía dar protección a quienes estuviesen dispuestos a aceptarla. En este contexto, es más que probable que la pareja apelase a los lazos de clientela de la nobleza local con la familia teodosiana para cerrar un pacto de hospitium con los habitantes de Barcino. Zósimo (IV, 25-32) llega a afirmar que en realidad tenían la intención de hacerse con las riendas del Estado para quedar dueños de él porque en las provincias no había quien no reclamase la presencia de los bárbaros, hecho ratificado por Salviano de Marsella cuando denuncia que los habitantes de Galia e Hispania en esos momentos preferían vivir en libertad con los bárbaros a pesar de las diferencias que había entre ellos y que se repudiaban el nombre y la ciudadanía romana antes tan codiciada (De Gubernatione Dei V, 5, 21-23). En palabras del hispano Orosio (VII, 41, 7) tras los primeros conflictos, los bárbaros al final se quedaron como ‘aliados y amigos’, tras la ‘perdida de las Hispanias’, aunque el también hispano Hidacio (Chron., 48), menos proclive a justificar a estos grupos, considera su presencia como una relación de servidumbre por parte de los hispanos.

Todo lo contrario, los acontecimientos posteriores al matrimonio en Narbona indican intereses contrapuestos que parecen estar más de acuerdo con la afirmación de Orosio (VII, 43, 5-6), un tanto distorsionada a mi entender, de que Ataúlfo ‘en un primer momento había deseado ardientemente que todo el imperio romano, borrado incluso el nombre de romano, fuese de hecho y de nombre sólo de los godos’, con el fin de que la Romania acabase convirtiéndose en Gotia, pero que, consciente de la realidad, ante la falta de leyes de los godos y su barbarie y ante la conveniencia de no abolir las leyes del estado romano, había determinado engrandecer el Imperio con la fuerza de los godos y ser considerado el restaurador de Roma, motivo por el que buscaba ardientemente la paz; la buscaba, luego no la tenía. Además este autor que generalmente tiene buena información de los acontecimientos de su época, admite y resalta que precisamente en la búsqueda de estos fines y en las acciones de buen gobierno estaba siendo influido ‘por los consejos y razones, sobre todo, de su esposa Placidia, mujer ciertamente de agudo ingenio y suficientemente honrada gracias a su espíritu religioso’. Por lo tanto el camino sin retorno comenzó con el matrimonio con Gala Placidia en el año 414; un matrimonio que podía llevar a Ataúlfo o a su 13

Constancio era un soldado nacido en Naissus que consiguió con éxito vencer al usurpador Constantino III que había conseguido el gobierno de la Prefectura de la Galia (Zosimo VI, 5, 2). También desbarató los planes de Jovino que contaba con la ayuda del alano Goar y del burgundio Guntiario. Ataúlfo ofreció ayuda a Jovino ante la imposibilidad de llegar a acuerdos con Honorio (Olymp. 17). Constancio persiguió a los godos hasta el punto de que tuvieron que marchase de Burdeos y Tolosa y buscar en Narbona donde fueron bien acogidos. También entonces Ataúlfo se enfrentó a las tropas del godo Saro al que ejecutó y después de que éste se hubiera enemistado con Honorio. Para los pormenores, Demandt (1998, 300) y el clásico de Demougeot (1969-1979).

14 He tratado el asunto de la usurpación de Constantino III y su enfrentamiento con las aristocracias hispanas en varios trabajos. Entre ellos Sanz-Serrano (1986; 2006a).

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De esta manera Barcino quedó para siempre ligada a los inicios del reino godo en Hispania y así lo recordarán los cronistas posteriores. Aunque fue también en esta ciudad donde se frustró el recién iniciado sueño para no hacerse realidad hasta un siglo después cuando los godos fueran expulsados de la Galia por los francos merovingios. Para explicarlo hay que tener en cuenta que tras la boda la Augusta se convirtió también en una figura codiciada a la que, si no se la eliminaba, había que reintegrar a la vida de la corte para convertirse mediante matrimonio en el instrumento de ascensión al poder del general Flavio Constancio, el perseguidor de Ataúlfo, plan al que Honorio estaba abierto si el romano acababa con el godo. El asesinato del hijo nacido de Gala Placidia y Ataúlfo, llamado muy significativamente Teodosio, es la primera muestra de una traición cuyos inspiradores debemos situar en Rávena y en el entorno del general. Isidoro (Hist. Goth., 20) veía la muerte como el fracaso de la rebeldía de su madre y como el cumplimiento de la profecía de Daniel según la cual ‘la hija del Austro habría de unirse al rey del Aquilón sin que, sin embargo, quedase ninguna descendencia de su estirpe’ y pone esta muerte en relación con el asesinato muy poco tiempo después de Ataúlfo a manos de los suyos en una charla familiar. Más cercano a los hechos, Olimpiodoro (Frag. 28-31) asegura que al nacer el niño su padre intentó aún más obtener la amistad de los romanos a la que Constancio, siguiendo su interés, siempre se opuso, ‘haciendo sus esfuerzos y los de Placidia inútiles’ y que, como consecuencia, el niño ‘murió sin tener grandes dolores’ y su padre fue víctima de un tal Dubio que lo asesinó mientras miraba sus caballos en el establo y quien se vengaba así de la muerte anterior de su señor, también godo, a manos de Ataúlfo. Desentrañar la causa no es difícil si tenemos en cuenta que el autor sigue afirmando que tras su muerte tomó el poder Singerico, hermano de Saro, el general godo de Honorio asesinado anteriormente en su lucha contra Ataúlfo, y deja claro no solo la venganza de una facción goda contraria al personaje, sino también la posible implicación de la corte de Honorio en el asesinato.

Este mismo autor apunta también el interés del monarca en el lecho de muerte de proteger la vida de su esposa al pedir que fuese devuelta a la corte, lo que sin duda era también el deseo de Constancio. Por parte de Ataúlfo primaría el temor de que Placidia pudiera haber sido asesinada —como lo fueron los hijos tenidos con su primera mujer— o utilizada por Singerico para un nuevo matrimonio no deseado por la mujer. Por eso quizás debamos interpretar como consecuencia de una negativa tajante de Gala Placidia a colaborar con el asesino de su esposo el hecho de que fuera obligada a seguir a pie delante del caballo de Sigerico con otros cautivos cuando la formación de godos a su mando recorrió los suburbios de Barcino y la costa. No creo que este deambular por los territorios barcinonenses tuviera solo que ver como sugiere J. Arce Martínez (2005, 145 ss) con un ritual de triunfo en el que se humillaba a la esposa del jefe eliminado y hermana del emperador odiado, sino que lo considero además un acto de fuerza ante la negativa de la Augusta a un entendimiento con los asesinos de su esposo e hijo, incluida probablemente la negativa a un matrimonio con el nuevo caudillo de los godos. Esta pudo ser la causa igualmente de que Sigerico saliera de Barcino, la ciudad que dio hospitalidad a Ataúlfo, para deambular sin rumbo por su territorio por razones no aclaradas en las fuentes, ya que la formación no parece que tuviera después a esta ciudad como sede. Este argumento viene reforzado por el inmediato asesinato del traidor y la toma del poder por una facción más afín a Gala Placidia. La actitud de Sigerico, no obstante, parece a primera vista contradecir la posibilidad de que el asesinato se hubiera llevado a cabo de acuerdo con el general Constancio. Pues lo cierto es que, de haber existido éste, Gala Placidia no debería de haber sufrido esa humillación. A no ser que este personaje hubiera cambiado de parecer a la espera de beneficiarse de la viudedad de la joven Gala a la que, desafortunadamente para Sigerico, también ansiaba el general Contancio pues seguía siendo una garantía de un ascenso en la toma del poder legítimo. Y fue precisamente la muerte muy poco tiempo después de Sigerico como consecuencia de los enfrentamientos entre las distintas facciones godas, la que permitió el conocido pacto del nuevo caudillo Vallia, —tras un frustrado intento de pasar al norte de África, según Orosio (VII, 43, 11-12) por causa de los elementos— y la entrega de la Augusta en el año 416 al general Constancio en un lugar de los Pirineos donde el godo llevó a cabo un espectacular despliegue de sus tropas compuestas por romanos y godos. Valia no hipotecó la seguridad de su pueblo por un matrimonio con la hermana del emperador y, en contrapartida a su deber de defender las Hispanias frente a otros grupos bárbaros en nombre del Imperio, recibió el primer asentamiento estable para su pueblo en la Galia15 además de alimentos y soldada. Para entonces

Cuando Ataúlfo tuvo un hijo de Placidia, el cual fue nombrado Teodosio, intentó entonces obtener la amistad de los romanos. Pero la oposición de Constancio y los suyos volvía inútil tal esfuerzo. El niño murió sin tener grandes dolores. Lo pusieron en una caja de plata y lo enterraron en una iglesia a las afueras de Barcelona. Después fue asesinado Ataúlfo mientras se encontraba en la escudería y examinaba según costumbre los caballos para sí mismo. El asesino fue, uno de los godos de su círculo, de nombre Dubio, que estaba esperando el momento oportuno para la venganza. En efecto, mucho tiempo antes, su patrón, jefe una tribu de godos, fue asesinado por Ataúlfo que después había tomado a Dubio a su servicio. Éste vengó así a su primer patrono matando al segundo…Ataúlfo al morir ordenó a su hermano restituir a Placidia y de ser posible asegurarse la amistad de los romanos. Su sucesor, más por intrigas que por descendencia legítima fue Singerico, hermano de Saro (Olimpiodoro, Fragmentos, 31).

15 En las provincias de Aquitania Secunda, Novempopulonia y Narbonense Prima procurando alejarles de la Tarraconense y del acceso a África. Se les asentó en tierras no exentas de conflicto por la presencia de otros bárbaros y de la bagauda. A Gala se la respetó pero también a los nobles que la acompañaron con los godos, entre ellos a Átalo que conservó la vida y fue confinado en Lípari (Chron. Marcell. 412, 2) y el

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la heterogénea coalición que lideraba llevaba años deambulando en un periplo extenuante por las provincias, lo que le impulsaba a dar prioridad a la entrega de Gala Placidia a su hermano sobre las aspiraciones, posiblemente consideradas excéntricas por la mayoría de los godos, de alcanzar el Imperio a través de ella. Había llegado el momento en que la presencia de su antigua reina entre los godos no convenía a nadie y cabe la posibilidad de que fuese la propia Placidia quien facilitase las cosas para que, tal como quería Ataúlfo, fuese devuelta a su hermano a cambio del tratado que concedía por fin un lugar al que todavía era su pueblo.

emperador de Oriente. Pero a cambio, Placidia pudo seguir ejerciendo un importante papel político a la muerte de su esposo como tutora del hijo de ambos Valentiniano III, futuro emperador de Occidente, siempre asesorada por sus fieles. En este contexto resulta perversa y de una gran complejidad la acusación de la que fue objeto en la corte, según Olimpiodoro (Frag. 38), de mantener una relación demasiado cariñosa con su hermano Honorio después de fallecido su esposo, relación de la que luego se derivó un odio profundo motivado por las intrigas de sus sirvientes, entre ellos su sierva Spadusa, su nutriz Elpidia y el filósofo Leontio, lo que provocó una revuelta en la que se vieron envueltos un gran número de bárbaros que la apoyaban y que se enfrentaban con la guardia imperial. Pero la explicación de este duro relato está una vez más en su especial manera de vivir la libertad y en los deseos de proteger a su descendencia de cualquier forma frente a la oposición que había en la corte contra ella y sus clientelas bárbaras. Motivos todos ellos que culminaron en el odio entre hermanos y su expulsión de la ciudad junto con su hijo, el aspirante a emperador Flavius Placidus Valentinianus, primero a Roma, la ciudad de la que hacía tiempo había salido y donde estaba su verdadero hogar, y después en el año 423 a la corte de Teodosio II en Constantinopla. Precisamente allí fue sostenida económicamente por el comes de África, Bonifacio —uno de sus clientes y por cierto casado con una goda— quien según Olimpiodoro estaba dispuesto a ayudarla a reconquistar el poder que había perdido, aunque no se sabe bien si el que alcanzó en la aventura amorosa con su hermano o, yendo más lejos, el que había perdido con la muerte de Ataúlfo.

El Augustado de Gala Placidia y las clientelas bárbaras Pero es difícil especular sobre los sentimientos y aspiraciones de Gala Placidia en todo este proceso. En primer lugar no debemos olvidar que la muchacha nunca había vivido en la corte con su hermano y, por lo tanto, no pudo vivir los acontecimientos como una vuelta al hogar. Menos aún si en lugar de Roma se trataba de Rávena y después de haber concebido un hijo del caudillo godo y haber aspirado con él a un reino. Sabemos que una de las condiciones fue llevarse consigo a toda una corte de clientelas, amigos y criados romanos y bárbaros que la protegieron siempre frente a los cortesanos de Honorio, muchos de ellos culpables de sus sufrimientos pasados. Placidia además era consciente de que en Rávena le esperaba el matrimonio ‘convenido’ con el magister Constancio, a quien rechazaba no solo por la diferencia de edad y su físico (Olimpiodoro, Frag. 26, dice que tenía un aspecto triste y sombrío, con grandes ojos y amplia cabeza) poco agraciado, también por su posible participación en el asesinato de Ataúlfo y de su hijo. De nuevo es este autor (Frag. 34-45) quien asegura que en el rechazo a Constancio contaba con el apoyo de sus fieles con los que el general estaba enemistado por el amparo que ofrecían a la joven, la influencia que ejercían sobre ella y las pocas simpatías que despertaba el general entre ellos donde había un buen número de godos. El autor afirma que finalmente fue el mismo Honorio quien la entregó de su propia mano a Constancio imponiéndole el matrimonio contra su voluntad, hecho que podía haber temido desde su primera juventud en Roma y que puede explicar su poco interés durante los asedios de la ciudad por salir de ella y reunirse con su hermano en la corte. En definitiva, Rávena significó siempre para ella la obediencia a su hermano y la manipulación de sus cortesanos y, tras su matrimonio no deseado, tuvo todavía el coraje de amenazar constantemente a su esposo con el divorcio que le impediría alcanzar el poder supremo que tanto ansiaba. De hecho Constancio alcanzó el consulado junto a Honorio según Olimpiodoro (Frag. 45) contra la voluntad del emperador que le había ascendido y la de Teodosio II, el sobrino de Placidia y Honorio que era

La muerte de Honorio, de cuyo reinado S. I. Oost (1968)16 ha dicho que fue el menos glorioso de la historia del Imperio, demuestra lo razonable del temor de Placidia —y antes de Estilicón y de lo senadores romanos— de que la corte del emperador ignorase los derechos al trono de su decendencia. Pues, relegando los derechos de su hijo Valentiniano, fue nombrado en Rávena un nuevo emperador, el primicenius notariorum Juan y, junto a él como cónsul el general Castino, uno de los enemigos reconocidos del comes Bonifacio, al que las tropas godas federadas, antiguos súbditos de Placidia, habían abandonado siguiendo los intereses de su señora cuando intentaba supuestamente defender las provincias hispanas de los bárbaros (Hydat., Chron., 77; Prospero, Chron., 1277). Su antiguo pueblo respondió a sus intereses no solo en esta ocasión, también cuando tiempo después la Augusta volvió triunfante a Italia como madre del legítimo emperador, tras la muerte de Honorio, acompañada de tropas enviadas por el emperador de Oriente, su sobrino Teodosio II, cuya hija estaba prometida a Valentiniano. Estos ejércitos que contaban con generales bárbaros como Ardabur, Aspar y el ya conocido Candidiano, recuperaron a partir el 425 la

posterior general Aecio que tan importante papel tuvo durante la regencia de Gala en el Imperio. Rosa Sanz-Serrano (2009, 143) y Jiménez Garnica (1983).

16 Según el autor, fue la incapacidad de Honorio para gobernar la que determinó los hechos de los que después fue culpada Placidia como la culpable de la llegada de los Vándalos a África.

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fidelidad de ciudades cruciales como Aquileya y Rávena y consiguieron finalmente rendir la voluntad del general Aecio, un hombre que había vivido en Roma y que la había acompañado en los años de su aventura con Ataúlfo. Para Aecio tampoco había sido difícil entonces acomodarse a la vida en las carretas, pues era hijo de una mujer itálica y de un antiguo general bárbaro de Estilicón, había nacido en el campamento militar de Durostorum (Tracia) y vivido durante un tiempo entre los hunos.17 Pese a sus servicios a Honorio y Constancio, la posible amistad iniciada junto a Alarico entre la Augusta y Aecio hizo que éste posteriormente se convirtiera en uno de sus principales soportes junto con Bonifacio, hasta el punto de en su tiempo ambos personajes fueron considerados por Procopio (BV, I, 4), pese sus diferentes maneras de tratar los asuntos de estado, como ‘los últimos romanos’ en los que reunían todas las virtudes. Finalmente, fue gracias a la ayuda que recibió de sus aliados como pudo conseguir Placidia que en el 424 Valentiniano, aún un niño, fuese nombrado César en Tesalónica y poco después, a la entrada en Roma, Augusto por el Senado. Aunque en su tiempo, la influencia que ejercía la madre sobre el hijo fue duramente criticada de manera que Procopio llega a afirmar que había criado débil a Valentiniano para poder gobernar personalmente, un dato más de la fuerza de carácter de la viuda de Ataúlfo.

dirigidos por Genserico (425-430). La inestabilidad interna iniciada casi un siglo antes acabó beneficiando en su tiempo las aspiraciones de los potentes generales bárbaros y la completa disolución del imperio en las provincias africanas e hispanas. Pero en la Galia siempre su mejor apoyo fueron los asentamientos godos que pusieron en sus manos hombres, armas y fidelidad a los que procuró proteger en recuerdo del pasado vivido a su lado. Pero durante el gobierno de Gala Placidia hubo muchos momentos de aproximación no solo a los godos sino también a otros pueblos con los que intentó, antes que la guerra, aproximarse en la paz y en la búsqueda de pactos formales que devolvieran la estabilidad a las provincias, a veces por encima de sus propios intereses y de la trayectoria anterior de su dinastía. Placidia buscó la armonía que no supo encontrar anteriormente Honorio y lo hizo a pesar de la pérdida de territorios y también de prestigio pues muchas de sus decisiones le atrajeron los odios de sus contemporáneos e incluso de su propio hijo. Este pragmatismo está representado muy bien es en la política matrimonial que fomentó. Primero su propio matrimonio con Ataúlfo y su estrecha amistad y búsqueda de apoyos en Aecio o Bonifacio, arriano y casado con una goda. Después en su política de acercamiento mediante tratados con los caudillos vándalos, muy contraria a la actuación pacata, desordenada y fuera de la realidad de su hermano Honorio que llevó al Imperio al desastre. De manera que Placidia no dudó en entregar en matrimonio a su nieta Eudocia, hija de Valentiniano III, al hijo del vándalo Genserico, Eurico, asegurándose con ello una alianza que preservaba la seguridad de su querida Roma, al mismo tiempo que prometía a su otra nieta con el hijo de Aecio, Gaudencio.20 Es de sobra conocido el fracaso de ambas uniones que terminaron, después de la muerte de la Augusta y del emperador Valentiniano, en el asedio de Roma por los vándalos que se llevaron con ellos a las mujeres de la familia imperial con las que, por otro lado, su monarca estaba emparentado.

La regencia de Placidia estuvo profundamente marcada por su pasado junto a los bárbaros. Está demostrado que sus relaciones políticas con los godos fueron casi siempre de colaboración y apoyo a pesar de los tiempos convulsos en los que le tocó gobernar, significados sobre todo por las disputas entres sus generales por controlar el poder militar,18 las controversias religiosas19 y los avances cada vez mayores de los vándalos en las provincias africanas 17 Sobre Aecio y la política del momento véase el excelente trabajo de Zecchini (1983). 18 Placidia desterró a Castino, enemigo de Bonifacio quien tuvo el poder absoluto en África y eligió como magister a uno de sus fieles, Flavio Constancio Felix mientras Aecio se quedó en Galia. Ello desató las enemistades entre los tres hombres que culminaron primero en la lucha entre Félix y Aecio que terminó con el asesinato del primero en Rávena en el 430 y después de Aecio y Bonifacio. Aecio contaba con tropas de hunos pues había vivido con este pueblo y Bonifacio tuvo siempre el apoyo de los godos. El triunfo de Aecio supuso también su matrimonio con la viuda de Bonifacio, Pelagia, con la que tuvo a su único hijo Gaudencio al que prometió, como antes hiciera Estilicón con la segunda hija de Valentiniano. Bonifacio fue culpado de haber atraído al norte de África a los vándalos para contener las revueltas de los donatistas y circumcelliones, además de otros problemas. A partir de este momento Aecio fue el mejor soporte de Placidia y consiguió contener las aspiraciones de otros pueblos bárbaros como los francos el Mosela, la piratería sajona o los alamanes de Retia. Al respecto remito al trabajo general de Zecchini (1983). 19 Gala continuó en parte con la política iniciada por su padre de persecución de paganos y herejes para dar estabilidad a su gobierno (CTh XVI, 2, 4; 10, 25) y se opuso seriamente al donatismo africano y al pelagianismo. Con ello se atraía al sector católico más agresivo que en parte dominaba en las provincias. Pero en este tipo de actuaciones no siempre estuvo guiada por sus creencias pues se había casado con Ataúlfo siendo éste arriano, por ejemplo, si no más bien por o evitar las reyertas religiosas que tanto daño hacían al Imperio. Son leyendas posteriores las que le atribuyen un fervor religioso desmedido y la relación con santones como Barbatiano. Las construcciones de iglesias fue un fenómeno lógico de su tiempo fomentado por los obispos de las ciudades con los bienes requisados a los templos paganos. Sobre esta persecución Sanz-Serrano (2003).

Pero sin duda la fuerte personalidad de Placidia y su poco escrúpulo para establecer lazos familiares con los bárbaros pueden manifestarse en el oscuro y escandaloso papel que pudo tener en la llegada a las provincias de Occidente del huno Atila, aunque ante la incertidumbre de los datos se suele negar su participación. Los hechos son lo sobradamente conocidos como para ser presentados en este lugar con detenimiento, pero cuesta imaginar que, teniendo en cuenta la dimensión del caso y la complicidad de varios miembros de su entorno, Placidia pudiera estar al margen del asunto. Si resumimos los acontecimientos que vienen narrados en los fragmentos de Prisco (Frag. 327, 9), que estuvo en la corte de Atila, y en Jordanes (Rom., 182) que sigue al anterior (Oost 1968, 282), encontramos su origen en la rebeldía de la Augusta Iusta Gratia Honoria, hija de Gala Placidia y de Constancio, frente a la imposición de su hermano el emperador Valentiniano de abandonar a su 20

Unerico estaba anteriormente prometido a una goda y la envió a su padre con las orejas y la nariz cortada (Jordanes, Get. 183-184; Merobaudes, Paneg. 2)

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amante el procurador Eugenio para entrar en un monasterio y después, al enterarse de su embarazo, de casarse, tras el asesinato de su pareja, con el anciano senador Flavius Bassus Hercolanus en Constantinopla. El episodio venía a cerrar una etapa de distanciamiento personal y político entre Valentiniano III y su madre y hermana que se aceleró tras su matrimonio con la hija del emperador de Oriente —con la que había tenido solo descendencia femenina— y con su retiro al palacio de Laureta.

hija de llamar a Atila en su ayuda a través de un sirviente que viajó desde Constantinopla con un anillo que el rey huno interpretó como una señal de alianza, pero también de promesa de matrimonio, que le daba derecho a parte de la herencia de la casa teodosiana y por lo tanto sobre las provincias del Imperio de Occidente, argumento que Atila esgrimió cuando entró en territorio romano. Pero al menos debemos admitir que la audacia de la joven se asemejaba a la falta de escrúpulos de su madre al pactar con los bárbaros. Aunque los hunos no le eran desconocidos ya que Atila había extendido su reino al otro lado del Danubio y era el jefe poderoso de un pueblo que ofrecía a sus hombres como mercenarios ya desde los tiempos de Estilicón, de manera que su propia madre había tenido contactos con ellos de niña y en la juventud en su casa de Roma. A ello pudo sumarse un cierto apoyo por parte de la corte de Oriente muy interesada en alejar el peligro huno de sus fronteras compensándole con territorios en Occidente, ya que el enviado de la joven salió de la corte de Constantinopla; sobre todo porque tras la muerte de Teodosio II cuya hija estaba casada con Valentiniano III, y quien según Prisco (327, 9) había aconsejado entregar a Honoria a Atila para acabar con sus demandas, se produjo un cambio de dinastía que llevó al poder a Marciano que se negaba a seguir pagando tributos a Atila y no veía con malos ojos el desvío de los intereses de los hunos hacia Occidente.

Parece por lo tanto que debido a la ausencia de descendencia masculina del emperador se volvían a repetir en la corte las luchas por el control del poder que tanto daño habían hecho anteriormente a Honorio. Salvo que en este caso Gala Placidia era un elemento más en estas intrigas en la que también tenía un importante papel Aecio cuyo hijo Gaudencio era el prometido de una de las hijas del emperador. De acuerdo con ello, comprobamos una vez más que el magister gozaba de una posición muy similar a la que anteriormente tuviera Estilicón y su hijo Gaudencio a la de Euquerio en su pretensión al trono y así parece demostrarlo un pasaje de Sidonio Apolinar (Paneg. IV, 200-210 a Mayoriano) en el que la madre goda del joven se lamenta ante su esposo de las dificultades que su hijo puede tener en sus aspiraciones dinásticas por culpa de Mayoriano. Me inclino, por lo tanto a suponer que el amante de Honoria, Eugenio, pudo tener, como se ha sospechado, ciertas inclinaciones en este sentido21 y que Aecio influyó en su condena y la decisión de alejar a Honoria de la corte de Rávena enviándola a Constantinopla donde no podía seguir maquinando en contra de su hermano. Pero si tenemos en cuenta que hasta que fue desterrada a Constantinopla la joven Honoria vivía con su madre quien, sabemos que pidió clemencia para ella, resulta difícil aceptar que Placidia ignorase la situación y mucho más difícil pensar que iba a aceptar con paciencia que la descendencia de Aecio se impusiera finalmente a la de su propia hija Honoria. Menos aún tras el evidente distanciamiento entre los personajes y de Placidia con su hijo que la había apartado del gobierno del estado y había nombrado Augusta a su propia esposa en un intento de independizarse de su madre, situación difícil de digerir para una mujer acostumbrada a decidir su destino desde muy joven.

No obstante, y teniendo en cuenta la falta de información más concreta al respecto, considero indiferente si Honoria y Atila tenían la misma opinión respecto a lo que el anillo simbolizaba, pues lo importante fueron las consecuencias de este hecho para el Imperio y para Placidia. Respecto al primer punto, sin duda Honoria conocía la historia del matrimonio de su madre con Ataúlfo y el relato de los intentos de ambos por encontrar un lugar para su pueblo en el extremo Occidente y llevar a cabo un reparto de territorios con Honorio; por lo tanto, esta idea y la de la posibilidad de pacto con un bárbaro ni le eran extrañas ni imposibles. Respecto al segundo punto es a raíz precisamente de este conflicto familiar cuando desaparece para siempre la información sobre Gala Placidia de la que Orosio asegura que murió en Roma, por lo tanto fuera de la corte de su hijo, de nuevo en la ciudad donde se crió, aunque siglos después se difundió la noticia de que su cuerpo había sido trasladado a Rávena.22

Es de nuevo Olimpiodoro quien nos informa del resultado del conflicto con unos detalles que vuelven a recordar la solución dada por Placidia a su desamparo juvenil, aún más cuando todo parece demostrar que Honoria había heredado el fuerte carácter de su madre como su hermano la debilidad de los hombres de su dinastía.

Por lo tanto podemos afirmar que si la Augusta Gala Placidia hace su aparición en la historia en el contexto del saqueo de Roma por Alarico en el año 410 y tras su boda con un bárbaro, sale de ella en el contexto de la llegada de Atila a Occidente tras el paso por Aquicum en el año 450, el saqueo entre otras ciudades de Colonia y la hipotética promesa de matrimonio de su hija con el huno. Podemos todavía ampliar más las semejanzas si tenemos en cuenta que, en la guerra contra Atila, el general Aecio

Sin embargo, desconocemos el grado de influencia que pudo tener Gala Placidia en la arriesgada decisión de su 21 Una buena parte de la bibliografía sobre Placidia acepta que el asesinato de Eugenio tuvo que ver con intrigas palaciegas encaminadas a consolidar su posición en la corte durante la vida de Valentiniano III y poder con ello decidir sobre su sucesión a su muerte, entre ellos Aecio. Al respecto Oost (1968), Sirago (1961) y, sobre todo, Bury (1919), quien ha realizado un buen ensayo de la situación.

22

Donde se supone su mausoleo con dos sarcófagos uno de ello atribuido a Valentiniano. En el siglo IX un tal Agnellus todavía sostenía que estaba enterrada en Roma en el Monasterio de San Nazario. Sobre el debate de su muerte y enterramiento, Storoni Mazzolani (1987) y el clásico de Deichmann (1982).

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

defendía los intereses de su hijo en relación con la herencia imperial como antes defendiera Estilicón los de Euquerio. La victoria de Aecio en el año 451 en los Campos Mauriacos —con la retirada de Atila hacia Italia primero y después a sus posesiones al otro lado del Danubio— y el final cruento del vencedor en septiembre del año 454 fortalecen mi teoría de la semejanza de la situación en época de Honorio y la de Valentiniano III. Pues también Aecio, como antes Estilicón, fue castigado por sus éxitos y por sus ansias de controlar el Imperio, por el error de casar a su hijo con una descendiente del emperador con la esperanza de que tomara su puesto en contra de los intereses de otras facciones de la corte y despertando la sospecha en Valentiniano (como antes el temor de Honorio frente a Estilicón) que le asesinó con sus propias manos, episodio que llevó al poeta Sidonio Apollinar (Paneg. VII, 355-365) a denominar al monarca asesino como ‘un semihombre demente’ que atrajo de nuevo a los godos hacia Roma y que no tardó en ser asesinado a su vez por los fieles de Aecio quien había conseguido aunar en una sola empresa a diversos pueblos, entre ellos los godos fieles a Placidia que no tardaron en ampliar sus dominios tras la muerte de la Augusta y de su magister a los que había servido muchas veces con fidelidad.23

en el desarrollo de los hechos contaron también las voluntades de las mujeres de esta dinastía aunque las fuentes intenten ocultarlo y presentar, al menos en el caso de Gala Placidia, un estereotipo de mujer encorsetado en los ideales femeninos de su tiempo que poco o nada tenía que ver con la personalidad que los hechos históricos nos desvelan.

La historiografía coincide en relacionar estos hechos con la agonía del Imperio de Occidente24 que, a mi entender, estuvo en conexión con la falta de una continuidad dinástica y los juegos de poder de los generales y los cortesanos por situar en buen lugar a sus respectivos favoritos. Frente a ellos, Gala Placidia jugó sus propias cartas y no dudó desde el principio hasta el final en, apoyada por sus clientelas y sirvientes en gran parte de origen bárbaro que la rodearon desde su infancia hasta su muerte, aprovecharse de la osadía de ciertos caudillos bárbaros cuyas aspiraciones eran cada vez mayores. Quiero resaltar también que fue Ataúlfo el primero que intentó alcanzar sus ambiciones mediante el matrimonio con una Augusta de la casa de Teodosio y que probablemente Atila no hizo sino seguir su ejemplo. Pero 23

El emperador fue asesinado pocos meses después en Ad duos lauros cerca de Roma, por los bárbaros Thraustila y Optila que vengaban a su señor. Anteriormente Atila se había enfrentado contra un potente ejército en el que tuvo un importante papel el godo Teodorico quien murió en la batalla. Esta vez posiblemente estaba ya muerta Placidia y se da la paradoja que Aecio luchó contra los hunos que siempre habían sido sus aliados y los godos defendieron los intereses de Valentiniano porque era el hijo de su antigua señora. Se supone que en realidad Atila reivindicaba, como antes Alarico el magisterio de los ejércitos de la Galia y de ahí su entrada por Aquicum (Budapest) el 27 de noviembre de 450 y, como ante los godos, las presiones para conseguir sus fines con el saqueo de importantes ciudades. 24 Caído el último romano pero también la augusta Gala Placidia los años que siguieron fueron solo una prolongación de la agonía imperial. El senador Petronio Máximo tuvo que sufrir ver como el vándalo Genserico se llevaba a la emperatriz Eudoxia y a sus hijas a África después de la muerte de Valentiniano III. Los emperadores siguientes tuvieron que contar con el apoyo de las formaciones bárbaras, como Avito con los godos, Mayoriano con los suevos o Libio Severo con los godos, hasta que el niño Rómulo Augústulo, por cierto hijo del Orestes que vivió con los hunos, fue expulsado por el bárbaro Odoacro, hijo de una escita y de un huno que devolvió al emperador de Oriente los signos del Imperio. Uno de los generales más conocidos como era Ricimer, por ejemplo, era hijo de un suevo y de una goda hija de Valia. Sanz-Serrano (2009, 45ss).

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  was married to Galla Placidia (411/414), and two treaties were signed between the Visigoths and the Western Roman empire (416; 418). In this period, the kings who succeeded Alaric did not only manage to establish themselves in Aquitaine, and around Tolosa and Burdigala (modern-day Toulouse and Bordeaux), but they were also successful in their expansion into other regions, and in influencing the destiny of other Germanic Barbarian nations (in particular the Suevi of Hispania and the Burgundians of the Rhône). The textual and numismatic evidence available does not show, though, that the triumphant Visigothic monarchy of Tolosa had at any point earned lasting recognition on the part of the emperor Honorius (395-423), and at the time of his death and during the years 423-439 it does not seem that the Western Goths were either necessary to or supported by the central imperial power. During this later period (423439), in fact, it was Theodosius II himself (408-450) who was responsible for protecting the throne of Italy. Theodosius II did not count on Visigothic forces for his plans, but relied on federated Hunnic troops under the command of Aetius. It was the marriage in Constantinople in 437 of the son of Galla Placidia, Valentinian III (425-455), with Licinia Eudoxia, the daughter of Theodosius II, and his subsequent return to Italy as an emperor ready to govern, which really prompted the most important Roman-Visigoth treaty that had been signed up to that point (439). For the Visigoths, this treaty was of a similar importance to that which the treaty sealed by Theodoric the Amal with Anastasius in the year 497 held for the Ostrogoths. From then on, the treaty offered them an autonomy and a recognition that they had never before enjoyed in the West.

Theodosius II and the consolidation of the Visigothic power in the West: the numismatic and the monetary evidences Fernando López Sánchez Universidad Jaume I de Castellón Wolfson College-Oxford

Abstract There is no numismatic evidence of an imperial recognition of the Visigothic monarchy on the part of the emperors Theodosius I or Honorius between 381 and 423. The first part of this article looks at this lack of a privileged relationship of the Imperial house with the Visigoths through coinage and monetary evidences. Neither does the numismatic or monetary materials available to us support that the Visigoths were recognized by the central imperial power during the following years (423439). Nevertheless, the marriage in Constantinople in 437 of the son of Galla Placidia, Valentinian III (425-455) with Licinia Eudoxia, the daughter of Theodosius II, and his subsequent return to Italy as an emperor ready to govern, does seem to have prompted the most important Roman-Visigoth treaty that had been signed up to that point (439). This treaty had a numismatic reflection on the Visigothic monarchy of Tolosa of a similar importance to that which the treaty between Theodoric the Amal and Anastasius in the year 497 held for the Ostrogothic coin issues of the first half of the sixth century. Thus, the second section of this paper, ‘Theodosius II and the creation of a privileged relationship with the Visigoths’, is partly based on the historical context of these years, partly sustained on the study of the imitation coins minted in Tolosa during the reign of Valentinian III. These Visigothic coin series are compared with the Amalic issues of the reigns of Anastasius, Baduila/Totila and Teia. The monetary functioning of the Hunnic monarchy of Ruga, Bleda and Attila is also compared to that of the Visigothic monarchy of Tolosa as both of these barbarian monarchies seem to have redistributed part of the imperial subsidies that they received among their own client kingdoms. Our study concludes with the claim that the Visigothic monarchy in the mid-V century was a multi-ethnic commonwealth of its own and that it was Theodosius II and Constantinople who supervised events in the West at this time.

It was Theodosius II from Constantinople, and not Theodosius I in the Balkans (379-395) or Honorius in Ravenna, who was behind the final incorporation of the Visigothic nation into the Roman commonwealth. However much Valentinian III might appear to us to be the principal force behind this process, in reality Theodosius II was the instigator of this policy. In accordance with this, and as a result of the treaty signed in the year 439, some coins began to be minted in imitation of the Visigothic style, introducing a wreath on the bust of the emperor Valentinian III, and they are these Visigothic imitations that should be considered as evidence of the imperial recognition of Visigothic autonomy in the West. They may be related to other coin issues minted by Baduila (or Totila) (542/552) and by Theia (552-553), in the name of Anastasius (491-516), the emperor who acted as the guarantor of the independence of Theodoric’s monarchy in Italy from the year 497 onwards. They may also be compared with some siliquas minted by Rechiarius (448-456) in the name of Honorius, first emperor under whom the legality of the Suevian monarchy in Hispania was recognized, in the year 419.

KEYWORDS: Recognition, subsidies, Theodosius II, Tolosa, Visigoth

Introduction Today the achievements of the (Visi) Goths between the years 381 and 409 in relation to the Theodosian house are viewed from a perspective commensurate with their moderate importance.1 The same is not true, however, of the years 410-418, a period considered by many to be crucial in the acceptance of the Visigothic power on the part of the Empire. It is undoubtedly true that it was during these years that Alaric took Rome (410), Ataulf

The following pages are divided into three sections. In the first of these, the textual and numismatic evidence related to the imperial recognition of the Ostrogothic and Suevic monarchies in the fifth and sixth centuries

                                                             1

All dates are AD.

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

respectively is highlighted. This evidence is in stark contrast to the lack of any allusion to a similar imperial recognition by the empire of the Visigothic monarchy as regards the years between 381 and 423. In the second section, it is argued that the monarchy of Tolosa played no significant role in the crisis of succession that began after the death of Honorius (423). On the contrary, it was the federated Hunnic troops of Theodosius II, paid by means of subsidies, and led by Aetius, that played the key military role in the West. Between the years 425 and 439, Galla Placidia and Valentinian III lived under the guardianship of Aetius, who was in his turn protected by Theodosius II. From the year 439, however, Theodosius II withdrew Aetius and his Hunnic troops from the West, and in so doing handed to the Visigoths the role of the dominant federates of Valentinian III’s empire. The third section, on the other hand, argues that the successful barbarian monarchies had at their disposal numerous client kingdoms that provided them with troops. In order to enable the functioning of what were really miniature empires, these barbarian monarchies which enjoyed imperial recognition redistributed part of the imperial subsidies that they received among their client kingdoms. The functioning of the Hunnic monarchy of Ruga, Bleda and Attila is compared to that of the Visigothic monarchy of Tolosa, and the section concludes with the claim that Constantinople continued to supervise events in the West after the death of Valentinian III, thanks in particular to the role as intermediary played by Ricimer. The death of the latter in the year 472 led, nevertheless, to the disappearance of any direct contact between Tolosa and Constantinople, and with his passing also saw the diminishing of the important imperial subsidies that had until then been delivered to the Visigothic court.

years earlier (Wolfram 1990 = 1979, 284-286; Heather 1996, 220, Martindale 2006 = 1980, 1083).6 With this imperial recognition of his position, the Amal king was not only free to govern the whole of Italy as he wished, but he was also able to exert influence in a large part of the West. All of the subsequent Amal dynasty benefited from this fundamental achievement of Theodoric, and indeed to such an extent that, when years later they fought the emperor Justinian to defend their rights to govern the Italian peninsula, the last Ostrogothic kings of Italy, Baduila/Totila and Teia, minted numerous coin issues in the name of Anastasius (Figure 1). As is pointed out by the numismatist M. A. Metlich, Baduila and Theia ‘changed to Anastasius (from Iustinian, Figure 2) not only to recall better times but also perhaps because it was Anastasius who legitimized the Otrogothic rule over Italy’ (2004, 46).

Figure 1. Baduila/Totila, 549-552. Half-siliqua with the name of Anastasius I (491-518.). Ticinum Metlich 70a; The Trustees of the British Museum, AN874713001; D: 14 mm.

Theodosius I and Honorius: the lack of a privileged relationship with the Visigoths In the year 476, Theodoric the Amal, king of the Ostrogoths, helped Zeno to recover the throne of Constantinople, which he had previously lost (Martindale 2006 = 1980, 1079).2 In return for such valuable aid, Theodoric was awarded the titles of patrician and magister militum praesentalis by the emperor, along with that of amicus and many more gifts and subsidies (Wolfram 1990 = 1979, 270-271).3 Another treaty followed this in the year 483 (Wolfram, 1990 = 1979, 277; Martindale 2006 = 1980, 1080),4 and in 488, Zeno entrusted Theodoric with the expulsion from Italy of Odoacer (Wolfram 1990 = 1979, p. 278-281; Martindale 2006 = 1980, 1081).5 In the year 497, Theodoric the Amal therefore obtained imperial recognition as the governor of Italy, receiving the royal vestments and palace ornaments that Odoacer had sent to Constantinople

Figure 2. Baduila/Totila., 541-552. Tremissis with the name of Justinian I (527-565). Ticinum, Metlich 39, The Trustees of the British Museum, AN996281001; D: 16 mm.

But it is not only in the sixth century that coin evidence points to the formal recognition of a Barbarian monarch by a Roman emperor, as there is a much earlier and unique precedent to this case in the fifth-century Spain. The Hispano-Suevic monarchy, which had had its capital in Braga after the year 420, expressed its connections with a specific Roman emperor in a very similar way to the Ostrogoths. According to the Galician chronicler Hydatius (Chron. 63 [71]), this was the first time a Suevic monarchy had been recognised in Hispania (419). This monarchy was created ex nihilo in order to reward and co-opt the Suebi who had fought in the Nervasian mountains against the Vandals, the enemies of the Visigoths (Hyd. Chron. 63 [71]; 66 [74]; Isid. Hisp. Hist.

                                                             2

Anon. Val. (9, 42); Ennod. (Pan. 12). Malch. (Fr. 18); Anon. Val. (11, 49); Proc. (BG.1, 1, 9); Theoph. (AM 5931). 4 Marcell. Com (s.a. 483). 5 Anon. Val (11, 49); Jord. (Get. 290); Proc. (BG. 1, 1, 10-11); Theoph. (AM. 5977). 3

                                                             6

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Anon. Val. (12, 64).

Fernando López Sánchez – Theodosius II and the consolidation of the Visigothic power in the West

Wand. 73). Numismatic evidence of a Suevic king being backed by a Roman emperor can be found in a series of siliquas minted at Braga (there are three known examples), which show the legend Dn Honorius PF Avg on the obverse, and the inscription Iussu Richiari Reges (sic) on the reverse (RIC X 1994, 465, no. 3786; Peixoto Cabral and Metcalf 1998, 46.) (Figure 3). These silver coins, whose authenticity is beyond all doubt, do not, as has been suggested by S. Suchodolski (1989), express a snub from the most powerful of the Suevic kings of the fifth century, Rechiarius, to the Roman emperor of the period, Valentinian III (425-455), but instead the true programmatic intention of these coins lies in the reinforcing of the power of Rechiarius himself, the third of the Suevic kings in Hispania. In this manner, and as also occurred in the case of the coins of Baduila/Totila and Teia, a Barbarian king was linked to the first Roman emperor under whom his House was recognized. There is no written evidence that the Suevian monarchy in Hispania maintained direct relations with the imperial court of the West before the year 453/4, but nevertheless everything seems to point to the Visigothic monarchy of Tolosa having co-opted the Suevi in the year 418/419 with the consent of the imperial power, a measure which, in practice, had an identical effect (López Sánchez 2010)

bore the weight of the battle against the usurper Eugenius at the battle of the river Frigidus on the 5th and 6th of September in the year 394 (Kulikowski 2007, 163).10 Nevertheless the revolt of Alaric in the year 395, as described by Zosimus (HN 5, 5, 4) immediately after the death of Theodosius, must have been the result of the leader’s deep dissatisfaction at the lack of imperial recognition. Alaric’s actions after the death of Theodosius I were a great deal more energetic than those of the period between 391 and 394. This attitude on Alaric’s part does not, however, signify that the imperial Theodosian house had paid heed to his demands, and indeed it was more a case of the opposite. The sacking of Rome was the result of the failure of the empire —at the time governed by the young Honorius— to accede to the services offered by Alaric (Kulikowski 2007, 173). The strategy of the establishment of a Visigothic puppet emperor (Priscus Attalus) in the year 414 (Kulikowski 2007, 174-176) was very similar to the actions of the Vandals of Hispania in 419/420, who also protected a puppet emperor (Maximus) in the absence of recognition from Honorius (López Sánchez, forthcoming). On another note, the marriage of Ataulf with Galla Placidia in 414 (Olymp. fr. 26; Hyd. Chron. 49 [57])11 and the Roman-Visigoth treaties of the years 416 (Oros. Hist.7, 43, 12-13; Hyd. Chron. 52 [60]; Prosp. Chron., a. 41; Olymp. Fr. 30; Jord. Get. 163-166) and 418 (Hyd. Chron. 61 [69]; Isid. Hisp. Hist. Goth. 22) do not necessarily prove that the successors of Alaric were considered to be allies of preference in the imperial power games. The Visigoths did indeed manage to forge a bond with Galla Placidia, who possessed her own independence within the Imperial Theodosian House (Oost 1968, 106-118 and 267; Demougeot 1974 = 1988, 118-22 = 206-210; Demougeot 1985a=1988, 189-190 = 279-280), but they never succeeded in forging one with the crucial figure, Honorius. E. Demougeot indicates shrewdly that ‘aussitôt après la mort d'Honorius, le roi wisigoth Théodéric avait rompu le traité de fédération de 418’ (1985a, 196 = 1988, 286). The opposite is also true, namely that the Visigothic treaty of the year 418 was not any more binding for the empire than the agreement sealed in the year 382 by Theodosius I.

Figure 3. Rechiarius, 448-456. Siliqua with the name of Honorius (395423). Braga, RIC X, no 3786. Cabinet des Médailles et Antiques, Bibliothèque National de France, D: 18 mm.

The desire to create parallels between the history of the Visigoths and that of the Amal Ostrogoths led Jordanes to claim that Alaric governed his Goths in his role as head of the clan of the Balts (Kulikowski 2007, 161).7 As far back as the 11th of January in the year 381, the Goth Athanaric had been received in person by Theodosius in magnificent style at the gates of Constantinople (Wolfram 1990 = 1979, 74).8 Nevertheless, the connection that Isidore of Seville establishes between Athanaric and Alaric, painting the second as the natural successor of the first in the wake of the agreement of the imperial foedus of the year 382, is very difficult to prove (Liebeschuetz 1992, 76; Wolfram 1990 =1979, 143).9 There is no doubt, on the other hand, that, since his first appearance in the literary sources in the year 391, Alaric’s career was a highly eventful one (Wolfram 1990 =1979, 136). It was, of course, the Gothic section of the Theodosian army that

Theodosius II and the creation of a privileged relationship with the Visigoths (439) The final two years of the reign of Honorius (421-423), the two years under the usurper John (423-425), and the first period of the reign of Valentinian III, under the regency of Galla Placidia (425-437), show no signs of any clear alliance between the Visigothic house of Tolosa and the Theodosian dynasty. The support offered by the Visigoths to Asterius in the years 419-420 in Hispania

                                                            

                                                            

7

10

Jord. (Get. 146). 8 Amm. Marc. (27, 5, 10); Zos. (4, 34, 1-4); Ambr. (De Spiritu Sancto I prol. 17). 9 Isid. (Hist. Goth. 12).

Oros. (Hist. 7, 35,19); Zos. (HN. 4, 50-51). This took place after initial links were established in autumn of the year 411, in accordance with Goth customs and the ius gentium (Jord. Get. 160).

11

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

(García Moreno 1988, 158-162)12 is in sharp contrast with the contemptuous treatment given to Castinus in the same region in 422 (Hyd., Chron. 69 [77]).13 Besides, after the death of the emperor Honorius in 423, Galla Placidia was obliged to seek refuge with Theodosius II in Constantinople (Martindale 2006 = 1980, 889).14 It seems clear that during this period the Visigoths were either not concerned about the fortunes of the reigning dynasty, or they did not possess the power to intervene in high-level imperial politics (MacGeorge 2002, 182-183).15 Out of these two possibilities, this latter appears to be the most probable, especially if we consider the way in which the usurper John was overthrown in the year 424/425. At this time it was Hunnic, and not Visigothic, troops that were the only ones considered by Galla Placidia as worthy of her attention. The empress delivered a donativum to them to win their loyalty and to ensure herself the return of the throne held by John, at the same time promoting Aetius, their commander, to the rank of magister militum per Gallias (Bóna 2002, 35).16

It was these Huns stationed in Valeria, along with others from the middle Danube, which served with Aetius in Gaul between the years 425 and 439. During this period, Aetius’ Huns had become established as Galla Placidia’s favourite troops in the West. The Visigoths, on the other hand, were the object of ruthless combat on the part of Aetius since the same year of 425, when in all probability it was he who lifted in person the Goth siege of Arles (Martindale 2006 = 1980, 22). The treaty signed with Ravenna by the Visigothic house of Tolosa in the year 439 (Sid. Ap. Carm. 7, 297-311; 469-471; Jord. Get. 176177; Hyd. Chron.109 [117]; Prosp. Tiro s.a. 439) was in fact only possible thanks to the withdrawal of the direct guardianship of Theodosius II over Valentinian III and Galla Placidia. The presence of Aetius in Constantinople in the year 437, on the occasion of the marriage of Valentinian III with Licinia Eudoxia (Barnes 1975, 166168), provides in itself proof that Aetius had until that same year been the official ‘protector’ of Valentinian III and of Galla Placidia (Joh. Ant. Fr. 201, 3), and that he had acted as such with the express consent of Theodosius II. The treaty sealed between Ravenna and the Vandals in the year 442 (Courtois 1955, 172-173)18 was hatched in the court of Constantinople by Theodosius II (Demougeot, 1985b, 13 = 1988, 353), and it is therefore difficult not to also view the signing of the RomanVisigothic treaty in the year 439 as the diplomatic work of Theodosius II. For the Eastern emperor, the withdrawal of his guardianship in the West had necessarily to be followed by the neutrality of the Vandals, and, above all, by an alliance with the Visigoths.

It has never been sufficiently explained why it was precisely in the year 422 (or 424) that Theodosius II signed his first important treaty with the Hunnic king Ruga, under the terms of which he delivered to the latter, by means of subsidies, the considerable quantity of 350 pounds (114.5 kg) of gold each year. The positioning of a large number of Hunnic troops in the province of Valeria, within the Western empire, suggests nevertheless that these subsidies were the brainchild of Byzantium, in order that it might have at its disposal elite troops in a strategic region on the very borders of Italy. Somewhat later (448), Priscus gives an explicit account of how the court of Constantinople considered Attila to be just another of its Roman generals, which was why he was sent subsidies and annual provisions (Gordon 1960, 9293; Guest 2008, 296-298).17 It is therefore highly feasible that as early as the year 424 Constantinople considered the Huns to be foederati fully integrated into its army. In this regard deposits like those found in tomb 734 of the cemetery of Floriana (Csákvar), in Valeria, made up of a male skeleton with a deformed skull, and solidi of John, Honorius and Theodosius II, appear to confirm the textual information we have regarding the actions of Placidia in the year 424, that is, that the contingents of Hunnic warriors in the Valeria region might have been lent by the Eastern emperor to the help of the West at critical moments (Bóna 2002, 35).

Figure 4. Visigothic coin. Solidus (4.40 g.). In the name of Valentinian III (425-455), RIC X 3715; The Trustees of the British Museum, CEM 285329; D: 21 mm.

The enormous importance that the year 439 held for the monarchy of Tolosa may perhaps be visible in the Visigothic imitation solidi that depict a wreath of recognition on the bust of Valentinian III (RIC X, 1994, 454, 3715-3719) (Figure 4). This mark of gratitude toward Valentinian III, as expressed through coinage, should be interpreted as compensation to the subject for the acceptance by Ravenna and Constantinople of the role played by Tolosa in Western politics. This expression of Visigothic gratitude for imperial recognition, although similar in its fundamentals to that shown by the Suevi and Ostrogoths in other coin series of the years 448-456 and 541-553, is also quite different to these. Unlike the coin series of the Suevi or the Ostrogothic monarchies, the Visigothic solidi with the wreath on the obverse were

                                                             12

The Epistle 11 (4, 7, 3, 9-12; from Consentius to St. Augustine), suggests that a significant part of Asterius’ army was made up of Visigoth federates. 13 This information also appears, though with some variations, in Prosp. Tiro. (1278); Salvian. (De Guber. Dei 7, 11, 45) and Chron. Gall. (452, 107). 14 Olymp. (Fr. 40); Philost. (12, 13); Prosp. Tiro s.a. 423; Chron. Gall. (452 no. 90 [s.a. 422]).  15 Previously, Galla Placidia had been returned to the Roman court by Ataulf in the year 416. When she went back to Rome after her marriage to Ataulf, she was surrounded by Goths (Olymp. Fr. 40); Goths of important lineage were maintained in Rome as "guests" in accordance with the agreements of the years 416 and 418 (Oros.7, 43; 12-13). 16 Filost. (12, 14). 17 Priscus (Fr. 8).

                                                             18

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Prosp. Tiro (s.a. 442); Cass. (Chron. s.a. 442).

Fernando López Sánchez – Theodosius II and the consolidation of the Visigothic power in the West

minted very possibly in the same period as the imperial recognition of the year 439, or in any case from that date and until the death of Valentinian III (López Sánchez 2007, 326; forthcoming). The Suevic and Ostrogothic issues, on the other hand, were minted at moments of tension between the Romans and the Barbarians, and after the death of those emperors who had first signed the Roman-Germanic pacts that were under threat.

Lycia, Cilicia, Cappadocia, Frigia, Syria, Phoenicia, Judea, Arabia, Mauritania, Germania, Lydia, Asia and Mesopotamia’ (Maricq 1958, 312-314, 342). The RGDS also mentions how Gordian III recruited ‘an army of Goths and of Germans, and attacked Asorestan, the Empire of Iran and us (the Persians)’ (Maricq 1958, 312314, 342). It is interesting to see how the Sassanid Persians describe a Roman army of the third century AD in a similar way to how Latin sources of the fifth century perceived many barbarian confederations. In both types of lists, the taste for meticulous description is clear. The indications of hierarchies in the texts of these Latin authors also help to establish the degree of proximity to the Roman imperial authorities which these groups enjoyed.

The formula for success: a multi-ethnic military monarchy sustained by imperial subsidies Theodosius II and Valentinian III were the great figures behind the power of the Visigothic monarchy of Tolosa. Shortly after their deaths, during the reign of Euric over the Visigoths, and with the supreme commander Ricimer governing in Rome, the Burgundian and Suevic kings acted as clients of the Visigoth power (Auct. Prosp. Haun s.a. 457; Mar. Avent. Ad. a. 456, 2; Jord. Get. 231; Hyd. Chron. 165-168 [172-175]). The court of Tolosa was also held in high esteem by the Vandals (Hyd. Chron. 234 [238]; Jord. Get. 184), the Bretons (Jord. Get. 237-238) and the Thuringians (Cass. Var. 3, 3, 3), and even some Ostrogoths sought to settle in Visigoth territory. After the first wave of migration of the year 427, during the reign of Videric, a second wave came to settle in the territory of the kingdom of Tolosa in the year 473 or 474, in the time of Vidimir the Young (Wolfram 1990 = 1979, 236).19 After the collapse of the Theodosian dynasty, there is no doubt that it was the Visigoths who formed the most powerful and widely recognised rule to the west of Italy (Martindale 2006 = 1980, 427-428). In relation to this, Sidonius Appolinaris (Ep. 8, 9, 5, 20-37) mentions how in Bordeaux, sometimes capital of the Visigoths, Saxons, Sygambrians (Franks), Burgundians and Ostrogoths mingled perfectly naturally.

This is also how, for example, the Hunnic army of the middle of the fifth century viewed the Ostrogoths, Gepids, Herulians and other nearby barbarian nations. To satisfy all of these groups, Ruga, Bleda and Attila redistributed among them an important share of the wealth that arrived from Byzantium as subsidies (Carlà 2009, 360-361).20 In this regard it is known to a certain extent how this redistribution of goods or melted coins by the Hun ordu functioned further down Hun society, and among other client monarchies (Guest 2008, 305). In contemporary archaeology, for example, there is mention of the “coins of Attila” —imitations of Theodosius’ coins from the East— and their redistribution by the Huns among a variety of different barbarian leaders (Bóna 2002, 54; 165-167). It is also recognised that, when the Huns forged treaties and obtained tributes from Theodosius II (there are three known ones, in the years 424, 443/444 and 447), all of their client kingdoms immediately united around them. Nevertheless, when Theodosius II died and was succeeded by Martian (450), the subsidies ceased (Bóna 2002, 53), leading in turn to the beginning of the end of Attila’s empire. In the year 455, and after several years of withdrawals and routs of the Huns, the Gepids, previously faithful allies of Attila (Jord. Rom. 331; Jord. Get. 199), finally revolted against them and defeated them, in the vicinity of the river Nedao (Pannonia). From this time on, the Gepids wished to establish direct relations with the court of Constantinople and to obtain imperial subsidies without any intermediary. Iluk considers that the aid (subsidies or tributes) that the Gepids of Sirmium obtained from Byzantium after their separation from the Huns could have been around 300 pounds of gold each year (Iluk 1985, 90).21 It is significant that after the year 455 the Gepids of the middle Danube possibly obtained a very similar quantity of gold to that received by the Hun King Ruga in the year 424.

The way in which a variety of different ethnic groups are listed by a range of Latin authors using the Visigothic royalty as a focus shows the power of attraction of the Tolosa monarchy. This is a power that is described above all as a military one. The listing of different ethnic groups around a compact original nucleus, and its subsequent national development, or ethnogenesis, is a phenomenon that has long interested many Germanists (e.g. Wolfram 1990 = 1979, 13, 23, 31, 36, 38-43, 88, 130, 135, 148, 167-170). In antiquity, nevertheless, such enumerations of ethnic groups were generally aimed at providing information of a military nature, and, above all, to show the power of the agglutinative nucleus. This explains, for example, the trilingual inscription by Shapur I in Middle Persian, Parthian and Greek at Naqš-i Rustam, near Persepolis, known as Res Gestae Divi Saporis (RGDS), which lists the troops that made up the Roman army of the emperor Valerian I. This inscription mentions the contingents ‘of Germania, Retia, Noricum, Dacia, Pannonia, Misia, Istria, Hispania, Mauritania, Thrace, Bythinia, Asia, Pamphylia, Isauria, Lycaonia, Galatia,

The Visigothic house of Tolosa did not see either its power or its subsidies diminish after the death of Valentinian III. Up until the death in 472 of the Visigothic-Suevic generalissimo Ricimer, who had acted as a link between the courts of Constantinople, Ravenna

                                                            

                                                             19

20 21

Sid. Ap. (Ep.8, 9, 5, 36-37); Jord. (Get.166); Rom. (347).

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Priscus (Fr. 2). Jord. (Get. 260-263).

The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

and Tolosa, the Visigothic monarchy enjoyed an uncontested supremacy in the West. There are no precise figures regarding subsidies provided to Tolosa by the different imperial governments of this period, but it nevertheless seems reasonable to believe that the Visigothic monarchy received significant transfers of wealth from the imperial court. The absence of big quantities of solidi and other precious metal objects from Gaul in the fifth century, as P. Guest points out (2008, 305), suggests either a taxation system extremely efficient, or the recycling of solidi for private use. However, this monetary pattern in Gaul does not exclude transfers of wealth from the Imperial house to the Tolosa monarchy. In this regard, it should be pointed out that when, between the years 472 and 476, Tolosa lost its privileged contacts with the imperial houses of Ravenna and Constantinople, the king Euric protested vociferously (in Gothic, not in Latin) about the cancellation of subsidies to the bishop Epiphanius of Pavia (Lacam 1983, 591; Mac George 2002, 249, note 136; Martindale 2006 = 1980, 682).22 As was the case with the Hunnic confederation, the monarchy of Tolosa also possessed its client kings, and again like the Huns, a lack of attention to these could lead to a shrinkage of the House’s power. However, there is a need for further study to develop our understanding of the exact details of the power held by the Visigothic monarchy of the fifth century in the old Prefecture of the Gauls (Gaul, Hispania and Britannia). There were numerous Byzantine gold coins, as well as Visigothic imitations of them, that were in circulation in fifth-century Gaul, and it is tempting to think that this gold originated in the Eastern empire and arrived via Italy. Some very important hoards, like that of Patching in England, which was deposited around 465-470, also contain Visigothic coins (Abdy 2006). Are these types of hoards really war booties obtained by warlike Saxons, or is it more likely that this was a kind of banking of subsidies delivered by the Visigoths to their client groups, Saxons, Herulians or others? Similar questions may be asked of many other Scandinavian treasures, containing coins which originated in Gallic-Visigothic territories (Fischer et al. 2011). Perhaps these coin deposits might be linked with the Nordic peoples known in the sources as ‘Herulians’, and who we know to have been clients of the Goths (Visigoths and Ostrogoths) in the fifth and sixth centuries.

Romans, it seems also that it was the will of an Eastern emperor, Theodosius II, which made the Visigoths preferential allies for Ravenna after 439. Theodosius’ decision was taken to help a Western emperor, colleague and son-in-law, Valentinian III, and this arrangement was besides in line with the master plan of Theodosius’s reign, which aimed to harness the military strength of the barbarian nations to the advantage of the Romanitas. After the disappearance of Theodosius II and Valentinian III, the Visigoths were lucky that in Ravenna they could count on someone so favorable to their plans as Ricimer, and the Visigoths of the period were also lucky not to have in the vicinity other barbarian nations as powerful as themselves. From the year 439 onwards, in any case, the imperial recognition granted to the monarchy of Tolosa ensured that it became a strong monarchy which probably benefited from annual subsidies, and which was surrounded by a large number of client peoples.

There can be no doubt that the Visigothic kingdom of Tolosa did not originate in the year 439, and neither did it come to an end in the years between 472 and 476. The Visigothic monarchy, after losing its contacts in Ravenna, later sought to establish new ones in Constantinople (Rouché 1977, 42), and also within the powerful Amal monarchy of Theodoric the Great. Nevertheless, it may indeed be affirmed, and such has been the focus of this section, that for the Visigothic monarchy of Tolosa, the year 439 marked its consolidation in the structures of imperial power. Although the years 381-382, 391-395, 410/411, 414, 416 or 418 can be rightly considered to be turning points in relations between (Visi) Goths and

                                                             22

Ennod. (Vita Epiph. 64-65; 86-91). 

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domesticorum Severus and later was added the magister militum Jovinus. However, their presence on Britain was not enough to face the barbarians who raided the island and Valentinian ‘allowed them to return at quick step, intending to seek the support of a strong army; for he declared that this was demanded by the pressing necessities of the situation’ (Amm. Marc. 27, 8, 2). Finally, ‘because of the many alarming things which constant rumours reported about the same island, Theodosius, a man most favourably known for his services in war, was chosen to be sent there with all speed, and having enrolled legions and cohorts of courageous young men, he hastened to depart, preceded by brilliant expectations’ (Amm. Marc. 27, 8, 3). Theodosius who was then comes rei militaris is also remarkable for being the father of the eponymous Theodosius I —because of this fact, he is known as Theodosius the Elder or the count Theodosius.4 According to Ammianus, the Barbarian Conspiracy was characterized by a double-front attack. On one hand, the situation in Britain was terrible because of the threatening activities of barbarians peoples such as the Picts who were ‘divided into two tribes, called Dicalydones and Verturiones, as well as the Attacotti, a warlike race of men, and the Scots, were ranging widely (per diversa) and causing great devastation’ (Amm. Marc. 27, 8, 5). Simultaneously the continent was also affected by other pirates because as Ammianus (27, 8, 5) stated ‘while the Gallic regions, wherever anyone could break in by land or sea, were harassed by the Franks and their neighbours, the Saxons, with cruel robbery, fire, and the murder of all who were taken prisoners’.

Ammianus and Theodosius I concerning the Barbarica Conspiratio David Álvarez-Jiménez Universidad Complutense de Madrid Grupo Barbaricum Abstract Through this paper, the author deals with the troubling historical episode known as the Barbarica Conspiratio that, in brief, implied a brutal barbarian attack by sea played by Picts, Scots, Saxons and Franks on the shores of continental Gaul and mainly on Britannia. Dr. Álvarez-Jiménez approaches this subject from a close analysis on Ammianus Marcellinus’ narrative and particularly on the historian relationship with the later emperor Theodosius I, who was the son of Theodosius the Elder, the general in charge of recovering the British provinces to the Roman dominance. With the sonorous term of Barbarian Conspiracy, Ammianus Marcellinus described an impressive barbarian attack that affected some coastal areas of the Western Roman Empire and especially Britain during two years from the year 367 onwards.1 Unfortunately Ammianus is our main source for this episode and even if there are some additional and more or less vague references, we have to trust mainly on his narrative in spite of its complexity and its lapses. KEYWORDS: Barbarian conspiracy, Ammianus Marcellinus, Theodosius, Piracy, Barbarians

Regarding the Frankish and Saxon activities in the continent —even though I judge that these piratical peoples did not just affect the continental coasts but also the Briton shores—, unfortunately the sources do not provide any straight evidence. However I deem possible to ascribe an extremely difficult fragment from the very Ammianus and dated in 369. After stating Valentinian’s defensive efforts along the frontiers (28, 2, 1), Ammianus exposed Valentian’s unfortunate decision of erecting a fortress at Mons Piri in the middle of the Alamanni territory and therefore contravening former treaties. The dramatic consequence was the slaughter of the Roman garrison placed there except just one of the soldiers. Immediately after this, Ammianus wrote the following words:

A narrative of the Barbarian Conspiracy Ammianus described in this way how the emperor Valentian I knew of the first details of this episode when he was heading towards the Eastern Gaul to confront the Alamans: Having set out then from Amiens and hastening to Treves, Valentinian was alarmed by serious news which showed that Britain was brought into a state of extreme need by a conspiracy of the savages, that Nectaridus, the commanding general of the seacoast region, had been killed, and that another general, Fullofaudes, had been ambushed by the enemy and taken prisoner (Amm. Marc. 27, 8, 1).2

Meanwhile throughout Gaul there spread, to the ruin of many, a savage frenzy for brigandage, which kept watch of the frequented roads and fell indiscriminately upon everything profitable that fell in its way. Finally, in addition to many others who fell victim to such ambuscades, Constantianus, chief of the imperial stables, a relative by marriage of Valentinian and own brother to Cerealis and Justina, was surprised by an unexpected attack and presently slain (Amm. Marc. 28, 2, 10).

On account of this magno horrore Valentinian was shocked and he decided to send successively two of his best military commanders.3 The first one was the comes 1 About Conspiratio’s chronology see Tomlin (1974) and Blockley (1980). While Tomlin placed its beginning in June 367 and considered that Theodosius’ campaign finished in the next year, Blockley deemed that there was not any reason to discuss the traditional chronological frame. In consequence, the Conspiratio lasted over two years till 369. 2 This and next Ammianus’ references are extracted from John C. Rolfe’s Loeb translation, 1935-40] 3 Interestingly enough Snyder (2003, 61) thought that the piratical activities of Franks and Saxons in the continent could have delayed the

arrival of any new from Britain to the Imperial court. On this piracy, see below. 4 I regard Austin’s (1979, 43, n. 7) idea of Theodosius as a new comes litoris Saxonici as nonsense.

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

Unquestionably, this latrociniorum rabies saeva cannot correlate with the Alamanni’s assault because Ammianus did not specify it neither he connected this attack with the disastrous end of the Roman garrison formerly cited. Moreover, although some scholars have tried to link this episode with banditry (Dill 1910, 342; Thompson 1952, 17) or a bagaudic outbreak,5 I do not consider any of these possibilities as being accurate. First of all, the geographical vagueness placed on this reference (inter per Gallias) reminds to another one offered by Ammianus and cited previously when he mentioned the Frankish and Saxon attack on Gallicanus tractus.6 Obviously, this evidence is not a very solid one but in my opinion it rules out Drinkwater’s idea of holding the Bagauda responsible because besides of not knowing any outburst of this kind in any source, I consider Ammianus should have localised it in a more precise way. I consider rather that this geographical vagueness entailed the wandering nature of these latrones’attacks. That is, this description aims to some typical piratical characteristics: mobility and surprise. On the other hand, this information (28, 2, 10) is placed among the first reference to the Barbarica Conspiratio (27, 8) and immediately before the resolution of Theodosius’ British campaign (28, 3). Between both episodes, there is not any other predatory action consigned in Gaul except the isolated capture of Mogontiacum (Mainz) by the Alamann princeps Rando —an attack that provoked the later Valentinian I’s reprisal on Alamann territory (27, 10)— that in no way can be connected to these plundering activities.7 In brief, this allusion can only be interpreted as a back reference to the formerly cited raids of Franks and Saxons since Ammianus individualized the plunderers through the description of these latrones as ‘bloody’ (saeva), so characteristic of the bad fame attributed to these gentes.8 On the other hand, these attacks are directly correlated with the actions described subsequently of the Maratocupreni (28, 2, 11-14), a contemporary people who practiced banditry in Syria. In fact Ammianus said that ‘no one could guard against their unexpected coming, since they did not assail previously chosen places, but various quarters and those that were far removed, breaking out wherever the wind took them —the same reason that makes the Saxons feared before all other

enemies for their sudden raids’ (Amm. Marc. 28, 2, 12). As Irfan Shahîd (1984, 172) said, this mention is really unusual in Ammianus because of the context where it is placed and it can only be explained if it is connected with the former reference to the latrones,9 that is, the Saxons —and implicitly the Franks— who raided this Gaulish coasts. In fact, as Phillip Bartholomew (1984, 173, n. 17) said,10 it is highly meaningful the Ammianus’ description on the Maratocupreni’s modus operandi as the historian from Antioch argued that the Maratocupreni attacked ‘wherever the wind took them’ (quoquo ventus duxerat) comparing with this maritime metaphor their raids with Saxons’ assaults. In fact, this reference matches with a Roman topos very well established concerning the random piratical menace.11 Regarding the effects of these Saxon and Frankish piratical attacks, they were unquestionably devastating and very difficult to counter after the Litus Saxonicum’s defensive system was shut down. Certainly, Ammianus’ Res Gestae seems to suggest this area was defencelessness and the failure of the Roman military antipirátical measures: the Litus Saxonicum itself, and the defence-in-depth defensive system described by Ammianus himself when he wrote about the Saxon pirates intercepted by a patrol in Deuso, Germania Inferior.12 This failure is evidenced by Ammianus when he writes about the tribunus stabuli Constantianus, Valentinian I’s brother-in-law whom I regard as a piratical victim of these Germanic raiders (PLRE I, 221). It is not surprising that some time later the emperor had stirred punishment expeditions against the Saxons and Franks in their own territory. It is obvious to assert that the situation was more catastrophic in Britannia.13 The army was absolutely beheaded because of the dux Britanniarum Fullofaudes’ death, who commanded the army placed in the northern frontier and resided in York (Eburacum), and because of Nectaridus’s capture —the comes tractus maritime, whose rank has to be undoubtedly equalled to the Notitia’s comes Litori Saxonici— that should be beholden as a periphrasis of his later death (Birley 2005, 428-429).14 In fact, Ammianus (27, 8, 10) told us how the 9 On the very Maratocupreni see how this author considers them as an Arabic population (ibid. 172-175). 10 However, this scholar (172-173) wrote an ad hoc improbable historical reconstruction to justify an allegedly inexistence of the Saxon menace. In this way, he substituted saxones for sagaces. 11 An aspect I often emphasized in my thesis Álvarez-Jiménez (2010). 12 The so called Limes Belgicus (Amm. Marc. 28, 5; Jerome Chron. s.a. 373; Orosius 7, 32, 10; Álvarez-Jiménez 2010, 571-576). 13 Frend (1992) considered that the Conspiratio meant a huge attack on the poor advance on Christianism in Britannia. On this, Frend is followed by Watts (1998, 66) y Jones (1996, 180-181). Against this view Reece (1994). 14 On the other hand, Fraser (2009, 56-57) really valued this testimony and he considered that the Picts desired booty and future ransoms —I possibility I do not trust— more than blood. Less convincingly, Fuentes, Fresh, 61 deemed in his deep revision of the Litus that there were two different commands focused on the fight against piracy. First of all the comes tractus maritimi, whose command would extend from Bradwell till the river Humber and also the comes litori Saxonici, whose authority was based on the defence of the English Channel. According to Fuentes, once that the comes tracturs maritimi Nectaridus died, the Roman military power was replaced inmediately by Germanic foederati settlers. However, I consider more feasible to take into consideration this

5 Drinkwater (1989, 194; 2007, 278) argued that this info should help ‘to fill the long gap between 286 and 407/8’. However this argument misinterprets the bagaudic phenomenon since it is a mistake to establish continuity on this rebel movement from the third to the fifth centuries. I consider that in the fifth century the term bagauda just exemplified a citizen rebellion. That is, this word had become standardized into the later Roman political language to typify an antisystemic movement against the Roman order. Consequently, there’s nothing to admit a connection between both realities. 6 Bartholomew (1984, 175-176) admits this fragment alludes to the Frankish and Saxon piratical attacks, but I consider he is wrong when he deems it as an introductory one to the later referred by Ammianus (28, 5, 1-7). 7 Ammianus just records two others military episodes in this lapse besides of the reflected in the text but they are not located in Gaul. In this way (27, 9) are described both Mauri attacks on Africa and Isaurians in Asia Minor, and additionally (27, 12) is mentioned the clash between the Empire and the Persians because their ambitions in Armenia and Hiberia. 8 Concerning the Saxon piratical features it is interesting to attend — even if it is a later source— Sid. Apollinaris (ep. 8, 6, 14).

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David Álvarez-Jiménez - Ammianus and Theodosius I concerning the ‘Barbarica Conspiratio’

British army had been disbanded and many of its members had deserted. Despite not knowing this process, I consider E. A. Thompson (1990, 7) was right when he said that ‘it can hardly be doubted that the Roman garrison had suffered a disastrous defeat or series of defeats amounting to a demoralising catastrophe’.15 According to Ammianus, Theodosius marched with his troops, maybe two thousand soldiers, to Boulogne.16 There they were reinforced by several elite units, some of them very valuable to confront this kind of raiders because of their ethnic origins. These were the Batavians, the Heruls, the Jovians and the Victors. Unfortunately we do not know the exact vicissitudes of this campaign that lasted two years because Ammianus just sketched a general view of the countermeasures adopted by Theodosius in such a big time lapse.

However, in spite of being obvious that this area was severely affected this evidence does not imply necessarily that the Conspiratio assault was confined just here neither that, as Phillip Bartholomew (1984, 179) and E. A. Thompson (1990, 9) said, Theodosius’ actions were limited in this very area.18 Nevertheless we have to discern several geographical areas affected by these pirates and correspondingly Theodosius’ deeds in spite of Ammianus’ fragmentary narrative. It is true that archaeology has shown that Hadrian Wall was not affected because of the Conspiracy, but this fact precisely presupposes that this defensive line was surrounded by sea. Regarding this, we cannot forget neither the dux Britanniarum’s death nor the later development of coastal signal stations placed on the northeastern coast from the farthest eastern limit of the Wall till the proximity of the very Eburacum. Then again, the Picts have been held responsible of quite a few contemporary damages stated in this area as, for example, the Roman villa of Langton (Ramm 1978, 131), even though as with any other archaeological evidence connected to the Conspiratio this one has to be used carefully. However, concerning the eastern coast of Britannia, it has been ascribed to this episode certain contemporary Pictish material found in East Anglia (Casey 1979, 78, n. 20a) while, on the other hand, the abandonment of numerous villas in southeastern Britannia has been associated with an economical decline accelerated by the raiders’ presence.19 Likewise, according to Shepard S. Frere (1987, 345-346) it is possible that some other villas from Yorkshire, the Midlands and Hertfordshire could be touched by the raiders as well as the potteries factories specialized in the black burnished ware and placed in these areas and additionally the important centre of production of Hartshill-Mancetter.20

Once he disembarked in Richborough (Rutupiae), as Lupicinus did some years before, he marched fast to London (Londinium), the Diocese’s capital, whose situation was defined as ‘plunged into the greatest difficulties’ (mersam difficultatibus summis) (Amm. Marc. 27, 8, 8). Presumably Theodosius looked for both relieving the most important urban centre in Britannia before its presumed harassment and getting info of the assailants, the island’s global state of affairs and its army. On one hand, he told that in the way between Richborough to London ‘he divided his troops into many parts and attacked the predatory bands of the enemy, which were ranging about and were laden with heavy packs’ (Amm. Marc. 27, 8, 7). That is, the present region of Kent, the area with the island’s most prominent maritime defences as the coastal forts of Reculver (Regulbium), Richborough (Rutupiae), Dover (Dubris) and Lympne (Portus Lemanis) show. This fact, along the capture of Nectaridus, has to be taken into consideration both as a proof of Ammianus’ statement of the existence of a conspiracy conformed by several barbarian peoples and also of its mighty attack because the Litus Saxonicum was not designed to face huge naval menaces neither intensive attacks coming from multiple fronts but to confront lesser infiltrations. In fact, it is interesting to suppose that one of the main objectives of this attack was to dismantle the naval defensive system that formerly had frustrated so many piratical raids. According to this, it can be reasonably deduced that Saxons and Franks participated of the assault of Britannia because this territory, and especially its southeaster sector, was a perennial objective of both peoples as ancient sources show from the third century onwards.17

Likewise, the Scots raiders’ range of action logically should be located in the western coast of Britannia as it is reflected in the numerous coin-hoards and destructions found there. In this way, although I do not concur completely, Frere (1987, 345-346) thought that alongside northern Britain, the western coast suffered most of the barbarian damage and he held accountable respectively the Picts and, on the other hand, the Scots and the mysterious Attacotti.21 Therefore, according to P. J. Gallicus as just a ‘poetic licence’. Instead, under his view this geographic term referred to the Briton Eastern coast. Austin (1979, 43); Tomlin (1974, 475), even though he did not specify it; Frend (1992, 129-130) and Faulkner (2001, 159). 18 On the contrary, Frend (1992, 129-130) judged the attack damaged especially The Fens in the centre-east coast of Britain. In a more recent paper, Frend and Hadman (1994) thought that a lead deposit from the fourth century and found in North Lodge Farm (Barnwell, Northant), in the very centre of Britain, was left by looters during the Conspiracy: Frend and Hadman (1994). Likewise, Martin (1969, 415) thought that the attack happened just in the northern and western regions of Roman Britain. On the contrary, I consider as a more reasonable approach Casey (1979, 73-74), Rance (2001, 245) or Faulkner (2001, 158) who defended a multiplicity of attack fronts. 19 Black (1987, 45) emphasized the abandonment of the terms of Cobham y Sidlesham, and also of the Roman villas of Walton-on-theHill and Oltford. 20 In consequence of this, the pottery production in Britain was centralized in a few but big places as Nene Vallet, Farnham and Oxford. 21 According to him, Picts came from the firth of Forth.

settlement around the time of the later usurper Maximus. Also unconvincingly, Martin (1969, 414-417) thougth that the tradicional identification between Nectaridus and the comes litori Saxonici was wrong because this last one had to be just a simple comes who commanded comitatenses troops. Finally, White (1961, 50) also refused to identify both commands. 15 Thompson (1990, 8) eloquently said that ‘we must not underestimate the size of the defeat which the Romans had suffered’. 16 Tomlin (1974, 307) accurately stressed their scarce number. See also Thompson (1990, 7), who is followed by Birley (2005, 439). 17 Johnson (1976, 82); Casey (1979, 74; 78, n. 20a). This scholar deemed that the ammianean reference to their activities in tractus

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

Casey (1979, 74) a number of contemporary damages have been attributed to the Conspiratio in Ambleside (Cumbria) and additionally a lot of archaeological remains have been connected as certain contemporary destructions in Roman villas in Somerset, as KingsWeston, Brislington and Keynsham, where the archaeologists found corpses in a context of violence as happened in the villas of West Park, Bowood y Calne. Apart from these villas, Keith Branigan pointed out several other villas more complicated in dating but that they could have been attacked by barbarians in this very area as Combe Down, Wellow II, North Wraxall, Box, Atworth, Nuthills, Tockington, Lye Hole, Ilchester Mead and West Cooker (Figure 1).

345-346), it is possible that some villas from Hampshire were also damaged. Finally, the find of a pottery shard in the island of Rathlin, at the Irish Sea, has been linked with the Scots pirates (Collins 1960).23 Apart of the affected areas and the hypothetical damages correlated with the Barbarica Conspiratio, it is necessary to come back to Ammianus and analize the measures he took to suppress the raiders. Ammianus stressed the success in Theodosius’ work that according to his words was got after such a hard and intensive effort that provoked the troops’ exhaustion. However, this success was not complete given that, as the very historian acknowledged, they routed quickly ‘those who were driving along prisoners and cattle, he wrested from them the booty which the wretched tribute-paying people had lost’ (Amm. Marc. 27, 8, 7). Once the first phase of Britain’s reconquest was over, alter returning the booty recovered to the legitimate owners —yet he admitted that a part was shared out between his men as a reward. A decision that, as happened under Carausius’ command in the third century, was illegal but fit to the present-day circumstances—, Theodosius went back to Londinium. The first part in the Britannia’s recovery can be qualified as an urgent ‘shock therapy’ measure in time to regain the initiative to the Empire and to clear south-eastern Britannia, that is, such was a vital objective to reconnect the province to the continent and the Empire. As it can be deduced from Ammianus, Theodosius adapted his military resources to the raiders’ modus operandi who were scattered trough the Diocese territory in factiones and he planned an active campaign of harassment against them. However, he did not have enough military resources to confront them with a certain level of security and subsequently Ammianus (27, 8, 9) surreptitiously admitted the flight of the pirates. Obviously, Theodosius needed more muscle and this reality became more flagrant when he received worrying news: While he lingered there, encouraged by the successful outcome to dare greater deeds, he carefully considered what plans would be safe; and he was in doubt about his future course, since he learned from the confessions of the captives and the reports of deserters that the widely scattered enemy, a mob of various natives and frightfully savage, could be overcome only by secret craft and unforeseen attacks.

Figure 1. Map of Roman Villas damaged in time of the Barbarica Conspiratio (Branigan 1976, fig.29).

That is, after being fulfilled this first stage and when he was about to consolidate his deeds and the island’s defence,24

On the other hand, Branigan also judged that other southwestern villas could be harmed even though there are not so evident destructive traces. However, in spite of these damages, many villas kept working, and some of the most damaged as Brislington or Keynshaw were reoccupied but in a different way. It is possible that their original owners went to the cities and the villas became mere farms managed by dependents or occupied by squatters.22 On the other hand, according to Frere (1987,

course true that, in many cases, where fire destruction alone is attested without clear evidence for hostilities, the disaster may have been accidental. On the other hand it is also true that many villas may have been accidental. On the other hand it is also true that many villas may have been raided but not fired by the raiders, and if they were reoccupied there would be little or nothing in the archaeological record to attest the raid’. About Kingsweston, see Boone (1950, 16-19). 23 According to A. E. P. Collins, a simple shard of common pottery — the only late Roman find in the island— did not imply anything conclusive at all but in his view it could have hidden something worthy inside. Against Collins, Bateson (1976, 36, n. 16), who deemed this find as an evidence of commerce. 24 On this see Amm. Marc. (28, 3, 1-2). Across this text Ammianus compresses again the events. At first he mentions Theodosius’ stay on

22 Rahtz (1976, 227-228). Branigan (1972a; 1972b, 120-125 and, especially, 1976, 136-141), who is followed by Dark (1999, 22) and Edwards (1990, 4). Sensibly, Branigan (1976, 137) said that ‘it is of

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Britannia was shaken again by an apparently massive new attack that could perfectly reflect to a former planning outlined by the raiders. A proof of this can be inferred from the way Theodosius got the info as some barbarian captives informed him. However, this fact does not imply any detail to identify the looters but their description as variarum gentium obviously entails the participation of barbarians coming from different places in consonance with the Barbarian Conspiracy’s multiethnic character announced by Ammianus at the beginning of his narrative. On the other hand, this info lacks any detail about the area or geographical areas involved on this attack.

this info fits with the end of Theodosius’ campaign and his presence at the Imperial court to be honoured after having solved the Barbarian Conspiracy. It is reasonable to think that Theodosius could have carried some of these Attacotti before the emperor presence as a sign of his success and also maybe in prediction of the celebration by Valentian of a triumph and the self-concession of the title of BRITANNICUM28 but neither of those things ever happened (Rance 2001, 246).

Theodosius subverted again the Roman law when he promulgated some edicts to rejoin up the already cited deserters and soldiers on the run in exchange of immunity before their acts of treason (Amm. Marc. 27, 8, 10). He also as well requested additional help to Valentinian and he solicited two specific persons to strengthen both the military and the civil commands of the Diocese. So he reclaimed Civilis as a new vicarius Britanniarum and the general Dulcitius, dux scientia rei militaris insignem, presumably as the new dux Britanniarum (Amm. Marc. 27, 8, 10). Yet, in spite of these efforts, his forces were not enough and according to Ammianus he cunningly recruited soldiers.25 I consider this decision has to be interpreted both as an allusion to the deserters’ re-enlistment and the incorporation of new barbarian warriors in consequence of the adhesion of the enemy traitors cited above. About these barbarian new allies, I consider highly suggestive to identify them with the Attacotti who would have been drafted after been defeated and become dediticii. In fact, the later Notitia detailed the existence of Attacotti units integrated into the Imperial army and scattered into the provinces of Gaul, Italy and the Illirian. It is very tempting to assign its origin to the Conspiracy according to this reading.26 Likewise, regarding the Attacotti based on Gaul we are lucky enough of having Jerome as a witness of their presence. In his Contra Jovianum, Jerome affirmed he saw in his youth when he resided in Treveris c. 370 a group of Attacotti whom he described as savage cannibals.27 That is,

Figure 2. The work of the Count Theodosius (Frere 1987).

Returning to the Conspiracy narrative, Theodosius kept practicing a similar strategic scheme adapted to the barbarians’ tactics and finally he completed a very tough struggle that lasted many months.29 However Ammianus (Amm. Marc. 28, 3, 2) solved his victory in just some lines: ‘in this way, while he performed the duties of an active common soldier and observed the care of a distinguished general, after having routed and put to flight tribes which an insolence fostered by impunity was inflaming with a desire to attack the Romans’. That is, Ammianus (30, 7, 9) again reported about a inconclusive result of his campaign even if in a very brief resume of the Barbarian Conspiracy placed somewhere else the very

Londinium and then he detailed the recruitment of troops —an episode I will deal with later— and his efforts on the island’s defensive reconstruction. 25 Amm. Marc. (28, 3, 1): cum milite industria conparato sollerti. 26 The Atecotti Honoriani seniores and the Atecotti iuniores Gallicani placed in Gaul and the Atecotti Honoriani iuniores placed in Italy are cited in Not. Dig. Occ. (7). Likewise there is a mention of a unit just named Atecotti and placed in Illiria in Not. Dig. Occ. (9). Although some of these troops are labelled as Honoriani, that is, honouring the emperor Honorian, this fact does not mean these contingents where created during his reign and nor even during his father’s. It was found not so many years ago a funerary inscription from Illiria of a member of an Attacotti unit. On this see Scharf (1995). On the other hand, Richmond (1958, 128) bound these contingents with Magnus Maximus, while Frere (1987, 341) linked these units with the Conspiracy but he did not connect their appearance with their defeat and later treason as I deem. It is also interesting Rance (2001, 247-248; 260-261). 27 Likewise, Jerome (adv. Jov. 2, 7) also made a commentary about the Scots in a comparison with the Attacotti. However he said he did not see them personally: Quid loquar de caeteris nationibus, cum ipse adolescentulus in Gallia Atticotos, gentem Britannicam, humanis vesci carnibus: et cum per silvas porcorum greges et armentorum pecudumque reperiant, pastorum nates et feminarum, et papillas solere abscindere, et has solas ciborum delicias arbitrari? Scotorum natio uxores proprias non haber: et quasi Platonis politiam legerit, et Catonis

sectetur exemplum, nulla apud eos conjux propria est, sed ut cuique libitum fueriot, pecudum more lasciviunt. There is another interesting reference about Attacotti and Scots in Jerome (ep. 69, 3). Concerning the topic of cannibalism and Scots in the ancient sources, see Killeen (1976, 209-210). 28 Richmond (1958, 120) was wrong when he considered that this reference meant that the Attacotti had attacked Gaul. 29 As Ammianus described, ‘He secured beforehand everywhere the places suitable for ambushing the savages, requiring nothing of the common soldiers in which he himself did not smartly take the first tasks’ (Ammianus 28, 3, 1).

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historian said that Valentian —Theodosius to be precise— ‘allowed almost none of the plunderers to return to his home’.30 Even if Thompson (1990, 10) valued almost completely this assertion, I deem it as a very suspicious one in contrast to the data provided by the very Ammianus concerning the Barbarica Conspiratio as I have analyzed it.

Although it is always necessary to be careful to connect literary events and material records, archaeology confirms there were certain military changes contemporarily (Figure 2). On the subject of the reconstruction of static defensive structures, besides of the renewal works at the central core of the Hadrian Wall —even if this defensive line was not touched during the Barbarian Conspiracy—, it has been attributed to Theodosius both the adding of external towers to the Briton city walls and also the presence of regular troops inside.35 Yet, regarding this paper there were others novelties more remarkable and concerning the maritime defence both in the eastern and western coasts of Britannia.36 Consequently, the pre-existing chain of fortresses and hamlets placed from the Hadrian Wall’s western end across the county of Cumbria’s shores was deeply strengthened. Its obvious role was to protect the province against Pictish and Scot maritime raids.37 Following this topic, D. C. A. Shotter (1973) supposed that practically every western Britannia’s coastal defensive measure were reorganised by Theodosius. According to him, the very Cumbrian defences cited above were added with several coastal signal stations as Wreay Hill and Barrock Fell. These structures became part of a powerful defensive system characterised by the presence of land and maritime defences and possibly complemented by a classis created contemporarily and based mainly in Bristol Channel but connected with others shore military settlements in Cardiff and Caer Giby (Holyhead) and more places.38 Its existence is corroborated by an inscription placed on a mosaic addressed to the Celtic god Nodens, concerning a Praefectus Reliquationis Classis and found in Lydney Park (Gloucestershire). Besides Nodens’ connection with the sea, he was equalled to Mars as a military deity (CIL VII, 137). On the other hand, this god is also found in Lancaster in two little statuettes and also presumably in the following inscription (RIB, 601):

It was more important to the future, even more that any possible annihilation of the pirates, to return to normality across the Diocese. So Ammianus (28, 3, 7) tried: Then, after the danger had been wholly removed, since it was common knowledge that propitious fortune had failed him in none of his undertakings, he turned his attention to making many necessary improvements, restoring the cities and defences, as we have said, and protecting the frontiers by sentinels and outposts. And so completely did he recover a province which had passed into the enemy's hands and restore it to its former condition, that, in the words of his report, it had a legitimate governor; and it was henceforth called Valentia, in accordance with the emperor's wish, who, one might almost say, celebrated an ovation in his joy on hearing the priceless news.31

Therefore, Theodosius proceeded to an overall recreation of the Diocese on every level, military and civilian, as he strengthened the administration and he created a mysterious new province or renamed the entire Diocese as Valentia.32 Regarding the military plane, Ammianus (28, 3, 8) just listed a measure: the suppression of the areani/arcane,33 a reconnaissance unit placed presumably in the north to check Pictish activities that ‘had gradually become corrupted, and consequently he removed them from their posts. For they were clearly convicted of having been led by the receipt, or the promise, of great booty at various times to betray to the savages what was going on among us’.34

DEO MART[I]

30

He said precisely: ‘Again, when the Britons could not resist the hordes of enemies that were overrunning their country, he restored them to freedom and quiet peace with the hope of better conditions, and allowed almost none of the plunderers to return to his home’. Certainly, Ammianus simplified overtly the narrative of the Conspiracy. 31 Regarding the military recovery, Ammianus (28, 3, 2) anticipated formerly some of Theodosius’ measures: ‘he completely restored the cities and strongholds which had been founded to secure a long period of peace, but had suffered repeated misfortunes’. 32 Dornier (1982) placed Valentia in the West, from northern Wales till the Wall. She deemed this province was created by Constans. Bartholomew (1984, 178), who was followed by Thompson (1990, 9) thought that the southern province of Maxima Caesariensis was transformed into Valentia. On the other hand Frere (1987, 200) considered that the province of Britannia Secunda, whose capital was Eburacum (York), was divided in the year 369 in two provinces and one of them was Valentia. On the contrary, Birley (2005, 399-400; 416) placed its creation under the reign of Constans and its location in northern Britain around the Hadrian Wall. Hind (1975) argued that Theodosius renamed the entire diocese as Valentia. 33 See Woolliscroft (2001, 88-92) about the Roman intelligence at the Hadrian Wall. He wrote (2001, 88) that the areani could be a part of the units of exploradores placed on this area. 34 Incomprehensibly, for Bartholomew (1984, 179) the arcani / areani were not placed in northern Britain. Hanson (1983, 212) and Higham and Jones (1985, 125), held that their situation beyond the imperial

SABINV[S] P P ET MILIT[ES] N BARC S C EII ElVS Po[S]. frontier provoked a progressive dissociation with the Roman authorities and consequently an approach to the current enemies. 35 Frere (1987, 346-347); Salway (1981, 383-384); Johnson (1980, 127130); Snyder (2003, 72). See the reasonable critic of this thesis in Casey (1983). Likewise, see the more recent analysis by Guest (2002, 76) concerning the future urban development in the island. 36 Breeze and Dobson (1974, 16-18); Frere (1987, 342-348); Faulkner (2001, 164-168). 37 About the military units placed in these forts and watchtowers according to Not. Dig. Occ. (40) and their defensive role against raiders see Richmond (1958, 127); Dornier (1974); Potter and Shotter (1977, 183); Mann (1989); Frere (1987, 344-345); Faulkner (2001, 166). 38 Frere (1987, 345) and Casey (1979, 74). Caer Giby was a military naval base close to the ones placed at the Rhin and possibly created by Theodosius. On the other hand, Branigan (1971) suggested that Gatcombe could work as a ‘signal-station’. He is followed by Rahtz (1976, 228). On this, see also Faulkner (2001, 165-166).

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From this epigraph and the evidence of the erection of the Lancaster coastal fort in the fourth century —extremely similar in its architectonical design to the Saxon Shore forts—, Shotter thought that Lancaster was as a military harbour used by the numeri barcariorum and plainly involved in the maritime defence of this area so exposed to barbarian raiders. A similar role would have been played by the numerus barcariorum Tigrisiensium cited in the Notitia (40) and placed in South Shields (Arbeia), at the mouth of the river Tyne, under the dux Britanniarum’s command —that is, this numerus would have taken cover Hadrian Wall’s eastern limit.39 According to Shotter (1973), both numeri could have taken profit of the light boats used by this kind of regiments to confront Celtic pirates in the shallow draught waters of Morecambe Bay and the Tyne estuary. If this was the case, the votive inscription of Mars/Nodens can be interpreted as a gratitude offering to the divinity because a successful confront with a barbarian raid. In parallel with these defensive improvements a system of signal-stations was erected on the north-eastern shore, around Yorkshire County, and named appropriately by J. C. Mann as a Pictish Shore because he compared it with the southerner Saxon Shore. According to Mann (1977, 15), this system depended also on the dux Britanniarum40 but in the view of Sheppard Frere (1987, 344-345) these watchtowers were connected to the closest Saxon Shore forts to coordinate naval actions and the share of information concerning Britannia’s eastern coast (Mattingly 2006, 243-244). I consider both options as complementary. These signalstations (Huntcliff, Goldsborough, Ravenscar, Scarborough and Filey) were set on the coast not to confront directly pirates —but they could do it if the raiders were not strong enough and they penetrated deeply into land— but to make out them and to warn the closest military contingents given that they were not situated on the sea level but on the top of cliffs.41 Before Mann wrote his theory, Herman Ramm (1978, 125-129) considered that these signal-stations depended on the close fort of Malton (Derventione) that housed a military unit extremely mobile as the supervenientes, whose command was the Praefectus numeri superuenientium Petueriensium who reported to the dux Britanniarum (Not. Dig. Occ. 40; Drinkwater 1999, 69). Regarding the Litus Saxonicum it is possible that the Portchester fort was abandoned contemporarily on behalf of Bitterne (Frere 1987, 345) and, on the other hand, it has been hypothesized that from this moment onwards there was a closer relationship between the fortified towns placed near the coast or navigable rivers’ estuaries and the Saxon

Shore forts (Faulkner 2001, 166). Finally some scholars have thought that the definitive reorganization of the Roman military deployment in Britannia was designed by Theodosius the Elder in this moment as exposed in the Notitia Dignitatum (Hassall 1977, 10; Cunliffe 1977, 6). On the other hand and interestingly enough, in view of the Roman withdrawal of the outposts placed beyond the Hadrian Wall —and the end of the areani— Sheppard Frere made use of the early medieval Welsh genealogies and considered that Theodosius could sign treaties with some of the barbarian gentes placed there and in consequence some buffer-states favourable to the Roman military affairs were created. So Theodosius could have agreed a treaty with the eastern Votadini, whom he could have conceded a status of Federate or Client Kingdom that in future days would be known as the Kingdom of Gododdin (Dumville 1989, 217). In fact, according to these genealogies Paternus, one of its fourth century leaders, was named Padarn Pesrut, i.e. ‘he of the scarlet cloak’, a fact that could suppose a kind of military authority granted by the Romans. On the West, Theodosius could have settled a similar treaty with the dynasty of Strathclyde given that on the very Welsh genealogies there are again two fourth century leaders with Roman names but celtified in a certain way as Cluim (Clemens) and Cinhil (Quintilus). If Frere (1987, 341342) was right, Theodosius arranged a very worthy military resource used many times by the Romans around their history and especially in Late Antiquity to counter any possible menace from the British Barbaricum.42 Obviously as Frere (1987, 342) said, this decision strengthened land defence but also this meant that from this moment onwards Picts would use more than ever piracy as a way to gain access to Britannia to skip the new Roman defenders from beyond Hadrian Wall as later Gildas’ De excidio Britannorum showed. Once Theodosius brought back Britannia to normality —or at least he quieted down the province—, he went to the Imperial Court as we said above and he was received with triumphal honours, being rewarded as the new western magister militum (Amm. Marc. 28, 3, 9).

An outcome about comes Theodosius’ campaigns in Britain according to Ammianus and other sources. Concerning this matter, it is very difficult to achieve an overview because of the disappointing data provided by the scarce sources except Ammianus. However, his text is a very difficult one, biased, with frequent lacunae and

39 According to Hodgson (1991, 88), the creation of the South Shields fort and the placing of the numeri barcariorum’s garrison could been dated in the years 260-270 and connected to the Saxon Shore’s development. Se also Reddé’s (1986, 286) doubts regarding Shotter’s reading. For Casey (1993, 260) this numeri just served to transport. There is another similar numerus at the Notitia placed in Ebruduni Sapaudiae, at the Narbonense (Not. Dig. Occ. 42). 40 Most scholars place the building of these forts under the command of Theodosius the Elder except Casey (1977, 121; 1979, 75-76; 1993, 264265) who held Magnus Maximus responsible. 41 They were placed in high places, around 90-120 meters. Haverfield (1912, 206-207) specified this function in earlier times.

42 In the same line Higham and Jones (1985, 126) and before them Richmond (1958, 124-125) y Hughes (1966, 25-26). On the other hand Laing (1985, 273) deemed unconvincingly these characters as praefectus gentium. A critical view on this interpretation in Smyth (1984, 16-19) and Armit and Ralston (2003, 222). See also Rance (2001, 259-260) and Faulkner (2001, 165), who considered that the origin of the Pictish confederation could have arisen certain fears in the Votadini and consequently they allied to Rome. Faulkner linked with them the treasure of Trapain Law as he regarded it as a subsidy and not a booty as I suspected in my thesis. On the other hand, see the critic on this possibility by Dumville (1984, 63-64).

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serious menace.47 In my opinion both Rance and Bartholomew went too far in their arguments, but the core of their thesis should be basically accepted because it is obvious to assert Ammianus’ laudatory tone towards Theodosius the Elder (Blockley 1975, 15-16).

plainly characterized by an incessant praise about Theodosius, whom he qualified as a new ‘Furius Camillus or Papirius Cursos’ in account of his successes in Britannia (28, 3, 9) although, as it is going to be exposed, his military outcome cannot be described as such accomplishment. In fact it is very shocking the lack of the usual amount of barbarians massacred and booty recovered so frequent in Ammianus’ tales on Roman victories. On the contrary, it seems rather that the result was just to thwart the attacks and put the pirates to flight and actually it is more emphasized the suppression of Valentinus, a former Praetorian Prefect exiled in the island (28, 3, 4-6).43 This fact is not strange because of the Roman historiography features, more interested in the courtier dramas than even to the military affairs, especially when a regular army was not involved but latrones or praedones.44 Unfortunately, Ammianus Marcellinus’ account about the Barbarian Conspiracy (367-369) is a very compressed one, very vague and relatively careless regarding the terrible reality he announced previously characterized by the harshness of a terrible situation provoked by the terrible penetration of Celtic and Germanic raiders into the western Roman coasts. However, in spite of this easy perception on the topic of the Barbarica Conspiratio there is a permanent contemporary historiographical controversy. As it happened with the third century Crisis in Hispania, the Conspiracy has been appealed as the perfect explanation ad hoc to every kind of archaeological and numismatic finds or historical novelties appeared contemporarily on the Late Roman Britain.45 Both Ammianus’ account and his omissions led several historians as A. S. Esmonde Cleary, E. A. Thompson, Anthony R. Birley, Phillip Rance or Phillip Bartholomew to consider that the historian did not tell all the truth but he embellished his account just to praise indirectly Theodosius the Elder’ son, the emperor Theodosius I. On the other hand, some of these historians did not underestimate the Conspiracy effects as Esmonde Cleary (1989, 44-46) or E. A. Thompson did. Interestingly Thompson (1990, 10; 14-15) interpreted the attack into a context of continuous pressure.46 Some other scholars have been more hypercritical as Phillip Bartholomew (1984, 177), who minimized completely both the Conspiratio and Theodosius’ role; and Phillip Rance (2001, 244-245) who, as also did Neil Faulkner, deemed that the Conspiratio was a simple accumulation of unrelated events and he portrayed it more like a nuisance than a

It is true that the Conspiracy did not appear in any other prominent source of the period in comparison with the less important Valentinus’ episode, a low level contemporary usurpation happened in Britannia. However, the Conspiracy is present in other Theodosian or later sources. The eminent pagan senator Quintus Aurelius Symmachus is our first source through two relationes dated in 384. While in one of these he wrote to Theodosius I, his son Arcadius and Valentinian II the Senate decision of erecting statues honouring Theodosius the Elder, Africanum quondam et Brittannicum ducem (Símaco Rel. 9, 4). In a second relation, but necessarily previous, addressed to Valentinian II, he requested the emperor to communicate precisely to the very Theodosius I and Arcadius that ‘their author and father… was given the distinction of equestrian statues of himself; our venerable order decreed them as a memorial of the Wars in Africa and in Britain; their intention was that the welldeserved inscriptions celebrating readers of earlier times should stimulate the present generation to be loyal to you’ (Símaco Rel. 43, 2).48 Obviously the reference to the Africani et Brittannici belli allude to Theodosius’ British campaign and later African fight against the usurper Firmus. Fortunately, we have some inscriptions connected to these statues in Apulia, Ephesus and Dranovo (present Macedonia). The last is the most interesting and complete one because it is not only referred the British campaign but also the subsequent campaign against the Saxons that will be analyzed later. This is the text: [...] ν οὐ νόμ[α..], χάρμα / μέγα / Βριττανῶν καὶ / Μαυριτανίης μέγα δῖ/μα, Σαξονείης λυτῆ/ρα καὶ γένους Κελτῶν / ὀλετῆρα, χρυσίον [...] (AE 1931, 53).49 That is, this epigraph emphasizes Britons’ great enjoyment because of Theodosius exploits on their province and, on the other hand, he is described as conqueror of Saxony and destroyer of the Celts (Germans). Additionally there are other extremely interesting but difficult references on three panegyrics, the first one written by Pacatus in 389 in honour of Theodosius I and later laudatory works of the same poet in commemoration of Honorius third (396) and fourth (398) consulates and likewise there is another reference in his ‘In praise of Serena’, the daughter of Honorius and wife of Stilicho. In the first place, Pacatus (Pan. Lat. 2 (15) 5, 1-2; 4) wrote:

43 Surprisingly —or not, as I discuss above— Valentinus’ rebellion appears in other sources as Zosimus (4, 12, 2), Jerome (Chron. s.a. 371) or Jordanes (Rom. 308). However, these sources did not mention at all the Barbarica Conspiratio. 44 According to Thompson (1990, 12-13) Valentinus’ attempted coup could be connected with a higher level of barbarian menace on the province. Following this theory, Anthony R. Birley (2005, 436-7) held that Valentinus’ failure could derive from Theodosius’ absence, because he was serving at that moment in Northern Britain. In fact, his usurpation was managed by Dulcitius. 45 See, for example, the objections of Webster (1981, 343), Jones (1981, 401), Pearson (2005, 346) or Halsall (2008, 58). Likewise, although Esmonde Cleary (1989, 45) accepts the Conspiracy he warned about this historiographical danger. 46 On the other hand, see also Thompson’s monography on Ammianus (1947, 89-92).

47 Although Rance (2001, 257) also judged positively the seriousness of the Conspiratio. In this line, for example, Webster (1983, 240-241). Faulkner (2001, 158) judged Ammianus’ narrative almost as a hagiographic tale but well anchored in reality. On the other hand, Hines (1989, 26) deemed that the term Conspiratio can be understood as the simple coincidence of their attacks in time and space. 48 Translated by Barrow (1973). 49 See later bibliography on this and other related inscriptions in Birley (2005, 431).

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David Álvarez-Jiménez - Ammianus and Theodosius I concerning the ‘Barbarica Conspiratio’ What, I repeat, shall I do? Shall I begin with the events that the Rhine and Waal witnessed? Immediately the Danube, bloody with the slaughter of Sarmatians, confronts me. Shall I recall Batavia, trampled by infantry battles? Then the vision of the Saxon, annihilated in naval warfare, presents itself. Or shall I speak of the Scot, driven back into his own swamps? ... For he himself would be called Saxonicus, Sarmaticus and Alamannicus, and the one family would boast as many triumphs as the whole State has enemies (Trans. Nixon and Rodgers 1994).

Ambrose but presently its anonymous author is just called Pseudohegesippus in account of the impossibility of determining the real author. This source is not just a mere translation but also contains several contemporary historical fragments crucial to this episode. Precisely the fact that Theodosius the Elder feats are described —and placed in a general discourse over the Imperial power— have settled on a terminus post quem date around the year 370, even if it is not possible to assure it with complete security. Pseudohegesippus comments in a triumphant tone that Britannia was returned to the Roman fold (in orbem terrarum redactas) and immediately he portrayed the main enemies confronted, Picts and Saxons, whose homeland (Saxonia) is depicted as a marshy one inaccessible even if from time to time contributed with a captive to the Roman triumphs. Likewise, he defined Saxons as ‘the strongest race of men’ even if they do not trust their strength but they do in piracy and their ships (piraticis tamen myoparonibus), more prepared for fight rather than battle (fugae potius quam bello parata) (Pseudohegesipo De Bel. Iud. 5, 15, 2).51

In his customary tone, Claudian (in III cos. Hon. 52-60; in IV cos. Hon. 19-33; c.m. 30, 39-46) accentuated even more the praise on Theodosius the Elder: And the more to inflame thy heart with love of battle he would recount to thee the deeds of thy grandsire, object of dread to Libya's sun-scorched shores and Thule whither no ship can sail. He conquered the fleet Moors and the well-named Picts; his roaming sword pursued the flying Scot; his adventurous oars broke the surface of the northern seas. Crowned with the spoils of triumphs won beneath the northern and the southern sky he trod the wave-swept strand of either Ocean (Panegyric on the Third Consulship of the emperor Honorius).50

After reviewing these references we can note a remarkable progression on the consideration deserved by Theodosius’ feats, from Symmachus’ curtness till Claudian’s impossible exuberance52 and the completely different view offered by the mysterious Pseudohegesippus. Unlike the other sources cited, he did not personalize on Theodosius but he just made an overview to sum up the power of the Empire. This is an extremely interesting fact because it precisely guarantees an early date to the writing. If it would have been written contemporarily to Ammianus or Claudian, the author would not have avoided a perfect occasion of connecting such a victory on Picts and Scots in Britain and the campaign against the Saxons to Theodosius I, one of the most idolatrised Christian emperors and the present emperor when the former authors cited wrote their works. Actually both Ammianus, Symmachus and Claudian references fall within the context of a permanent praise of Theodosius I and his dynasty. In consequence it is obvious to assert that if the son of Theodosius the Elder would not have got the purple probably none of these news would have been transmitted to posterity neither a statue would have been erected to an otherwise obscure general. Even Ammianus could have passed still more lightly over the Barbarian Conspiracy as Zosimus did or he would not have registered anything at all as Orosius. That is, concerning

Hence [from the Ocean] came Theodosius, grandfather of Honorius, for whom, exultant after his northern victories, Africa twined fresh laurels won from the Massylae. 'Twas he who pitched his camp amid the snows of Caledonia, who never doffed his helmet for all the heat of a Libyan summer, who struck terror with the Moors, brought into subjection the coasts of Britain and with equal success laid waste the north and the south. What avail against him the eternal snows, the frozen air, the uncharted sea? The Orcades ran red with Saxon slaughter; Thule was warm with the blood of Picts; ice-bound Hibernia wept for the heaps of slain Scots. (Panegyric on the Fourth Consulship of the emperor Honorius). Thou art famous for that thine uncle was an emperor, more famous by reason of the warlike deeds of thy grandsire who carried the Roman eagles across the British Channel and repulsed the armed bands of the Gaetulians. Cornelia, daughter of the Scipios, must cease to vaunt her high birth and to boast that she received for dower the spoils of Carthage. Thou [Serena, Theodosius’ greatgranddaughter] canst point to ancestral triumphs in either hemisphere; on thy brow sit two crowns, the one won by thy sires from Scotland, the other from the South. (In Praise of Serena).

51 quid attexam Britannias, interfuso mari a toto orbe divisas, et a Romanis in orbem terrarum redactas? Tremit hos Scotia, quae terris nihil debet: tremit Saxonia inaccessa paludibus, et inviis septa regionibus. quae licet belli curam videatur augere, et ipsa frequenter captiva Romanis aecessit triumphis: validissimum genus hominum perhibetur, praestans caeteris: piraticis tamen myoparonibus non viribus nititur, fugae potius quam bello parata. 52 In his kind of crusade against piracy in the fourth century, Phillip Bartholomew (1984, 177, n. 33) tried to dismiss Claudian’s words as poetic rhetoric as he said that they ‘are too deeply embedded in passages of poetical exaggeration to be allowed to count as historical evidence’. However, his persistence seems empty as, for example, he forgot to use the extremely important information from Pseudohegesippus.

To these two authors its is necessary to add a third one but extremely complicated to use because it is a Latin translation of Flavius Josephus’ Bellum Iudaicum that it has been dated around the end of the fourth century. Not only is its date disputed but also its authorship. During some time it was believed to have been written by Saint 50

This and next fragments translated by Platnauer (1976).

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the Conspiratio we are lucky of Theodosius I’ enthronement who moreover accompanied his father into the British campaign.53 However, this statement does not imply a refusal of the reality: the problems aroused in Britain were serious and Theodosius the Elder was granted the power to solve them.

with the historical Old Saxony but Batavia according to Pacatus reference to the river Waal (Wachalis)56 or in Belgica II as Emilienne Demougeot (1969-1979, 110) argued, where she though were confronted jointly Saxons and Franks in a campaign that allegedly implied the permanence of the emperor Valentian I in Treveris and delayed his campaign against the Alamans —where he also was accompanied by Theodosius the Elder (Wood 1990, 95). This last reference can imply the existence of two different campaigns and not just one. Not in vain at the end of the year 369 or the beginning of 370, Valentinian I assumed the title of FRANCICVS (CIL VI, 1175 = ILS, 771).57 Namely if we bear in mind that Ammianus wrote that both Franks and Saxons had focused on the continent —even if I consider this new as inconsistent— it is logical to conclude that the emperor should decide to punish not only the distant Saxons but also the nearer Franks who participated on this piratical wave. So, in spite of Ammianus’ silence on this matter, it is reasonable to suppose that Theodosius participated on these operations after the end of the Briton campaigns and maybe before being awarded with the magister militum command. However, although Saxons and Franks were battled jointly and they participated together in piratical raids, they cannot be identified as a single opponent and also it cannot be mixed up an honour of FRANCICVS MAXIMVS with an honour of SAXONICVS MAXIMVS as I will argue later.58 In fact, although the result of this punitive expedition cannot be qualified as successful —there is nothing to suppose it was—, the efforts implied on this campaign, that is the military resources deployed, the important distance from the Roman border and its originality, could be admired by Pacatus and Pseudohegesippus even if they did it because of different motivations.

Regarding Theodosius military feats towards the barbarian raiders involved in the Conspiracy as told in these sources just cited, there are some references that apparently are hardly to admit but in contrast with Ammianus’ reluctance they have to be born in mind. As regards the Picts, Claudian told that they were subjugated and that there were also military camps in the ‘snows of Caledonia’. It is reasonable to interpret this allusion as a punitive expedition against them. A logical move because of their raids and also because we know the Hadrian Wall was refortified. Concerning the Scots, Pacatus, Claudian and Pseudohegesippus just mention the fear aroused by Theodosius’ armies on Hibernia’s inhabitants. On these references, and especially on Claudian and Pacatus, Phillip Freeman has considered the possibility that Theodosius could have employed the British Roman navy to pursue the Scot pirates to their homeland although this fact does not imply the existence of a regular Roman campaign on Ireland according to the evidence.54 Although maybe Freeman is too optimistic on this subject, his thesis makes sense and opens an interesting way about the Roman navy role on western Britain in the suppression of piracy. In this way, although in a different scenario, it can be interpreted a very polemic information from Claudian and cited above where the panegyrist said that ‘the Orcades ran red with Saxon slaughter’. Generally this reference has been rejected as a Claudian rhetorical piece but it could also reflect the use of the navy against Saxon raiders on Britain and the existence of a piratical base on these northern islands.55

After reviewing this evidence parallel to Ammianus, it is possible to assert some conclusions about the Barbarian Conspiracy. On one hand, I deem it cannot be denied the existence of the very Conspiratio and their terrible effects primarily on Britain according to the texts, in spite of its controversial archaeological record, and the huge efforts carried out by the Roman authorities to return to normality and to reorganise militarily the island. Certainly Ammianus is our best source for this event but it is also disappointing the shortage of details transmitted in his narrative and its sketchy structure. It is more than probable that Ammianus knew a lot more than what he referred in his Res Gestae,59 nevertheless neither the barbarian piratical activities nor the Roman response

Regarding the military reaction against the continental Saxons, it can be inferred from the Dranovo inscription, and the testimonies of Claudian and Pseudohegesippus as well, that Theodosius carried out an until then original accomplishment: a naval campaign against the Saxons in their homelands of Saxonia/Σαξωνεία, that is in the area placed between the low watercourses of the Elba and Weser and the northern island located in Frisia. In my opinion, Phillip Bartholomew (1984, 183-184) is wrong when he assumed that this reference does not correspond 53

As it can be deduced from Zosimus (3, 5, 3) according to Frere (1987, 341). 54 Freeman (2001, 94) emphasized that Claudian’s following verses concerning Theodosius’ suppression on Scots piratical activities had a parallel on Ptolomeo (Geogr. 2, 1), where the geographer placed the Hyperborean sea at the north of Ireland: ‘his [Theodosius] roaming sword pursued the flying Scot; his adventurous oars broke the surface of the northern seas’ / edomuit Scottumque vago mucrone secutus fregit Hyperboreas remis audacibus undas (Claudiano in III cos. Hon. 57-58). 55 If Davis (2007) is right —although his historical knowledge is lesser than his philological one— in his analysis on the Saxon substract on the island language. A regular opinión concerning this fragment is Chadwick (1958, 150), who explained these verses as typical from the author’s ignorance.

56

Nixon et al. 1994, 517-519; Detalle, 2002, 15. About its date, see Humphreys (1999). 58 However it is more than probable that there was a phenomenon of synecdoche through the entire Roman Empire concerning the use of ethnonyms. The massive reference to Franks and Saxons as pirates could darken the participation of many different peoples in raiding activities, as it happened with the Cilician piracy. In this way, the preponderance of Franks at the end of the third century and the beginning of the Fourth and Saxons from this moment onwards is rather suspicious. 59 I oppose to Thompson (1947, 90). Austin (1979, 46), deemed more interestingly that Ammianus’ vagueness was motivated mainly on his indifference than in a lack of adequate sources. 57

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David Álvarez-Jiménez - Ammianus and Theodosius I concerning the ‘Barbarica Conspiratio’

were worthy enough to be told in a more precise way. After all, both processes —barbarian action and Roman counteraction— were just minutias according to Ammianus’ ‘principles of history’: the barbarian raids were just mere depredatory deeds and not important actions from the military and politician point of view as well as Theodosius’ campaigns. To be exact, to Ammianus these facts just deserved the vague narrative he used, as he did when he presented jointly the menaces that Valentinian I had to confront at the time of his enthronement.60 Ammianus’ historical thought —los praeceptis historiae— is well described by himself (26, 1, 1):

harassment of the province of Britannia by pirates. Due to this, his reference to the Frankish and Saxon activities cited above and connected to the Maratocupreni latrones is explained mainly because a relative of the emperor died.64 However, it is useless to denigrate the work of the very best Late Antiquity historian because he just followed a well established tradition in the Roman world. Piracy was considered as an undeserving topic for a historian and even more for such an aristocratic historian as Ammianus himself was.65 In fact, in contrast with the also cited later panegyrists —not only Claudian or Pacatus, but also Symmachus who desperately looked for the reconciliation with Theodosius I after the senator formerly supported the usurper Magnus Maximus. The case of Pseudohegesippus is different, because he only pretended to show the Roman power in a writing that did not pretend to praise personally to anybody but the Empire—, Ammianus showed a kind of intellectual honesty when he silenced the failure or the unimportance of Theodosius the Elder campaign in Saxony just to not praise falsely the present emperor. As Ammianus (26, 1, 1) inferred in a previous discourse, he had to be watchful to write about the Theodosian Dynasty:66 ‘having narrated the course of events with the strictest care up to the bounds of the present epoch, I had already determined to withdraw my foot from the more familiar tracks, partly to avoid the dangers which are often connected with the truth, and partly to escape unreasonable critics of the work which I am composing, who cry out as if wronged’.67 In brief, Ammianus (28, 5, 1-8) did not have any moral teaching to show —as it happened with the Saxons betrayed by the Romans and

… the principles of history… for it is wont to detail the high lights of events, not to ferret out the trifling details of unimportant matters. For whoever wishes to know these may hope to be able to count the small indivisible bodies which fly through space, and to which we give the name of atoms.61

That is, Ammianus (27, 2, 11) just like any of the Graeco-Roman historians distinguished perfectly between the subjects he deemed as historiographically relevant from the unimportant. This preconception is observed through the use of minutias or any other similar circumlocution as he did in several occasions when he referred to less important barbarian attacks from a military point of view as well other piratical attacks or analogous raids.62 In fact Ammianus (28, 2, 12) did it when he described the Saxon and Frankish attacks cited above inter per Gallias, or likewise his digression about the Maratocupreni latrones from Syria also connected to these raids.63

64 The tribunus stabuli Constanciano was brother-in-law of the emperor Valentinian I (Amm. Marc 28, 2, 10-14). 65 On this, see the fantastic paper of Braund (1993) about piracy in the High Empire and the Roman historioraphy. His conclusions are perfectly fit to deal with a later period as the Later Roman Empire. In that way, Thompson (1947, 87) wrote that ‘minor battles and minor victims of injustice will not be granted space in his history’, because according to Ammianus, the minutiae ignobiles did not provide any lasting result. C. R. Whittaker (1993, 279) made a magnificent statement when he said that later historians preferred to emphasize larger military campaigns ‘in comparison to the more banal but continual pressure of the small bands of infiltrator’. On Ammianus and his aristocratic tendency, see Alonso Núñez (1975, 92). 66 In this way, it is very recommendable the great analysis written by Thompson (1947, 87-107; 110-111) on the relationship between Ammianus and Theodosius. Thompson argued that Theodosius I was very alert regarding the historical work written under his reign and consequently inhibiting historians as the very Ammianus. In his line, see Halsall (2008, 179). On the contrary, Matthews (1989, 10) considered that Theodosius was indifferent concerning the contemporary history. 67 Undoubtly, these words have to correlate with Theodosius I as Ammianus also did in a different fragment, where in a veiled way he made a critic to his religious politics (Amm. Marc. 30, 9, 5). On the contrary, I consider that Blockley (1975, 94) is wrong when he confined this reference just to the context of the Barbarian Conspiracy and linked it to the Valentinian Dynasty as, in Blockley’s view, Ammianus just dared to write on this subject after Valentinian II’s death. Obviously, concerning this last fact Blockley is right but also this critic has to be understood as a diatribe against the new reigning dynasty and the insecurity faced by those historians who attempted to analyse the present. In this way, Blockley (1975, 52) considered that the portrait of Valentinian I’s cruelty could be an indirect accusation against Theodosius I in consequence of the slaughter he provoked in Thessalonica in 390. Similarly, Humphreys (1999, 124) deemed rightly that the praise of Valentinian I for his religious tolerance implied a critic to the later Theodosian prejudice.

In consequence, if Theodosius the Elder would not have been the main actor in the repression of the Conspiratio Barbarica we almost would not have known anything about, in spite that Ammianus could have provided a fuller narrative because he understood this event should not have been kept in memory according mainly to the nature of the attacks. In the same way, the previous reference to Lupicinus and his campaign in Britain against Picts, Scots and Attacotti (Amm. Marc. 20, 1, 13) appeared in his Res Gestae and in the most compact way, without any detail about these barbarian activities and/or the very Roman general counterattack. This episode was just cited by Ammianus because it was useful to portray the ascension of the young Caesar Julian and not because the historian was interested in the 60 The biography concerning his historiographical trends is very wide. See, for example, Thompson (1947); Alonso Núñez (1975); Blockley (1975; 2001); Santos Yanguas (1976); Barnes (1998); Drijvers and Hunt (1999). 61 discurrere per negotiorum celsitudines adsuetae, non humilium minutias indagare causarum, quas si scitari voluerit quispiam, individua illa corpuscula volitantia per inane, atomous, ut nos appellamus, numerari posse sperabit. 62 praeter haec alia multa narratu minus digna conserta sunt proelia per tractus varios Galliarum, quae superfluvm est explicare, cum neque operae pretium aliquod eorum habuere proventus, nec historiam producere per minutias ignobiles decet (Ammianus 27, 2, 11). 63 sed ne per minutias gesta narrando.

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cited subsequently, an allusion linked to the Ciceronian concept of the pirate as an enemy of mankind— neither a military teaching worthy to remember. He mentioned this episode because of the identity of the Roman commander in charge of the suppression of these pirates. On the contrary, as any other imperial historian he paid more attention to another episode linked to Theodosius the Elder as Firmus and his revolt in Africa (372-375) because it was an usurpation. However, in such a more complete account he did not give up the laudatory treatment of the very Theodosius the Elder, even though he showed some reprehensible features of his making, as he concealed his execution and a true historiographical judgement of his deeds. According to E. A. Thompson (1947, 92-95), Ronald Mellor (1999, 126; 106-107) and Jan Willem Drijvers (2007, 151-154), this last fact could mean that the father of Theodosius I could deserve his fatal fate and thus he had good reasons to keep the silence to avoid the wrath of a Christian emperor so extremely intolerable with the paganism that this historian professed.68

probable to consider the role of the Roman navy in the piratical restraint. However, Theodosius’ most important measure was to reorganise the island in both the military and administrative levels as he recovered the vanished Briton garrison and he refortified several key points in the island. As E. A. Thompson (1990, 9-10; 15) correctly argued this policy did not eliminate completely the piratical menace but it supposed the re-establishment of the imperial authority in Britannia. Precisely the absence of important military successes explains why Valentinian did not assume the honour of BRITANNICVS MAXIMVS as Constantius Chlorus or Constantine I did in view of presumably similar circumstances even if they were not as serious. In fact the subsequent campaign against the Saxons in the very Saxony must be beholden in a similar way and although Pacatus claimed a SAXONICVS MAXIMVS honour for Theodosius the Elder, Valentinian I did not assume it as he could have done if there would have been true motives to do it. Unquestionably this original and risky expedition deserved the praise as the authors cited did but its development was not manifestly satisfactory and in fact it did not have and effect on the later Saxon piratical activities. The silence kept by Ammianus on this matter is eloquent (26, 6, 1). However, in spite of this incomplete success, Theodosius’ work in Britain was properly recognized and he was awarded by Valentinian I with the charge of magister militum and he was later entrusted with the important mission of repressing Firmus’ usurpation. An episode as I have referred before more detailed by Ammianus than the Conspiracy according to the historiographical rules followed in his Res Gestae. In sum, Ammianus offered the best narrative concerning the Conspiracy but in a vague way and according to the historical conditions of his writing not because he believed he had to show any information about it. Although Ammianus tried to flatter Theodosius I narrating the feats of his father, he did not humiliate himself in praising the Count Theodosius excessively as other writers did contemporarily and always since a deep respect of his historiographical trends. In fact, he hid some of the evidence to avoid embarrassing the emperor and especially to avoid lying on historical facts —even if this implied not telling all the truth he could have handed down just on behalf of his own security.

The context of the Barbarica Conspiratio Although we do not know exactly the details of the Conspiracy and less about the alliance between such different gentes, it is impossible to refute the brutal coincidence of these attacks and their result: the incapacitation of both the military and the civil administration of a whole province during two years till the situation was calmed down because of Theodosius the Elder. Concerning the fact that the southeast of Britain was hard pressed by the raiders, that is, where the Litus Saxonicum was placed, I consider there is enough evidence to consider that these barbarians planned the attack because they knew perfectly this was the most powerful Briton piratical deterrent. Similarly, the piratical nature of the Conspiracy cannot be argued due to the barbarian tribes involved, the inexistence of any damage in the Hadrian Wall and the refortification of its maritime flanks. Regarding Theodosius, it cannot be denied both his presence in Britain and his good work before the devastating situation of the island and the scarce resources he had at his disposal. However, concerning the suppression of the raiders he did not have at all such a sonorous success. According to Ammianus, and exaggerated largely by the panegyrists and the anonymous author of Flavius Josephus’ De Bellum Iudaicum, Theodosius appealed to a guerrilla kind of tactic to confront the raiders and maybe with the very important help provided by some traitors I identify as Attacotti. In brief, except maybe some success it was impossible to eliminate the whole number of raiders as they were scattered in numerous factiones characterized, as any other good pirate in history, by mobility and surprise. Leaving aside the use of infantry, it is also very 68 On the contrary, Matthews (1989, 382) regarded unconvincingly that Ammianus did not write his execution because this one surpassed the chronological limits established by the historian concerning the Western Roman Empire.

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killed in the fighting were settled in a scattered fashion far from the border they originally crossed.3 And in a comparatively brief interval of time these former foes disappeared into the general population. After the Constitutio Antoniniana of 212 they even became Roman citizens (Sherwin-White 1996, 380–389). It was Rome who determined the conditions and completely controlled every aspect of this integration of the vanquished. The conditions were made very clear and the main aspect was an acceptance of a Roman cultural identity. It follows that their own, heterogeneous cultural identity had to be given up —the newcomers became Romans with exotic names (Freeman 1993, 438-445; Flaig 1995, 45-60; Woolf 2003).

The foedus of 382 or how the Goths did not become integrated into the Roman Empire Eike Faber Universität Potsdam

Abstract What follows is an attempt to elaborate an answer to a student question. When I was teaching a class about ‘Rome and the Goths in the fourth century’, the foedus of AD 382 had to be discussed. The students wanted to know if there was any chance this treaty might have resolved matters peacefully. If there had been the chance, why did it in fact not work? Seeing that it did not work, does that mean it was destined to fail from the very start?1 Apparently my students were mystified how Theodosius I could possibly be characterised as ‘a friend of peace and the Gothic race’ (Iordanes, Get. 146)2 and yet not manage to bring about a situation stable enough to pass it on to his sons and heirs. This brief background information may help to explain the haphazard character of the following text.

I am aware that I am mixing details of the history of the provincialisation of the empire and the Romanisation of its inhabitants with aspects of the treatment of vanquished foes in the proper, more limited sense of the word. It is important that ultimately resettlement and selling of into slavery had the identical effect, namely that the vanquished disappeared from the archaeological record and/or ceased to be distinguishable from the general population.

KEYWORDS: foedera, integration, Goths, Huns, Ammianus Marcellinus, Themistius, Theodosius I

The arrival of the Goths Now, to the specific example of the Tervingian Goths. My argument centres on the foedus of 382, a clarification of what that contract might have looked like and its effects.

Two definitions of ‘integration’ Today we understand ‘integration’ to mean a close livingtogether of established residents and newcomers on more or less equal terms and with equal juridical status —in the spirit of the law there should not even be a universally binding cultural guideline beyond the constitution. And of course the contemporary problems apparently arise from the equal status/equal rights situation.

Why were any attempts to integrate the Tervingi necessary at all? Apart from the constant pull-factors of the empire —wealth, sophistication and security— there was the strongest possible push-factor to motivate the Goths: In 375 the Huns overthrew the reign of Ermanaricus and dismantled the territory of the Greuthungi (Amm. 31, 3, 1-3).4 The Tervingi, some hundred kilometres to the south-west, managed to resist a little while longer but eventually had to take the decision either to flee or to accept defeat and Hunnic domination (Amm. 31, 3, 4).

The Romans have long had a different agenda than modern ‘integration’ when dealing with others. In the earliest times, they themselves had been the landgrabbing newcomers who subdued Latium. In the course of expansion in Italy, they set up the well-known system of bi-lateral contracts —which was essentially the exchange of a grant of autonomy in domestic matters for the loyalty of their vanquished neighbours who were barred from having a foreign policy of their own.

The majority of the Tervingi chose to flee and seek shelter inside the Roman Empire (Amm. 31, 3, 8). Given the usual method of treating ‘immigrants’ the Romans employed, this choice tells us much about the Goths assessment of their opponents: Evidently they were convinced that their chances were much better within the Empire than against the Huns. There had been internal dissent among the Tervingi, which brought about a change in overall leadership with Athanaricus, the old leader, and a small number of his retinue pulling back

Later, the Emperor Claudius would praise Gallic noblemen for their Roman-ness, since they had cast off their indigenous customs and adhered to the Roman mos maiorum (Tac. Ann. 11, 23-25; ILS 212 = CIL XIII 1668; Syme 1999). How did the Romans deal specifically with conquered foes? The deditio was accepted, those who had not been

3

4 1

2

I thank the participants of the 2009 class ‘Rom und die Goten’ for their willingness to discuss matters Romano-barbarian in some detail. amator pacis gentibusque Gothorum.

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See, for example, Dio (71, 11-12) and SHA Aur. (24, 3). Riemer (2006, 120–124). The most detailed contemporary ethnographic account of the Huns is by Ammianus Marcellinus (31, 2, 1-12). The reference publication is still Maenchen-Helfen (1973). For the date see Krautschick (2000, 217-222).

The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

into the Carpathian mountains (Amm. 31, 4, 13) and the majority applying for entry into the Roman Empire under Fritigern and Alavivus (Amm. 31, 4, 1).5

rate that even the sons of the nobility were sold into slavery. This volatile situation was made considerably worse by further failures. Lupicinus and Maximus did not manage to eliminate the Tervingian leadership because they botched their assassination attempt of Fritigern (PLRE I, 374) and Alavivus (PLRE I, 32).10 Only the latter was killed and the former bluffed his way out (Amm. 31, 5, 67). Nor did the Roman commanders manage to prevent a group of Greuthungi under the command of Alatheus (PLRE I, 32) and Saphrax (PLRE I, 802) from crossing the Danube despite the express veto of emperor Valens (Amm. 31, 4, 12-14; 31, 5, 3). They did however manage to alienate Gothic foederati already serving in the Roman army (Amm. 31, 6, 1-3). Finally the Romans did allow all of these groups to join forces (Amm. 31, 6, 3; Heather 2007, 131-134).

An embassy went out to Valens, which must have met him in Antiochia, the military basis used for campaigns against the Persians. Preparations seem to have been underway for a Roman offence. This follows from Valens’ actions later in our narrative: when the course of events required the emperor’s presence in Thrace, envoys were immediately sent to Persia to negotiate a solution to the dispute over Armenia (Amm. 31, 7, 1; Zos. 4, 21, 1). Anyway, the official version of why Valens granted the Tervingian Goths permission to cross the Danube in 376 runs as follows. The emperor would receive: so many young recruits from the ends of the earth that [...] he would have an invincible army [...] there would accrue to the treasuries a vast amount of gold (Amm. 31, 4, 4).6

Given the above, a battle was inevitable. A more capable commander might have saved the day —impatient Valens lost the battle of Adrianople, two thirds of the Eastern Roman field army and his life. This threw the Thracian diocese into considerable chaos and left a clearly defined task to Valens' successor: As a competent military man, Theodosius was clearly expected to clear up this mess and solve the ‘Gothic problem’ by throwing them back upon the left bank of the Danube.

In practice, granting permission and hoping to be able to exert control in this way was probably all Valens could do —he did simply not have the manpower in the right place to actually block the Tervingian crossing.7 Both sides agreed on certain conditions, namely: that imperial authorities would be able to count the number of people that actually came; that the Goths would be disarmed; that they would receive land to settle and some sort of supply to carry them to the first harvest; that the Goths would furnish army recruits if necessary. Church historians also commonly associate acceptance of an Arian creed of Christianity as a pre-requisite of crossing, but I myself very much doubt that particular condition.

Theodosius' solution of the ‘Gothic problem’: the foedus of AD 382 Theodosius attempted a military solution of the unrest in the Balkans first. He rebuilt the field army, diplomatically engaged with the Sassanid neighbours and tried in vain to beat the Goths. Despite events that could nicely be spun out and presented as an imperial victory, no decisive battles were fought, let alone won (Faber 2009, 291-292). Eventually, a contract restored the region to a peaceful state: the foedus of October 382.

The Tervingian Goths did cross the Danube, and that was about the only part which went according to Valens’ plan: Even in the crossing, the Roman officials were unable to exert control, they did not manage to establish how many Goths had immigrated,8 let alone disarm them (Amm. 31, 4, 9). The effects of this failure were made even worse by corruption and greed of the men on the spot, Lupicinius and Maximus (Amm. 31, 4, 11; Zos. 4, 20, 6).9 They are said to have sold dog-meat to the starving Goths at such a 5

6

7

8

9

Since the text of this contract has not been preserved, we cannot be certain about what was agreed upon. The communis opinio runs as follows (Heather 2007, 135138; Leppin 2003, 50):

Itaque duce Alavivo ripos occupavere Danubii missisque ratoribus ad Valentem suscipi se humili prece poscebant et quiete victuros se pollicentes et daturos, si res flagitasset, auxilia. —‘Therefore, under the lead of Alavivus, they took possession of the banks of the Danube, and sending envoys to Valens, with humble entreaty begged to be received, promising that they would not only lead a peaceful life but would also furnish auxiliaries, if circumstances required.’ eruditis adulatoribus in maius fortunam principis extollentibus, quae x ultimis terris tot tirocinia trahens, ei nec opinanti offerret, ut collatis in unum suis et aliegenibus viribus, invictum haberet exercitum, et pro militari supplemento, quod provinciam annuum pendebatur, thesauris accederet auri cumulus magnus. Eunapius fr. 42 (Blockley); Socrates (h.e. 4, 34); Sozomenos (h.e. 6, 37). On Valens' reaction to the Gothic appeal for entry into the Roman Empire, see Lenski (2002, 325-341). Ammianus (31, 4, 6) quotes a famous verse of Virgil (Georg. 2, 1068) to illustrate the overwhelming number: quem scire velit, Lybici velit aequoris idem Discere, quam multae zephyro truduntur harenae —‘Who wishes to know this would wish to know/ How many grains of sand on Lybian plain/ by Zephyrus are swept.’ PLRE I, 519-520 for Lupicinus, comes rei militaris of Thrace; PRE I, 585 for Maximus, dux Moesiae or Scythiae.

1. The Goths formally accepted imperial supremacy and stopped their aggression. Alexander Demandt assumes that the traditional formula ut maiestatem populi Romani comiter conservarent will have been used. He also stresses the Tervingi’s status as foederati, not dediticii: they remained free warriors (Demandt 1989, 127).11 2. As a consequence, they received self-rule in the settlement areas they were given. Synesius of Cyrene explicitly criticizes this part of the 10

The entry consists of one line, with references to Amm. (31, 4, 1; 31, 4, 9; 31, 5, 5). 11 Against Ausbüttel (1988, 604-13).

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Eike Faber - The foedus of 382 or how the Goths did not become integrated into the Roman Empire destruction was an easy matter and that we possessed the means to accomplish it without suffering any consequences, although from past experience, this is neither a foregone nor a likely conclusion, nevertheless just suppose, as I said, that this solution lay within our power. Was it then better to fill Thrace with corpses or with farmers? To make it full of tombs of living men? (b) To progress through a wilderness or a cultivated land? To count up the number of the slaughtered or those who till the soil? To colonise it with Phrygians or Bithynians perhaps, or to live in harmony with those we have subdued. I hear from those who have returned from there that they are now turning the metal of their swords and breastplates into hoes and pruning hooks, and that while paying distant respect to Ares, they offer prayers to Demeter and Dionysus (Them. or. 16, 210d211b).13

arrangement (de regno 19). These territories were situated in the provinces of Dacia and Thracia, between the Danube and the mountain range of the Balkans (in the Bulgaria of today). These areas were not uninhabited. More than likely the Roman citizens living there were obliged to provide for the Goths, who were themselves not taxed.12 3. They would fight for the imperial army but remain under the command of tribal officers. An initial levy of recruits, and the general consent to provide large contingents when necessary, are the most likely arrangements. 4. The empire would pay annual subsidies and make extra payments in the event that military assistance was needed. It is readily apparent that such an arrangements left the immigrant barbarians in the better position. They were being accepted as a distinct group on imperial territory, they could rely on supplies and they were being paid to hold the peace. The Tervingi and their allies had found shelter from the Huns and a reasonably comfortable position. From now on they were involved in each and every major military operation of the Roman Empire for the rest of its existence. This also meant, of course, that the empire really could do nothing about the Goths’ being there —they would have had to expel themselves at the order of the emperor. Large tracts of territory were effectively taken out of imperial control and the Goths formed a state within the state. The special status of the Tervingian Goths —by this stage actually well advanced on their way to become Visigoths— set the precedent for later barbarian settlements and barbarian successor kingdoms.

Themistius’ strategy in this quasi-official explanation is clear enough. Theodosius is to be praised for his political solution to a military problem, he turned swathes of wartorn land into producing farms once more, by not killing the Tervingi. Incidentally, Themistius falls just short of conceding that outright military victory had not been possible. In order to secure his position as emperor and his dynastic ambitions, Theodosius had to justify his actions and gain recognition for it. In this respect it is understandable that no mention whatsoever is made of his imperial colleague Gratian, whose campaigns in the wider region must have been a factor contributing to the eventual Roman diplomatic success.14 In my description of how the foedus of 382 came about, I have characterised Theodosius I as weak. Yet the arrangement just explained worked remarkably well in his lifetime. Both civil wars he fought were won by the Gothic contingents in his army. And aside from localised troubles, he did have that half-barbarian army under control —therefore we must conclude that eventually Theodosius established himself as a strong, competent and self-determined emperor. In his lifetime the arrangement worked, a single Roman empire continued to exist and function despite having another ‘state’ within its military heartland.

The discrepancy between the foedus of 382 and the common expectation that a Roman emperor be always victorious had to be bridged. An attempt to do so by Themistius, rhetorician and senator, is extant (PLRE I, 889–894). The general who had negotiated the peace with the Goths, Flavius Saturninus (PLRE I, 807–808), was awarded a consulate. On the day Saturninus’ office began, January 1st 383, Themistius delivered or. 16 in the presence of the Emperor, the consul Saturninus, the senate of Constantinople and even some Goths:

13

Ἀλλ' ἰδοὺ τὸ ἔχθιστον ὄνομα Σκύθαι ὅπως νῦν ἀγαπητόν, πῶς νῦν κεχαρισμένον, πῶς νῦν προσήγορον. συμπανηγυρίζουσιν ἡμῖν τὴν τοῦ στρατηγοῦ πανήγυριν, ὑφ' οὗ καλῶς ποιοῦντες ἑάλωσαν, καὶ συνεορτάζουσι τὰ καθ' ἑαυτῶν ἐπινίκια. εἰ δὲ μὴ πρόρριζοι παντελῶς ἀπολώλασιν, οὐ χρὴ δυσχεραίνειν· λόγου γὰρ καὶ φιλανθρωπίας αἱ νῖκαι τοιαῦται, οὐκ ἀνελεῖν, ἀλλὰ βελτίους ποιῆσαι τοὺς λελυπηκότας. ἔστω γὰρ ὅτι καὶ τὸ ἀνελεῖν ἦν ἐν ῥᾳστώνῃ καὶ δρᾶσαι πάντα ὑπῆρξεν ἂν ἡμῖν, ἀντιπαθεῖν δὲ μηδ' ὁτιοῦν, καίτοι γε ἐκ τῶν πολλάκις συμβεβηκότων οὐ ταῦτα ἦν ἀκόλουθα καὶ εἰκότα, ἀλλ', ὅπερ εἶπον, ἔστω καὶ τοῦτο κεῖσθαι ἡμῖν ἐπ' ἐξουσίας. πότερον οὖν βέλτιον νεκρῶν ἐμπλῆσαι τὴν Θρᾴκην ἢ γεωργῶν; καὶ τάφων ἀποδεῖξαι μεστὴν ἢ ἀνθρώπων; καὶ βαδίζειν δι' ἀγρίας ἢ δι' εἰργασμένης; καὶ ἀριθμεῖν τοὺς πεφονευμένους ἢ τοὺς ἀροῦντας; καὶ μετοικίζειν, εἰ τύχοι, Φρύγας καὶ Βιθυνοὺς ἢ συνοικίζειν οὓς κεχειρώμεθα; ἀκούω παρὰ τῶν ἐκεῖθεν ἀφικνουμένων ὅτι μεταποιοῦσι τὸν σίδηρον ἐκ τῶν ξιφῶν καὶ τῶν θωράκων εἰς δικέλλας νῦν καὶ δρεπάνας, καὶ τὸν Ἄρην πόρρωθεν ἀσπαζόμενοι προσεύχονται Δήμητρι καὶ Διονύσῳ. 14 On the relationship between Theodosius and Gratian, and also for the translation of Themistius just quoted above, see Heather and Moncur (2001, 255-283).

But see how the most hated name of Scythia [the usual synonym for Goths in fourth-century Greek rhetoric] is now beloved, now pleasant, now agreeable. They join together with us in the festive celebration by the general, by whom they had the good fortune to be captured, and partake of the feasts that celebrate the triumph over themselves. (211a) If they have not been utterly wiped out, no complaint should be raised. For such are the triumphs of reason and universal love, not to destroy but rather to make better those who have caused suffering. For just suppose that this 12

On the terms and conditions under which the Germanic settler were given land and received provisions from the respective local populations, see Krieger (1992, 30-37).

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The sources make it clear that during this time, Germanic barbarians and Roman citizens remained distinct. Intermarriage, for example, was and remained expressly forbidden.15 Of course there were areas of contact, very likely even constant daily contact —not the least because the Goths were lording it over territories inhabited by Roman citizens, who were now effectively their subjects.

If one reads Alaricus’ politics and the negotiations as attempts to secure settlement areas and assurances of peace for the Visigoths, the sack of Rome marks the ultimate failure. All bridges were now burned, no further communication with the imperial authorities was possible (Kulikowski 2007, 177-184). An immediate consequence of this drastic breakdown of communication is the march South and the attempted crossing to Africa: The Visigoths’ attempt to leave the imperial heartland and try their hand at conquering the wealthy periphery. It should be noted that the success of the Vandals' in their conquest of Roman North Africa proves the general validity of the Visigothic plan as such.18

Theodosius managed to assert his supremacy and maintain overall control, but he had to leave lots of leeway for his Gothic federates. The imperial succession of Arcadius and Honorius provides an illuminating contrast to the reign of their father. Only the Western part of the empire will be covered in this overview.

But their attempted crossing failed and Alaricus died before he could yet again try something completely different. His successor, his son-in-law Athaulfus,19 who inherited the office of ‘Heerkönig’ in an uncontested manner, lead the Visigoths up North through the Italian peninsula along the only route yet untraveled: to Gaul.

A failure of control: (Arcadius) Honorius and the Goths Between 382 and 395, relations between the Visigoths and the Empire had, while not without tension, been free of armed conflict. This changed almost instantly after the death of Theodosius I. His sons were not old enough to govern for themselves16 and strong men behind the throne were actually in control. The Visigoths under the leadership of Alaricus became involved in the power-play between West and East. The Goths were not content with their position and negotiated for improvement by any means at their disposal.

Athaulfus made the best possible use of the one means at his disposal to re-connect to the imperial court and restart negotiations: He began communicating about the fate of Galla Placidia, daughter of Theodosius I. and a hostage of the Visigoths since the sack of Rome. Communication resumed, he obtained a supply of grain and eventually took a most daring and unprecedented step: He married Galla Placidia. Their son died prematurely, but his Christian name ‘Theodosius’ clearly illustrates the proud father’s ambition: to join lineages and to stake a claim to the imperial throne in the person of a grandson of Theodosius I.20

They were partially successful as the rise in status of Alaricus himself makes clear. With his promotion to magister militum within the imperial military hierarchy came improvements in subsidies and more security for the whole Visigothic people. In title Alaricus had become part of the administrative, military and social élite of the empire. As magister militum per Illyricum he exercised control over key industrial assets, among them weapons factories.17

This aim is not manifested expressly in the sources, but the general mind-set is. On the outset, Athaulfus attempted to overcome the Roman empire and manoeuvre the Visigoths into a position so dominant as to replace the empire (Gothia quod Romania fuisses et fieret nunc Athaulfus quod quondam Caesar Augustus, Orosius 7, 43, 5). This he could not achieve —Orosius writes about the unruliness of the barbarians, who cannot obey laws, which I understand to signify that they were not unanimously united under Athaulfus, and divergent opinions existed as concerning the future of the tribe. The alternative solution, which Athaulfus attempted, was an amalgam of what was best about Rome and the Visigoths, respectively: past Roman glory, present-day Roman order and organisation and Visigothic might. The combination was to amount to a restitutio of the romanus nomen (Orosius 7, 43, 6). Galla Placidia is praised for her intelligence, piety and the guidance she offered to her Visigothic husband. Orosius reports the whole affair as follows:

Yet it becomes equally clear that he was not regarded as an equal. His demands, the demands of ‘his Visigoths’, were taken seriously, but only as a threat to be defended against, not as the needs of a large number of inhabitants of the empire which could contribute to peace if they were fulfilled. The Visigoths were made keenly aware that they really were not all that welcome. It became apparent that the status quo of 382 had only been reached by their military clout, and therefore a generation later they acted accordingly. Sitting on the border of Italy in Illyricum and Noricum had proved ineffective, so they marched through the imperial heartland. They threatened Rome herself, twice received ransom payments and in 410 took the urbs by force and plundered for three days.

It seems that at first he ardently desired to blot out the Roman name and to make all the Roman 15

The barbarians did not receive connubium (Giese 2004, 26-27). One might argue that their youthfulness was only a contributing factor and the real problem was a systematic and systemic dismantling of the emperor who gradually lost his religious, juridical and military function and ability (Barceló 2011, 23-39). 17 Claudianus (in Eutropium 2, 224-228; de bello gothico 535-539); Schwarcz (1984, 88-89). 16

18

On the Vandals, Castritius (2007). On the positions of Alaricus and Athaulfus respectively, see Faber (2010, 157-169). 20 Olympiodorus (fr. 24, 26; Blockley); Isid. (Historia Gothorum 19). Sanz-Serrano (2009, 133-139). 19

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Eike Faber - The foedus of 382 or how the Goths did not become integrated into the Roman Empire territory a Gothic empire in fact as well as in name, so that, to use the popular expressions, Gothia should take the place of Romania, and he, Athaulf, should become all that Caesar Augustus once had been. Having discovered from long experience that the Goths, because of their unbridled barbarism, were utterly incapable of obeying laws, and yet believing that the state ought not to be deprived of laws without which a state is not a state, he chose to seek for himself at least the glory of restoring and increasing the renown of the Roman name by the power of the Goths, wishing to be looked upon by posterity as the restorer of the Roman Empire, since he could not be its transformer. On this account he strove to refrain from war and to promote peace. He was helped especially by his wife, Placidia, who was a woman of the keenest intelligence and of exceptional piety; by her persuasion and advice he was guided in all measures leading to good government. While he was thus eagerly occupied in seeking and offering peace, he was slain at the city of Barcelona in Spain by the treachery, it is 21 said, of his own men (Oros. 7, 43, 5-8).

But armed conflict was the norm, both sides only made concessions when forced to do so by military might or lack thereof. Integration, a real mingling and actual living-together of 'Romans' and immigrant barbarians did not take happen. Indeed it remains doubtful whether during the reign of the Theodosian dynasty any of the sides involved actually wanted that kind of integration. In my mind, the only indication of the real potential behind such an integrated living-together, let us call it a barbarised Roman empire, was expressed by Orosius (7, 43, 6) who attributes the following change of mind into Athaulfus’ mouth: that he had originally wanted to destroy the Romania and turn it into a Gothia, but eventually desired to use his fighters to revive the glory and fortune of Rome. Instead of achieving this ambition, Athaulfus was assassinated —and thus ended a marriage between the ruling imperial dynasty and the Visigothic royal line. It is just possible that in this particular instance of oldfashioned but time-honoured and proven alliance building the only chance for a real, lasting 'integration' of the migration period gentes ended as well.

Galla Placidia was eventually ransomed by her halfbrother Honorius and regained a strong position at the Western court. She kept her barbarian connections, on which some of her influence depended. But her second husband Constantius III rose to the position of coemperor by fighting against usurpers and barbarians in Gaul. Roman-barbarian tensions were the main source of problems for the Western Roman empire.

Conclusion I believe to have shown that —on the back of the provincials— settlement inside the Imperium Romanum was possible for Northern Barbarians. They were tolerated by the imperial authorities, who were unable to expel them; apparently their presence felt like an occupation to the 'Roman' inhabitants of the settlement areas. The Germanic immigrants quickly formed an integral part of the imperial military, even the military establishment, as 'Germanic' officers were quite common. In title Alaricus belonged to the four or five most important officials of the empire, and close co-operation evidently took place. 21

se inprimis ardenter inhiasse, ut oblitterato Romano nomine Romanum omne solum Gothorum imperium et faceret et uocaret essetque, ut uulgariter loquar, Gothia quod Romania fuisset et fieret nunc Athaulfus quod quondam Caesar Augustus, (6) at ubi multa experientia probauisset neque Gothos ullo modo parere legibus posse propter effrenatam barbariem neque reipublicae interdici leges oportere, sine quibus respublica non est respublica, elegisse saltim, ut gloriam sibi de restituendo in integrum augendoque Romano nomine Gothorum uiribus quaereret habereturque apud posteros Romanae restitutionis auctor, postquam esse non potuerat immutator. (7) ob hoc abstinere a bello, ob hoc inhiare paci nitebatur, praecipue Placidiae uxoris suae, feminae sane ingenio acerrimae et religione satis probae, ad omnia bonarum ordinationum opera persuasu et consilio temperatus. (8) cumque eidem paci petendae atque offerendae studiosissime insisteret, apud Barcinonam Hispaniae urbem dolo suorum, ut fertur, occisus est.

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  spheres. Rather they perform in the opposite fashion: they are pieces with an eminently vulgar display of status meaning. In the case of the missorium of Theodosius, we can in fact observe a tiny circular moulding which can be associated with the act of exhibition; possibly it would have been displayed on a wall bracket, now of course lost (Díaz Martínez 2000, 159).5 This thin moulding (with a diameter of 24.5cm = 9.84 ins) is in any case not serviceable as a base for a functional, dining dish, meaning that its original and ‘natural’ position would be surely on a vertical, very probably to be hung using a cord or chain(s). This would have caused a very dramatic ‘floating in the air’ effect,6 generating a scenography which may have suggested some kind of special or divine power to the object, calling reverence to it. Unlike the highly decorated obverse, the reverse is not polished and there are some evident signs of sanding on it; this side was definitely not designed to be displayed.

The missorium of Theodosius: imperial elites and the Lusitanian countryside in the Later Roman Empire Saúl Martín González1 Universidad Complutense de Madrid Grupo Barbaricum Abstract The missorium of Theodosius, a 35lb highly ornamented silver dish, is one of the principal treasure items of late Roman Spain, yet also one of the least known and most difficult to define. Its apparent lack of recognition perhaps can be related with a certain kind of scholarly views based in Classical Arts, ignoring its archaeological context and also wider values. In this paper I will explore this piece as a key item not only for Late Roman Hispanic studies, but also even for establishing a new axis and guidelines in interpreting Theodosian politics on the panEmpire scale. KEYWORDS: Theodosian dynasty, Late Roman Hispanic archaeology, gift exchange, Imperial family, political legitimation, anthropology of the elites

What is a missorium? Firstly, it is important to raise a set of questions in order to understand the Missorium of Theodosius. The most basic of these questions centres on the true nature and meaning of pieces which are termed missoria. Straightaway, we find that the actual etymology of this word takes us to the sphere of gift-exchange.2 This is one of the main anthropological mechanisms in social behaviour, and it plays a fundamental role in defining an important concept, namely ‘the aristocratic modus vivendi’. It is basically a quite common pattern among the elites of different human societies, especially for those in pre-industrial contexts.3 These missoria are not —despite claims sometimes made (Arce Martínez 1988, 172) — simply a component of ‘luxury tableware’,4 in aristocratic

Figure 1. The Missorium of Theodosius at Gabinete de Antigüedades de la Real Academia de la Historia de Madrid (photo: author).

In the Later Roman Empire, missoria would have represented a donativum from the Augustus, who publicly demonstrated imperial liberalitas with such a gift to one of His subordinates, creating also thereby a fixed link between them. In this political and no doubt public drama, the giver strengthened the links with His ‘service nobility’, en route developing His clientelist networks

                                                             1

The author thanks Dr Jorge Maier of the Real Academia de la Historia in Madrid, for his great kindness in showing me, on two separate occasions, the Theodosian dish and all the other pieces in the collection at the Gabinete de Antigüedades. 2 Deriving from the Latin verb mitto-missi-missum (‘to send’), to be related to certain English terms such as ‘mission’. 3 Regarding the key role of the gift-exchange and patterns as an important mechanism for social rule, see Conniff (2002, 111). 4 Arce Martínez (1988, 173) even rejects the role of the Theodosian dish as luxury ware in order to be an eminent item of ostentation. In reality, parade or display ítems (gold-/silver-ware, weaponry, etc.) are mainly for public ostentation rather than practical use. Thus, Arce points out that, in the case of this dish, no one would dare eat from (or even cover with food) something with the imperial figure displayed; nor would one walk on an image of the Emperor on a floor mosaic. Similarly he denies even Augustan representations in mosaics. However, we could ask how we find so often the Chrismon, then, a Christian symbol that signifies the very name of Jesus Christ, sited in corridor pavements.

                                                             5

In fact, some certain Greek characters are visible on the reverse of the missorium, thus reinforcing the hypothesis of a Greek origin (Díaz Martínez 2000, 159). These characters were made with an awl and record the weight of the piece at 50 Roman pounds (16,125 Kg or 35.2739 British pounds): ‘Al tasarse la pieza en 1.847 dio un peso de 15,344 Kg. La diferencia casi de un kilo de plata con respecto a lo que constata la inscripción griega, la explican algunos autores como falta de una pieza de engarce o sujeción’ (op. cit., footnote 9). 6   This dramatic effect is quite common in ceremonial contexts: it appears in Visigothic votive crowns (such as Recesvinthus’ and Suintila’s), in the crosses that bishops wore on the chest until the present day, or, in a Islamic context (but one very influenced by the former Christian orthodox scenography), in the massive clipei with sacred caligraphy depicted in Haghia Sophia in Constantinople.

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

and reinforcing his authority in often insecure times. As we know from the complaints included in the anonymous De rebus bellicis,7 this emperor-subordinate behaviour was extremely frequent. The recipient of the gift would commonly be a relative, an aristocrat or a high ranking public servant such as a general or consul; as well as the high economic and physical value of the piece, to be pointed designated thus as an amicus principis was an amazing honour. In this way, a missorium means, as ultima ratio, the physical imposition of two basic guidelines in the aristocratic mind: the vulgar display of power (firstly in the piece itself, but mainly in the personal link it signified) and the success inside the eternal and aggressive competitiveness in which Later Roman elite members and families were constantly involved.

with Christ teaching (this an early representation or predecesor to the Byzantine Pantocrator) from St. Michele in Africisco (also Ravenna), nowadays in the Bode Museum in Berlin (Meischner 1996, 406), which develop the same pattern.10 Above all, the missorium of Theodosius shows a public ceremony where an aristocratic subordínate receives a specific and special gift.11 In terms of the interpretation of this scene, many rivers of ink have run.12 Thus, various scholars have identified the scene as representing either a public servant who takes a declaration from the three Emperors (Leclercq 1777, IV), a diploma (Beckwith 1970, 34), a diptych (Piganiol 1972, 89) or a commission (Peirce and Tyler 1932, nº35) which acts in reality as an offering to the Emperor (Schramm 1924, III). The dish has also been interpreted as showing a public servant receiving the codicilii for his new office (Grabar 1936, 39); a person whom the Emperor refuses to touch, and so He presents the item wrapped in a cape (Kiilerich 1993, 20); or even the postmortem proclamation for Constantinus III (Meischner 1996, 418ff). In a more credible reading, Arce Martínez (1976, 131), Delbrueck (1929, 3-5) and Kollwitz (1941, 157) concur to see in this scene, the Emperor Theodosius investing a public servant through the act of giving him the condicilli or liber mandatorum (which was a basic guide or handbook with guidelines for his office). This character, in addition, can be seen to accept this present, by then wrapping it in a cloth,13 in which the item would be conserved throughout the term of the public service. In fact, all these indicators of courtesan submission and respect can be viewed as proof of the persistence of an ancient royal ritual, which reached back fully to Alexandrian times (Malte Ploumis 1997, 127).

The missorium of Theodosius: iconographic aspects The first important iconographic element within the missoria lies in the individuality of each representation. Every piece was specially designed in order to commemorate and memorialize a certain personal or historical event and context, and we know that at least in some cases several copies were made.8 Depending on the iconography, the two closest examples to the Theodosian dish are the missoria of Kerch and of Valentinian I.9 Both share with the Spanish dish the same material (silver) and the majestic imperial position, located in the middle of the scene. But there are many other pieces, in addition to the missoria, traditionally compared with the dish of Theodosius: for example, the sculpted base of the Constantinopolitan obelisk (Bruns 1937), the Corbridge Lanx (Toynbee and Painter 1986, 32; Weitzmann 1979; Kitzinger 1984, 59, fig. 5) and the consular diptych on ivory of Constantius III (Meischner 1996, 402) and the silver dish from Parabiago (Levi 1935; Trento Musso 1983). Likewise in mosaics of later date (especially those of the fifth-sixth centuries) a certain link has been established with those images and scenes of Justinian and Theodora with their courtiers, the Pantocrator (Deichmann 1958, 334; Grabar 1936, fig. 21) and that of St. Luke – these all found inside the church of San Vitale at Ravenna (Meischner 1996, 406) – or else the mosaic

Regarding the scene depicted on the missorium, most current researchers consider (and I agree) that we should recognise here events associated with the ceremony of the Decennalia (commermoration of ten years of rule) for Theodosius I, who attained the Imperial throne in AD 379 (January 19th) after the military disaster at Adrianople; thus it would be commemorated at the very start of 389.14 This was a crucial year for the Theodosian regime, because it meant the end (both public and biological) of two important characters, both of Spanish origin too, related with toAugustus: Magnus Maximus15 (whose Imperial adventure was ended that year) and Maternus Cynegius, also deceased in AD 388.16 For the

                                                            

7 ‘Profusa largitio’ (1.1), ‘Largitio inmoderata’ (1.2); referred by Arce Martínez (2000, 283) with abundant bibliography. 8 E.g. the four missoria showing Licinius’ Decennalia, celebrated in AD 317. They were all found together, but nowadays two of them are in Belgrade, one in Vienna and the last in a prívate collection in Luzern (Arce Martínez 2000, 284). 9 The missorium of Kerch was found in Eastern Crimea and is kept today at the Ermitage Museum in St. Petersburg. Silvered, it shows Constantius II riding a horse in a military attitude (Arce Martínez 2000, 284; Baratte 1996-1997, 64; Strong 1966). The missorium of Valentinian I is currently in the Art and History Museum in Geneva (Blázquez Martínez 2000, 257; Meischner 2000, 236; Arbeiter 1997; Von Zabern 1980; Grünhagen 1954; Deonna 1920, 18). Other examples may include that of Gross-Bodungen (partially conserved), the glassdish held at the Antiquarium Comunale in Rome, the four missoria of Licinius’ Decennalia (see footnote 5), one at Cosenza (Museo Dell’Antichità) and the Aspar Ardabur’s, dated at 434 (Archaeological Museum of Florence); see Toynbee and Painter (1986); Volbach and Hirmer (1958, fig. 109).

                                                            

10 For a documented analysis of all these items, in relation to the Theodosian dish, see Blázquez Martínez (2000, 257); Meischner (2000, 235); Arce Martínez (2000, 284). 11 This leads again to the social mechanisms referred at the start of this paper. 12 For a basic summary, see Arce Martínez (2000, 286-287). 13 Not in a cloack as Kiilerich (1993, 20) suggested. 14 The date moves between 387 and 389: ‘(…) como es evidente (y no creo que quepa discusión sobre ello), el missorium es obra del 388 –o poco antes- (…)’ (Arce Martínez 1988, 175). 15 Before his coup d’etat, Maximus had been fighting in Britannia under Theodosius the Elder and was, perhaps, even a blood relative of the Augustus from Cauca (Matthews 1989, 273). 16 When he died in AD 388, he was Consul and Prefect of the East, after a long cursus honorum (Blázquez Martínez 1996, 394-395).

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Saúl Martín González – The Missorum of Theodosius

companions portrayed and seated behind Theodosius many theories have also been proposed: on the one hand some authors recognize Valentinian II and Arcadius or Arcadius and Honorius (Arce Martínez 2000, 288; 1998, 169-179; 1988, 173); alternatively, other scholars change Theodosius I and his sons to Theodosius II, Honorius, Valentinian III and even an already deceased (!) Constantius III as the recipient of the Imperial present (Meischner 1996; 2000, 250). However, this picture undoubtedly involves an implicit ultima ratio beyond the mere name of every character: the aim for the exultation and the display of the Imperial Family on a political and public context. When we examine in detail the scene, we first observe an image of a family united in a public act. Of course, this is not a global vision of all family members in their ‘everyday’ life (the days of the Augustean Ara Pacis had passed a long time ago), but rather a vision restricted to those relatives who had developed or been rewarded with direct Goverment duties. Effectively, we behold here the portrait of the political family. Thus, the point that Valentinan II (if he is actually the Caesar on the left, at the end) was not actually the biological son of Theodosius would be irrelevant, because he was also His relative, bounded by political ties.17 In fact, the four ‘tetrachs’18 are occasionally depicted together, with the same iconographic patterns, presiding over public ceremonies. One specific example is seen on the famous Theodosian obelisk at the Constantinopolitan circus (dated AD 390): here all four rulers are depicted, along with a six-year-old Honorius. These public artworks did not have to yield a direct and close physical resemblance to the represented people. Instead, these artworks were to show the “idea idílica” of majesty and rule (Arce Martínez 2000, 288). We have, thus, the antithesis of Roman portraiture as we know it for the Principate: here the political role played by the depicted characters is the main focus, over their psychology and individuality.

sanctification of earthly power is amplified for the beatification of the main triad by the halo or nimbus,20 the only explicit Christian element of the whole piece.21 Ultimately, we might see this as a Christianized inheritance from the Imperial Cult, meaning the deification of the State and earthly power, and, at the end, the strongly centralized State. Thus we can read the concept of the typical Caesar-papist theocratic monarchy of the Christian Augusti, seed of the royal ideology in the later feudal period. In this conception, the ruler (the Augustus now, the king in the future) proclaims himself the representative of God on Earth and, thus, as another kind of being with respect to the rest of mortal men. He is not a deity himself, because Chrsitianity is obviously monotheist, but He is clearly closer to this divine sphere than the rest of humanity, acquiring some mystical connotations. These connotations are a substantial component of the missorium of Theodosius (Figure 2).

Figure 2. Detail of the bottom part of the Missorium (photo: author).

Eastern courtisan elements: an iconography of power

As often noted, the Theodosian dish undoubtedly comes from the palatial and courtly sphere, and probably from the officium of the comes sacrarum largitionum, where it was likely made by the argentarii comitatenses (Arce Martínez, 1988, 187-188; 2000, 283). For the background of the main scene, where some monumental architecture is depicted, countless locations had been proposed: Constantinople, Spalatum19 and Thessaloniki, the latter the seat of the imperial Court for AD 387-388 (Delbrueck 1929, 3-5; García y Bellido 1949, vol. I, 470-474). In fact, this particular detail of place is surely irrelevant: it marks, as with the depicted figures, a model or idealised vision (Arce Martínez 2000, 288; 1988, 186-187; De Frankovich 1970, 12, 14ff). These architectonic elements are employed in order to emphasise the feeling of majesty, Imperial unity and strengthening of the Theodosian might to the eyes of the beholder. The

On a first inspection of the Thesdosius dish, one of the elements that may strike the eye is the important emphasis on the fertility of the fields, with the apparition of the Tellus allegory holding a cornucopia, supported by the strong sense of wealth and prosperity of the Earth via several putti. Strikingly, this extremely pagan scene, displayed here beside the Emperor who had banned the pagan cults at the very beginning of that same decade,22

                                                            

20 The nimbus is a deep-rooted iconographic element in the religious history of Rome. It actually derives from an ornament used for the statues of the gods, in order to keep the birds away from their heads and keep them clean (Delgado 2000, 20 note 7); but it would become a divinity symbol afterwards. In addition, it fits with the idea of light rays coming out of the head of the superhuman characters, for most representations of solar deities (Apollo, Mithra, Sol Invictus) have it in one way or another (see Blázquez Martínez et al. 1993, 613). Christianity, a solar cult in many aspects, takes the pattern and applies it to anybody above the average human being: Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary, angels, saints and martyrs, the Pope, many bishops and blessed and, from Constantine onwards, also for the Christian Caesars and Augusti. 21 Scholars traditionally wrongly argued that the missorium lacked any Christian element (Arce Martínez 1988, 189; Beckwith 1970, 34). 22 On AD 380 (March 28th), by the Edict of Thessaloki.

                                                            

17 In Spanish, ‘political family’ still refers nowadays to those relatives adquired by non-biological ties, mainly through marriage. 18 We might validly employ this Diocletianic term also for Theodosius, Valentinian II, Arcadius and Honorius. 19 Meischner (2000, 248-249) proposes either Hagia Sophia or the Imperial Palace in Constantinople, or else the palace at Spalatum.

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occupies a third of the dish’s obverse. This sub-scene sub-scene remains relatively neglected by scholars because of its apparently ‘obvious’ and ‘evident’ meaning, and the few mentions of it rarely extend beyond a mere description. They converge in the words by Blázquez Martínez (2000, 255),23 in addition to the interesting considerations by Kiilerich (2000, 273)24 and also Themistius’ prayer to Theodosius in AD 381: ‘The godlike King maintains justice and under his rule the earth is fruitful…and the people prosper’ (Themist. Or. ca 187d; Od. 19, 109; Kiilerich 2000, 280).

addition, we can recognize another evident Eastern pattern in the missorium, regarding sizes. Thus, the different characters (excluding of course the putti) are ranked in size in the scene according to their political power or value, in a descending fashion. This too is a highly common iconography in the East, for courtesans and royal spheres, al least from the Hammurabi28 and the Naram-Sim29 steles, grandson no less of Sargon of Akkad.30 Thus, we observe how Theodosius (the Emperor) and Tellus (a deity, or al least a divinized abstraction) are the biggest in size, followed by the Caesar at the left of the viewer (Valentinian II?), the clear heir holding the staff and the globe. This figure is in turn larger than the Caesar on our right (Arcadius?), and this one, in turn, slightly bigger than the German bodyguards from the Scholae Palatinae flanking the triad. Those are more or less equal to the figure who receives the gift, seated beside the Augustus.

These elements prove the strong tendency to present the Emperor and His Familiy as sources of health, life and power. These concepts are not a unicum on the Christian iconography from this age, as evident in the silver dish from Parabiago. In fact we can recognise here the persistence of a rather remote Eastern concept, that extends back to the age of Pharaohs25 and even to the dawn of the Ancient Near Eastern civilizations,26 at least from the own Hammurabi´s code of laws onwards.27 In

Circumstances of the discovery of the missorium

                                                             23

‘Toda la composición refuerza el sentido de prosperidad agraria. La agricultura era la base económica del Mundo Antiguo, y de otros periodos de la Historia hasta la revolución industrial’. 24 ‘A cornucopia identifies her as Abundantia, while the ears of grain indicate that she is also a personification of the Earth, Tellus, i.e. the Abundance of the Earth. Three more putti offer fruit, one of them a flower, to the emperors. The image signifies the prosperity of the Empire with the ruler or rulers as the source of the riches and wellbeing of the people: a glorification of the imperial power’. 25 ‘La justificación del poder radica en el ejercicio del mismo. El poder sobre esa tierra que pertenece a la divinidad pero que está escasamente hollada por ella, le es concedido al monarca junto con los atributos para ejercerlo. Fuerza, vida, salud, la triple jaculatoria típica egipcia expresa un compendio de la serie de conceptos englobables en esta categoría de atributos. Los dioses egipcios, a diferencia de sus colegas del mundo clásico, no gustan de pasearse por sus dominios terrenales ni de alternar relajadamente con sus dependientes mortales. Los dioses egipcios son terratenientes ausentes que le dan poder a un individuo que comparte su esencia divina, el rey, para que administre la creación y, a su vez, les haga llegar los réditos que les son debidos. Pero para que el rey pueda administrar el mundo de los mortales al menos parte de él mismo debe ser mortal, de modo que pueda habitar un mundo ajeno y separado del de los dioses y para que pueda relacionarse libremente con los dioses parte suya debe ser divina. Tal es la base de la personalidad dual del monarca egipcio.’ (Pérez-Accino Picatoste 2008, 33). 26 ‘De acuerdo con la ideología imperante, la realeza había surgido por designio y voluntad de los dioses y eran ellos los encargados en última instancia, de elegir quien iba a ser rey.’ (González-Wagner 1996, 134). ‘El reconocimiento de los reyes (…) que se producía con un intercambio de cartas, embajadores y regalos en el momento de la entronización, constituía un factor más de legitimación, incluso entre los usurpadores (…) (op. cit. 135). ‘Una vez en el Trono, el rey se legitimaba en cuanto dispensador de vida, esencialmente alimento y protección. Vida, haciendo con su mediación ante los dioses que la siembra prospere, las cosechas y los ganados sean fecundos, los días sigan a las noches, asegurando, en definitiva, que no se perturbe ni interrumpa el orden (divino) del mundo. (…) El rey garantizaba, asimismo, la seguridad indispensable para el normal desarrollo de la vida, que se concretaba en protección militar contra el enemigo exterior, pero también protección interna que implicaba el mantenimiento de la posición social adquirida (…) (op. cit. 1996, 135). 27 ‘(I am) Hammurabi, Enlil’s chosen sheperd, who heaps up plenty and abundance supplying Nippur, where Earth and Heaven meet, with whatever it needs, the devoted provider for Ekur. I am the powerful King, who restored the site of Eridu (…) I am descendant of the royal line, one whom Sin created, who made Ur prosper, the humble and clever one, who brought prosperity to Ekishnugal (…) the lord, who makes Uruk come alive, and secures plentiful supplies of wáter for its people (…) who fills up the granaries for mighty Urash (…) who sends

We have seen how Theodosius’ missorium reflects certain iconographical traditions associated with remote times and Near Eastern royalties. However, as is well known, this masterpiece was recovered not in the East nor in a courtesan, official context. Instead, it was found in the Lusitanian countryside, in other words in the “Far West” of the Romans’ Known World, the Finisterrae. Furthermore, given how in the Later Roman Empire the Diocesis Hispaniarum was relatively irrelevant in Imperial terms (Álvarez Jiménez, unpublished), so the apparent paradox comes bigger. In fact, not only the Theodosian dish forms very much a unicum for this geographical context, but also provides the best or clearest example empire-wide of an imperial Roman missorium.31 Perhaps the first enigma for scholars is this unbelievable display of economic and symbolic power in the context of a materially-poor Hispania, which held a typical colony-metropolis relationship with the Centre of the Empire.32 As a result, this unexpected find has always confused Spanish (and other Roman) scholars, who do not always know how exactly to answer or respond to this ‘mysterious’ object.33

                                                                                                 magnificient food offerings to Enninu (…) the mighty King, the Sun of Babylon who shines all over the lands of Sumer and Akkad’ (Richardson 2004). 28 An interesting semiotical study for this piece is Colero (1999). 29 For an analysis of the stele of the grandson of the great king Sargon of Akkad, see Nigro (1992). 30 Both pieces now at the Louvre Museum, Paris. 31 Thus ‘una de las joyas del Bajo Imperio’ (Blázquez 2000, 253); ‘la más conocida, estudiada y reproducida internacionalmente de las joyas que la Hispania romana ha aportado hasta ahora a la Arqueología Clásica’ (Canto de Gregorio 2000, 290). 32 Basicly, the Diocesis Hispaniarum acted as it really was: a typical colony for economical explotation, producer of source materials and goods, and receiver of handmade products for their local elites. 33 The situation is syntetized perfectly by Fernández Galiano (2000, 315): ‘Hasta muy recientemente, el disco de Teodosio era un meteorito caído no se sabía bien de qué planeta’.

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Figure 3. Satellite map of the area around Almendralejo, showing main archaeological sites and the location of the Iter ab Hispali Emeritam (map: author; satellite image by Instituto Geográfico Nacional of Spain) 

In order to take this challenge, however, we must extend beyond the physical limits of the dish itself to try to trace its currently unknown and full archeological context; in other words, we must undertake an interrogation of the circumstances of the find. As recorded by Dr Antonio Delgado (2000),34 Perpetual Antiquarian of the Real Academia de la Historia in Madrid (1848-67), the dish came to light on August 25th, 1847 during a clearing of weeds35 on a property called ‘El Sancho’, located at 1000 castillian varas36 in south-eastern Almendralejo (province of Badajoz, south-western Spain). This plot of land was part of the property of a certain D. Antonio Martínez, and with the intervention of the Marquis of Monsalud, neighbour of that town, and through his dealings with the Marquis of the Socorro in Madrid, the piece was eventually sold to the Real Academia de la Historia in Madrid, where it remains still today.

the findspot. This part has become known as ‘La Plata’ (‘the silver’) from what the local informant, J. A. Calero (2000, 103-105), could gather.38 The reports indicate that the dish was found folded in half, and was in fact originally part of a hoard, found over a pavement, containing also two silver cups. As García y Bellido long ago pointed out (1949, 470), this implies a context of evident hoarding in situ (i.e. within a house or property) and should not denote the spoils of a robbery from Augusta Emerita (Delgado 2000, 80-81; Mélida 1930, 11).39 Quite likely this was a hoard gathered before the upheavals of the early fifth century and perhaps also prior to the last archaeological phase of many Roman villas of this area, a spatial re-occupation phase named after written sources, the “villula phase” (Martín González 2011).40

Regarding the site of discovery and given the limited dimensions of the town of Almendralejo in 1847 compared to the present day,37 it might not be unexpected that the land plot has since become part of the urban zone. But in fact, the site zone lies by the western end of the town, in a property called ‘El Sancho’; it is an extensive strip of terrain whose north-eastern extremity, now included in the urban settlement, would have been

The territory: ‘Tierra de Barros’ In order to define the relationship between Augusta Emerita and the possibility of a hypothetical in situ find/depsoit, we have to ‘zoom out’ to cover the territory

                                                             38

He also had access to some interesting oral information regarding alleged bad behaviour by the three peasants who found it, who understandably hoped for some benefit from the find. 39 Almendralejo is 30 km (18 miles) South of Mérida. 40 In a phase characterized by contempt for luxury in favour of the eminently useful for survival (Martín González, op. cit.), the missorium would probably have been melted down – the fate of countless classical sculptural and architectonic works which fed Late Antique forges and lime-kilns (Manacorda 2001; Alba Calzado 1996; 1997).

                                                             34 35

 First edition (1849). 

A local peasant, Juan Aguilar, was the original finder, together with his colleagues Bartolomé Giraldo, Pedro Lopa and José García. 36 The castillian vara is exactly 0.8359 m (0.914 yds); so 1000 castillian varas equals to 835.9 m (914.151 yds). 37 It is useful to note its population at 1502 inhabitants in 1847 and 33,588 by 2009.

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the boundaries of these two entities,46 although this has been successfully (in our opinion) answered by Gorges and Rodríguez Martín (2005), who identified the geographical, economic and social unity of this territory with Mérida. In this sense it appears even in the passio Eulaliae (IV, 5)47 as the site for Promptianus, the property of the martyr’s family, member of the local oligarchy. This seventh-century text places the border between both provinces at the thirty-eighth milestone, meaning the limit would be around 34.75 miles (56 km) Southwards Augusta Emerita,48 in the surroundings of the current town of Los Santos de Maimona (Gorges and Rodríguez Martín 2005, 112).

where the piece was unearthed. This is the territory known nowadays as ‘Tierra de Barros’, whose capital is Almendralejo. The landscape here is expansive, with open plains crossed by isolated mountain ranges, and with an abundant flora and fauna of Mediterranean type. The name of the zone or shire41 is derived from the dominant red soils (Quaternarian sedimentary drag), which in addition to the proximity of the Guadiana river and its tributaries provides great agricultural fertility, mainly dominated by thousand of acres of olive-trees and vine yards. Almendralejo is the focus (for both crops) of the prestigious crops label Ribera del Guadiana. This is a traditionally prosperous and economically buoyant zone throughout the diachronic sequence, and once founded as Almendralejo in AD 1327, it formed the cradle for local powers through all the modern and contemporary periods.42

Thus we can recognize here an ‘Emeritan heartland’, an undoubtedly optimum location for its local elites, landowners and their dependent farming populations (Figure 3), drawing on strong agricultural resources, a good road network, well connected with wealthy Baetica and its seaports, and the relative proximity to the capitalcity of the Diocesis Hispaniarum. Did this combination of factors perhaps attract in the Imperial senatorial aristocracy? In this regard we have some well-known examples for Late Roman supra-territorial absentee landlords such as Melania the Younger or Paulinus of Nola (Blázquez Martínez 1998, 302), owners of rural properties throughout the whole Empire. These terrains were managed in absentia by foremen (villici) or by tenants. Perhaps, then, it may be possible to recognize in our Lusitanian landscape49 the existence of some well endowed Theodosian family properties – after all, this was a family with a Spanish origin and which must have retained links with the Spanish capital.

In Roman times, this territory gravitated around the Iter ab Hispali Emeritam (Figure 3), the routeway that formed the natural extension of the ‘Vía de la Plata’ (Iter ab Emerita Asturicam) to the southern seaports (Sillières 1990).43 In addition, we know that in the early Empire these lands were the pertica for the giant Southern centuriation of Augusta Emerita, well studied by Gorges and Rodríguez Martín (2005), and by Ariño Gil and Gurt Esparraguera (1994). Both lands and roads attracted Roman colonists, and this became one of the most settled areas of the surrounding countryside of Augusta Emerita. Thus, in the Carta Arqueológica de Extremadura,44 just for the territory of Almendralejo45 we find fifty-six Roman-chronology entries, forty-two of which belong to ‘villa-like’ settlements.

On the other hand, we must not forget that Lusitania in this same period was undergoing its first phase of official Christianization, in line with the Theodosian religious (anti-pagan, anti-heretical and stickler) politics in defence of the Nicene faith. This massive (or at least massive for the public sphere) phase of Christianization, as with most social and religious innovations, will have employed the cities as the main foci of dissemination of beliefs and ideas, which had arrived through the main (both land and river) routes.50

Another main feature of the ‘Roman Tierra de Barros’ is its role as a border area between southern Lusitania (and more exactly, its most Eastern territory, the Conventus Emeritensis) and the northern Baetica (and the Conventus Hispalensis). These is still today a dense discussion about

                                                             41

Tierra de Barros literally means ‘Muddy land’ in Spanish. Thus the Meridan historian Bernabé Moreno de Vargas (1633) states: ‘Almendralejo: La villa de Almendralejo está al Mediodía cuatro leguas de Mérida. Poblóse en los años de 1.327 (…). Fundóse en el sitio donde estaban muchos almendros, y así le llamaban el Almendral (…); y el pueblo por esta causa tomó nombre de Almendralejo, por ser pequeño en un principio, si bien creció muy apriesa (sic), porque la tierra es fértil, y sus pobladores la desmontaron y cultivaron de manera que hoy se hace allí la mayor cosecha de trigo y cebada de toda Extremadura; por la cual es conocida esta villa en España, pues de ella se proveen muchas de sus ciudades y lugares, de donde ha resultado de muy gran riqueza a sus vecinos, y su número ha crecido de modo que tiene al presente 920 vecinos, y en ellos muchos nobles y principales (…). Han salido de esta villa muchos hijos suyos que han tenido diversos oficios en letras y armas’ (Moreno de Vargas 2001). 43 For the segment that crosess Tierra de Barros and the Emeritan Southern centuriation, see the bibliography in note 45. 44 The official document, made and held by the public regional authorities, contains the inventory with all the archaeological sites in Extremadura. 45 Obviously a deeper study of the phenomenon would require us to cover also the territories from its surrounding towns. However, Almendralejo itself works as an excellent example for the Roman archaeological reality in this shire. 42

                                                            

46 Ariño Gil et al. (2004); Le Roux (1999); Ariño Gil and Gurt Esparraguera (1994); Sillières (1982; 1990); Canto De Gregorio (1989); Gorges (1983, 413); Corzo Sánchez (1976); Wiegels (1976, 258). 47 The passio is a seventh century hagiography which refers to the early fourth-century work “Life of Eulalia of Mérida”. She was a twelve years-old teen, daughter of a local decurionum family, and they had a villa rustica in this territory, near the 38th milestone Southwards Augusta Emerita, near the Baetican provintial border: ‘(…) Eulalia beatísima, cives et incola provincie Lusitanie, quum paulo longius ab urbe, miliario tricesimo fere et octavo ultra Emeritam villa est nomine Promtiano in finibus provincia Betice (…)’. For this passio see Sánchez Salor (2006) and Martín González (2012). 48 More exactly 38 x 1472 m (1 milia pasuum, mile = 1472 m; according to Hacquard 2008, 125) = 55,936 km = 34.7570 miles. 49 This is an ecologically, socially and economically privileged territory, sited beside the capital of the Diocesis Hispaniarum and well connected wich the rich Baetica and its seaports. 50 For the land routes between Baetica and Lusitania see Cerrillo Martín de Cáceres (2004); Gorges and Rodríguez Martín (2004).

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sent by Constantinus III to Iberia (Oros. VII, 40, 4), took place in Lusitania, employing in this even some uncertain ‘Lusitanian legions’, as a previous step in the constitution of their own rustic army.

For the Hispanic context, the Mediterranean (likely North African, arriving via Baetica) origin of Christianity is well known (Blázquez Martínez 1989), as evidenced by the list of bishops attending the Council of Elvira, these nearly all Baeticans (Vives 1963). Noticeably, archaeological explorations at Mérida have established the fifth century as the principal phase for major religious change at the Lusitanian capital (Mateos Cruz 1995a; 1995b; 1997; 2005). In addition, the proximity to Baetica by the Iter ab Hispali Emeritam, also becomes relevant for the vital role played by Italica in the Theodosian policy, which has even led some authors to assign a presumed italicensis origin for the Emperor himself (Canto De Gregorio 2006) instead of the traditional one from Cauca, as stated by Hydatius (Chron. 2.1). Although I personally disagree with this point it is true that Theodosius first wife, Aelia Flaccilla (Delgado 2000, 25-26), was a native from this Baetis riverside colony. This is important beyond the anecdoctal level, because it implies that Italica was automatically converted, after the imperial marriage, into an important focus of relatives (just in a ‘political’ sense, but relatives all in all) for the Augustus. Thus, in sum, it would be not so strange to expect that, beyond these connections between two primary cities in late Roman Spain, our territory was also the setting for some of the main rural properties of the Theodosian family. After all, it was right here, in this territory where the point of transition between both urbes runs, and where many rich Roman villas beside the Iter ab Hispali Emeritam lie, where the missorium of Theodosius was found.

The whole episode is especially valuable in revealing the existence of powerful local landed elites bonded by blood ties with the Imperial Family and the Center of the State power. This oligarchy was probably the de facto governor of Late Roman Augusta Emerita and its hinterland. These aristocratic individuals will themselves have been serious candidates for receiving an imperial gift such as the missorium. But, where then is the vicarius? In fact, there existed still, de iure at least, the remains of some State administration led by this public officer. One of them would have been, as it has been traditionally argued (Arce Martínez 2000, 287-288), the recipient of the dish (Figure 4). Of course we cannot discard this posibility at all, in light of our scarce information, but this might be harder to support than the idea of Hispanic Theodosian relatives, a reason being that most of the last vicarii Hispaniarum we know of were non-Hispanic bureaucrats, passing through the Hispaniae under their own cursus honorum (Arce Martínez 1988, 189), who spent little time here. Would the Emperor have been interested in publicly demonstrating his ties with any of these ephemeral officers rather than with his own landowner relatives, the true lords of the the Finisterrae? However, it is not impossible that both figures (i.e. the aristocratic relative and the officer of the State) could have been one and the same, although we have many lacunae on the relevant lists of officials. In any case, it is known that Theodosius was surrounded by a certain ‘Spanish clan’ in his governing of the Empire. This clan included high officers as Maternus Cynegius, Praefectus of the East, and maybe, in the earliest days, even the future usurper Magnus Maximus, among others (Blázquez Martínez 1996, 379; Arce Martínez 1988, 94; Fernández Galiano 2000, 316).

The Theodosian family But what do we know of the historical evolution of this territory in Late Antiquity? Twenty years after the Theodosian Decennalia, the date celebrated in the missorium, Theodosius was dead and his son Honorius held the Western throne. In this moment comes one of the crucial episodes leading to the end of Roman Spain, started by the young aristocratic brothers Didimus and Verinianus. This is a well-known and well-studied episode (Sanz-Serrano 1986, 235; 2009, 171; Arce Martínez 1988, 95; Escribano Paño 2000), marked by both brothers conscripting and training at their own expense a Lusitanicos exercitus (Zos. VI, 4, 6), a local, irregular army raised from their peasant and dependent men. Their target was clearly, as written sources strongly and explicitly attest (Oros. VII, 40-41; Zós. VI, 4-5; Sozom., H.E. IX, 11; Isid., H.Wand., 71; Paulus, Hist. Rom., XII, 17, 1-25), to defend the Theodosian legitimacy, the unity of the Empire as well as their own Hispanic lands against the last great usurpation at the Roman West, namely that of Constantinus III and his barbarian mercenaries. In fact, it is noticeable how the sources explicitly avoid presenting these brothers as usurpers themselves, but display them instead as fervent loyalists in terms of their kinship with Honorius, the legitimate Emperor of the West. Zosimus (VI, 4, 3) even tells how the first skirmishes, perhaps against the iudices

Figure 4. Detail from the Missorium showing, perhaps, the recipient of the dish (photo: author)

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

recall the wise words of Wood (2000, 314), who points out an undoubted truth:

Final remarks What conclusions can thus be made on the dish of Theodosius? The first has to do with the meaning of the piece itself. Before any consideration, we observe in this the physical incarnation of an ideal, a political programme cast in metal, where the almost divine will of the imperial authority is demonstrated in the very making of the piece, in its precious material and in the complex depiction, but also in the fact of the dispatch of the dish to the landlords of the Finisterrae. It is not by chance that that same elites are become or are made, mostly, by their own (biological but also political) relatives, friends, allies and acquaintances (the so-called ‘Spanish Circle’) of the Emperor. Ultimately, the whole episode of the missorium is no more than a huge drama focused on the display of  the union of all the Theodosian Spanish clan, no matter if its members lived in the Diocesis Hispaniarum or in the Imperial Court in the East. This is not a secondary matter, at all. It is not necessary to highlight the political situation of the Empire in the Theodosian age. Theodosius was an Emperor who attained the Purple after the military disaster at Adrianopole and he was always being forced to deal with issues within his Government, in addition to the barbarían (Gothic in particular) problem, and with two major acts and conflicts of usurpation, those of Magnus Maximus and Eugenius, among the rising atmosphere of military and administrative corruption. Taking these into account, this situation of external siege and internal rotting of the State’s power mechanisms (army, administration, etc.), it may have been a useful tool to forge a political order based on a new rising element: the Imperial Family itself. Provincial relatives, bound by blood ties, emerge as guarantors of the status quo in the Empire’s peripheral areas, such as the Diocesis Hispaniarum, trying thus to bring in some young blood in order to support a decaying Empire. In this sense, the so called ‘Theodosian renaissance’ becomes particularly instructive. In this ideal only one family (not any family, but an extensive and influential one) leads the united Empire, under the sign of a single faith, which worships a unique deity. This ideal is thus being effectively and concisely displayed on an icon made in the same year as the final victory over the dangerous usurper Magnus Maximus (AD 388). All these ideas (legitimization, a Theodosian dynasty as guarantor of the economical prosperity and the centralization of the political power, the several politically important silences, etc.), already represented in the missorium, will then be developed further at the funeral prayer De obitu Theodosii (Faller 1955; Liebeschuetz 2005) written and displayed by bishop Ambrosius at the burial of Theodosius on January 17th, AD 395 (Natal Villazala 2010).

(…) althrough dyptiches and missoria were works of art, and as such excite the interests of connoiseurs, they need to be read as fragments of a gift-giving culture which as exotic as those studied by the social anthropologists.

If there is any certainty we can infer from the examination of the missorium of Theodosius, the most luxurious (and maybe also the most out of context) object from late Roman Spain, it is that it is not an isolated object produced by mere clever artistic whim, but a cultural item deeply rooted in its historical, ideological and also social and political context. We should thus

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the French scholar has been thwarted by various circumstances.

Rural population of farmlands south of the Guadalquivir valley in Late Antiquity (fourth-sixth century AD)

First, the limitations imposed by the methodology used: that of land survey. The difficulties attached to the definition of homogenous survey areas, their systematic coverage, the assignation of archaeological or functional categories to concentrations of archaeological material, and the outlining of boundaries for occupied ‘sites’ for each occupation period, etc. are well known (Domínguez Berengeno 2007). Although several techniques exist for the palliation of these problems, the type of survey still being practiced in Andalusia —very limited from a conceptual and a material perspective— impedes the full application of new off-site archaeological methodologies (Foley 1981; Bintliff and Snodgrass 1988).

Enrique García Vargas / Jacobo Vázquez Paz University of Seville

Abstract The analysis of the changing settlement patterns in the Guadalquivir Valley during Late Antiquity has recently been undertaken by K. E. Carr (2002) on the basis of data collected by Michel Ponsich in the 1970s and 1980s. This work suggests a deep crisis in rural occupation in the 5th century, with the disappearance of a large number of settlements, and some degree of recovery in the 6th century, though without ever reaching 4th century occupation density. In order to test this model, the present paper presents a compilation of data collected during recent survey and excavation in the lands to the south of the Guadalquivir within the modern day province of Seville. The typological classification of datable pottery wares (especially African sigillatas) has been more careful and precise than in older works. This has permitted a more accurate dating of occupation periods in rural settlements during Late Antiquity.

Additionally, the date of several sites identified by survey remains problematic. Dating is still almost exclusively reliant on fine table wares, most particularly African Red Slip Wares (ARS) and, less frequently, Late Roman C Ware (LRC). The current state of our knowledge on African and Eastern fine ware repertoires has reached a level of accuracy in the dating of survey and excavation material to match that achieved with early imperial sigillatas. This does not, however, fully solve the problems presented by the chronology of late sites because this piece of evidence is, indeed, not always present. Even in regions such as the Guadalquivir valley where ARS in rural areas is widespread, there are sites without this item. And these sites are invisible to us as late Roman sites. Fortunately, local common pottery studies carried out in several localities in the valley (Amores Carredano et al. 2007; Maestre Borge et al. 2010) are beginning to remedy this situation, although the application of the results to the dating of rural sites with common wares remains to the present time underdeveloped.

Additionally, some insight into the internal dynamics and archaeological context of the few excavated sites has also been gained. The result is an interpretive model which, on the whole, contradicts K.E. Carr´s thesis, suggesting a progressive and sustained reduction in the number of sites throughout the 4th and 5th centuries, followed by a sharp drop in the number of rural settlements in the 6th century. We believe that this phenomenon reflects an important transformation of rural occupation patterns in the early 6th century. In order to assess the nature of this change, the second part of the paper examines in depth a number of recently excavated sites with reliable stratigraphy. This detailed study reinforces the conclusions made on the analysis of spatial distribution of sites.

On a different note, basic late antique typologies are frequently invoked loosely in the publication of survey work. The alleged identification of a pottery fragment as table or kitchen ‘African’ ware is often deemed reason enough to associate a late antique date with the site where it was found. But we know for certain that imports of some types of African wares started to arrive in the region during the Flavian period and that the initial repertoires of ARS (variant ‘A’) are already common in assemblages dated to the Antonine period. The chronology of many villae has been ‘stretched’ into the fifth century on such grounds; these dates must, therefore, be taken with strong reservations.

KEYWORDS: Baetica, Late Antiquity, Guadalquivir valley, settlements patterns, surveys, excavations, ARS, LRC, communications

Introduction The evidence required to gain a picture of the general occupation features in the lower Guadalquivir Valley during late antiquity has been published only partially and unsystematically. Over the past fifteen years, many heterogeneous survey projects, sometimes carried out more for administrative than scientific reasons, have added some information to that set forth in Ponsich’s pioneering work (1974, 1979, 1987, 1988 and 1991). These surveys partially cover the lower valley down to the mouth of the river (Amores Carredano 1982; Ruiz Delgado 1985; Oria Segura et al. 1990; Domínguez Berengeno 2007). Although the survey coverage focuses on the areas previously examined by Ponsich, the possibility of directly contrasting the data published by

Finally there is the far from trivial matter of the low ‘visibility’ of late antique sites, due to their own nature. They often consist of little more than clusters of huts with no substantial structural remains and few datable ceramic materials. For an example on the Baetican coast, we can cite the sixth century (ARS, Hayes 103) silos, found in the Roman village of Arroyo Vaquero (Estepona) but dated after the abandonment of the village itself (Navarro, forthcoming). This suggests that the trend is not only

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found in ‘marginal’ or poorly urbanised areas but is in fact a general feature of the period. It also explains why the period is often solely documented through miscellaneous sites identified as ‘churches’ or cemeteries.

The evidence The only published work which considers a wide territory is that in which K. E. Carr (2002) tries to combine available landscape data and reliable pottery dating. This work is fully reliant on Ponsich’s (1974-1991) surveys along the lower Guadalquivir valley (supra). Although Carr’s knowledge of basic ARS typologies (Figure 1) allowed her to offer a coherent chronological outline, Ponsich’s lack of precision regarding late antique pottery typologies have handicapped her work. The latter are reinterpreted by Carr (2002:48) in a table which tries to account for the most frequent African sigillata (class ‘D’) shapes, following Ponsich, and adhering to the most widely admitted chronologies for them (Figure 2). On this basis, Carr assigns dates to the sites and develops a chronology for rural populations in the lower Guadalquivir valley which can be summarised as follows: continuity throughout the fourth century, restructuration —caused by a significant contraction— during most of the fifth, and a certain ‘renaissance’ in the sixth century, when the population almost reached its maximum levels, lost in the previous century (Figure 3).

Figure 1. Repertoire of ARS documented in M. Ponsich’s survey in the Guadalquivir valley (after to Carr 2002).

The typological-chronological scheme offered by K. E. Carr involves, however, important limitations. The most significant of these are related to the reliability of

Figure 2. ARS. Typographical correspondence between N. Lamboglia and J. Hayes (after to Carr 2002).

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(Amores Carredano 1996), from which some information has already been published (Amores Carredano et al. 2001). Término municipal of Marchena (Seville), a site chart update of which has been recently published by our team (Oria Segura and García Vargas 2007, Domínguez Berengeno 2007). Término municipal of Fuentes de Andalucía, to the northwest of Marchena, the archaeological chart of which (Fernández Caro 1992) includes areas of the River Corbones as it goes through the términos municipales of Marchena and Carmona, and very briefly also of La Luisiana (south), Écija (southwest) and La Campana (southeast).

Figure 3. Number of late-antique sites by centuries in the Guadalquivir valley (after Carr 2002).

These surveys thus affect the ‘heart’ of western Baetica, as outlined by the axis Orippo-Hispalis-Carmo-Astigi. Due to the more detailed dating and characterisation of ceramic material and the more precise definition of general trends and local peculiarities, discrimination between fourth, fifth and sixth century sites has been possible.

1

Ponsich’s reading of African sigillatas. It is also of note that Ponsich rarely considers variants of the different shapes suggested, which is particularly serious regarding the shape Hayes 91, the variant 91A of which dates to the first half of the fifth century, whereas variants 91B and 91C must be dated to the sixth. K. E. Carr, although pointing this out, dates most sites where Ponsich documents the presence of Hayes 91 to the sixth century, which in our opinion explains the overrepresentation of this century in her distribution maps.

The areas studied in these surveys (Figure 4) correspond —due to bureaucratic reasons— to current local divisions,2 and do not fully match the territory analysed by Ponsich. The areas surveyed by this French author encompass riverside areas on both shores of the Guadalquivir, whereas our work will only focus on populated agricultural lands to the south of the river. These are not always in direct contact with the Guadalquivir, but are in the area of influence of tributary watercourses on its left bank: the Corbones (including its tributary, the River Salado) and the Guadaíra.

This fact alone is sufficient to justify a revision of K. E. Carr’s conclusions on late antique population in the Guadalquivir valley, which in our opinion must rest on the same evidence used by this American scholar: African sigillatas as documented in surveys, excepting those presented by Ponsich. K. E. Carr’s conclusions have been set against the evidence offered by several local surveys carried out in the last few decades in the same areas, or nearby ones, explored by Ponsich in the Guadalquivir valley. These surveys offer a more reliable reading of ARS and LRC materials. The areas for which such information is available are as follows:

Although in principle similar population trends may be assumed for the whole valley, no confirmation is as yet possible due to the lack of adequate recent publications. This will also thwart any attempts to clarify several important questions, for example the river’s navigability or the use of parallel or perpendicular (to the river) land routes during late antiquity. In our opinion, these questions can only be solved once our approach is made extensive, to cover all areas in direct contact with the Guadalquivir.

Término municipal of Dos Hermanas (Seville), the site repertoire of which has been very recently updated by F. J. García Fernández (García Fernández 2005, 2009, García Fernández and Ferrer Albelda 2003). Términos municipales of Carmona and Alcalá de Guadaíra, between Los Alcores and Vega de Corbones, for which are available the pioneering archaeological chart of Los Alcores (Amores Carredano 1982), that of Alcalá de Guadaíra (Buero Martínez and Florido Navarro 1999) and the relatively recent Actualización del Catálogo de yacimientos arqueológicos de Carmona

Along with this evidence from surveys we also have the data generated by more or less recent interventions —still unpublished— in Alcalá de Guadaíra (Seville; site of Las Canteras), Dos Hermanas (Seville; site of Fuentequintillo), Gerena (Seville: site of Sevilla A), Bollullos de la Mitación (Seville, site of Alto de Valdeparrilla) and Jerez de la Frontera (Cádiz; site of Los Villares). This will give us the opportunity to compare surface finds and excavation evidence obtained from rural sites dating to between the fourth and the sixth centuries.

                                                            

1 In examining this French author’s survey results in the area of Los Alcores, around Carmona (Seville), F. Amores (Amores Carredano 1982) manifests certain scepticism towards Ponsich’s typochronological characterisations. He shows special reservations with those sites dated merely on the basis of Lamboglia 10A (=Hayes 23A) and/or Lamboglia 34/35 (=Hayes 61) shapes, dated by Ponsich to the third and fourth century respectively. Amores observes, after his survey, that most of these sites lack late antique and, often, any Roman material at all.

                                                            

2 Survey coverage is total in Dos Hermanas, Alcalá de Guadaíra, Carmona, Marchena and Fuentes de Andalucía, and partial in Seville, Mairena del Alcor, El Viso del Alcor, La Campana and Écija (zones of which are included in the archaeological chart of Fuentes de Andalucía).

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Figure 4. Municipalities of the province of Seville included partially or completely in the area under study (map E. Domínguez, with data from the authors).

‘lucente’) and eastern (Cypriot table ware, Late Roman C wares – Phocaean LRC) provenance. By and large, however, ARS of Tunisian origins are the most abundant.

Although not all of these sites fall within our survey areas we believe them to be particularly significant for the characterisation of rural sites in late antiquity, because of their material repertoire and their function.

On the other hand, excavations in Plaza de la Pescadería comprehensively reflect pottery imports in Hispalis around the second third of the sixth century AD, as shown by the fill of an early imperial cistern, rich in amphorae and coarse and cooking wares but also in the variants C and E of Hayes’ LRC shape 3 and a wide repertoire of late shapes of ARS (variant D) from the Oudna, El Mahrine and the “X workshop”.

Chronological basis: ARS and LRC typological sequences The accurate dating of the ARS and LRC wares documented in the lower Guadalquivir valley fundamentally rests on several late antique stratigraphic sequences recently excavated in the city of Seville. In particular, two sites have rendered expressive enough sequences: Plaza de la Encarnación (Amores Carredano and González Acuña 2006) and Plaza de la Pescadería (Maestre Borge et al. 2010, Vázquez Paz and García Vargas, forthcoming).

The sites have thus provided us with a wide and diversified ceramic repertoire, which will be key for the determination of the most frequent ARS and LRC shapes and their associations over time. On the basis of the analyses carried out on these two sites we suggest the following sequence:

Excavations of the late antique levels in Plaza de la Encarnación have offered a long chronological sequence (third-sixth centuries) rich in ARS (variants A, C and D) and other fine table wares, of both western (DSP,

third century: Hayes 6C, Hayes 9B, Hayes 14, Hayes 26, Hayes 27, Hayes 31, Hayes 45A and B, Hayes 48B and Hayes 50 A.

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Figure 5. Repertoire of third century forms in ARS (from Hayes 1970).

ca. 475/480-ca. 520-540: Hayes 81B, Hayes 91 B, Hayes 96, Hayes 97, Hayes 99 A-B, Hayes 102, Hayes 103 A-B, Hayes 104 A and 110, and Hayes 3 C and E for LRC. ARS shapes Hayes 94, Hayes 99B, Hayes 102, Hayes 103B and Hayes 110 are the most common towards the end of the first half of the sixth century (Figure 8).

ca. 320-ca. 400 AD: Hayes 26, Hayes 27, Hayes 45 A and B, Hayes 50 A and B, Hayes 58, Hayes 59 A and B, Hayes 60, Hayes 61 A. ca. 400-ca. 475/80: Hayes 59 B, Hayes 61 A and B, Hayes 67, Hayes 70, Hayes 73, Hayes 76, Hayes 80 A and B, Hayes 87 A, Hayes 91 A. ca. 475/480 – ca. 520-540: Hayes 81B, Hayes 87C, Hayes 91 B-C, Hayes 94, Hayes 96, Hayes 97, Hayes 99 A-B, Hayes 102, Hayes 103 A-B, Hayes 104 A and 110. Regarding LRC, variants B, C and E of Hayes 3 are documented.

These ceramic sequences are in our opinion the most solid base for establishing the chronology of rural sites. According to this evidence, third, fourth, fifth and first half of the sixth century repertoires can be easily distinguished on the basis of a few ceramic shapes. It is for this reason that, in what follows, we will use these ARS shapes as our main guideline3 for dating sites found during surveys and for their comparison with K. E. Carr’s conclusions.

Discounting residual shapes, the diagnostic shapes for each period would be as follows: Third century: Hayes 6C, Hayes 9B, Hayes 14, Hayes 26, Hayes 27, Hayes 31, Hayes 45A and B, Hayes 48B and Hayes 50 A (Figure 5). ca. 320-ca. 400 AD: Hayes 50 B, Hayes 58, Hayes 59 A and B, Hayes 60, Hayes 61 A (Figure 6).

                                                            

ca. 400-ca. 475/80: Hayes 61 B, Hayes 67, Hayes 70, Hayes 73, Hayes 76, Hayes 80 A and B, Hayes 87 A, Hayes 91 A (Figure 7).

3

There are some exceptions, based on the presence of amphorae, coarse wares or decorated bricks dating to the sixth century AD. We believe that sites with African cooking wares unrelated to ARS (Hayes 197, Ostia I.164) or late coarse wares must be dated to second-third century AD.

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Figure 6. Repertoire of fourth century forms in ARS (from Hayes 1970).

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Figure 7. Repertoire of fifth century forms in ARS (from Hayes 1970).

which the introduction of new African and Phocaean fine wares into western ‘markets’ opens a new period, shown in the fourth column (sixth century), which covers the period between ca. 475/480 and ca. 520/540. The graph appears to express a clear trend towards a decrease in the number of rural sites over time, as shown by the following figures:

Evolution of occupation sites between the fourth and sixth centuries AD: Initial quantitative results and problems of interpretation. Figure 9 contains a simple diagram showing the total number of sites detected for each period, as defined by the ceramic sequences above. The first column has, for the sake of convenience, been labelled as corresponding to the third century, but it in fact represents the number of sites datable between the mid second and the early fourth century. The second column (fourth century) records all sites dating between ca. 320 and ca. 400 AD. The third (fifth century) shows all sites dating between the beginning of the fifth century and 475/480 AD, after

- Third century: 104 sites - Ca. 320-ca. 400 AD: 101 sites - Ca. 400-ca. 475/80 AD: 77 sites - Ca. 475/480 – ca. 520-540 AD: 28 sites.

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Figure 8. Repertoire of sixth century forms in ARS (from Hayes 1970).

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In fact, and apart from a few notable exceptions (Garrido González 2010), land surveys conducted to date in western Andalusia have not included detailed samplings for determination of the spatial behaviour of sites over time. The ‘large villa’ characterisation, based on size and on the quantity and the quality of material culture is applied to all periods of activity, ignoring the possibility of a site following different models or agricultural occupation in different periods. Further, more often than not such a characterisation is not conveniently supported with evidence, and the apparent prevalence of the villa in nearby regions is deemed as sufficient justification for it, at least until the demise of the villa as key territorial organisation unit —besides cities— around the mid fifth century AD (Chavarría 2007).

120 100 80 60 40 20 0 S. III

S.IV

S.V

S.VI

Figure 9. Number of sites by centuries in the area under study.

This implies a diminution of around one quarter between the fourth and the fifth century. It is of note that a similar decrease does not occur between the third and the fourth centuries. From the fifth to the sixth the diminution is approximately of two thirds. Overall, the number of sites in the third century is four times higher than in the sixth century. Obviously, this is merely a simplification in which neither the size of sites nor the emergence of new settlements as a separate factor are examined, but it reveals a significant trend towards reduction in the number of inhabited rural sites which begins in the fifth century and which culminates in the following century. This seems to reflect a radical change from the mid and late imperial territorial organisation and settlement patterns.

This presents us with a second problem: how to interpret the nature of some few so-called ‘large villae’, the surface pottery of which seems to indicate their continuity until at least the mid sixth century, a period in which wealthy villae-type settlements —abundant in the fourth and fifth centuries— have ceased to be a major factor in territorial organisation (Vigil-Escalera Guirado 2007). We must either suppose that villae retained their organisational role in the Baetica for longer or admit that we are confronted with a different reality which cannot be discerned with the evidence produced by conventional land survey. Therefore, in order to be able to approach the nature of rural population in these two centuries, essential for a comprehensive understanding of the transformation of rural structures in the lower Guadalquivir valley, and considering the scattered nature of evidence gained through excavation, we can only resort to the topographical reconstruction of population in the fifth century and the scarce evidence provided by fourth to sixth century excavated sites. With this, the only evidence available to date,4 we shall try to set forth a sequence of late antique rural population which intends to be but a working hypothesis. Furthermore, this sequence cannot be extended beyond the mid sixth century, since thereafter imported fine wares are no longer present and no secure typological study of local and regional table wares from this period have been established to date.

The results gained via this chronological revision are significantly different from those published by K. E. Carr (2002) for the lower and middle courses of the Guadalquivir, but also from those obtained from specific local studies (Oria Segura and García Vargas 2007). In the latter case, however, the corrections needed are less radical, since they are only due to a better knowledge of datable table wares (including coarse wares; see Maestre Borge 2009 and Maestre Borge et al. forthcoming). The evidence is, however, less expressive if we intend to take our conclusions beyond a mere spatial distribution and chronological characterisation. This is due to the lack of clarity of this evidence regarding the functionality of sites. Most of the sites which remain occupied throughout the fifth century and found in surveys have been interpreted as large villae or, in a few cases, as clusters of small rural dwellings (Buero Martínez and Florido Navarro 1999). This suggests continuity from the previous century with regard to this type of site and even an increase in their number following the barbarian invasions. Indeed, very few of the fifth-century sites are new.

Geographical distribution of rural population in the areas under scrutiny between the fourth and the sixth centuries AD. Although the degree of continuity and change within unexcavated fourth to sixth century rural sites remains unknown, we are at least aware of a change in the geographical distribution of sites, opening an avenue for

It would therefore appear that the general trend not only shows a smaller number of sites, but also suggests that large agricultural houses had more chances of ‘survival’. In most cases, however, the evidence is completely silent as to whether fifth-century sites heir to large mid or late imperial villae retained such a character in the new period.

                                                            

4 The excavation project which we are currently directing alongside Prof. Amores Carredano at the site of Lagunillas (Sanlúcar la Mayor), in the Sevillian area of El Aljarafe, is beginning to yield some interesting data on the transition of a single site from late antiquity to the EmirateCaliphate period. In addition, this excavation is beginning to confirm the chronological sequence based on fine table wares suggested above.

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enquiry into the transformation of rural areas throughout this period. 30 25 20 15 10 5 0

All the other settlements that remain active into the fifth century are located alongside a road linking the Via Augusta and the ‘road of the Straits’. This road runs parallel to the former alongside a path known as Fuente de la Reina and subsequently taking a turn to wade across the Puerca stream near the villa of Cerro Rubio (n. 119), which contains remains of pars urbana. Afterwards, the road crosses the stream Madre de Fuentes and heads towards another country villa, Valdebuey I (n. 142).

s. IV s. V

The number of settlements that continue their activity into the fifth century in the north-western area of current Fuentes, which in late antiquity must have been under the jurisdiction of Astigi, is somewhat surprising. On the right bank of Madre de Fuentes stream is the aforementioned Cerro Rubio (n. 119) and Añoreta (n. 120), with Malaver (n. 140), Venta del Palmar (n. 141), Valdebuey I (n. 142), El Garrotal I (n. 143) and Chiclana I (n. 145) on the left. Finally, another line of sites can clearly be clearly detected running south between the present day Fuentes and the Salado stream, alongside the left bank of La Raspa stream; Cerro Barrero (n. 115), Donadía II (n. 116), Casilla de Chipé (n. 117) and Los Camorros (n. 91).

s. VI

Figure 10. Number of sites by municipalities and centuries.

Moving from the northeast to the southwest, land surveys in the area around Fuentes de Andalucía (Seville) (Figure 10) have collected a significant corpus of evidence. The archaeological chart published by J. J. Fernández Caro (1992) lists a considerable number of sites dating to the fourth, fifth and sixth centuries. Leaving those sites also recorded in the archaeological chart of Marchena aside (see below),5 the figures by century are as follows: fourth century, 22 sites; fifth century, 22 sites; and sixth century, 9 sites. The number of identified ARS shapes is high, denoting the intensity of the survey. The illustrated samples suggest adequate processing of African tablewares by the author. The results are relatively surprising with regard to the fifth century, since most rural pre-existing settlements seem to remain active (with only two exceptions). Regarding the sixth century, although a considerable drop in the number of sites occurs, the population remained relatively dense, with 9 sites, which is more than one third of the figure for the fourth and fifth centuries.

During the sixth century, there are active settlements in all of these areas: PK N.IV 487, 400 alongside the Via Augusta, El Alcaparral and Arenales Bajo alongside the ‘road of the straits’, Los Paredones (n. 138) alongside Fuente de la Reina, Cerro Rubio and Añoreta on the right bank of Madre de Fuentes and Cerro Barrero and Los Camorros on the right bank of La Raspa. Casilla de Chipé, La Platosa V and Donadío II already belong to the término municipal of Marchena (Figure 10), where the number of fifth-century sites (18) amounts to over two thirds of those dated to the fourth century (24 sites). Most of them are located in the north-eastern area of the present day jurisdiction: Los Medianos (n. 94), Repetidor II (n. 102) and the aforementioned Platosa V are located alongside the ‘road of the Straits’, which in this sector links the Via Augusta and the via HispalisAnticaria (present day A 92). To the north of this road, the sites of Rancho Luna (n. 99) and Grullo Grande I (n. 86) are located close to the River Corbones; Salado II (n. 103), Tarajal (n. 105) and Puntal de la Jarda (n. 98) close to the River Salado; and Cerro Motilla (n. 81) and Los Chamorros (n. 91) between the River Salado and the Madre de Fuentes stream. All these settlements occupied the notably fertile lands on the right bank of the River Corbones. The River Salado, a tributary of the latter, still retains a considerable flow due to the abundance of secondary streams. A second, less numerous group includes Santa Iglesia III (n. 104) and La Barragua II (n. 78), in the Vega of Carmona, near to the road that linked Carmo and Urso (Osuna).

In the fifth century, population tended to cluster alongside the main roads: the Via Augusta, which sets the northern limit of the archaeological chart of Fuentes, in direct contact with the territories under Carmo and ObulculaAstigi; and the ‘road of the Straits’, which linked Córdoba with Carteia-Traducta across the Baetican hill ranges. Both roads become one in the stretch that runs between Corduba and Astigi, taking a turn to the southwest at the latter city and following a route that essentially coincides with the present day A364 road (Córdoba-Jerez) between Écija and Marchena. The sites alongside the first of these routes are Tinajuela II (n. 130), NIV PK. 487, 400-800 (n. 132-134) and El Mermejo (n. 135), whereas those alongside the ‘road of the Straits’ are La Platosa (n. 121), Rancho I (n.126), El Alcaparral (n. 128) and Arenales Bajo (n. 129).

The only surviving sites in the sixth century are Rancho Luna, El Grullo Grande and Donadía (n. 82), over the Corbones, and Los Camorros, in the left bank of La Raspa. Four sites in total, which is less than one fourth the number known in the fifth century.

                                                             5

The chart of Fuentes also includes some sites located in the councils of Écija and La Campana, which we have computed as belonging to Fuentes.

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With all due precaution due to the lack of reliability of data concerning the Vega, which on the other hand makes the situation in Los Alcores paradigmatic for the area of influence of Carmona (Figure 10), it seems that the contraction in the latter is even sharper than that observed in Marchena.6 Between the fourth and the fifth centuries, the number of sites drops from 26 to 14, which is almost 50% less. The sites that remain active, on the other hand, are located in three main areas, from north to south: the agricultural lands between Los Alcores and the Guadalquivir, on the left bank of the Corbones (Cortijo de Domínguez, n. 31; Cortijo de Usera, n. 33 and Harinera II, n. 41); the immediate surroundings of Carmona (La Era, n. 45, to the north, and El Almendral, n. 34, to the south), and the pass of Alcaudete, which connects the Alcor and the Vega (Camino de Alcaudete, n. 29, and El Moscoso, n. 38).

Alcala’s territory from southwest to northwest, eventually connecting with the road Cañada Real de Morón, which provides easy access to the area Marchenilla-Gandul to the north. From there, two routes opened: to the north, towards Carmona, where the main road of Via Augusta is regained after the Orippo diversion, and to the east, through Basilippo, in the road between Hispalis and Anticaria. The site of Gandul, therefore, operated as a hinge where the roads from Seville in the west, and Orippo in the southwest, merged into one. The former ran parallel to the left bank of the River Guadaira, after crossing it on the spot where eventually the Puente Horadada was built (today this spot is occupied by the Pineda racetrack, and marks the confluence of the limits between Seville, Dos Hermanas and Alcalá). The road proceeded towards the present day neighbourhood of Torre Blanca de los Caños and further into Gandul through Santa Lucía, subsequently crossing the Salado. The important sixth-century site of La Casilla Guadaira (n. 5) can be found in the vicinity of the road, before it reaches Santa Lucía and Gandul. Epigraphic and funerary evidence seem to point to a late antique site in Santa Lucia itself (n. 21), although no sixth-century material is known to date.

These are important areas, controlling the natural routes linking Los Alcores with the rest of the Guadalquivir valley. The lower course of the Corbones and its tributaries flows into the Guadalquivir to the north, in Guadajoz, an important river harbour in imperial times, where abundant workshops specialising in the production of oil amphorae of the type Dressel 20 have been found. Carmona, on the other hand, controlled the Via Augusta linking Corduba and Gades through Astigi (Écija), Obulcula (La Monclova, Fuentes de Andalucía) and Carmo itself. Finally, the group of sites around Alcaudete, including El Moscoso, relate to a pass which, across the ridge of Los Alcores, enters the Vega and runs towards the road Hispalis-Anticaria through Basilippo (Cerro del Concho, in present day Arahal, Seville; García Fernández and Pliego Vázquez 2004).

In the southern part of this término municipal, the fifthcentury population seems to have clustered around the Guadairilla stream, with the following sites: Hacienda la Armada (Los Manantiales: n. 16) and Haza de las Piedras (n. 18) and, further to the south, Cortijo Bucaré (n. 7), Santa María del Sorvito (n. 25), San Jorge de Algarvejo (n. 8) and Arroyo San Julian (n. 2), arranged almost in pairs towards the Sierra Sur and the Straits. For the sixth century only 6 sites can be attested, three of which group around the road branching from the Via Augusta to the southwest of the término municipal, rejoining it again in Carmona through Gandul: Cortijo de la Chaparra (n. 9), Benagila (n. 3), Hacienda Mateo Pablo (n. 14), San José de Buena Vista I (n. 24) and Las Canteras I (n. 28). To the north, sixth century pottery has been documented in the aforementioned Casilla Guadaíra (n. 5).

Only two sites dating to the sixth century have been identified (barely a fifth of those active in the previous century), controlling the Via Augusta immediately north of Carmona (La Era) and its connection with the via Hispalis-Anticaria through the road that, starting in Carmona, crosses the ridge of Los Alcores in Alcaudete (Camino de Alcaudete). Alcalá de Guadaíra (Figure 10), the territory of which extends over Los Alcores, the Vega and the Terraces of the Guadalquivir, shows a slighter population contraction that in other areas. From 22 sites in the fourth century, the number drops to 16 in the fifth, which is less than a one third decrease. Most fifth-century sites cluster around land routes and water courses.

In Dos Hermanas,7 as in Seville, the sharp urban growth of recent decades has obscured, if not destroyed, a good deal of the archaeological record. The site of Torre de los Herberos (n. 111), location of the ancient city of Orippo, has yielded a wide repertoire of African sigillatas in which most imported shapes between the third and sixth centuries are included (De la Sierra Fernández 1997) (in C, Hayes 44, 45, 49, 50, 52B, 53 and in D, 58B, 59, 60, 61 A and B, 62, 63, 65, 67, 76, 87 A, 94, 91 a-c, 99, 103 and 104). In the remainder of the council, however, the aforementioned destruction has thwarted the identification of fine wares. The important site of

The route connecting Orippo, in the Guadalquivir marshlands with Gandul, in Los Alcores, must have been relatively important. It derives from the Via Augusta and bypasses Seville, crossing the River Guadaira, and which partially remains today as the road linking Matalajena and Benagila, near which several important sites can be found: Cortijo la Chaparra (n. 9), Benagila (n. 3) and Hacienda de Mateo Pablo (n. 14). This road crosses

                                                            

7 The figures for Dos Hermanas and the area of Seville immediately to the north are as follows. fourth century: 6 sites; fifth century: 8; sixth century: 7. These results are due to the fact that within Seville, only sixth century sites along the roads have been counted. They are included in the tables for Seville and Orippo, where the basic ARS repertoire has been dated. Both cities, however, are omitted from the total reckonings.

                                                            

6 This includes the territory between Carmona and Alcalá de Guadaíra, in the present day councils of El Viso del Alcor and Mairena del Alcor.

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Past Gandul, the road joined with a path descending from Los Alcores through the pass of Alcaudete, traversing the western half of the vega of the River Corbones and finally joining the main road at Basilippo. In the spot where exit 49B of the current highway stands, it formed a crossroad with the ‘road of the Straits’, which coming from Astigi continued towards the Baetican hills through modern day Morón, where sixth century occupation has been attested (Vera Reina 1999). From Morón, communication with Gandul, to the northwest, is easily regained. El Gandul thus stood as an important communication node.

Bujalmoro (García Fernández and Fernández Velasco 2011), rich in seventh-century inscriptions, has been left out of our catalogue due to the absence of the diagnostic table wares on which our criteria are based. Another large site, Quintos VII (n. 64), mentioned in the literary record of the Islamic invasion, and which we assume was occupied throughout the sixth and seventh centuries, also remains outside our maps for a similar reason. Both are located in the vicinity of important routes: Bujalmoro dominates de Via Augusta, before reaching Orippo, while Quintos is on the road that connects Seville and Hasta Regia (Mesas de Asta, Jerez de la Frontera), to the southeast.

It is not hard to find archaeological sites along these three routes, to which the road Carmo-Urso must be added. This road runs from northeast to southwest along the vega of the Corbones, connecting a mansio in the Via Augusta with another on the road linking Hispalis and Antequera. But population also followed other criteria. Apart from the Guadalquivir and the Genil, which can be counted as communication routes —the most important ones, in fact— but which for reasons given above are omitted from our analysis, other watercourses were significant factors for territorial organisation. This applies to secondary, such as the Corbones or the Guadaíra, and to tertiary rivers. Among the latter, some must be highlighted for their importance for territorial organisation: Las Culebras (Dos Hermanas-Alcalá de Guadaíra), Salado (Marchena), La Raspa (Fuentes de Andalucía) and Madre de Fuentes (Fuentes de Andalucía).

The road that diverted from the Via Augusta’s main route, bypassing Seville and entering modern day Alcalá de Guadaíra through Benagila and Cortijo de La Chaparra, to eventually rejoin the main road at Carmona, through Gandul, probably started in Bujalmoro. On the other hand, sites located in the término municipal of Seville, such as Instituto Tecnológico del Tabaco (n. 108) and Fuente Quintillo and Villanueva del Pítamo (n. 106), outline the east to west route between Anticaria and Málaga through Alcalá de Guadaíra (Casilla de Guadaíra, Santa Lucía…), which forded the Guadaíra at Pineda and La Puente Horadada (n. 109), and the Salado at Gandul. All these sites, including La Cabreriza II (n. 58) in Dos Hermanas, overlooking the marshlands, have yielded sixth-century material, indicating a concentration of population around communication routes, which would now take over the traditional role played by watercourses (around which population would preferentially cluster in the fourth and fifth centuries) such as Galapagar, in Dos Hermanas (García Fernández 2009).

During the years of agricultural expansion in the imperial period (second and third centuries), these streams seem to have acted as population attractors in the Terraces (García Fernández 2009), the Vega de Carmona (Buero Martínez and Florido Navarro 1999) and the eastern Campiña (García Vargas et al. 2002, Fernández Caro 1992). A large number of minor settlements, typically labelled as farms but which must have had a variety of functions, joined villae in a dense settlement pattern, regardless of settlement hierarchy (Figure 12).

Attraction factors for rural population between the fourth and the sixth centuries AD All areas under analysis are to the south of the Guadalquivir, and belong to different territorial units within the modern day province of Seville: the river marshlands around ancient Orippo (Torre de Los Herberos, Coria del Río), the river terraces, the vega of the River Corbones, and the eastern Campiña between the Rivers Corbones and Genil (Figure 11).

By the fourth century (Figure 13), some of these minor settlements were no longer active. The process became more acute in the fifth century, when the abandonment of a good number of villae and even of some rural hamlets becomes apparent (García Vargas et al. 2002). We believe that the earlier phenomenon, the abandonment of ‘farms’, responds to the merging of settlements into single villae, a typical phenomenon in late antiquity (Sáez Fernández 2001); the later phenomenon, the abandonment of villae, is generally linked to a concentration of land ownership (Ariño Gil and Díaz 1999).

In these areas, population seems to have responded to two key attraction factors: major and tributary watercourses, and major and secondary communication routes. The Via Augusta and its network stand as a key attraction factor, especially the road that traverses the current territories of Dos Hermanas and Alcalá de Guadaíra towards Gandul in a southwest-northeast direction. Eventually, the road reaches Carmona through Los Alcores.

It is relevant that the abandonment of major settlements (villae), already significant in the fifth century (Figure 14), implies only a reduction in population density, and does not therefore involve the rejection of the settlement criteria established in the early imperial period, determined by the position of communication routes and watercourses.

A second route, linking Hispalis and Anticaria (modern Antequera), started in Seville in an easterly direction, crossing the Guadaíra and the Salado and mainly following the route outlined by the current A92 highway.

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Figure 11. Rivers and main towns in the area of study mentioned in the text (map E. Domínguez, with data from the authors).

Figure 12. Distribution of sites in the second and third centuries AD (map E. Domíngez, with data from the authors).

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Figure 13. Distribution of sites in the fourth century AD (map E. Domíngez, with data from the authors).

Figure 14. Distribution of sites in the fifth century AD (map E. Domíngez, with data from the authors).

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Figure 15. Distribution of sites in the sixth century AD (map E. Domíngez, with data from the authors).

Figure 16. Relationship between sixth century sites and routes of communication (map E. Domínguez and F. J. García, with data from the authors).

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Figure 17. Roman villa of Las Canteras (after Cuenda Durán and Ruiz Delgado 1989)

occupation along the streams Madre de Fuentes (left bank) and La Jarda (right bank) can be attested.

By the late fifth and early sixth centuries, however, a trend towards the concentration of settlements along roads and the abandonment of watercourses becomes clear (Figures 15 and 16).

However, a full interpretation of rural population — beyond mere confirmation of the decrease in population density and the reinforcement of the role played by roads in the fifth century— is difficult, if not impossible, without determining the function of each of these settlements. We shall therefore try to shed some light onto the nature of the few fifth- and sixth-century rural sites recently excavated in the lower Guadalquivir valley.

Close to Seville for example, the scant population concentrates alongside the road to Antequera, especially around the fords over the Guadaíra, near the city; in Dos Hermanas, sixth century settlements seem to exclusively cluster around the Vía Augusta (Las Cabrerizas, Bujalmoro?) and perhaps the road between Jerez and Hasta (Quintos?), which now attracted the population formerly settled near the La Culebra stream following the abandonment of Hacienda Doña María II in favour of Doña María VI-VII, to the north; in Alcalá de Guadaíra population clustered around the road to Anticaria and the road which connected the stretch of the Via Augusta south of Orippo with El Gandul. The evidence also seems to indicate the abandonment of the fourth- and fifthcentury settlements along the Guadairilla stream; in Carmona, the decrease in population is particularly drastic in Los Alcores, where only the settlements around the pass towards the Vega (Alcaudete) and along the Via Augusta, between the mansiones of Carmo and Obulcula, remain; finally, in Fuentes de Andalucía, settlement only shows continuity along the ‘road of the Straits’ and the secondary network around the Via Augusta north of modern day Fuentes. Although very much reduced, some

The Villa of las canteras (Alcalá de Guadaíra): A late imperial rural settlement partially reused for funerary purposes This site is located barely 1 km away from the site of Gandul. Las Canteras was partially excavated in the 1980s (Cuerda Durán and Ruiz Delgado 1989), resulting in the documentation of up to eight rooms (Figure 17) corresponding to the northern end of a building which may have been constructed around a central peristyle. The construction technique is varied, including masonry work, rammed earth, tegulae, etc. Some rooms are paved with brick (room numbers 1, 2 and 3). Certain hydraulic

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structures, such as channels and cisterns coated with signinum (rooms 1 and 2), were also found.

known as ‘Los Almendrillos’. The site was identified during survey work and dated on the basis of the surface material. After this initial identification, it was characterised as “late Roman” (second to fourth century AD) and Islamic-Caliphate (10th-11th centuries) in date, due to the presence of ‘Roman coarse wares, amphora fragments, dolia, Terra Sigillata Hispanica and ARS’, along with ‘brick and tegulae’ and ‘some pottery fragments of medieval date’. Later, with the opening of the mine ‘Cobre las Cruces’ and the possibility of damage to interred structures at the site, an excavation was carried out (Hunt Ortiz 2006) in which topsoil was removed (between 30 and 50 cm) and several structures corresponding to a Roman building recorded.

The building seems to date to the first century AD, and it appears to have remained in occupation up until the fifth century, although some structural reforms were introduced in the third century. Rooms 1, 3 and 4 were used for double inhumations after abandonment. The tombs may be dated to the sixth century, if their relationship with some of the ceramic material found is accepted.8 At any rate, the re-use of buildings for funerary purposes does not necessarily imply their total abandonment for domestic or industrial purposes (Chavarría 2007).

The building, which had at least sixteen rooms, was preserved at foundation level, with the exception of a small space paved with opus fliginum inside one of the rooms and a small brick pavement in one of the outdoor areas.10 The foundations uncovered two constructive techniques, an earlier one which made extensive use of masonry and a later one which favoured brick and tegulae. The latter phase outlined a building erected around a central courtyard encircled by three corridors, around which unfolded a series of lateral rooms.

Fuente Quintillos (Seville-Dos Hermanas): Late imperial agricultural site with remains of marginal occupation in the sixth century This extensive site of 20 ha (Figure 18) is located to the east of the residential area of Fuentequintillos, on a small elevation (36 m) near the old road of Quintos, which determines the modern limit between the territories of Seville and Dos Hermanas. Three main phases of occupation occurred between the first and the sixth century AD.9

Datable materials span from the mid first to the fifth century AD. For the more recent phase (fourth-fifth centuries) imported African table and kitchen wares were recovered. Their typologies fall into ARSW (C and D modalities) Hayes shapes 50 A, 29, 61 A and 73. Some of them show stamped decoration following Style A (ii and iii).11 Shapes Ostia I.216, Ostia III.267, Hayes 23 A and B and Lamb 9A, which date the building to the mid fifth century (425-475 AD), have also been identified. No evidence for ulterior occupation has been recovered.

The remains of the earliest phase are badly preserved. They consist of some isolated walls and the scant traces of two small pottery kilns. The second phase includes a structural complex with a clear agricultural function, the dates for which span between the mid third and the fifth centuries AD. The complex includes an oil press, the base of which was found, and a number of badly preserved signinum coated cisterns.

Altos de Valdeparrillos (Bollullos de la Mitación, Seville): a rural enclave in the Aljarafe, abandoned in the fifth and ‘re-occupied’ in the sixth century.

Finally, a number of poorly built walls, covered in plaster, and several pits full of late coarse and table wares (ARS H 103, H 104), bear evidence of sporadic occupation during the sixth century. By this stage the agricultural structures, press and cisterns were no longer in use, because some of the signinum cisterns from the previous period were filled up with sixth-century material.

The site Altos de Valdeparrillos (Figure 20) can be found in the término municipal of Bollullos de la Mitación (Seville), within a landscape dominated by gentle hills about 95-110m.a.s.l. Land survey work carried out by Dr. Hunt between December 2004 and January 2005 interpreted this site as a small agricultural settlement (Hunt 2005). Pottery identified during survey, though scant, was significant enough to establish a rough chronology of the site. It included fragments of opus signinum, tegulae, laterculi, Roman brick, coarse wares, three fragment of ARS —one of the type A and two of the type D— one of them interiorly decorated with

SE-A site (Salteras, Seville): an example of agricultural settlement abandoned towards the midfifth century. The site SE-A (Figure 19) is located in the territory of Salteras, over a gentle hill on the left bank of the stream

                                                             10

Preservation is particularly poor in the western and south-western sectors of the site. The western end had been obliterated by a boundary ditch, whereas the southwest part of the building was also lost due to unknown causes. 11 Atlante Tav. LVIII (b), 65 Stampo n. 183 Estilo A (ii); Atlante Tav. LVIII (a), 16-18 Stampo n. 140 and Tav. LVI (b), 50 Stampo n. 31 Estilo A (ii-iii); and Atlante Tav. LVII (b), 50 Stampo n. 109 and Tav. LVI (a), 22-24 Stampo n. 12 Estilo A (ii).

                                                            

8 Figure 4, n. 37 (H 99 A) and n. 36 (Hayes 104 A) which, in any case, were found in room 5. 9 All the information concerning this site has been drawn from Pajuelo Pando, Rodríguez Azogue and Fernández Flores 2008. This information was made available to us by Araceli Rodríguez, Ana Pajuelo and Álvaro Fernández, whom we wish thank.

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Figure 18. Fuente Quintillos. Aerial view (courtesy of Arqueología y Gestión SA)

Figure 19. SE-A Salteras

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Figure 20. Altos de Valdeparrillos (after López Torres et al. 2008)

guillots (Lopez and others).12 This data suggested at least two occupation phases, in the second and the sixth centuries AD.

- Phase II, of late imperial date, is the best preserved from a structural point of view. The stratigraphy shows clearly how buildings 2, 3 and 4 and the kilns superpose the scant remains of Building 1. The only ceramic fragments found in relation with this phase postdate the abandonment of the settlement (Figure 21): a jar rim, a cooking pot and a jar, all coarse wares (inv. 187, 145 and 146) and several ARS (type D) fragments, including two fragments of the base of a footed plate/bowl Hayes 99, 103 or 104, dating to the late fifth or early sixth century.

In 2008, the firm Arqueo-Pro, under the direction of Pina López (López Torres and Dios Pérez 2008) carried out a rescue excavation with which the results of the survey work could be refined. The intervention was conducted over two seasons, during which four building complexes, two kilns and several pits could be identified. Chronologically, the site has been divided into three phases (Phase I: 50-150+ AD; Phase II: 200-400 AD; Phase III: 400-500 AD). The site’s state of preservation was poor, and the buildings were reduced to foundation or foundation-trench level.

- Phase III is equally poorly represented, apart from the find of a circular structure excavated in the natural soil, the interior of which has yielded evidence for occupation in the sixth century. This structure has been defined as a hut with continued occupation until the mid/second half of the sixth century.

- Phase I is related to the poorly defined Building 1. Among material corresponding to the earliest occupation phase, Terra Sigillata Italica (Conspectus 17.1) and thinwalled pottery (cup/beaker Mayet II) were found. Both could be dated to the Augustan or Julio-Claudian period. Two Terra Sigillata Hispanica (Andujar workshop) fragments belonging to the same cup and dated to the mid-late first century AD were also found.

Within this context (Figure 22) were coarse ware jar rim fragments, typologically related to the shape Jarro 5 from Plaza de la Encarnación in Seville (Amores and others 2007: 149-150, Figure 2), dated in Hispalis to between the second half of the fifth and the first third of the sixth centuries. Similarly, coarsely built cooking pot fragments related to the shape Olla 7 from Plaza de la Encarnación (Amores and others 2007: 149-150, Figure 2) dated to the first half of the sixth century (between 500 and 530), and Cazuela 3 LRCW 2 (2007) decorated with plastic cord, found in Seville in sixth century contexts (Plaza de la Pescadería and Plaza de la Encarnación), were also

                                                            

12 During the survey conducted in 2004 a small scatter of pottery was found near Altos de Valdeparrillos (Valdeparrillos I), including a kitchen ware African shape Hayes 196 (Ostia I, figure 261) (López, De Dios and Hunt 2008)

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found. Rims with triangular horizontal truncated handles, with parallels in Plaza de la Pescadería (Seville), and a date in the second third of the sixth century (Vázquez

Paz, García Vargas, forthcoming), were found in the context UE 46 (Zone 2, Phase III).

Figure 21. Altos de Valdeparrillos. Ceramic material of Phase III: sixth century AD (after López Torres et al. 2008).

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Figure 22. Altos de Valdeparrillos. Ceramic material of Phase III: sixth century AD (after López Torres et al. 2008).

Among the remaining material found in these levels we must highlight the following, due to their chronological significance: lid rim (inv. 227), which recalls known imitations of the shape Hayes 196-Ostia I.261; rim fragment (inv. 229), typologically similar to bevel-

rimmed examples recovered from fifth century contexts in Plaza de la Encarnación (Seville); and finally, a plate base fragment (inv. 230) in Light Terra Sigillata D, roughly dated to between the fifth and the sixth century.

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general image of continuity in occupation between the fourth and the sixth centuries. As already pointed out, however, a sustained trend towards a decrease in the number of settlements and the clustering of the remaining ones along important roads can be detected over time.

The abandonment of the site is reflected in stratigraphic unit UE 2, which overlays all Roman and late antique structural and depositional units. This unit was, for its part, covered by topsoil. Among the materials found the following must be highlighted due to their chronological relevance: within ARS (type D) typologies, rim (inv. 12), Hayes 87 B, generally dated to the sixth century AD; LRC or Phocaean ware, rim, Hayes 3, roughly dated to the late fifth or the early sixth century AD.

The maintenance of the road network, and even of the cursus publicus (García Moreno 1993), is the consequence of a crucial phenomenon with regard to the territorial organisation of the region; the survival of the main urban network. Despite the decadence of some important cities, such as Italica, the fact is that large cities in the southwest of the Province maintained their role as elite residences, centres of political power and territorial cornerstones (García Moreno 2007).

It seems therefore clear that the layer covering the late imperial buildings, in relation with the construction of the hut, must be dated to between the late fifth and early sixth centuries. The systematic pillage of construction materials from the previous phase followed.

Hispalis, Carmo, the unknown city which stood in Mesa de Gandul, Astigi, Urso, Obulcula, etc. retained their role as key communication nodes. Two key roads must be highlighted: the road that ran between Hispalis and Anticaria and the Via Augusta, linking Hispalis and Corduba through Astigi. The secondary roads connecting both were also important. For example, the ‘road of the Straits’, between Corduba and Carteia, which followed a route full of republican history (it was the way taken by a fleeing Cn. Pompey after his defeat at the Battle of Munda). Other roads which connected old Turdetani oppida with the farmlands below were as ancient: the road from Carmo to Basilippo and, especially, the road which linked Orippo to the oppidum in Mesa de Gandul and Carmo over the Guadairilla, the Salado and Los Alcores.

Los Villares (Jerez de la Frontera): A site next to the Via Augusta with proto-historic remains, early imperial pottery and sixth century occupation levels. The site of Los Villares (López Rosendo 2007) is located in the north-western sector of the city of Jerez, between the Garvey winery and the facilities of the Confederación Hidrográfica del Guadalquivir. In antiquity, it stood near to the Via Augusta. In fact, current access to the site is located close to the junction between the Nacional IV and the Trebujena-Mesas de Asta roads. The site can be divided into two separate areas; a lower one, Los Villares, and a higher one, on top of a low hill (90 m high) and known as ‘Cerro de Montealto’. A pottery kiln active from the beginning of the Christian era to at least the second century AD can be found on the southern slope of the hill, known as ‘Pago de Rabatún’. This toponym seems to derive from the Arabic ribat-al-Yun, and referred to a nearby medieval watchtower built in order to control one of the roads into Islamic Xeret.

It would appear that the pre-Roman, or at least the preAugustan, road network was claiming its old prominence back. If it were not for the fact that the situation on the banks of the Guadalquivir is largely unknown to us it could be argued that the key communication routes shifted somewhat to the south, perhaps as a consequence of the decreasing navigability of the river once maintenance work on infrastructures aimed at regulating the flow was interrupted. From the fourth century, this interruption also caused considerable floods in the final main harbour of the river, Hispalis (Borja Barrera and Borja Barrera 2007; Borja Barrera and Barral Muñoz 2007; Baena Escudero and Amador 2009).

Los Villares, on the other hand, stands on even terrain and has yielded evidence of Chalcolithic, proto-historic and late Roman occupation phases (López Rosendo 2007), especially nine ‘hut prints’ and several ‘silos’ grouped to form a small hamlet and dated to the sixth century BC (Late Orientalising), and some structural remains dated to the sixth century AD. The latter, still unpublished, form a group of trenches interpreted as grain silos, the fills of which include coarse and kitchen wares akin to typologies previously found in Jerez and dating to the period of the Emirate, and African sigillatas (type D), shapes Hayes 99 and 103, dating the late antique phase of the site to the sixth century AD.

A certain number of the settlements, urban or otherwise, which were still active by the sixth century must have been fortified once again. This is at any rate the case for Carmona (García Moreno 2001b) and Mesa de Gandul (Ordóñez Agulla et al. 2002) which, perched on the eastern ridge of Los Alcores, controlled La Vega (Keay and Wheatley 2002) and defended the main routes to Hispalis. Obulcula, on the Via Augusta between Carmona and Écija, must have presented a similar case, controlling the northern agricultural lands between the Rivers Corbones and Genil. Another minor enclave such as Alcaudete could have played a similar role, overseeing the Vega towards Basilippo from its central position in Los Alcores (Amores Carredano et al. 2001).

Roads, Civitates and Castella: A hypothesis on settlement patterns in the sixth and seventh centuries AD The wide geographical zone included in our analysis, which comprehends agricultural lands west of the River Genil, the vegas of the Rivers Corbones and Guadaíra and the terraces of the lower Guadalquivir, offers a

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construction of the basilica in Morón in the sixth century must be set against the same background.

This trend may be considered part of the general process towards fortification begun in the sixth century and which, in the Guadalquivir valley, seems to have been undertaken by the same urban nuclei around which population had historically been organised. These are not (unless accompanied by substantial demographic contractions, for example in Carmona) the castra or castella mentioned in late sixth century sources (Bicl. a.a. 572, 579, 584) —for example, in the context of the campaigns launched by Liuvigild against his rebellious son Hermenegild— and which according to the evidence maintained jurisdictional quarrels with the cities. These forts or castella must have been built in less urbanised and, in that regard, marginal areas.

Regarding the agricultural lands on which we focus our analysis, however, villae were replaced by open settlements in a process of landscape transformation begun at least one hundred years earlier, in the final decades of the fifth century AD. The Christianisation of the territory is only documented from the mid sixth century, with the construction of rural basilicas along the Via Anticaria (Arahal, Ostippo, La Roda, etc.). This disqualifies, in the words of Alexandra Chavarría (Chavarría 2006), another historiographical myth; that the Christianisation of the countryside sprouted from private villae. It seems clear that the creation of rural churches and monasteries, such as the one suggested after the tombstone found in Arahal, to one monachus Fulgencio dead in 543 AD (CILA 912), does not start sooner than the mid sixth century AD, after most villae had already been abandoned.

This is, for example, the case presented by the fortress of Maurur (Morón de la Frontera), to the southeast of Los Alcores. Soon after the Islamic conquest this position became an important nucleus in the centre of a chora which controlled the pass between the campiña of Seville and the Baetican hills. This may also be the case of the old oppidum (afterwards qsr, perhaps indicating the loss of its urban nature) of Salpensa (Torre del Águila, Utrera), visually connected with the cities in Los Alcores (Carmona and Gandul) and therefore crucial for the defence of access to the valley through the southern route of the Via Augusta (Garrido González 2005; Keay et al. 2001).

From Villa to Hamlet? Rural settlement networks between the fourth and the sixth century. The ridge of Los Alcores, running NE to SW seems to have become between the fifth and the sixth century not only an important defensive line but also the axis of a new territorial organisation system for the lands that would later become the alfoz of Seville.

The earliest written evidence for the occupation of the castle of Morón and the archaeological remains of a church found at the site point towards a date in the second half of the sixth century (Vera Reina 1999). In Salpensa, archaeological remains go as far back as proto-history but, after an important period as a Roman municipium during imperial times, the enclave does not seem to maintain its role as an important population centre beyond the fifth century (Garrido González 2005). Thereafter, the site acquires a strictly defensive role.

The evidence suggesting the abandonment of villae in the alcor itself throughout the fifth century seems conclusive. The agricultural structures and the small necropolis in Santa Lucia (Cervera Pozo, Domínguez Berengeno 2006), to the south of Alcalá de Guadaíra, appear to have been abandoned in the mid fifth century. The only evidence of occupation thereafter is a beam reused in a modern building (ICERV 564), on which an inscription mourns the fate of Hermenegildo.13 North of Mesa de Gandul but still in the alcor, the agricultural infrastructure related to the so-called villa of Las Canteras (Cuenda Durán and Ruiz Delgado 1989) was obliterated by several double burials, at a date which the absence of clear stratigraphy makes impossible to determine. The most recent datable material (ARS, Hayes 99 A and 104), however, seems to point to the very late fifth or very early sixth century.

M. Vera Reina (Vera Reina 1998) has suggested, rightly in our opinion, that Maurur and Salpensa formed a defensive line for the control of the mountain passes between the Atlantic coast and the Guadalquivir valley. This defensive role became even more prominent with the imperial conquest of the area around the Gibraltar Straits in the mid sixth century AD. The fortresses of Zahara and Bornos —the old Carissa Aurelia— must have played a similar part as ‘first line of defence’ of the ‘Baetican limes’ in Cádiz.

The evidence suggests that a similar trend, the abandonment of villae by the sixth century, is also prevalent in the vega of the River Guadaíra to the north of Dos Hermanas. We have already mentioned the signinum cisterns found in Fuente Quintillos, which are now disabled with a fill containing shapes Hayes 103 and 104.

All these spots must have become population nuclei organised along new lines, probably including peasantsoldiers similar to the late imperial limitanei. The religious factor was to be added later (seventh century) with the foundation of martyrial basilicas by the bishops of Hispalis, Astigi and Medina Sidonia (ancient Asido or Asidona). For example, in the mid seventh century the Bishop Pimenio of Assidonia undertook an extensive programme for the foundation of martiria in locations such as Salpensa and Zahara (Vera Reina 1998). The

                                                            

13 In opposition to other views we believe this inscription to be genuine. Similarly to Bujalmoro, the lack of datable pottery prevents the site from being included in our list of occupied sites for the sixth century. This possibility seems, however, very plausible, since the site stands near the spring that supplied Seville with water from antiquity to the modern period.

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To the south, the agricultural facilities of the villa in Santa Ana (Várgas Jiménez and Romo Salas 2001) seem to have been abandoned during the fourth century. Similar cases seem to have occurred in SE30, in Salteras, near the modern day road between Seville and Mérida.

This could also be a false image caused by the process of research itself, still lacking sufficient excavation data to offer any certainties. At any rate, it is worth pondering over whether the regionalisation and fragmentation of data are not per se a reflection of the complexity and variability or rural landscapes (Broglio and Chavarría 2008). This could be especially true of the period we are focusing on, given the dramatic nature of some of the political changes occurring between the late fifth and the early sixth centuries.

In general, and although the partes urbanae of these settlements remain unknown, the replacement of the villae’s instrumentum domesticum by other forms of rural settlement and the introduction of new ways to manage agricultural properties seem apparent. What these may have been cannot be said with the current state of our knowledge. It is possible that some settlements located alongside the road to Antequera, the Via Augusta or any of their derivations survived into the sixth century, but the lack of excavations thwarts any further conclusions.

Was the triangle Seville-Carmona-Morón an area where the fortification process ensued at an early date? Did this process, which blocked the main routes between the coast and the hinterland, cause a population decrease as a consequence of permanent insecurity? Was this process followed by another towards the Christianisation of the countryside, accelerated from the mid sixth century with the foundation of martiria and other rural basilicas in strongholds and open settlements?

The campiñas to the east of the Corbones, between this river, the Salado and the west bank of the Genil, seem to follow a different pattern. This is the westernmost area under the jurisdiction of Écija. We know that Celti (Peñaflor, Seville), located on the Guadalquivir’s right bank, belonged to this diocese due to a territorial dispute between the dioceses of Écija and Córdoba, eventually ruled in Ecija’s favour during the II Council of Seville (619 AD, cap. II). Occupation in this area does not seem to have dropped in the sixth century as sharply as in others, such as Los Alcores or the Terraces. In the area of Fuentes de Andalucía, sixth century settlements are particularly numerous, not only alongside roads but also near to watercourses, especially the Salado and the Madre de Fuentes (supra). Recent excavation at the villa Los Pinos (Fuentes de Andalucía) has confirmed the abandonment of fifth century agricultural facilities and their substitution for excavated silos and temporary structures already in the sixth century.

Were the campiñas in the ager Astigitanus a denser population area, dedicated to a more specialised type of agriculture? What was the peasants’ form of dependence on elites, so far obscured by the shortcomings of the available evidence? We must remember that the richest villae in the southern Iberian Peninsula during the late empire are found at these campiñas between the Genil and the Sub-Baetican hills,15 with a particularly high concentration of aristocratic families from the third century AD (Jacques 1990; García Vargas 2007). In any case, the answer to these questions must come from regional studies similar to the one set forth in the present article. This is quite compatible with macroregional analyses, such as the one contained in K. E. Carr’s work, the value of which mainly resides in the outlining of general ideas for their subsequent discussion and correction.

By analogy with other sites, such as Valdeparrillas (Bollulos de la Mitación, Sevilla) and Los Villares (Jerez de la Frontera, Cádiz), we can start to assume a process of substitution of the productive areas of villae (no partes urbanas have been documented to date) for structures akin to those found in hamlets and farms in the southern half of the Spanish central plateau (Vigil-Escalera Guirado 2007; Vigil-Escalera Guirado 2000) in this area. Moreover, the phenomenon appears to have been prevalent in many urban areas in the western empire (Broglio and Chavarría 2008). To date, this sort of process seems to have been restricted to the higher campiñas between the Corbones and the Genil, the eastern Aljarafe and the campiña of Jerez, all of them areas rich in water resources (for a long time Los Villares supplied Jerez with water) where a more intensive agriculture may have been practiced and a denser settlement pattern may have been possible. At any rate, settlements were never very distant from the main communication routes, as shown by the proximity of Los Villares to the Via Augusta.14

                                                                                                 process. The site seems to be a large rural settlement (12 ha) which remained active until the period of the Caliphate thanks to the plentiful water resources available and the proximity of the road between Seville and Huelva. 15 Fuentidueñas (Hernández Díaz et al. 1951), Almedinilla (Vaquerizo Gil and Noguera Celdrán 1997). 

                                                            

14 This is exactly the model followed by the aforementioned site of Lagunillas (Sanlúcar la Mayor), the excavation of which is still in

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Safe in their homes? Reflections on defending towns and populations in northern Italy, AD 350-450 Neil Christie University of Leicester

Abstract Italy in the Theodosian Age was a territory under threat. From usurpers through to Attila the textual sources signify how war and insecurity had reached the very heart of the Empire. A changed military, a changed capital, and changing enemies forced Italy to take on an increasingly militarised guise. This paper outlines and reflects on the physical and archaeological guides for all this in terms of frontiers and towns. Are the manifestations of change and insecurity general or specific? How secure did Italy look in the early fifth century AD? Were urban populations particularly affected? And what can we learn of the attitudes of these populations to the walls that girded them? KEYWORDS: late Roman Italy, insecurity, militarisation, urbanism, populations

Introduction The so-called Theodosian Age —Theodosius I, AD 370395; Theodosius II, AD 408-450— was one of notable and lasting upheavals and changes in the fabric of the late Roman Western Empire, which marked the progressive re-writing of power and space in the various provinces as a result of movements of peoples without the Empire and civil conflicts within (Burns 1994; Cameron and Garnsey 1998; Lenski 2002). In the wake of Roman defeat at Adrianople and eventual Gothic settlements on Roman soil in the Danube zone, combined with a progressive growth in usage of barbarian federates in the imperial armed forces, one might argue for a heightened sense of insecurity within the Roman provinces, even those well away from the frontiers. Ever since the middle part of the third century AD in fact Rome’s northern territories had come to be seen as less integrated, and the fact that increasingly the army and its leaders came from these frontier regions would seem to signify a difference between periphery and core. This does not necessarily mean that these were always ‘danger zones’ or totally ‘detached’ from Rome: after all, since various of Rome’s later third- and fourth-century emperors had Balkan, Danubian or Rhenish roots, one could claim that these territories in fact thereby received better recognition and attention. Nonetheless, the provision of arms factories across the northern provinces from Tetrarchic times and a likely emphasis on a more local generation of army food supplies surely did distance these regions and add to their military ‘air’.

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More efforts were made to push over and secure the frontiers: Constantine’s policies against and with the Sarmatians were a mix of military campaigns, settlement inside the empire of huge numbers of captured but also allied groups, plus logistical and engineering support for creating a massive earthwork system labelled the limes Sarmaticus in the area of modern eastern Hungary. But by the middle part of the fourth century the Rhine-Danube frontier zones appear fragile, and even a cursory reading of the histories of Ammianus Marcellinus reveals a bewildering chopping and changing of power groups and alliances; far more emperors were spending time ‘up north’ fending off aggressors — some of these fellow Romans — and papering over the cracks in the leaky frontiers.1 All of this meant significant transitions in the strength, authority and outlook of the old core Roman heartland of Italy and of its emperors. In the face of a shrinking West and of political, military and economic insecurities, one might argue that there was an increasing trend for provinces, regions, towns and people to look and fend for themselves, expecting far less from the core, central authorities. This is of course the context in the far West, in parts of Gaul, Spain and perhaps even Britain, for the heightened reference in more ‘official’ imperial sources to bagaudae — seemingly far more organised groups than mere collections of displaced peasants and occasional military deserters — who, in some cases at least, aimed to detach themselves and to establish their own self-rule (if in Roman name) away from the meddling and debilitating efforts of the central government in Italy. These groups looked to their own defence and government in opposition to excessive tax demands and impositions of non-Roman federates (Christie 2011, 100-101). That there were anxieties in the period of Theodosius I is further borne out in the words — explicit and implicit — of Vegetius, in his treatise or Epitoma Rei Militaris or Military Handbook, of c. AD 390, perhaps presented to that emperor when Theodosius I attended the Western court at Milan. Vegetius was a wealthy court official, well placed to access the emperor’s ear; he was also a successful horse-breeder on his Spanish estates, who was perhaps getting worried about his future. The Epitome details the state of the Roman army and, in drawing contrasts with the hugely successful earlier Roman military, offers ideas to revamp the infantry and cavalry, enhance their tactical abilities, make them more efficient, but also make them more ‘Roman’. Indeed, Book 1, ch.1 stresses the need for careful recruitment, selection and training, and seems to criticise the ‘alien’ forces increasingly being called upon and employed for Rome: ‘A small force which is highly trained in the conflicts of war is more apt to victory: a raw and untrained horde is always exposed to slaughter’. He recognises that Romans are less willing to serve, and yet ‘it costs less to train one’s own men in arms than to hire foreign mercenaries’. The Epitome’s Book IV is especially telling, since Vegetius’ discussion of city walls, towers, gates and

                                                             1

On late Roman frontiers, see Johnson 1983; Christie 2011, chapter 3.  

The Theodosian Age (AD 379–455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

counter-siege weaponry, recognises an Empire under threat; clearly the Roman citizenry could no longer rely just on the army and on secure distant frontiers: Both the recommendations of the authors of arts of war for attacking and defending cities and what the experience of recent emergencies has discovered, I have summarised for the public benefit, as I believe, making the point again and again that the most thorough precautions should be taken against shortage of drinking-water or food arising at any time since such troubles cannot be ameliorated by any stratagem. Therefore, all the more should be stockpiled within walls, in proportion to the length of the blockage that is known to be within the capability of the besiegers.

Change and Conflict in North Italy But did all this insecurity and anxiety impact on the ‘home’ or core province of Italy, where the principal imperial capitals — Rome, Milan and, after AD 402, Ravenna — continued to be the foci of power, learning and display (Ripoll and Gurt 2000)? Was Italy ‘cushioned’ from the wider upheavals? What do history and archaeology tell us about the security of north Italy in this time period of c. AD 300-425? Was the landscape militarised —with fortified towns, but also with military installations? Were the military detached from the civilian populations? Can we recognise signs of decay of open sites and a retrenchment to defended seats? What, meanwhile, can we say about people’s perceptions: did people feel safe? How might that have been expressed? Do we see a far less ‘Roman’ image in late Roman north Italy? First we might identify a few historical pegs to frame this discussion. Italy was certainly not immune to military troubles: after all, plenty of imperial accessions had involved internal dispute and armed conflict, with the ‘Year of the Four Emperors’ in AD 69 one of the most vicious, while the conflict between Constantine I and Maxentius in AD 311-312 was even more disruptive, requiring the former to claim the throne and advance from Britain to assail Maxentian Rome, gathering ‘rebellious’ troops en route, and even besieging Roman cities in north Italy to win over or enforce allegiance; the end result was to revert the Empire from multiple, Tetrarchic rule to a single imperial authority, with many senior figures executed and their lands confiscated. In the third century crises, Italy saw numerous other, sometimes short-lived, usurpations (including six claimants to the throne in AD 238), none of which will have helped in maintaining the ‘aura’ of the emperor and his cult. Alongside these internal power struggles were incursions, raids and occasional more penetrating movements by groups of barbarians from over the northern frontiers especially, impacting on the adjoining provinces of Pannonia, Raetia, Moesia and Germania especially, but with occasional inroads deeper into the softer belly of the Empire (Hekster 2008). Thus in the late 250s under Valerian and Gallienus

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‘Germans’ and then Alamanni plundered Gaul and pushed even into Italy, as far as Milan and Ravenna (Eutropius, Breviarum, 9.7-9.8); for 260, the inscription found at Augsburg early in the reign of Postumus and the Gallic Empire recounts a Roman (soldiers and provincials) victory over Iuthungi forces returning from Italy where they had captured ‘many thousands’ of Italians (Bakker 1993); and in winter 270/1 Alamanni and Iuthungi drove down into northern Italy and along the Adriatic coast, eventually being routed near the town of Fano and withdrawing (Aurelius Victor 35,2; CIL, XI, 6308-9. Watson 1999). While the fourth century saw minimal barbarian threat on Italian soil, civil war conflicts persisted, with usurpers often crossing over the Alpine passes into the peninsula, with Rome or Milan, plus Aquileia, the main targets. Thus the late fifth-century Greek historian Zosimus (IV, 35-58) records campaigns by Maximus against Gratian in 383 and against Valentinian in the Alps and in north-east Italy before defeat by Theodosius in 388; subsequently, in 392394, Theodosius campaigned against the usurper Eugenius and his Frankish general Arbogast, gaining victory on the river Isonzo in the Julian Alps.2 However, the start of the fifth century saw renewed and lasting barbarian threats, centred on the Visigoths and their kings Alaric and, subsequently, Athaulf. Their presence in Italy marks an overspill of activity and ambition by Gothic groups who had seen settlement in the Danube zone after the battle of Adrianople in the 380s. Largely contemporary with their ‘roving’ are breakdowns in the north-western frontiers; there are also competitions between the high generals in the West and between West and East emperors. Kings like Alaric and new intruders in the West such as the Suebes and Vandals exploited internal weaknesses in the Roman state(s) as much as imposed themselves through martial ability (Burns 1994; Lenski 2002). Indeed, Alaric, who had fought with his (allied) Gothic soldiery for Theodosius in 394, had been appointed by the Eastern Emperor and Praetorian Prefect as Roman general for Illyricum. Alaric’s movements and demands in Italy and threats on Rome were far more to enhance his and his group’s status and worth than to conquer (Heather 2007). Direct threats did prompt strongarm responses from the Western supreme general Stilicho, with battles at Pollenzo and at Verona in 402, both, however, on Italian soil, and both effecting little material success. Stilicho then failed to counter the inrush of a further Gothic force under Radagaisus in 406, meeting this in battle only near Florence (Wolfram 1997, 90-97). Imperial distrust of Stilicho — thought by some to be showing his barbarian blood (he was a Vandal by birth) by letting Alaric off the hook — led to the commander’s assassination on Honorius’ command in August 408 (Zosimus V, 34). There was an accompanying purge of non-Roman troopers in various Italian cities including Verona and Milan at this same moment, although some of

                                                            

2 For Ambrose’s accounts of the latter conflict see Moorhead (1999, 197-203).

Neil Christie – Safe in their homes?

these ‘barbarians’ managed to flee to Alaric. Although Roman army units remained in key northern bases, Alaric met minimal opposition as he marched his Visigoths towards Rome, gaining the surrender of many seats en route, but ignoring Honorius in Ravenna (V, 36-37). As well as extracting ransoms from the desperate, besieged people of Rome, Alaric demanded Venetia, Istria, Noricum and Dalmatia for his forces, plus military command in Italy and the West; rejections of these terms by Honorius saw Alaric assail Rome whose Senate responded by electing a more willing rival emperor, Attalus, who then sought to win over Italy with Alaric’s aid (V, 39-51; VI, 8-13). With Attalus’ efforts only partially meeting with success, Alaric eventually chose a more brutal tactic of capturing Rome in 410 and robbing it further of wealth and power. Although Alaric eventually withdrew and headed south, at his death soon after, Alaric’s successor, Athaulf, ‘returned to Rome, and whatever had escaped the first sack his Goths stripped bare like locusts, not merely despoiling Italy of its private wealth, but even of its public resources’ (Jordanes, Getica, 31; Wolfram 1997, 98-101).3 Athaulf then slowly moved north and was granted lands and commands in south-east Gaul —before, of course, ultimately heading onto establish themselves (initially as Roman allies) in Spain. We can very briefly touch on later episodes of conflict and upheaval. Most damaging for the frontier regions was the expansion of Hunnic power. Although the Empire had held these in check through alliances, use of mercenaries, bribes and tribute in the 430s and 440s, under Attila an aggressive policy was pursued with assaults westwards from Pannonia but turning to Italy in 452: [the Huns] forced their way into the city [of Aquileia], laid it waste, divided the spoil and so cruelly devastated it as scarcely to leave a trace to be seen. Then growing bolder and still thirsting for Roman blood, the Huns raged madly through the remaining cities of the Veneti. They also laid waste Milan, the metropolis of Liguria, once an imperial city, and gave over Pavia to a like fate. Then they destroyed the neighbouring country in their frenzy and demolished almost the whole of Italy (Jordanes, Getica, ch.42; Wolfram 1997, 127-138).4

Rome escaped assault, with a later tradition claiming the city’s pope interceded, marching out to face the Hun overlord; however, Hunnic withdrawal may have been due more to disease afflicting their horse and troops (Thompson 1996, 160-161). From the 440s, the Vandals controlled North Africa and began raids on Sicily and south Italy. Their frequency and scale are not easy to determine, but contemporary Roman laws refer to the need for vigilance, the permission to bear arms if attacked, and likely defence of coastal bases;

                                                            

3 Some of the wealthier of Rome’s citizens fled Rome before and after these events, many moving permanently to Constantinople.  4 Thompson (1996, 159), notes how Attila had had to send for people skilled in siegecraft. 

provinces were also given tax remissions to counter problems due to food shortages (Christie 2006, chapter 4). The major shock came in 455 when the Vandal fleet attacked Portus and Rome: Rome was viciously plundered and much booty, both material and human, including royalty, senators and craftsmen, was carried back to Carthage (Wolfram 1997, 167-173).5

Reading Change in Walls This was certainly no comfortable period and from the words of Zosimus, Eunapius, Priscus, Vegetius and others it would be very easy to conjure up the image of a horribly battered peninsula worn down by conflict, its cities collapsing, citizens destitute, and fields abandoned. Bishop Ambrose duly talks of cadaverous cities in the Po region in the later fourth century; the sermons of bishop Maximus of Turin indicate flocks of fearful refugees in the city (Lizzi Testa 1990); and tradition and later sources see the flight of populations from towns like Aquileia, Altino and Padua in the face of Hunnic attacks to the shelter of the lagoons where Venice slowly took root (Christie 2006, 333-335). These sources of course tell the stories they wanted to tell — whether to shock, stir up, inspire, to blame pagans, to blame previous regimes, etc. But they do not all tell the same story, and some can also be ambiguous and instead imply relative stability. Thus the poet Claudian suitably praises Stilicho’s efforts in panegyrics on his Gothic War and in celebrating the sixth consulship of Honorius, stating Alaric’s advances in 402 were blocked by new recruits, horse and infantry and a ‘countryside protected by so many rivers and fortresses’ — yes, there were barbarians afoot, but Rome was coping and order would prevail (De Bello Gothico XXV, 475). Claudian happily provides images of a bountiful landscape as well as imperial benefactions, although we might register how when the emperor Honorius visited the Eternal City in 404, this was in the wake of what appears to have been substantial investment in reinforcing and heightening its city walls in 401-2 (Dey 2011, 137-140) — thus denoting a mix of security, investment but also fear. Indeed, by this stage, many of the core elements of the imperial court — and often the emperor too — were based in the new capital of Ravenna, a site closer to the frontiers on the one hand, but on the other hand a site better guarded by natural defences such as waterways and lagoons and in close contact with the Adriatic — and therefore the more secure East — than Milan or Rome (Gillett 2001). Towns needed to be fortified because, as seen, the enemies — even if at various times these were also designated allies — increasingly came to be present inside the old frontiers. Despite the institution of a mobile army as the primary strike-force rearward of the frontier troops, the basic failure of the fixed frontiers countered any potential efficiency of the mobile troops. At the time of

                                                            

5 On fifth- and sixth-century warfare and change, see papers in Cameron et al. (2000). 

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Stilicho’s demise it would appear that detachments of this army, along with allied groups’ were quartered in towns in northern Italy, signifying their ready availability in the peninsula. Clearly these came together to combat Alaric and others, drawing on supplies within the urban seats, as and when required. Furthermore, narrative sources testify to troops removed from distant Britain and from the German frontier provinces to help defend Italy and Rome — at the cost of course of denuding these other frontiers and territories. Archaeological indicators of these relocated soldiers are only just forthcoming in terms of belt fittings — which have enough provincial variation to support such claims (Cavada 2002; Buora 2002; Swift 2000, chapter 4) — and these and rare burial data help show strategic roads and vantage points were being manned and observed, not to engage with enemies but to warn people and soldiers rearward. We can even identify likely relocation of river patrolmen from the Danube to some of the lakes in North Italy, since river-borne traffic could enable relatively swift movement of men, material and news (Christie 2007). There are difficulties in showing the character and extent of such provision in the Alpine foothills and mountains. We possess fourth- and fifth-century references to a Claustra Alpium Iuliarum in the north-east chain, shown through extant and excavated remains to have comprised blocking walls, observation towers and road stations and forts — designed to monitor traffic and channel this to guarded points as well as to seek to warn off potential aggressors (Christie 2001; 2006, 324-331; Poulter forthcoming). And a wider security net labelled the

Tractus Italiae circa Alpes is recorded with a dux Italiae in the earlier fifth century, if without secure indicators of the nature of its articulation. However, it is presumed to have consisted of fortified bases and towers on the passes, roads and valley lines, charged with communicating back to the fortified cities and garrison points of the Padane region. In each case any attacking force would be stifled or hindered in their advance, giving the mobile field troops time to be mobilised and for reinforcements to gather at key points. The chronologies of these Alpinebased defensive systems have long been set to the fourth century and associated with likely Constantinian measures to formulate ‘inner frontiers’. Pre-AD 350 measures may be too early though and, indeed, Poulter (forthcoming) has recently preferred to set the Claustra’s instigation only in the last quarter of the century, to be associated first with anxieties raised by Gothic Danubian settlement. As noted above, the main action seen appears to have been internecine, civil conflict between East and West and with Western usurpers and it is conceivable that it was Theodosius I who ordered the disbanding of the Claustra, since the archaeology would fit a date in the 390s. Whether there was any organised revived usage when the threat of Alaric’s Visigoths appeared cannot be gleaned, but even if Stilicho preferred to seek open battle, some efforts to hinder enemy movements and to gain some advance communication of their likely movements would surely have been necessary. Even if the Claustra as a ‘military system’ failed one can argue that there was a legacy to this in the form of the wider Tractus, which, as I have argued elsewhere, was

Figure 1. Rimini – a much battered fragment of the amphitheatre, forming part of the city’s late Roman defensive circuit (Photo: author).

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Neil Christie – Safe in their homes?

Figure 2. The interior of the gate area of the late Roman citadel/castrum at Susa in the north-west Italian Alps (Photo: author).

probably articulated between forts and fortified towns – the latter already in existence, the former evolving – and potentially also linked up with rural communities that may have relocated to more defensible sites and which often will have provided refuge points. Archaeology is slowly providing guides to possible late Roman roots to fortified sites, such as Monte San Martino at Lomaso in the Upper Garda region, on the Sirmione promontory jutting into Lake Garda on its south flank and Castelseprio close to Milan, but pinpointing whether these are later fourth, early fifth, or early sixth century in date and of official military origin is no easy task, especially as many saw continued use into the early Middle Ages and some even were transformed later into medieval castles (Brogiolo and Gelichi 1996; Christie 2006, 331-348; Cavada and Forte 2011). Certainly, however, we need to see towns as part of this revised landscape of defence in Italy by the early fifth century (Christie 2001). The larger cities were where the regional or provincial governors were based; some centres such as Verona and Lucca were arms-manufacturing points; all towns had granaries; and the majority of the larger towns were on the roads which formed the marching and communications lines for the army between their bases/mustering points and the front line. We can argue that the largest of these centres were defended by the early fifth century: in some cases their much older, colony circuits had been renewed and reinforced —as for Aosta, Como and Trento; in others new circuits were required which in part ignored or cut across elements of the existing town plans — as for later third-century Milan, Verona and Rimini, each incorporating amphitheatres in

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their wall line, these former entertainment units surely losing their public role (figure 1); and in some other instances, reduced fortified cores or citadels were created which may have housed a garrison, military stores and commander (e.g. Susa; figure 2). Rare are cases of defences created that enclosed a likely larger than required area (i.e. in terms of a resident population): these are naturally limited to the imperial capitals, where scale shows that these walls were equally there to impress as monuments of power as to protect (Dey 2011). Ravenna’s defensive circuit, while perhaps not recognised by archaeologists as being as grandiose as Rome’s, nonetheless required huge preparatory work in terms of driving wooden piles down into the often marshy ground to support the deep foundations and in gathering up vast quantities of brick (most probably largely spolia from demolished structures from the site and region) to create the wall fabric in the first quarter of the fifth century; its outline circumscribed an area almost four times greater than the first century colony here (Cirelli 2008, 54-67; figure 3).6 On a broad scale, it is possible to argue that there was a capillary process of urban fortification in Italy. In part this was tied to strategy, demand and threat. Works at Verona, Aquileia, Piacenza and Rimini probably responded to damages done by Germani/Iuthungi raids in the 250s and 260s; Rome’s and Milan’s of the same period denote recognitions of threat and a reinforcement of the imperial position (Rambaldi 2009, 82; 192-194; 211-218). Other towns made do with their existing walls — many northern

                                                             6

On wall building in Italy see also Ward-Perkins (1984, 191-194). 

The Theodosian Age (AD 379–455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

Figure 3. The 5th-century city walls of Ravenna as depicted in a 16th-century engraving.

Italian towns were colonies of the second century BC to earliest first century AD and some had not overstepped or demolished their old confines —, while some surely sought to update and upgrade and build anew in the fourth and early fifth century, especially those on the main Alpine routeways (e.g. Cividale, in the north-east, with its old Republican colony walls doubled in thickness and pentagonal towers added).7 Few active towns of note will have lacked walls by the mid-fifth century; any stragglers will have been in decay, as evident for sites like Industria, Pollentia and Pedona in the north-west territory (western Liguria province), or else lay further south, where, arguably, they had been cushioned from many of the military threats. The noted raids by Vandals did much to stimulate defensive responses and reinvigoration in the 440s and 450s in the south (e.g. Naples, Terracina, Syracuse).

Attitudes and Worries But did these walls bring security to the people within and without, or can we consider also an element of fear and anxiety on their part? The very existence of walls must have mentally and physically reinforced and reassured the resident population: these walls were powerful barriers to external threats and helped safeguard homes. To those whose livelihoods lay outside, in the fields or in trade on water and road, these defended towns gave protection, but

                                                            

7 Marano (2012, 579-580), noting also possible Theodosian-period reinforcements at Aquileia (2012, 575-576). 

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at the same time cut these people off from their working environments; farmers could, meanwhile, view these high walled towns as points of refuge when required. To a degree, as noted, walls had long been part of the fabric of these towns, demarcating the confines of the urban space, the start of the outside world and the area where the dead were lain. But these earlier walls rarely were militarily active, i.e. rarely were they defensively employed, and height-wise were not substantial and featured few towers. The later Roman walls tended by contrast to be higher and reinforced by more numerous projecting towers; we might imagine therefore, for those living close to the curtain wall, that a much less open, more shaded environment prevailed (figure 4). Recall also that the construction of some newer circuits meant loss: loss not just of public buildings and plots, but also of many private properties which were sacrificed or sliced through, their materials often reused in the core or foundations of the town walls. Burial grounds might also see disruption, since as well as construction of the walls themselves, wider, deep ditches came to be cut beyond these to provide clear space — although in truth we know very little about these external arrangements and whether ‘dead’ or open ground was deliberately created. Communities and families might thus have seen upheaval, material losses and enforced relocation. Will this situation have mattered much to the town authorities? Probably not, since these works had to be done.

Neil Christie – Safe in their homes?

Figure 4: Susa: the height and scale of the city’s fourth-century northern gateway Porta Savoia will have impressed visitors and attackers alike and provided added security and shade for residents inside the walls (Photo: author)

Against this possible disruption, there may well have been pride in the defensive walls — from the authorities, leading citizens, and even the ordinary resident — and it is clear that urban gateways may have been ornate and have featured honorific sculpture. To visitors such gates will have perhaps been impressive statements — if also signifiers of controlled entry. Our modern society is largely devoid of such walled cities, at least in the sense of enclosing and defining populations, and so it is difficult to comprehend attitudes to these in the past. It is easy, for example, to think of their oppressive stature, but this ignores the ways in which the walls and gates acted as guide- and sight-lines for the residents; intramural lanes facilitated movement and access; and it is quite feasible that the wall-walks could have been used as public lanes too — since, after all, these were not defences always on a constancy of alert. In many ways we might suggest that the defences simply came to form part of the architectural make-up of the town and almost became ‘background noise’ to the occupants — seen but not quite seen.8 There are three other aspects to bear in mind. The first aspect which is frequently overlooked with regard to late Roman towns is how various of these will have been required to house or billet soldiery on occasion. This will have meant that no longer was the army a distant beast of only vague recognition to civilian populations, but soldiers could be on your doorstep, and cavalry and

                                                            

8 On status and ideology of late and post-Roman walls in north Italy, see the useful paper by Latimer (2010). 

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weapons will have been on full show; this could have made both the ‘enemy’ and the defenders of the State more tangible, visible and, no doubt, scary. Edicts from the Theodosian Code (VII) make clear that soldiers’ behaviour had to be curbed, with these liable to be prone to drunkenness, brawls, petty thefts, exploiting householders, rape, etc. This will not, presumably, have been regular and constant and no doubt generally commanders and their subordinates kept troopers in check, but they will have understandably generated tension — all the more so in any situation of threat and especially siege. Furthermore, billeting was often within households — a third of a private property being given over to accommodate wintering or siege soldiers (hospitalitas) — and abuse of such ‘hospitality’, with soldiers demanding food, drink, bedding, etc., may well have been an unwanted burden (Lee 2007, 163-175). Were such lodgings in blocks of rooms, partitioned off from the main house, or did troopers have access to many parts of these residences?9

                                                            

9 See Brogiolo (1999, 103-104) on Ennodius’ description of wintering troops at Pavia in AD 489. For an earlier, third-century context, some material trace of this soldier-civilian house-sharing may be seen at the Syrian frontier town of Dura-Europos, although some such instances may have occurred after civilians had been evacuated prior to expected assaults by the Sasanians in the mid-250s (Baird 2013, 312; 319-320). Dura also long featured a military sector to the town, and with its excellent parchment, papyrus and graffiti survival, more could be explored on the soldier-civilian interactions here in peacetime and in

The Theodosian Age (AD 379–455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

Still uncertain is the procedure during assault. Who defended the walls? The investment in walls, gates, towers and ditches should signify men qualified and capable to guard them and to provide the defensive cover required. But were there standing garrisons? Such are attested in frontier contexts, but except where detachments of the mobile army might have been stationed or wintered in north Italy, such as Milan, Ravenna and perhaps Como and Verona, it is hard to trace unequivocal indications of fixed urban garrisons.10 If correct, then the walls were more shows of security for their residents and employed as secure bases for troops only when required. There are references to civilians helping with urban defence in sieges in the sixth century, but the laws otherwise forbad civilians brandishing weapons except in dire circumstances. Linked into this should be the references in law codes to public duties and to the requirement of townsfolk to contribute to the maintenance and repair of urban facilities such as streets, walls and bridges, either by tax and contributions or by manual labour (Ward-Perkins 1984, 182; 187-188; 194). These notable — but presumably intermittently imposed — chores undoubtedly could be circumvented and many a town must have struggled to keep its walls and ditches in good repair. We might note how plenty of documentary and some archaeological evidence exists for thirteenth- to fifteenthcentury England to show the need for murage taxes to fund town walls and their upkeep, concerns about ditches getting clogged up and having to be recut, and the problems of shoddy building work and repair leading to sections of walling being compromised (Buckley and Lucas 1987, 57-64; Creighton and Higham 2005, 88). The walls of many a medieval town rarely saw military action and a reluctance to comply and engage by residents was a natural consequence. Yet alongside this would be a good number of towns and communities which took greater pride in their circuit walls since these reflected on the well-being and vitality of the people inside. The nightmare scenario would be the assault, besieging and possible starvation and then capture and sack of a defended town. Though later in date, the Gothic Wars narrative of Procopius for Italy across the 530s-540s (Christie 2006, 364-368) gives ample testimony to the traumas inflicted on civilian populations in the wake of extended conflict — declining food supplies, fights over stores, starvation and disease — and then town surrender or capture — looting, burnt down properties, enslavement, rape, death (Lee 2007, 133-138). The horror stories are many, although for the early fifth century these were exceptions, with Rome the prime victim in Italy. Rome’s sacks in AD 410 and 455 will no doubt have intensified many town authorities’ efforts in securing their walls and supply depots. As noted earlier, for the most

                                                                                                 periods of conflict. For a valuable discussion on the theme and province see Pollard (2000).  10 In the case of Rome, the 10-15,000 men of the Praetorian Guard had been disbanded in Constantine’s reign following their support of the fallen Maxentius, although some cohorts persisted as bodyguards and urban police (Coulston 2000, 99; 111; note 184). 

part the walls, the granaries and a largely competent army provided security enough against non-Roman enemies who lacked tactical siege know-how. More problematic were times when the besieging enemy were also Roman. Further study could be done on this aspect of assault. In warfare in the late antique period, the military occupation of towns was a valuable strategy, providing a secure base of operations, concentrated supplies, and an extra work force. But to conquer and stabilise territory there would be a need to subdue and garrison multiple such seats – as was the policy of both Goths and Byzantines in the 530s540s. In such an episode these garrisoned towns became targets and the civilian urban populations were bundled into the equation. This was less the case in the fifth century: yes, specific cities might be targeted for assault, but usually for shock effect or for rapid material gain (hostages, moneys, food, slaves) and not for concerted piecemeal occupation of territory. Most civilian populations in Italy had less to worry about then — they probably felt more burdened by Roman soldiery billeted in their towns than by barbarians beyond. In this regard billeted soldiers and garrisons may have been unwanted ‘magnets’, drawing possible threats to towns rather than adding to their aura of security.

Other Guardians Mention has been made already of the legendary actions of the pope to help turn Attila away from assailing Rome. The fifth century indeed marks the start of the Church also taking on a protective role to cities and their populations: by c. AD 400 bishops were installed at most of the larger urban centres of north and central Italy, and in the absence of old pagan cults — finally fully sealed up and banned by Theodosius —, Christianity provided the religious ‘glue’, although it is only as the fifth century progresses that churches start to multiply and to move into intramural spaces (Christie 2006, 97-104). Claire Sotinel (2012, 148-150) has argued that Alaric’s sack of Rome in 410 marked a significant moment in the advancement of saints and bishops as defenders of cities and their enclosed communities: this status only begins to emerge concretely in text and verse after the shock of Rome’s siege, capture and destruction, which engendered pessimism, insecurity and even distrust in the emperor, State and imperial armies. The fear generated gave scope for bishops to recommend from their churches — these now, as noted, the sole units of public monumental display and now focal points from which to pray for salvation — the potential protection that local saints and martyrs could offer. New liturgies and commemorations subsequently arose to tie saints to the cities/towns and their walls and gates; processions to extramural shrines necessarily passed through gates; perhaps at this moment crosses and other Christian symbols start to be carved over gates;11 and some saints start to make their way into

                                                             11

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As recognised best in Rome (Dey 2011, 149-152).

Neil Christie – Safe in their homes?

towns to be better guarded and worshipped.12 Dey (2011, 137-149) meanwhile draws attention to the mosaic representations of walled celestial Jerusalem and Bethlehem in various of Rome’s fifth-century churches such as Santa Maria Maggiore and later, ninth-century examples like Santa Prassede (where the circular/oval walls contain an array of saints) to reinforce the embracing and protective nature of the real and spiritual walls of towns and Church.

Conclusion As the fifth century progressed, it will have become clearer that the State was becoming increasingly less capable of giving full, military protection to the towns of north Italy. Town populations almost inevitably came to draw on active, vocal local figures such as the bishops and on past local visionaries, namely saints and martyrs, to reassure and guide. But again we must not take this as a ‘blanket’ nor an immediate sequence: as stressed above, I would argue that for much of the fifth century and for many cities and towns outside of the capitals, insecurity may have been felt, but not tested. The main shocks to Italian towns and populations would come in the following century. In addition, we might be cautious in thinking that the Christian picture of holy protectors was embraced by all the urban populations: most of our texts and most imagery was generated by the Church who necessarily sought to reinforce its status and message, whereas for many people it is likely that the Church, like the town walls that bounded them, was also ‘background noise’. The noise and visibility of each would intensify for many centres in the drawn-out warfare of the sixth and seventh centuries, of course, but would diminish again subsequently. In the meantime, while the innards of these towns were continuing to change from their classical schemes to much more workaday spaces (Haug 2003), the town walls stood tall to provide a façade of stability in a changing world.

                                                             12

As best documented for Milan in the importation (in formal imperialstyle procession) of the bodies of the saints Protasius and Gervasius under Bishop Ambrose in the 380s (Moorhead 1999, 151). Much later, a poem on Verona of c. AD 800 cites 40 martyrs, 35 saints, 12 apostles and the Virgin Mary as the city’s holy protectors (Christie 2006, 163).

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El retrato de Teodosio I (Epit. 48): una encrucijada imperial en la caracterización imperial de la Antigüedad Tardía / Theodosius I protrait (Epit. 48): a crossroad on the characterization of the emperor in Late-Antiquity

KEYWORDS: Theodosius I, Epitome de Caesaribus, Latin Biography, Latin Prose Panegyrics, Latin Panegyrist (L. Pacatus Drepanius), Boni/mali imperatores, Latin Rhetoric

La figura de Teodosio I es, quizá, una de las más controvertidas de la serie imperial, porque, mientras en la mayoría de soberanos hay una cierta coincidencia en el tono de las fuentes, en su caso la disparidad es muy notable, aunque, en principio al menos, podrían dividirse así: a) las que lo alaban, en general fuentes cristianas ―Orosio (1, 7) y Rufino de Aquilea, San Agustín 2 y San Ambrosio, 3 o Paulino de Nola, 4 y Sulpicio Alejandro―, 5 autores que tratarían de fijar “una imagen de lo que los emperadores deberían ser, desde el punto de vista cristiano” (Lomas 1990, 149); y b) las que lo denigran, que son, en general, los paganos: el muy duro Eunapio de Sardes (FHG 13, Dindorf); Zósimo (IV, 24,14-59), que carga las tintas en su “molicie y desidia” (27, 1; 28, 1; 43, 2), “falta de decisión”, 6 “corrupción”, y “apetitos” sexuales ―sobre todo en el relato de cómo lo manipula Justina, a través de la belleza de su hija Gala; un fragmento paradigmático, especialmente en la gestualidad y la recreación escénica, 7 que evoca la seducción de Cleopatra a César―; 8 no obstante, también le reconoce su “benevolencia” hacia Atanarico, y su generoso y exquisito comportamiento en su funeral. Y, por supuesto, Libanio y Temistio. 9 Con todo, esa disyuntiva maniquea requiere matización; hay, también, excepciones: en ese segundo grupo, por ejemplo, la de P. Drepanio Pacato, proconsul Africae (390), y comes rerum Privatarum (393), vinculado de alguna forma a Ausonio, aunque más joven que él, 10 y amigo de Símaco, a cuyo Panegírico del 389 nos referiremos en varias ocasiones. Lo cierto es que en ello el último capítulo del Epitome de Caesaribus (48) ofrece, como en otras varias facetas, novedades importantes para su figura; y es bastante injusto que no suela citarse entre sus fuentes más destacadas. Hay, sin duda, ciertas razones objetivas para ello, porque la amplitud de las otras frente a su sucinta información la deja en desventaja. Pero, a cambio, su aportación es muy

Isabel Moreno-Ferrero 1 Universidad de Salamanca Abstract Theodosius I was generally praised by Christian authors such as Orosius and Augustine who emphasised a profile more ‘human’ than ‘belligerent’. In contrast, pagans such as Eunapius and Zosimus censured his ‘softness’ and ‘indolence’, ‘lack of decision making’, ‘corruption’ (either his own one or that of his entourage), and a remarkable sexual ‘appetite’, well exploited by Justina for Theodosius ended up marrying her beautiful daughter Gala (blandus pater, concors maritus, § 18). The author of the Epitome de Caesaribus —who did not share that Manichean and simplistic division illustrating his much-debated personality— provides us with a particular selection of interesting details by which he generally described a positive figure as normally happens when the author is reigning or related to the ruler (in this case Arcadius, Theodosius’ son), but without the exaggeration of professional panegyrists such as Pacatus, and, sometimes, Themistius, or Christian writers. Some of those interesting details are not extremely relevant, but especially original in the way they were applied. Moreover, he used them in order to distance himself from other writers such as St. Ambrose (Theodosius’ humilitas on Christmas day and the ruler’s fraternal love) and Themistius (praise of andreía and romé). In contrast, the author of the Epitome adapted the material and eluded contradictions; for example, the ‘banquets with many dishes’ of Zosimus or the ‘moderation in meals’ of Pacatus, are described by him as ‘elegant and cheerful, but not thriftless’ (§ 18). He also alluded to the relation with other emperors such as Trajan, Galerius and, even, Augustus; but avoided the reference to others that could distort the intended image. This author meticulously displayed his careful inventio either in gradation, variatio or amplificatio, by which he sought propagandistic effectiveness (§ 16) while subtly concealing reality (problems of annona, for instance). Regarding elocutio, he chose unique terms (misericors; honorificus…) or singular (steriles genae, …) in order to avoid direct evaluation; for example, he did not use the formula Fuit… bonus imperator which he applied to other emperors, and there is not an explicit judgement in comparison with other rulers. In fact, he only emphasised Theodosius’ most decisive quality concerning Roman politics: a res publica quieta. This study, therefore, highlights the freedom and peculiarities, both internal (res) and external (rhetorical, formulary and lexical), by which this author managed Suetonian traces and the information selected for the creation of a concrete image in his last imperial biography.

2

En la Ciudad de Dios (V, 26, 1-8), hay un encendido elogio de su acción contra Máximo, además de otros detalles importantes. 3 En el De obitu Theodosii oratio (25 = PL XVI 1385 ss), pronunciado a los 40 días de la muerte del Emperador (17 de enero del 395): su fides es la responsable de sus éxitos; incluso del fin de Eugenio, porque su virtus apenas es nada frente a la gracia divina. 4 Hay constancia de su panegírico gracias a Jerónimo (Ep. 58, 8); y del propio Paulino, en misiva a Sulpicio Severo y Genadio. 5 En un fragmento de Gregorio de Tours (Historia Francorum II, 9; Latouche, vol. I, 91; 92-5). 6 Tanto en el campo bélico ―difiriendo el enfrentamiento con Máximo (IV, 44, 1), “por si quería rectificar”, hasta que la huida de Valentiniano y la acción decidida de Justina, utilizando a su hija como acicate lo obligaron a actuar―, como en el amoroso: pese al impacto que le causó Gala, y sus deseos de pedirla en matrimonio, se eternizaba en la decisión. Finalmente lo venció la pasión (§ 3). 7 Cuando acusa, incluso en la mirada, la impresión que le produjo la belleza femenina (IV, 44, 2-3). 8 Es ella la que lo chantajea: no le iba a entregar a Gala si no castigaba a Máximo por la muerte de Graciano y restituía a Valentiniano II. 9 En especial XIX-XXI; y XIII; XIV; XV, respectivamente. 10 Realmente lo consideraba su filius; tal vez, como concluye Nixon (1994, 438), la relación fuera “between poet and poet”.

1

Agradezco a los organizadores del II Congreso Internacional “Nuevas perspectivas sobre la Antigüedad Tardía”, la invitación para participar en él, y su amabilidad, entonces y en la publicación de este trabajo, que se encuadra en el Proy. FFI2011-29055 del Ministerio de Econ. Y Competitividad.

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379–455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

adiciones sustanciales de otros textos. Pero esta etiqueta tropieza aquí con una realidad, algo curiosa, cuando menos; porque este presunto Epitome resulta, si no más amplio que el modelo, sí algo más prolijo: ofrece más datos, aunque sean, y es una de sus importantes diferencias, más asépticamente enumerados que los de Víctor; es mucho menos salustiano que él; menos moralista en sus juicios, menos conceptual y filósofo en sus disquisiciones y conclusiones ―la periodización histórica en que Víctor va agrupando la decadencia de Roma y las razones que esgrime, que lo eleva a la categoría de historiador, no se encuentra en él (MorenoFerrero (2007); al menos completa―; y es bastante menos artista en la presentación y narración de sucesos, con lo que su relato acaba siendo, o pareciendo, más objetivo, aunque carezca de la perspectiva y proyección histórica de Víctor: éste liga, combina o relaciona los reinados; él, simplemente, los hace ‘suceder’; aquél justifica, explica o enlaza hechos y decisiones, insertando el conjunto en un cierto marco histórico con un proceso factual, aunque polarizado hacia determinados temas o tópicos; él ignora la cohesión y la causalidad: simplemente da el dato que le importa, independizando su ocurrencia de sus motivos y consecuencias: no hay ni un antes ni un después. Y olvida la “secuencia” cronológica precisa, aunque en las otras vidas se advierta un gran cuidado en señalar, de modo genérico, el momento en que se lleva a cabo una acción. 15 En ésta, en cambio, ha preferido sustituir cualquier indicación explícita sobre el momento en cuestión por una síntesis de eventos (Oriente/Occidente - Máximo/Eugenio) sin temporalidad estricta, y con un peculiar per species suetoniano… 16 Por supuesto, la diferencia más evidente entre ambos textos radica en su punto final. Víctor cerraba su texto un tanto abruptamente en el reinado de Constancio II, cuya muerte no llega a registrar, pero al que recrimina su tolerancia inadecuada y su “desprecio hacia toda gente de bien” (40, 24), antes de cargar contra sus apparitores (40,25). 17 No hay, pues, epílogo, ni razón para tan brusco final. El Epitome, sin embargo, añade los siguientes reinados, y acaba ―también sin epílogo, ni reflexión alguna; tampoco la había al inicio respecto a su propósito o método―, con el traslado del cadáver de Teodosio a Constantinopla (§ 20). Probablemente, la obra fuera escrita en el reinado de Arcadio, antes de su muerte (1 Mayo 408); quizá en Roma, aunque apenas alguna indicación física resulte concluyente. 18 Es, pues, el último de los breviarios de la Antigüedad Tardía que tiene por materia central la historia de Roma; pero no deja traslucir apenas nada de la personalidad del redactor; y no mucho más del ambiente cultural y los destinatarios para los que

original en determinados ámbitos, y más equilibrada que otras: su desconocido autor no ha entrado en su política de intolerancia religiosa, pero tampoco ha alabado su faceta cristiana, ni su “humildad”. 11 Parece pagano, y, sin embargo, incluye algunos pormenores cuando menos curiosos ―el giro que comenta la recepción en el cielo de M. Aurelio (16, 14), tiene un marcado eco cristiano―. Glorifica a su sujeto histórico, aunque sin la exageración de los panegiristas profesionales (Pacato o Libanio), o las otras fuentes cristianas (Orosio o Agustín); su elogio no es ni muy extenso (por exigencia de la propia estructura de la obra); ni de espectro amplio; pero sí sutil y retórico en la formulación. Además, es muy detallista en algunos de sus pormenores, quizá no todos de elevado tenor, como advertía Galdi (1922, 205), —como esa nota que cierra el bloque de “curiosidades nimias”, intra aulam, que ensalza su frugalidad (continentia) 12 como fórmula ideal para mantener la salud, y su capacidad de recuperación, cuando estaba cansado, dando paseos (48, 19)―. Todo lo cual deja una cierta impresión de objetividad, ofreciendo unos ingredientes biográficocaracterizadores que la convierten en el centro de un cambio sustancial entre la gloriosa tradición de los héroes paganos y los nuevos modelos de realeza cristiana. Lo cierto, sin duda, es que la más notable de sus novedades radica en que es la única que incluye una descripción de carácter, gusto y actitudes: diez (§§ 8-18) de sus veinte parágrafos definen las características personales, aunque sea su “acción” ―muy elogiada por Pacato (9, 1)―, la que cierre el apartado (§ 19). En las demás, ligadas a la historia, o la historia encomiástica (los panegíricos), lo que se describe, sustancialmente, es su acción política. Eso sí, dado que no deja de incluir algún que otro grave error, genitus patre Honorio ―su padre fue el Comes Theodosius; ilógica confusión, sobre todo porque sus éxitos militares y el complejo episodio de su muerte había tenido notable relevancia―, 13 cabe temer que tampoco esté libre de otros tantos, sea por voluntad (deformación), sea por ignorancia. Hasta fecha no lejana 14 la obra fue considerada, como su nombre pretende indicar, un Epitome del Liber de Caesaribus de A. Víctor (AV, en adelante), Prefecto de Roma (389), protegido por Juliano y admirado por Amiano (21, 10, 6). El término “Epítome” suele aplicarse a un “resumen de una obra ya existente” (Galdi 1922, 1722; 360-3), sobre cuya base informativa se ha ejercido poca manipulación literaria y formal, y que carece de 11

¿Imparcial? Al menos sutil. Cf. sus medidas sobre la prohibición de prostitutas y citaristas en los banquetes y las bodas entre primos hermanos (§ 10). La virtud sólo vuelve aparecer en la vida de Adriano (14, 6), en la crítica de su simulatio. Sobre el cliché típico de la parquedad o incontinencia en la comida, sueño, placer sexual o vino, cf. Moreno-Ferrero (2006, 146-7). En el Epitome ni el tópico ni la fórmula configuran una característica o definen una tendencia; hay más novedades que monocorde repetición, como demuestra en esta noticia de Teodosio. 13 Fue una oscura operación, quizá orquestada por Maximino, Prefecto de la Ciudad, cuya nefasta actuación cubre gran parte del excursus de Amiano (28, 1, 10-57) sobre acusaciones y condenas en Roma (Demandt 1969, 616-625); y, en este volumen, Blanco Pérez (n. 48). 14 Para una revisión de conjunto, cf. Schlumberger (1974, 7 ss); y Festy (1999, XII ss). 12

15 Con el Huius/Hoc tempore/His temporibus,… (Moreno-Ferrero 2006, 142, n. 8). 16 Linaje y ascendencia; y elección (§ 1); nombre (§ 2); política exterior y res gestae (§§ 5-7); carácter y condiciones físicas (§§ 8-10); studia y hábitos de conducta (§§ 11-15); otras características y detalles menores (§§ 16-19); muerte y herencia (§ 19); honras fúnebres (§ 20). 17 Temistio, en cambio, destacará la “humanidad” de los colaboradores de Teodosio (XV, 9). 18 No sirve la genérica de Augusto (1, 19); ni la de Vitelio (7, 3); Trajano (13, 11); o Majencio (40, 2). Sí, la tumba de Galieno (40, 3). En contra, Festy (1999, XLVIII), que cita otras (3,9; 15, 7; 31, 2).

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se gestó. 19 En cualquier caso, lo cierto es que habría que reivindicar para él el título de “Breviario”: la materia procede de otras varias fuentes que él ha elegido y combinado, su composición es muy personal, con una selección de notas muy definida, su esquema se distancia del de los demás, y algunos de sus epígrafes y tópicos son muy originales. Es cierto que prescinde de una argumentación profunda de la evolución histórica, incluso del análisis lúcido y sintético sobre los reinados más determinantes del proceso de cambio político de su predecesor; pero tiene algunas acotaciones muy sugestivas, 20 y su aportación es notablemente interesante porque se detiene en la caracterización individual con más incidentes y datos personales que los otros epitomadores; 21 además, y esto es fundamental en esta biografía, la recrea con algún sutil procedimiento retórico para sugerir el juicio que debe merecer el Emperador.

revisión. 26 Por lo demás, en la frase original Víctor apunta el origen de su recurso, porque utiliza la misma fórmula que Suetonio había manejado con gran efectividad en las vidas de dos mali imperatores: en la de Calígula para marcar las dos etapas de su vida, Hactenus quasi de principe, reliqua ut de monstro narranda sunt (22, 1) ―igual que hará Pacato (8, 1) para separar la parte destinada a los dona Fatorum de la que recogerá lo que Teodosio se debe a sí mismo (tibi debes); y, luego, para cerrar el relato (47, 1)―. 27 En la de Nerón (31, 2), menos estructuralmente, el adverbio subraya su degradación personal con sus excesos: no había vivido “hasta el momento” en una morada digna; sólo en la Domus aurea, por fin, habrá empezado a hacerlo como un hombre… Son pasajes conocidos en los que el adverbio desempeña un importante valor estructural y caracterizador; el Epitome lo utiliza sin advertir su trasfondo ni sus ecos.

La obra suele dividirse en cuatro grandes bloques, de acuerdo con la estructura, las fuentes y los típicos conjuntos ya definidos por la tradición:

El segundo (12-23/24/25, de Nerva a Maximino), tras el prólogo que supone Nerva, (12, 1), se abre con los dos emperadores hispanos, Trajano y Adriano, que, por “interés” y “error” del autor, ya han pasado de advenae a itálicos: uno de Todi; el otro “de estirpe itálica, pero nacido en Adria”. Sin acuerdo unánime, 28 la base informativa, como para la Historia Augusta (HA, a partir de este momento), pudo ser la obra de Mario Máximo, colega del emperador Alejandro Severo en su segundo consulado, denostado por Amiano (28, 4, 14), y la HA (Q 1, 2), y cuyos datos recogen anécdotas o minucias. Con todo, sigue la sucinta y conflictiva EKG, porque hay alguna coincidencia con Víctor y Eutropio en alguna errónea, y a veces maledicente, noticia. 29

El primero (cap. 1-11) ―Julio-Claudios y Flavios, que dependen de la Enmans’ Kaiser Geschichte (EKG, en adelante), 22 y Víctor―, acaba con la primera gran divisio político-biográfica de éste, que el Epitome comparte (es la única), con alguna novedad 23: a) por una parte, él suprime toda la reflexión salustiana de Víctor, el nescio, con el valor retórico de la dubitatio, 24 y el contraste; y el alcance de la figura de Prisco. Anula, en definitiva, todo su juego histórico-literario. Sólo mantiene el rotundo unde compertum est de la segunda parte, variándolo con la adición de las interrogaciones retóricas, después de modificar la que le ha dado la idea: la de la moderación y prudencia de Nerva; un recurso idéntico al que Floro utilizaba en la anacephalaeosis de la etapa real para enfatizar el valor de los distintos monarcas (I, 2[8], 24). 25 b) Y por otra, la incoherencia de su aserto que choca con el origen de Trajano y Adriano, tal y como se presenta en sus vidas: ahí ya no serán “advenae”, sino itálicos; lo que permite advertir el cambio parcial de fuente y su falta de cuidado en la composición o

Para el tercer conjunto (24/25-38: A. Severo/Maximino el Tracio - Caro y sus hijos), que deja fuera el ascenso de Diocleciano, además de esa discutida EKG, se han propuesto, como para Amiano o la HA, los Annales de Nicómaco Flaviano, de impreciso contenido e incierta estructura (Paschoud 1996, 14-83; Festy 1999, 30 ss). Igual que para el último bloque (38-48: Diocleciano – Graciano / Teodosio), demasiado complejo para entrar en él, porque a ambas, muy problemáticas, hay que sumar alguna otra también difusa: 30 la “Leoquelle”, la “fuente de León” el Gramático (365-512), obra de tendencia pagana que encaja con el medio senatorial del período teodosiano, reflejando sus intereses, y que explica los problemas del Imperio en esos siglos III-IV por la caída de la moral pública y la falta de influencia del Senado.

19 Véase el valor y características de los términos “memoria colectiva/, cultural y comunicativa”, que acuñaran M. Halbwachs (2004) y J. Assman (1992), concentrando el interés sobre los elementos en que ya hay un acuerdo tácito y general entre escritor y audiencia, pasado y presente. 20 Por ejemplo, su comentario sobre la temeritas en Augusto (1, 11), que no aparece en Víctor, pero sí en Suetonio (25, 4), según el cual un perfectus dux no debía caer en la festinatio y la temeritas; el Epitome suprime la primera, y advierte que la segunda no cuadra bien a un bonus imperator. En Vespasiano (8, 15), hay otra nota importante. 21 A título de selección, enumeramos: 40, 5; 41, 2 y 11; 6, 1-4. 22 La muy discutida Historia Imperial propuesta por A. Enmann (1884, 336-501). 23 Víctor habla de virtute atque insitivis artibus (11, 15). El Epitome sólo virtus. Pacato, a su vez, matiza: los claros duces reúnen la summa uirtus summaque felicitas (6, 1). 24 Que realza el aserto (Lausberg 1975, 776-8); el Epitome ignora el contraste nescio (cf. n. 53)/ compertum. 25 Incluso las formas gramaticales (los comparativos absolutos adverbiales) son idénticas: Quid Romulo ardentius?… quid Numa religiosius… quid… Un pasaje bien conocido por la escolástica.

26 Para Trajano, Víctor fija Italica, urbe Hispaniae (3, 1); de Adriano no dice nada. Él, stirpis Italae. 27 Y como hizo Floro en su periodización I, 34 [II, 19], 1 / I, 5[11], 5/ I, 12[17] (Moreno-Ferrero 2007, 76-7; y 2010, 991-8). 28 Para la HA, Syme (1968) y Barnes (1978) prefieren a Ignotus (un eques, como Suetonio; quizá testigo de los sucesos del 193; escribió en Roma,…). La cuestión de fuentes en la HA y estas obras es muy compleja (Dufraigne 1975; Festy 1999). 29 Así, el presunto adulterio de Domna y su hijo Caracala, convertido en libidinoso hijastro. Festy (1999, 26) añade: 16, 5; 23, 1; 18, 2; 20, 4. 30 Propuesta por E. Patzig, estudiada por Bruno Bleckmann (Festy 1999, 28, n. 50), su carácter, tal como lo describe Festy, encaja con Nicómaco, pero no es seguro que su obra tratara de estos años imperiales llamándose Annales.

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aproximadas―; descompone y analiza, y luego, selecciona y recompone: elige el material en función de la imagen que el personaje debe reflejar. Las vidas de Suetonio o Plutarco, muy elaboradas aunque no sustancialmente retóricas en el sentido tradicional, que defienden con un esquema u otro un determinado orden político o una forma de actuación humana, 35 juegan con sutiles modificaciones, de acuerdo con el proyecto al que se acoja su autor y el mensaje que quiera inculcar en sus lectores. Lo fundamental, pues, es advertirlas. Igual en el Epitome, tanto en el conjunto del relato en sí, cuya esencia biográfica es innegable, como en la síntesis de Teodosio ―la segunda vida más extensa del relato―.

Finalmente, para Teodosio mismo, la cuestión es, si cabe, algo más enrevesada, pero aquí sólo nos importa para su impronta. Festy (1999, 35-6) consideraba poco verosímil que la composición fuera obra del autor mismo; tampoco de Nicómaco ―aunque su obra sí fuera dedicada a Teodosio―, porque la convención marca que, al tratar de los emperadores reinantes, el relato sea un panegírico, que, de hecho, es lo que escriben Pacato y Libanio, o luego, San Agustín; y es lo que Amiano (31, 16, 9) parece indicar con su consejo a quienes pretendan escribir la continuación a su relato. Quizá se la haya usado puntualmente, en los parágrafos iniciales (§§ 1-4; 5-7); aunque el error sobre su padre no podría provenir de Nicómaco: él conocía bien la genealogía y los problemas de aquél, al que Amiano mismo se refiere cuando, joven todavía, aplastó a los sármatas libres (29, 6, 15). Con todo, también la información se ha remitido al Panegírico de Símaco del 391; 31 lo cual, en el fondo, no deja de ser una materia prima basada en la laudatio.

En definitiva, pues, cuatro son los elementos que importa destacar ahora en este análisis del capítulo de Teodosio: 1º) La selección y secuencia de los epígrafes, y el carácter del material ofrecido; y paralelamente, el valor de los silencios: una peculiar y selectiva inventio que deja fuera sustancial información.

Con estas bases, el autor del Epitome elige, dentro de una cierta libertad, las rúbricas suetonianas que mejor le sirvan; como Víctor, que es muy personal (Bird 1984; Dufraigne 1975; Nixon 1971); en Eutropio son menos detalladas; y en la Historia Augusta, en las Vidas Secundarias y la segunda parte (A. Severo-Caro), más caóticas. En general, se ajustan a éstas: 1) identificación (nombre y orígenes) y cursus honorum antes del ascenso al trono. 32 2) características generales del reinado (política interior, legislación, obras públicas, etc.). 3) política exterior, y luchas contra los usurpadores. 4) tipo de vida con las cualidades y defectos, y dicta. 33 5) muerte, duración de la vida y reinado, honores fúnebres, o damnatio memoriae. Pero tanto en Suetonio (Steidle 1963; Cizek 1977; Baldwin 1983), como en los demás (en diferentes perspectivas), lo importante no son los epígrafes en sí, ni los tópicos que, es evidente, suelen ser necesarios para dar idea de la vida y obras de cada César; sino el sustrato ideológico (no político, sino filosóficopersonal), al que en cada caso sirven sus esquemas y la selección de datos. Es decir, por una parte, en función de qué idea general del personaje está dispuesto el diseño narrativo y el material recolectado y trabajado ad hoc; y, por otra, las variaciones específicas, internas (de contenido) y externas (de forma: retóricas, formulares o léxicas), que ofrece cada resolución respecto al boceto sustancial al que se adscribe. 34 Es en estos dos elementos en los que radica la importancia y novedad del resultado. El biógrafo procede por instrospección ―buceando en el alma de los personajes, a veces sólo a partir de referencias externas, algunas poco definidas y otras

2º) Las variaciones esenciales y novedades que, pese a su relativa brevedad, ofrece respecto al resto de la obra, siempre contando con el distinto valor y características de sus diferentes fuentes. 3º) La funcionalidad de los elementos que el autor ha seleccionado, con sus ingredientes formulares más destacados, de cara al impacto que deben desempeñar en la audiencia, o los lectores; un punto en el que, además de la más evidente elocutio, es fundamental la dispositio, cuyos dos esquemas esenciales definen el orden fijado. 36 4º) Su relación con el material ofrecido por otros autores (Pacato, Libanio, Temistio,…) en el mismo contexto. La vida se inicia con la palabra clave, Theodosius (§ 1); la identificación del personaje, según el tradicional sistema de los tituli arcaicos, que, como fácil recurso estructural, es la fórmula introductoria, típica y monótona, propia del Epitome; 37 luego, cumpliendo el protocolo, su linaje y ascendencia; y, modificándolo, el tiempo de reinado (17 años) ―un tópico que, tras la vida de Tiberio se convierte en marca de fábrica, silenciándose en casos muy excepcionales, 38 y alterándose cuando hay razones―. 39 Tres elementos destacables en él. Primero (a), la propia uniformidad del recurso, formal e informativamente considerado, con escasas excepciones,

35 En una misma temática, la diferencia de finalidad y resolución es muy importante (Moreno-Ferrero 1997, 315-27). 36 Cf. Ad Herennium (III, 9,16): uno se acomoda a los principios de la retórica, otro a las circunstancias. 37 Víctor, aunque sea poco, en cada caso cambia el encabezamiento: o variando la partícula que acompaña al nombre, o haciendo alguna indicación, comentario o referencia; o dando algún dato. 38 Con imperavit / imperaverunt; falta en los Gordianos (no en Gordiano III), Pupieno y Balbino; Emiliano y Tácito. Se modifica tras Diocleciano, y reaparece con Constantino y sus hijos (de Constancio II, § 17, no al inicio); se da de Galo y, tras Juliano, de Joviano, Valentiniano, Valente y Graciano. 39 En Augusto se da al final (§ 30): el tiempo que gobernó con M. Antonio, y solo; la razón es la misma en el caso de Galieno (33, 3).

31 Un panegírico que siguió al del usurpador Máximo (389), lo cual le habría obligado a superarse en el del propio emperador (Festy 1999, 37). Es una hipótesis apuntada con la mayor prudencia. 32 En Suetonio, la mayoría de ellas pueden dividirse así: antes y después de la elección; y las partes resultan antitéticas, para bien (Tito), o para mal Galba; continuistas e intensificadoras (Domiciano 1-2/3-17, o Vitelio, 1-11/12-17); o sorprendentes (Otón). 33 Festy (1999, 39) concreta: “bon mots” ; él resume el esquema aunque es bien conocido. Para el de Teodosio (n. 16); y en Pacato (n. 50). 34 A Suetonio le importan los emperadores: costumbres, hábitos, cualidades humanas y defectos; no su política, sobre todo la exterior, que prácticamente ignora; ni las guerras, como tales.

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siempre en función del texto anterior. 40 Segundo (b), el más evidente y llamativo: el error sobre su padre. Él no era hijo de Honorio —así se llamaban su abuelo; 41 y su hermano; y, por supuesto, su hijo, el futuro emperador de Occidente—; sino de Flavio Teodosio, Comes Britanniarum ―donde fue enviado por sus éxitos, según Amiano (27, 8, 3), y había logrado un gran triunfo (369)―, 42 quien, tras acabar con la usurpación de Firmo (375), 43 reprimiendo con dureza la revuelta, había sido ejecutado en Cartago (375/-6); 44 esto, detalle que el Epitome silencia, fue lo que lo obligó al futuro Emperador a retirarse discretamente a sus posesiones hispanas, procurando, sin duda, hacerse lo más invisible posible. Lo importante es que la confusión le ha impedido utilizarlo como referencia encomiástica para su hijo; es una clara diferencia con Amiano, que cierra sus gestas comparándolo con Camilo y Papirio Cúrsor (28, 3, 9), antes de hacerlo con Corbulón y Lucio Quieto (29, 5, 4); pero ahí la comparación preludia su sino, porque ambos generales cayeron bajo la invidia de los Emperadores. Quizá en esta circunstancia el error del Epitome encubra una cómoda huída hacia delante.

otiosis simillimum del elogio de Sejano de Veleyo (2, 127, 4); y que aquí en el Epitome encuentra un peculiar tratamiento justo al fin de su caracterización (§ 19) ―ejercicio (Exercebatur), recuperación (reficiebat) y control (regebat)―, 49 antes de su muerte, herencia y traslado a Constantinopla (§§ 19-20). Y, en tercer lugar (c), esa procedencia hispana que el Epitome acaba ligando, además, a una hipotética descendencia del propio Trajano; un tópico orquestado por la propaganda orientalizante de Temistio (Oratio XVI 205a; XIX 229c), que se convertirá aquí en uno de los hilos conductores del retrato. Elemento estructural señalado, y no pormenor encomiástico, como en Pacato (4, 5), quien, tras el amplio exordio (1-3), abre su laudatio 50 ―sin seguir el esquema tan estrictamente como da a entender (3, 1 / 4, 1)―, con la de Hispania; una laudatio extensa (4, 2-5), con claros ecos literarios, 51 que no precisa el punto exacto de su origen; 52 se limita a decir que era terra felicior, por sus ubérrimas condiciones y porque de ella procedían Trajano y Adriano, razón por la cual ante ella debían inclinarse Creta y Delos (nutricias de Zéus), y Tebas (de Hércules), que sólo dieron a luz a unos dioses a los que se conoce “por tradición”: no hay “constancia real”; a Teodosio, en cambio, sí se le ve: deum dedit quem uidemus (4, 5); un duro aserto para un pagano…, pero rotundo y claro presupuesto para un panegirista: es la fuerza de la visualización y del conocimiento directo como elemento probatorio, que un historiador como Amiano sí aplica en un motivo especialmente trágico (29, 1, 24). También Pacato (47, 5), repitiendo el vidi en una señalada enumeratio final, que le sirve a él mismo de elogio: “contemplar” a un emperador, que, además, ha llevado a cabo brillantes gestas… dejará estupefactas a las gentes que lo escuchen…; y de ahí, del propio Pacato, la historia podrá tomar su fides. El Epitome, en cambio, lo ignora. 53

Pacato, en cambio, sin aludir a su madre, se explaya sobre él, su “divino” padre (8, 3), 45 cuyas virtudes y actos trata de resumir (5): gran dificultad por su propio número (ex copia 5, 1); y delicada “elección”, 46 que se ve obligado a resolver con un “resumen” (in summam), 47 porque una “enumeración” (enumerando) sería empequeñecerlos (5, 1; 3). Luego, a diferencia del Epitome, liga su figura a la alabanza de su hijo ―que “pasó con él fríos inviernos bajo la tienda militar (8, 3), 48 y veranos agobiantes…”―; además, lo utiliza como transición, porque después, en un juego de contrarios, típico en la laudatio, subraya la habilidad oculta de los designios de la Fortuna que lo obliga a pasar de un campo que ya conocía, cual era el militar, a otro del que aún lo ignoraba todo: el reposo y la vida retirada (con el tópico horaciano detrás); y en un ámbito claramente tradicional, en la campiña, como los ancestrales Curios, Coruncanios o Fabricios… (9, 5). Es ahí donde el futuro emperador siempre andaba “ocupado” (9, 4), acreciendo su hacienda y su fama; un tipo de productiva holganza que lleva al rétor galo a resumirla con una frase antológica, Quod ego tuum otium aliorum negotiis anteverto (9, 2), cuyo precedente es el actu

Completando la información sobre su origen, en la segunda parte de la sentencia (§ 1), aparece su nombramiento por Graciano, sin aducir causa alguna; un procedimiento habitual en los resúmenes que aquí, además, oculta la razón última, trágica y negativa ―el desastre de Adrianópolis con la muerte de Valente—. Ni siquiera hay un dato encomiástico que lo justifique, ni lo enaltezca a él: ni la tradición familiar, que se le ha negado; ni éxito o razones personales ―las militares que debían estar tras ello (probablemente como magister

40

La partícula de Juliano, introducido en la de Constancio II (43, 1); la transición de Constantino que parte de la nueva Diarquía (41, 1); y el His diebus de C. Cloro (40, 1), por la secuencia cronológica. 41 Cf. PLRE I (Honorio 1 [tío, 2], 441). 42 En el que debió de participar su hijo, y el propio usurpador, Máximo. 43 Amiano refiere la historia familiar y los problemas de la revuelta (29, 5, 1), hasta su muerte (29, 5, 53-4). 44 Orosio (7, 33, 7) relata su muerte, tras el bautismo, ofreciendo su cuello al verdugo, seguro de lograr otra vida eterna. 45 El Epitome adscribe el matiz a Trajano (13, 10); y M. Aurelio (16, 4). Para los mecanismos de relación e interacción entre dioses y soberanos (Burdeau, 1964, 14-25). 46 Delectum está ligado a la leva militar (electio se aplica especialmente a la elección/selección que se hace por parte de los creyentes de cara al favor divino); el verbo, muy gráfico en Varrón (R.R. 3, 9, 14), es “separar los pies de los pollos de la cabeza y el cuello. 47 Véase el summatim cuando va a “resumir”/“compendiar las campañas que llevó a cabo con su padre (8, 3). 48 El sub pellibus recuerda la fórmula liviana (AVC 5, 2, 7), y evoca la épica de las gestas clásicas.

49 Pero muy alejado del perpetuo… motu del que gozan los “espíritus divinos” (Pacato 10, 1). 50 Sus bloques serán: patria (4); familia: padre (5); cualidades físicas: prestancia, belleza de rostro y ojos,… (6); adecuación de su edad y cargos (7). Luego, sus virtudes cívicas y morales; y sus méritos militares contra Máximo, tema que cubre una gran parte del relato; tras la referencia a los tiranos (46, 1), su temblor ad omne ciuilis motus classicum, y el su “visión” del fin de la guerra (vidisti… vidisti, § 4), para la que podía decernere… triumphum, el epílogo ya (47). 51 Suele destacarse el eco virgiliano (Georg. II); pero no conviene olvidar precedentes (Polibio 34, 9, frag.); o coincidencias: la “fértil tierra” de R. Festo Avieno (Descripción del Orbe terrestre, 480). 52 Cauca es erróneamente situada en “Galicia” por Festy (1999, 227), no en Gallaecia, compuesta por los conventos Lucensis, Bracarensis y Asturicensis (cf. la serie de Festo, Brev. 5, 3). 53 Prefiere la duda (cf. n. 24): el nescio… (3, 6; 48, 8).

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militum), como Pacato apunta, 54 con retórica y enfatizando su celeritas, pero sin precisión (10, 3)―; ni, menos, la utilización panegírica del haber sido elegido, 55 siendo ajeno a la propia casa imperial; o la recusatio imperii, tan tópica en la concepción del bonus princeps desde la de Tiberio (Ann. 1, 7-8), y tan habitual, como elemento caracterizador y estructural, en la HA y Amiano, y que, por supuesto, Pacato sí utiliza como contraste con Máximo (11, 1; Nixon 1994, 461, n. 39).

mismos elementos que abrirán el de su caracterización (§ 8). Es un período de casi veinte años (379-394), hasta la batalla del Frigidus, que sintetiza en muy pocos enunciados complejos procesos de política exterior de los que apenas indica nada; sólo diversis proeliis vicit; ni cuántos, ni cuáles, ni en qué momento…; hasta la cita de los Consularia Constantinopolitana es más detallada. 59 También de la interior (§§ 6-7) ―lo único que realmente le interesa; algo en lo que coincide con Pacato―, aunque tampoco dé grandes detalles: la sublevación de Máximo (†388), primero; y, después la truncada tentativa de restauración pagana de Eugenio, 60 elegido por el Senado de Roma, hostil (en mayor o menor medida) a la política cristiana de los Emperadores de Oriente y que, como erudito magister scriniorum de la corte occidental, era mejor candidato que Arbogasto, que ejercía de facto el poder del magister militum, y no era muy bien visto en la corte oriental. El autor distingue, con simple pero cuidada variatio, los dos acontecimientos, ricos en avatares y causas complejas pero unifica a ambos responsables en el juicio y el léxico: son tyranni (§ 6-7). Y en el epígrafe se pasan por alto temas tan determinantes como la relación con el arriano Valentiniano II, 61 causa indirecta de su boda su hermana con Gala ―y, por supuesto, su filiación: su hija Gala Placidia, capturada en Roma (409) y luego esposa de Ataulfo―; y, a la vez, del inmediato enfrentamiento con Eugenio. 62 Es importante subrayar con brevedad algunos pormenores del pasaje, en el campo filológico-retórico y en la manipulación de la realidad histórica, dignos de atención.

En cambio, se ofrece el motivo de su nombre (§ 2); un dato cuyo tratamiento tiene dos diferentes vertientes, sutilmente complementarias, y que actúa como una primera parte de los omina imperii. En ambas se parte de una indirecta fórmula: en una, de un ferunt que desliga al autor, primero (a), de la propia responsabilidad del dato, que entra en el tema de los oráculos, 56 y lo une de nuevo, no por casualidad, con Trajano (13, 10), del que se había pronosticado el bienestar que iba a suponer para un agotado Imperio “tras tantos y tan atroces tyrannos”; y que, evidentemente, enlaza con Occidente; y (b) del enunciado, cuya formulación deja intuir un eco cristiano ―separándose un tanto de una semejante referencia de Joviano (44, 2), un sueño en el momento del parto para que se le denominara así, cuyo parejo planteamiento se ha aducido―. 57 En el segundo, en cambio, el (relativamente largo) desarrollo del oráculo que se dio en Asia 58 ―zona, pues, oriental―, se ajusta con una notable variatio a un divulgatum est; éste resume la historia de las cuatro iniciales letras de los nombres de Teodoro y Teodosio que salieron de una ceremonia adivinatoria con un trípode, un plato y un anillo suspendido sobre aquéllas y que iba determinándolas en su balanceo; la conjura alimenta una de las más trágicas y brillantes páginas de Amiano (29, 1), con la amarga atmósfera de odio, terror, miedo y represión que estaba viviendo el Imperio bajo Valente; y Teodoro pagó el castigo de su scelestae cupidinis…, con sus seguidores. El Epitome no se refiere a ellos ni a los procesos; sólo su muerte. Pero, como antes en la familia, tampoco aquí se liga el proceso más allá de la simple reseña; ni se concluye. La evidencia es simple: Teodoro cae y Teodosio vence, pero el éxito sólo se proyecta, por inferencia, después, ya en el ejercicio mismo del poder: Fuit autem Theodosius…

1º) En general, no hay interés alguno en identificar a las figuras citadas: no se precisa quién es el “Valentiniano” (II) que muere en Vienne (el 15 de mayo del 392); ni se apunta nada sobre su familia: su padre, o tío. Ni sobre Magno Clemente Máximo, católico y perseguidor de los priscilianistas, y antiguo compañero de Teodosio, y al que finalmente derrotaría en Siscia y Pola (388). Sólo se dice lo sustancial para la propaganda imperial: que había matado a Graciano (383), y reivindicaba las Galias (§ 6). Menos aún sobre su hijo, Flavio Víctor al que había nombrado Augusto, y fue muerto luego por Arbogasto, por orden del propio Emperador. Tampoco, sobre Eugenio y el franco Arbogasto. Ni siquiera se aprovechan los datos más impresivos ―la muerte del usurpador, despedazado por los soldados, mientras sentado en su trono repartía dinero entre los pocos que aún lo apoyaban; o la de Valentiniano (cf. n. 62); ni la de Eugenio con sus súplicas; o la de Arbogasto, errante antes de suicidarse―. Ni incluso se ofrecen otros que habrían resultado muy

A partir de este momento —el 19 de enero del 379 fue nombrado emperador en Sirmio—, sin un cursus honorum ya irrelevante, se inicia la vida pública (§§ 5-7), con una transición que utiliza, no por casualidad, los 54

El proceso es complejo. Teodosio, dux Moesia en el 374, se retiró a sus posesiones en Hispania tras la muerte de su padre ―de ahí la rápida alternancia entre el Ebro y el Hister que Pacato enfatiza (10, 2), y confirman otras fuentes―. Para más detalle, en relación especialmente con Temistio (Heather and Moncur 2001, 201-216). 55 Pacato sí la aplica cerrándola con el tópico de la libertas (12, 1-2 y 6). 56 Aunque los cristianos también los mencionan, el tema es siempre más cómodo para un pagano. 57 Festy (1999, 228, n. 4) apunta la identidad probable de fuentes. La diferencia es la falta de la funcionalidad de la referencia, sobre todo si para éste pudiera evocarse la relación con los Jovianos, el cuerpo de élite que dirigía su padre, Varroniano (AM 25, 5, 4; 8), utilizándose pues como omen imperii. 58 Realmente, en Antioquía (AM 29, 1). Quien sí era procónsul de Asia es Eutropio que se vio implicado en la conjura (AM 29, 1, 36).

59 Gothos, Alanos atque Hunos die XV K. Dec.,… (384); en Hidacio (380): inter Romanos et Gothos multa certamina conseruntur (Burgess, 1993, 241 y 74). 60 Nominalmente cristiano, simpatizaba con la reintroducción del paganismo capitaneada por N. Flaviano, aunque Símaco no parecía muy contento con la empresa. Para una revisión de la complicada situación del momento (Williams and Friell 1994, 119-133). 61 No furibundo, quizá porque no cayó, como Graciano, bajo la influencia de Ambrosio de Milán que lanzó a éste hacia una intolerancia que no le era propia. 62 A Valentiniano II se le encontró ahorcado en su residencia de la Galia; Gala, y de paso Teodosio, supusieron, probablemente con razón, que su muerte se había debido a una traición.

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atractivos o útiles, como su visita a Roma (389), 63 que habría servido para evocar la de Constancio II, marcando la diferencia (a su favor); y, de paso, indicar algo sobre la Urbe que justificara su pertenencia a ella o la zona. En cambio, se comprende bien el silencio sobre la masacre de Tesalónica, con miles de muertos en el circo (390), o su dramática penitencia; y, desde luego, su política respecto a los cultos tradicionales y el cierre de los templos de Apolo en Delfos y el Serapeion de Alejandría.

2º) El cliché introductorio, como apuntamos antes, es el mismo con el que luego se abrirá el bloque de su carácter: Fuit autem Theodosius… (§§ 5/8); lo cual marca un paralelismo entre ambos, una cierta situación de igualdad, que luego la realidad desmiente. El recurso es una fórmula tópica en el Epitome, que en algún caso, como el de Vetranión (41, 25), muestra las diferencias en concepción e intereses con su fuente (AV): Víctor liga su escasa talla intelectual con su falta de cualidades humanas, y enfatiza el éxito de Constancio II al conseguir alejarlo de la vida pública gracias sólo a su facundia; él se limita a un hiriente juicio: Fuit…prope ad stultitiam simplicissimus... De hecho, quizá no sea casualidad que lo aplique también a la notable educación de Graciano (47, 4), mucho más ilustrado a juicio del autor que Teodosio, que, como Constantino, sólo puede blasonar de sus triunfos militares. El historiador, sin arruinar su relieve (era mediocriter doctus, § 11), resalta la cultura de aquél, 68 con una inversión respecto al enunciado que dedica al propio Teodosio, al que ni siquiera Pacato puede convertir en instruido; ni en sus predios hispanos, donde pudo tener tiempo, …

Tampoco hay cronología: sólo el orden del fin de cada tirano, Máximo (primero) y luego Eugenio; ni secuencia segura en los datos, cuya ocurrencia y disposición debe ser, así mismo, conocida por el lector; lo cual no es sencillo, ni por la indeterminación de los autores, ni por la complejidad de los eventos, bastante mal conocidos. Y, si da alguno ―por ejemplo, el número de tropas desarticuladas en el choque con Eugenio (10.000) en el Frigidus― no ofrece la alternativa del otro bando: de las suyas que, por casualidad o no, eran en su mayoría bárbaros, incluso hunos, no sabemos nada. Lo cierto es que, a despecho de la propaganda oficial no todo debió de ser un camino de rosas para él: no puede contarse entre sus méritos, pese al deseo de sus panegiristas, el abandono de provincias enteras y el establecimiento de estos bárbaros como colonos en la frontera, expulsando a muchos romanos, sin haber intentado siquiera la lucha en campo abierto. 64 Pero en este problema ni podemos ni debemos entrar.

En cuanto al propagator reipublicae [atque defensor eximius], el sintagma es original y muy ilustrativo. El primer sustantivo no aparece en ninguna de las grandes obras histórico-retóricas (Livio, Tácito, o Amiano), o biográficas; ni en el Panegírico de Plinio, ni en los del s. IV; ni en los otros epitomadores. Sí el verbo. 69 Los antecedentes más notables del motivo se encuentran ya en Livio, en pasajes que son todos de la parte final del texto, sin duda, en un momento en que ya Augusto tenía su poder asentado y se veía el Imperio como fórmula de extensión del poder de Roma. Luego Suetonio lo apuntará para Nerón (18, 1), 70 si bien en sentido negativo: él nunca se vió impelido por la esperanza o el deseo de acrecer el Imperio,…. 71 Sin embargo, ya Cicerón aludía así a Pompeyo (Provinciae propagator), 72 aún con un matiz algo diferente; y luego Apuleyo, en un claro paralelo con éste, como uno de los múltiples epítetos de Júpiter 73: “el que amplía las fronteras”. Es, además, fundamental comprobar cómo el ignoto autor ha utilizado el eco de la propaganda imperial: una inscripción hallada en África, de inicios de su reinado, lo establece como propagator Romani imperii, domitor gentium barbararum (Festy 1999, 228-9, n. 6); y del valor de este segundo sustantivo dará cuenta Amiano cuando lo aplique a Juliano, al que sus hombres aclaman, tras su discurso: … fortunatum domitorem gentium adpellans et regum (21, 5). Y Orosio transpondrá el término a su faceta religiosa, ponderándolo como propagator Ecclesiae (7, 34, 2-3); es la gran diferencia con Trajano, un perseguidor que, por eso, no

En cambio, sí nos importa destacar tres notas en el enunciado de “la paz con los persas” (§ 5): (a) de cara a la propaganda del momento, su vinculación a la figura Augusto, aspecto que lo liga a nuestro posterior bloque de análisis; (b) el conocimiento del autor ―o de su fuente: el texto es muy sucinto y el Epitome no explota sus posibilidades, aunque la necesidad de ser breve sea un eximente―, 65 de esa tradición panegírica que enlaza con la alabanza que Floro hacía de Augusto: los persas le devolvieron las enseñas tomadas en Carras, y pidieron la paz. Es justo lo que dice de él Orosio (7, 34, 8), muy influido, a su vez, por Floro (II, 34 [IV, 12]). Y (c), lo poco desarrollado que está, aquí, y en general, el argumento; lo cual evidencia, que la “petición de paz” fue, en sustancia, más un tópico, que señalada visita; aunque no sea invención: 66 la Crónica de Hidacio (§ 11, del 384), 67 especifica la llegada de los embajadores con ricos presentes a Constantinopla; y Pacato (22, 4-5), acentúa su importancia con cuatro novedades que no podemos analizar ahora. 63 Es a tal propósito cuando Pacato pronunció su Panegírico (II, XII). La de Honorio (389) sí aparece en los Consularia Constantinopolitana. 64 “Teodosio pasó estos años tan críticos promulgando leyes sobre la promoción de los funcionarios, de sus privilegios y vestimentas. Los acontecimientos le rebasaron; ...” (Seston 1985, 596-7). Sus panegiristas hablan de su deseo de “civilizar” o “asimilar” (Temistio, XV, 1-2, 5-6) a estos bárbaros; pero aquí no hay ni alusión. 65 Es el mismo problema de Festo (Brev. 1). 66 Fue más bien una “visita”; parecida a la de Bahran II a Diocleciano, cuando llegó al trono; el tratado de paz tendría lugar después, a propósito del choque entre ambos, con Armenia por escenario. 67 Y los Consularia añaden: “… en el consulado de Ricomeres y Clearco”.

68

… litteris haud mediocriter institutus… Giro casi idéntico al que en el Excerpta (2, 2) se usaba para Constantino: litteris minus instructus,…. 69 En Livio (38, 60, 5; y 42, 30, 9; y la ampliación de los límites del Populus R., 36, 1, 3). Y Amiano 23, 1, 2 y 6,6; … 70 En los otros dos pasajes (Cal. 29, 2, 2; Aug. 23, 1, 7) no se da el valor. 71 Tampoco la HA lo liga a ese tema (Cl. 3, 6; y Dd. 2, 10; etc.) 72 A propósito de la ampliación del mando de César (Att. 8, 3, 3). 73 … est triumphator et propagator, tropaeophorus,… (De mundo 37, 11-13).

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sin duda el bloque principal de la vida. Tratando de balancear el texto con el bloque anterior lo inicia con su misma fórmula (§ 5 y 8) y el tópico de partida (§ 1): la comparación con el Optimus Princeps, a la que luego recurrirá en otros epígrafes para mantener la conexión. A tal propósito, en primer término, modifica la peculiar fórmula que había hecho al inicio del relato (originem a Traiano… trahens, § 1), y lo convierte en moribus et corpore Traiano similis (§ 8), afinando luego el motivo con la recurrencia a la tradición literaria (scripta veterum) y la numismática (picturae). Así, de acuerdo con tales ‘pruebas’ ―es decir, observando rigurosamente el carácter del panegírico―, 78 su caracterización y su físico son parejos a los del otro emperador “hispano” ―que según su propia vida no lo era: era ex urbe Tudertina (13, 1)―, y a cuya estirpe se le vinculaba falsamente. Y, sin embargo, pese a la aseveración tajante que hace ahora, aunque de sus mores sí ha dado algunos datos 79 ―alguno sí se verán reflejados aquí―, de la fisonomía trajana no sabemos nada; no da ni un detalle al respecto; ni siquiera una apreciación genérica sobre su porte o figura, o proporciones físicas, tema siempre importante (Evans 1935, 64)―. De Teodosio, sí (§ 8); y algunos datos, apuntarán sus recursos formales y caracterizadores:

tuvo hijos propios, frente a su “gloriosa descendencia que gobierna en Oriente y Occidente…”. 74 Tampoco el adjetivo eximius es muy habitual en la obra; lo cual, unido a su selectivo uso, habla del interés por destacar su figura. Tiene una buena tradición en Suetonio, donde caracteriza precisamente la forma de Augusto (79, 1) y la del muchacho que, tocando la flauta, 75 decidirá el paso del Rubicón para César. 76 Y el Epitome se lo asigna a Galerio (40, 15), para su faceta militar, como aquí a Teodosio, vencedor afortunado (felix) de Narsés, del que, por supuesto, no llega a hablar. La fórmula encomiástica envuelve con sutileza una cierta dualidad: el elogio político con ecos religiosos…, pero sin más que su laudatio personal (eximius), que no compromete… 3º) De hecho, por voluntad o conveniencia, el ignoto autor ha suprimido muchos datos importantes sobre la política religiosa, que, o no le interesan, o no interesan a la audiencia, o no interesa citar. Si no había apenas nada sobre asuntos internos ―salvo la partición del Imperio para Arcadio y Honorio, y los conflictos con los usurpadores―, ni sus relaciones familiares ―su boda con Gala, ni, menos, cómo la consiguió Justina; ni de su primera esposa, Elia Flavia Flacila (PLRE I, 341), hispana como él―, mucho menos sobre esta conflictiva cuestión; y el silencio es parlante: no se alude a su grave enfermedad (fines del 379), que le indujo a pedir el bautismo ―no ‘conversión’ en el sentido actual, puesto que había nacido en la ortodoxia y, si no lo estaba ya, es porque se consideraba el rito como una especie de teurgia mágica; un talismán, contra el infierno, que se impartía poco antes de la muerte—; un gesto a partir del cual se gestaría el famoso (y tan duro como eterno) edicto de Tesalónica, del 28 de febrero de 380 (CTh. XVI, 1, 2). Tampoco de la reconstrucción de los templos, o la reapertura de los centros mistéricos de Isis y Cibeles; ni de la emisión de los contorniates. Ni del contraste entre Eugenio, con las huestes aliadas francas y el bloque romano-pagano, y sus insignias de la Tetrarquía, Júpiter y el Genius Populi Romani, 77 y él con las suyas: fuerzas bárbaras también, pero con las reliquias de los santos por bandera. Y la derrota de aquél no se conecta con la extensión por Occidente de su política antipagana,… Es una de las típicas formas de huir del compromiso…

(i) Para su estatura, primer detalle fisiognómicamente relevante (Evans 1969), elige un par de términos únicos (eminens status); 80 muy sorprendente y nuevo el segundo, que, desde el punto de vista de su valor léxico, pondera más la actitud, la posición, o la postura, aunque en época post-augustea ya adquiera el matiz de statura. 81 Son vocablos que dejan de lado su cuerpo en sí, 82 pero que, junto a la “prestancia de sus miembros”, dan idea de su “majestad”, que es lo que se pretende en el fondo. (ii) También en la cabellera: caesaries; un vocablo de tinte poético, 83 en el que se aparta del fisiognomista Suetonio, que se fija en el color o la forma del capillum. 84 De hecho, en el único caso en que Livio lo utiliza, refiriéndolo a Masinisa (28, 35, 6), el detalle le sirve para completar su descripción: su promissa cabellera, su “magnífica” figura, y un cuerpo non cultus munditiis sed uirilis uere ac militaris, realzan la “maiestas” que el númida tenía por naturaleza. Es lo que aquí se procura conseguir también, aun con menos detalles.

Una vez concluido este epígrafe de las res gestae (§§ 5-7) ―genéricas sobre Oriente y los bárbaros (§ 5); bélicas contra los usurpadores en Occidente (§§ 6-7)―, el ignoto autor pasa a la caracterización directa (§§ 8-19), que es

(iii) En cuanto al “rostro”, hay “semejanzas”, pero también diferencias: os absque eo, quod illi aliquantum vellendo steriles genae neque tam ingentes oculi erant (§ 8); y gracias a ellas, a favor de Teodosio como era 78 Documenta y, por supuesto, facta. Lo visible y tangible, frente a la introspección biográfica. Para ello, en especial en la imaginería ―cuadros, monedas o símbolos―, MacCormack 1975, 177-86. 79 Manteniendo en la mayoría, como al introducirlo, la laudatio tópica (§ 4); lo propio y restrictivo viene en el cliché (§ 8). 80 El verbo, eminet, aparece en una referencia físico-geográfica (40, 10). 81 Suetonio, que utiliza este término, matiza mucho (Caes. 45, 1; Aug. 79, 1; Tib. 68, 1; Cal. 50, 1; N 51, 1; G 21, 1; O 12, 1; Vesp. 21, 1); en Tito y Domiciano es procera (3, 1; 18, 1). 82 Para algunas referencias, cf. 40, 15; 44, 3; 42, 16; 43, 6; y 12, 11. 83 Y aplicado sustancialmente a hombres, pero no sólo. 84 La HA, como él, ignora el otro. Lo liga a veces al color (S 19, 9: cano et crispo). Otras prefiere el flexo /reflexo/ crispo (Firmo, Q 4, 1) / renodi et crispo… Cl. 13, 1).

74

Jordanes, a su vez, combinará su texto justamente con el del Epitome (Rom. 315). 75 32, 1; además, Aug. 94, 6; 98, 2; o Tib. 3, 2; y 74, 1 (la estatua de Apolo, que hizo traer de Siracusa para la biblioteca de un templo en sus omina mortis). Tácito califica también así a un iuvenis (Hist. 4, 83). 76 En un valor externo ―como con Domiciano (4, 4): son las eximias venationes et scaenicos ludos…, que recreará la Historia Augusta en los ludi de Caro (Car. 19)―, encaja con el de Amiano al señalar las ciudades persas (23, 6, 47). Como no podemos detenernos en los matices, cf. también 27, 2, 2; y 30, 9, 1. En Veleyo, para el valor de Mitrídates (2, 18, 1); y el innocentia eximius de Pompeyo (2, 29, 3); los otros casos (1, 4, 2; 1, 15, 3) no caracterizan a personas. 77 Que habían sido sustituidas por Constantino por el crismón.

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honoribus pecunia beneficiis ceteris, especialmente si le habían ayudado en momentos difíciles (§ 9).

previsible, se define con claridad el matiz de la palabra (“boca”, el principal e inicial / “rostro”), 85 porque el autor ha buscado a lo largo del texto, con una cierta variatio, el juego estilístico. 86 Así, las “mejillas de Trajano carecían de vello” ―en una clara oposición a Adriano y luego Juliano―, 87 y las suyas no; y sus ojos eran “más grandes”, que los de su “compatriota”. Es una afirmación que encaja bien con su representación en el Missorium, pero, en general, con la estatuaria de estos lustros, donde el trazo es evidente. Independientemente de ello, el tópico, tal y como está engarzado, recuerda de nuevo a Augusto (1, 20), del que se destaca su belleza de cuerpo, pero, más aún, la de sus ojos; en la técnica fisiognómica de Suetonio lo que importa, más que el tamaño o el color, es que la fuerza de su mirada no se podía soportar (79, 2). 88 Temistio también alaba el vigor de su cabeza y sus ojos (XIII, 7,166c; XIV, 172d), que es donde se asientan y moran su prudencia y su mente…; pero el autor del Epitome no es tan explícito…

Pero, además, el tono positivo subliminal en esta primera faceta de la caracterización se mantiene también gracias al eco de otras figuras importantes; luego será Augusto; ahora es Tito ―una idea que también ha tenido Temistio (XV, 10, 193a)―: el Clemens animus, misericors, communis de Teodosio (§ 9) 92 evoca el clementia liberalitate (Suet. Aug. 41, 1) honorificentia ac pecuniae contemptu de aquél (10, 3); y abunda en ello la separación en dos etapas de su gobierno, como la antitética de Tito: juventud / reinado. De esta forma, el conjunto adquiere un tono doblemente favorable, que la rectificación en el tema del vino potencia más (§ 10). De hecho, aunque del tópico cliché ―avidus cibi vinique…―, él apenas se hace eco, aquí sí utiliza la referencia, con una obvia variatio, para elevarlo sobre Trajano (13, 4); pero sin añadir la importante anécdota exculpatoria con la que, con brillante brevedad, Víctor enfatizaba su prudencia, convirtiendo el vicio en virtud (13, 10): como bebía demasiado, 93 y perdía el juicio, daba algunas disposiciones crueles; avergonzado, ordenó que se difiriera su cumplimiento, hasta el momento en que se hallara sobrio, ya por la mañana. El Epitome, que sí recoge esta prudentia y, en cierta manera la acrecienta con su planteamiento (13, 4), ignora la anécdota que le habría dado bastante juego; y, sin embargo, se la atribuye a Maximino Daya, sobrino de Galerio (40, 18), cuyo bajo linaje contrasta con su interés por la cultura (§ 19). Lo curioso es que, en una de estas típicas interferencias de datos en esta etapa, con tantos gobernantes a los que es difícil individualizar, y con diversas fuentes implicadas en complejas relaciones de dependencia, el Excerpta Valesiana se lo aplique al propio Galerio (ebriosus… temulentus…), 94 modificando la formulación, además de la caracterización ―en él no hay prudencia alguna; es su prefecto el que le da el consejo―: es una negativa descripción “directa”, al final de la vida (4, 11), que ha sido ya anticipada por la “indirecta” que le ha lanzado a propósito del otro César y Augusto, Severo, que era ignobilis et moribus et natalibus, ebriosus et hoc Galerio amicus (4, 9). Curiosa razón para apoyar una armonía… El Epitome, que sí ha destacado ese valor de la amistad en otras ocasiones (Moreno-Ferrero 2006, 150), aquí no dice nada al respecto; admite la incultura del Tetrarca, pero valora su personalidad, e incluso su físico (40, 15), y destaca su prestigio militar: fue un eximius et felix bellator, aunque no cite su triunfo sobre Narsés…. Tampoco en el caso de Teodosio se ha molestado en enfatizar ese amicitiae cultum con que Pacato abría el apartado de generosos honores (16, 1); pero sí dirá luego (40, 17) que devolvió de su peculio el oro y plata gastados por Máximo mientras otros regalan fincas o terrenos baldíos… Volveremos luego a ello.

Luego, para cerrar el epígrafe, añade su propia auctoritas como narrador, con uno de los tópicos recursos que la literatura de la época suele barajar, el juego entre scio/nescio, 89 que, con la duda retórica (nescio an…), deja vencedor al protagonista ocasional en dos elementos principales: “tanta gracia y atractivo 90 de su perfil” (Facies) 91, y tanta dignitas en su porte; una sencilla fórmula cuyos juegos retóricos ―la repetitio léxica (tanta… tantus… tanta), con la variatio destacando el elemento central, sin descuidar los otros dos, informa, pero, sobre todo enfatiza y encarece (Lausberg 1975, 612)―, acaban poniendo de relieve, de nuevo, la “majestad” (§ 8). Algo que Pacato también realzaba en su padre (6, 2); sólo que ahí su fortuna es comparada con la forma uenerabilis del hijo, que es la que arrastra la mirada de todos (conspicua) y confiere prestigio al poder; la conclusión, nuevo pero distinto ejercicio retórico, es utrumne te magis nostris mentibus uirtus an obtutibus uultus insinuet (6, 3). Pero, por supuesto, en el Epitome no hay eco de la conclusión de Pacato: su augustissima… species emana de caelo (6, 3). Con todo, el conjunto y el detalle dejan esa idea favorable en la mente del lector. Es un logro al que también contribuyen dos pinceladas más, ya en el bloque decantadamente vinculado a Trajano (Mens vero prorsus similis, …): (a) la inclinación hacia los espíritus dignos y cultos que ambos sentían, con el mismo verbo, diligere (13, 8 / (48, 9); y b) la liberalitas de uno (13, 5-6) y generosidad (largiri) y el aprecio del otro hacia los ciudadanos, a los que recompensaba 85 Al morir, Magnencio vierte sangre por la nariz y la boca (42, 6); en Caracala (21, 4), con el contraste os/vultus, es “rostro”. 86 Un detalle en el que coincide con Mamertino: en Juliano es “boca”; y poco después habitus oris…(28, 4-5). 87 Cuya barba era un poco hirsuta, y puntiaguda (25, 4, 22); Galo, en cambio (14, 11, 28), tenía un vello suave (lanugine tenera). 88 El Epitome (1, 20) recoge la anécdota con diferencias. 89 Pacato utiliza el scio enfáticamente (4, 4); también la HA (Q 1, 1; AS 64, 4; MB 2, 2; Cc 8, 1; V 1, 1; G. 1, 1; T 8, 8). Para el nescio, cf. n. 24 90 … tantus flos…; el giro habitual suele ser flos animi // flos aetatis (cf. Lucr. 3, 770; 5, 847; Suet. Cés. 49, 3; …). 91 Cuyo sentido general es universa corporis forma. Dos pinceladas cuya asociación evoca el giro ciceroniano en las Filípicas (2, 3, 7).

92

Cf., también, Temistio XV, 5-6; 8; XIX, 7. Augusto también pecaba de ello (Epit. 1,22). 94 El Epitome reserva este adjetivo para el hijo de Constantino (41, 21). 93

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B) El segundo aspecto, también en relación con Augusto, es el de la ira. Un defecto tópico ya en esta época, 98 que recoge Ambrosio (Epist. 51, 4), e ilustra la revuelta de Antioquía, el motín de Callinicum, y la masacre de Tesalónica (390), 99 pero que en él se vuelve objeto de encomio: Irasci sane rebus indignis, sed flecti cito; unde modica dilatione emolliebantur aliquando severa praecepta (14-15). Dos matices importantes: 100

Por último, otra nota en esta contraposición con Trajano que, enlazando también con ese eximius et felix bellator de Galerio, subraya que no buscó nunca el afán de triunfo que marcó la vida del Optimus Princeps; una pirueta retórica con la que se encubren distintas realidades, de las que sólo recogemos dos: A) Una, la dificultad de combinar matices en la laudatio, sin quebrar el equilibrio: por un lado, el valor pacificador del gobernante, que puede conciliarse con el más cristiano del perdón, compasión o misericordia, junto al tradicional de la prudentia y la preocupación por el bienestar de los súbditos. Frente a ello, el expanionismo triunfante, o el imperialismo decantado cuyo perfecto modelo ha sido a Trajano. O, por el contrario, esa contención de Augusto de los límites del Imperio que el Epitome alaba (1, 10-12), destacando con un tipo de expresión parejo a éste 95 el valor de las guerras justas ―en el caso de Teodosio sería la necesidad de vencer a los usurpadores… (40, 6-7)―; e insistiendo en la necedad de poner en peligro a los súbditos por un estúpido afán de presunción y ligereza de espíritu (1, 10): a un buen emperador no le cuadra la temeritas (1, 11). 96 Así, como en definitiva la laudatio se ajusta siempre a las “posibilidades”, aquí asegura que Teodosio bella non moverit, sed invenerit (§ 10); de hecho, mantuvo con Máximo una relación fluida durante años (4 ó 5), sin llevar a efecto ninguna acción en su contra. Pacato, obligado al encomio, encadena, en un complicado párrafo (30, 2), la acción con la necesidad del castigo que suponía la muerte de Graciano…; su pintura es un Máximo cruel, un latro (26, 2-3) o pirata (§ 4), que vigilaba el peso de los bienes arrancados a la miseria pública purpuratus y pallens atque inhians (26, 1); un gesto que indicaba “la creciente avidez de un alma insaciable a la que lo conseguido espoleaba a conseguir más” (25, 6). El epitomador, sin deseo de desvelar los entresijos de esa relación con Máximo y de su ruptura, no tan loable como para enfatizarla cual hacía Pacato, sin descender al detalle, lo deja, igual que a Eugenio, como culpable de una ruptura civil, cuyo tenor inhumano desaprobaba. Es el importante dato que añade, sin conectarlo con éste, pero usándolo a modo de ilustración, poco después a propósito de sus studia (§ 11): a Teodosio le encantaba leer, sobre todo las maiorum gestae; pero “odiaba la soberbia, crueldad y falta de libertad de tiranos como Cina, Mario o Sila…” (§ 12). No es casualidad la secuencia —poco ortodoxa desde el punto de vista historico, 97 pero fina en la gradatio— para reflejar su odio por las contiendas civiles donde todos y cada uno de estos fueron “buenos” maestros. Cuestión adicional sería de qué fuente la toma, porque Pacato también la usa (46, 1). Lo dejamos ahora. Sólo subrayamos que el ignoto autor, utilizando su independencia, añade al tópico un toque nuevo: el perfidos et ingratos, que parece dirigido, como un dardo, a Máximo, antaño amigo y compañero.

(i) Por supuesto, no se dan razones del aserto, ni se explica o ejemplifica nada: el epitomador ignora esos hechos que acabamos de mencionar y otros más, o los da por sabidos. Ni importa el dato, ni la historia. (ii) Y lo más notable: en la gradatio final (§ 14), con su capacidad para rectificar supera al propio Augusto que debía cuidar sus despiadadas órdenes; y el hecho de que tal habilidad no fuera aprendida, sino “innata”, acrece su valor. Libanio —que acepta la cruel represión (XIX, 37), y con destreza dialéctica (§ 36-7) pondera “la investigación”—, le suplica que la abandone, porque ya no es posible que un hombre sufra muchas muertes… (§ 38). Pero el Emperador le hizo poco caso: lo demuestra su actitud ante el derribo de las estatuas (§§ 44-5). Libanio no tuvo más remedio que aceptar otra vez su enfado, pero, de nuevo, incitándole a deponerlo… porque “la capacidad de perdonar”, es la cualidad principal de un emperador” (XX, 13-4); por eso no olvida compararlo con ventaja a Alejandro, que mandó arrasar Tebas dejando en pie sólo la casa de Píndaro (XX, 22). En cambio, Pacato destacará su afabilidad 101 y benignitas, en diversos ámbitos y con enfática repetición 102. Es un tópico que encuentra cierto eco en el Epitome que cierra su bloque principal cuando, tras calificarlo como Melior tras la victoria (§ 16), y antes de pasar ya los detalles de menor entidad (§ 18), lo pone por encima de esos benigni principum que sólo conceden predios baldíos (§ 17). En el bloque en su conjunto (§§ 9-19), destaca la muy cuidada y variada elocutio; sobre todo, la variatio que va utilizando en los diferentes epígrafes para marcar el cambio, tanto de características y rúbricas, como de elementos. A título de selección: la enumeratio (§ 9), de tres adjetivos muy bien balanceados, 103 perfilada en la frase siguiente por otros dos (honorificus / effusius) con paralelismo y antítesis en los extremos (in omnes… / … in bonos); y cerrándola, con muy diferente formulación, otra 98 Como demuestran los casos de Valentiniano y Valente (30, 6, 3; 31, 14, 6); y el propio Juliano (23, 2, 4). Libanio (Or. XVI) se debate entre el afecto que siente por él, y hacia su ciudad y su gente. Cf. también, Sozomenes V, 4, 1; 11, 8. 99 Producida una por el impuesto para sus decennalia (387); otra, por la cuestión anti-judía (388); y la última por la represión debida a la muerte del magister militum Buterico, y la masacre del circo. 100 Muy enfatizada por la repetición y ubicación del irasci… irasci (§§ 13; 15). El valor que Suetonio da a las ‘palabras clave’ como elemento organizador, y determinante en la divisio, no se ha perdido aún. 101 Con difícil retórica: la expresión es muy alambicada (cf. 19, 1). 102 32, 3 / 16, 4 —la “amistad” (16, 1), a la que ha llegado a sentar en el trono (16, 2), es la nueva baza in regia laude (§ 1). Amiano, por su parte, la destaca de Valente (31, 14, 2)—; y 20, 1. 103 Al primero y principal (clemens) lo acompaña un sustantivo de apoyo (animus); misericors va sólo; el tercero lo desarrolla y completa una sentencia de eco muy liviano (AVC 29, 17, 11).

95

Lo que deja clara la labor del autor (cf. 1, 10 / 48, 10). Víctor ensalza más la pacificación de los pueblos bárbaros, salvo Germania. Y es el único que añade el cierre del templo de Jano (1, 2). 97 Lo que interesa no es el tópico, sino el orden y el juego que se les da. 96

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Isabel Moreno-Ferrero – El retrato de Teodosio I (Epit. 48).

una determinada visión de su personaje, positiva pero no en exceso elogiosa.

larga con infinitivos históricos, todos ubicados en lugares diferentes de la frase, y con el último realzado por otro cola que enfatiza, por primera vez en paralelo, su personalidad y la de su padre (erga se vel patrem). En el caso de la oposición a los vitia (§ 10), donde se trata de destacar su acción frente a Trajano y su labor legislativa, ―muy disminuida en su importancia―, lo fundamental son los verbos personales, que, potenciando su acción, contrastan con todos los elementos anteriores y posteriores. En los studia (§ 11), la restricción inicial (mediocriter doctus) se corrige con dos adjetivos (sagax plane multumque diligens), convenientemente enfatizados y contrastados, para destacar su crítica hacia la tiranía y sus representantes; censura y fórmula que, a su vez, conducen al vicio convertido en virtud de la ira (§ 13), iniciando el procedimiento de los infinitivos históricos de valor descriptivo (§§ 17-18). La alternativa la ofrece al final la breve sentencia que recoge su caracterización como padre (blandus) y marido: concors; y el énfasis sobre sus prácticas que vuelven al terreno de la acción con los imperfectos de indicativo destacando el carácter habitual de su práctica (§ 19).

1ª) Ha seleccionado el material prescindiendo de aquellos pormenores que no le interesan porque distorsionan, minimizan o exageran la imagen imperial que pretende dar. Ha soslayado con cuidado las contradicciones con otras fuentes, y a veces, en ciertos temas, ha buscado el contraste sutil, tan perceptible por parte de los destinatarios, como eficaz para su propósito. Y ha sabido buscar fórmulas originales para apuntar ciertas virtudes. 2ª) Ha dispuesto la información y características elegidas buscando la variatio y la gradatio en bloques, temas y fórmulas; y para mantener mejor el tono y acrecer el impacto ha acudido a la comparación con figuras señeras; sobre todo con Trajano, en un leit-motiv recurrente en su vida y costumbres, que se observa especialmente bien en la parte final (§ 16); en especial con el Melior haud dubie, … post auctam annis potentiam regalem multoque maxime post civilem victoriam”; 107 un giro/locución que le permite dar sutil entrada a dos importantes elementos propagandísticos: el cuidado de la anona (§ 17), siempre difícil ―como ejemplifican los sucesos del 389―, que lo liga a Pompeyo o Augusto. Y la devolución de su propio peculio de lo que había robado Máximo; la réplica en la munificentia de Teodosio (§ 17) está clara.

El pasaje, además, está realizado muy “biográficamente”: con noticias varias que evocan los epígrafes de Suetonio, en tono positivo: la estrecha relación familiar; 104 los banquetes ―en cuyo tenor difiere de lo predicado por Zósimo―; 105 o la conversación, selectiva y equilibrada, que combina gravitas y iocunditas (§ 18). Y acaba con el tema del ejercicio físico y la salud que controlaba con frugalitas (§ 19). Concluido ya (§§ 9-19), se pasa a la muerte, herencia y entierro en Constantinopla, de la que tampoco ha hablado en todo el pasaje.

3ª) Evidentemente, ha ejercitado también esa variatio respecto a las características de otras figuras para señalar, por oposición, la singularidad de su personaje; o, al contrario, ha elegido los elementos de los boni imperatores para destacarlo: primero, la valoración de sus cualidades es la más amplia del texto; y pese a las coincidencias con otros emperadores en la introducción (Fuit…) y otros paralelos, las modificaciones en cada bloque convierten el pasaje en una pieza retórica de notable relieve. Y, segundo, se escapa de los tópicos habituales: ni los típicos clichés sobre sus gustos, ni el uso de prendas regias y la diadema ―como en el caso de Constantino (41,14)―, que otros autores y obras sí destacan (HA / AV / Eutropio,…). Por otra parte, ha sabido jugar con otros ecos panegíricos ―como con el de Graciano de Ausonio—, con el que tiene puntos de contacto en la propia introducción (la materia privada levanta gran expectación en el público), y en el desarrollo: “como para ello hay menos datos objetivos, hay que indagar cuidadosamente”; todo lo cual resalta el esfuerzo del orador y realza la importancia del dato.

Evidentemente, todo el conjunto es un decantado encomio, si bien hay una serie de virtudes, de las consideradas carismaticas (Burdeau 1964, 25-29), que no se alaban porque es imposible: ni temperantia ni parsimonia, que, quizá, junto a las clásicas prudentia y iustitia, le habrían dado un tono a su figura demasiado incompatible con la firmeza bélica que se pretende apuntar. Tampoco, como Temistio pondera, su andreía // virtus / fortitudo, y su romé/fuerza. Algunas, como la munificentia ―tópica desde los reyes helenísticos, hatibual en la reedificación de ciudades o recintos, y que los cristianos aplican a las iglesias (H.E. 2, 19)―, la pietas (§ 18), o una civilitas particular (§ 9), 106 tienen tratamientos sutiles que es necesario advertir, porque sólo podemos apuntarlos. Por su parte, las fuentes cristianas tenderán a un conjunto más “humano” que bélico (Lomas 1990, 149-66).

4ª) Y ha cuidado su elocutio, sin apenas aparentarlo y dentro de la contención propia de estos textos, con una serie de combinaciones expresivas y una selección específica de términos ―algunos únicos: misericors, honorificus, o effusius; y otros peculiares (status / caesaries / steriles genae,…)―, para acompañar o definir mejor esa positiva caracterización

En definitiva, es el control del autor sobre sus datos, en la inventio, dispositio y elocutio, el que le ha permitido dar 104

A su tío lo consideraba un padre y trataba a sus sobrinos como hijos, estimando mucho a sus parientes y allegados. 105 Le critica los muchos platos que obligaba a poner en su mesa; la caterva de cocineros a su servicio (28, 1); su corrupción (40, 8; 41, 1), abulia ingénita, lo desarreglado del régimen (44, 1), y su prodigalidad y ansia de riquezas y los eunucos (28, 1-2). 106 Que lo aproximaría a Juliano, y que se debería conectar con los tópicos de Eutropio.

Sin embargo, no hay en este breve retrato-biográfico un juicio original que permita entrever su valoración, ni su 107

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Cabría preguntarse cuál, ¿la de Máximo o la de Eugenio?

The Theodosian Age (AD 379–455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

juicio de cara a la historia. No ha utilizado la expresión típica del bonus imperator; ni ha estimado su aportación al conjunto de gobernantes, ni ha definido su puesto relativo entre ellos. No ofrece siquiera un juicio estimativo sobre su política o su actividad bélica, como el que aplica a Juliano (43, 7). Es probable que el ignoto autor no esté demasiado convencido; pero, eso sí, ha sabido vender el producto… Una res publica quieta es un logro; y con ello, tópico o no, el epitomador cierra su texto y su retrato de Teodosio. Quizá esta breve reflexión filológica contribuya a valorar mejor algunos de esos pequeños detalles desconocidos de los que los humanos, como dice él mismo (§ 18), nos mostramos tan ávidos…

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shed light on his first steps as augustus, just before his expedition against the Goths in the summer of 379. Finally, this speech directly attests the position and aspirations of Constantinople and its Senate after the recent death of Valens.

Themistius and the accession of Theodosius I (Oratio XIV)* Aitor Blanco-Pérez Christ Church, Universidad de Oxford

Themistius, the ‘Political Philosopher’

Abstract

The definition of Themistius has always remained difficult to modern scholars. 2 Yet, this πολιτικὸς  φιλόσοφος perfectly exemplifies the thin boundaries between intellectual, cultural and political life in the fourth century AD.3 Themistius was a philosopher, orator and politician. Descending from a stock of renowned philosophers, his education and first steps followed the conventional rhetoric-philosophical training and study of classical authors (philologia),4 which eventually allowed him to open a school in Constantinople and to write his famous Paraphrases of Aristotle. 5 As an educated scholar, he was naturally able to compose and deliver the remarkable number of both private and public speeches (34 in total) that have been preserved until today. Indeed, contemporaries such as Gregory of Nazianzus celebrated his rhetorical skilfulness and named him βασιλεὺς  τῶν  λόγων (king of words). 6 Finally, as a politician and thanks to the qualities above described, he became one of the most influential members of the newly established Senate of Constantinople, whose prostasia he seems to have occupied soon after his adlection in 355.7 Later in 384, he reached the position of praefectus urbis. The acceptance of this post closely related to his integration into Theodosius’ entourage stirred fierce criticism among the most traditional philosophical circles, which favoured a life of contemplation and alienation. 8 Themistius, in

This article analyses Themistius’ Oratio XIV as historical evidence for the accession of the emperor Theodosius I. Despite the denigrating opinions traditionally attributed to the rhetor’s speeches, this particular text provides invaluable information concerning the dramatic state of the Roman Empire after the battle of Hadrianopolis, the dynastic claims of Constantinople and its senators and, especially, the very disputed process that brought Theodosius from his retirement in his family estates in Spain to Sirmium where he was proclaimed augustus by Gratian. With this study, I hope to shed new light on to these problematic issues and establish analogies by which the historical validity of Oratio XIV shall be confirmed. KEYWORDS: Themistius, Theodosius, Constantinople, Oratio XIV, AD 379-380

The figure of Themistius, traditionally portrayed as ‘aulicus adulator versipellis, vanus iactator suae philosophiae’,1 has been progressively enhanced over the last decades, thanks, above all, to Dagron (1968). More recently, studies by Vanderspoel (1995) and HeatherMoncur (2001) have again emphasised the importance and relevance of this multifarious intellectual in the second half of the fourth century AD. Among his significant collection of public speeches, the prime aim of this paper is to analyse Oratio XIV, which was delivered soon after Theodosius’ proclamation as augustus.

2 On the problematic definition of Themistius and the evolution of the scholarly debate, see Vanderspoel (1995, 1-30). 3 The denomination of ‘political philosopher’ comes from the anonymous preface of his now lost speech Philopolis, supposedly delivered in the reign of Julian. Although this definition is therefore not direct, it seems to have prevailed among modern scholars, especially in the last decades when the importance and relevance of Themistius has been highlighted. Moreover, the phrase πολιτικὸς φιλόσοφος serves to connect him with leading personalities of the imperial age, from whom Themistius seems to adopt his most important philosophical precepts [e. g. Plutarch’s Maxime cum principibus philosopho esse disserendum, in which the difference between this ‘engaged’ philosopher and the ἀπράγμων φιλόσοφος is discussed]. On the fine borders between intellectual and political life in the fourth century, compare the case of Themistius in the eastern part of the Roman Empire with Symmachus in the West. 4 According to Themistius himself, philosophy was learnt through literary study, philologia (Or. XI, 144d-145a; Downey 1995, 293-307). For a detailed account of Themistius’ education and early life, see Vanderspoel (1995, 31-50). 5 On the importance of Themistius as philosopher, see Vanderspoel (1995, 225-229). Some of his philosophic works have only been preserved in Hebrew (CAG V, 4; 5) and Arab (Dagron 1968, 14-16). 6 Greg. Naz. (E XXIV, 48). See also Libanius (E 241; 1430) who considered Themistius the leading rhetorician of his time. 7 The exact definition of the term prostasia, to which Themistius refers in Or. (XXXIV, 13) is not clear. For a full discussion on this issue, see Heather and Moncur (2001, 44-47). 8 It seems that Constantius had previously offered him this post among many other public and private recognitions, which however he refused.

Oratio XIV —a speech of embassy (presbeutikos)— is together with Libanius’ On the Death of Julian the only contemporary source that illustrate the crucial and blurred months following the military disaster at Hadrianopolis. Moreover, the political implication of Themistius as member of the Senate of Constantinople and the nature of the speech itself provide us with an internal view on this process. This internal position of the senator, however, biased the account that we intend to study and hence the opinions contained in this speech are to be examined cautiously. Nonetheless, it gives multiple details and information which, despite those limitations, can help us to clarify the disputed accession of Theodosius and to

*I would like to acknowledge the Santander Bank and Caja Burgos whose graduate scholarship programmes have economically supported my M. St. in Greek and Roman History at the University of Oxford, during which this paper has been prepared. Moreover, I would like to thank all the scholars who attended this Colloquium for their very helpful comments and, above all, to Isabel Moreno for her guidance and mentorship both at the University of Salamanca and throughout the preparation of this paper. 1 So Reiske described him in the preface of Dindorf (1832). For other negative opinions, see Geffcken (1978, 167-8) and Piganiol (1972, 234).

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contrast, defended a philosophy active and engaged in the political context. 9 Thus, intellectuals from the early second and third century AD such as Dio Chrysostom and his speech On Kingship had bigger influence on Themistius than most of his contemporaries. This active involvement of the philosopher in politics was to be exerted through a parrhesia (frankness) and karteria (strength of character) educated in paideia (Scharold 1912).

Oratio XIV: Dating and Disposition Dating The speech analysed in this paper can be approximately dated to the late spring and early summer of AD 379.16 Thanks to the Codex Theodosianus, we know that after his proclamation in Sirmium on the 19th of January, Theodosius stayed in the Illyrian city for a few months (Chron. I S. 243; 297; II S. 60), before moving to Thessalonica at least on the 17th of June, where he established his centre of operations against the Goths between 379 and 380.17 According to internal evidence in the text itself referring to the preparation of a military expedition, it can be inferred that the rhetor delivered this speech before the sixth of July when the emperor already appears in Scupi commanding the army (CTh VI, 30, 2). Therefore, Themistius’ embassy is to be placed within the first months after the accession of Theodosius during which, according to Zosimus (IV, 25, 1), the recent augustus was visited by numerous delegations. 18 Moreover, the proposed date would give room for the previous embassy sent by the Senate of Constantinople, to which Themistius refers at the beginning of his speech.

As a ‘political philosopher’, Themistius developed a series of precepts which are fundamental to understand the content and concepts in Oratio XIV. 10 First, he believed that, whereas the royal essence was divine, the emperor was human (Or. I, 3b). 11 The emperor was nomos empsichos, ‘living law’ (Or. I, 15b; V, 64b),12 and, so, chosen by God but elected by men (Or. V, 65d-66c). Finally, he was to rule moderately and according to the ideal of philanthropia (Or. I, 4c).13 This approach to the concept of kingship was naturally a gradual process, which emanated from his extended public career. In fact, most of these ideas were adapted according to the emperor before whom he presented his speeches. 14 Through this progress and evolution, Themistius became an internal and prominent figure in the imperial regime. As such, the reflection of his extreme engagement can often be regarded as panegyric. This laudatory tone present in most of his public speeches should not, however, prevent us from highlighting that Themistius was a fundamental witness of the most important events in the second half of the fourth century. For example, we know that his excursus on the Goths (Or. X, 132-133c) came after his journey to Marcianopolis with Valens. The literary and rhetoric composition of his description under the stereotype of the ‘bon barbare’ is evident.15 Yet, it provides us with direct evidence of the Gothic presence and their first movements before the battle at Hadrianopolis. Therefore, the historical validity of Themistius can sometimes be proved after cautious and close examination, as I intend to show in relation to Oratio XIV.

Up to now, your godlike majesty, I was unable to endure my illness, because I was compelled to lag behind those who share the embassy with me (180b-c; trans. Heather and Moncur 2001).

Disposition Themistius seems to follow in this occasion the precepts of Menander the Rhetor and other canonical technography, as this speech of embassy (presbeutikos) does not exceed 300 verses.19 Thus, the particular nature of the Oratio XIV seems to have impelled Themistius to observe more rigidly the rhetorical norms in order to present with the utmost clarity those points and aspects that he and Constantinople sought to emphasize before the emperor. As a result, three main sections can be distinguished in the text, whose length and importance progresses gradually. In the first one (180b-d), Themistius acknowledges an unspecified illness (ἀρρωστία) that prevented him from joining a previous embassy of the Constantinopolitan Senate. The proclamation of Theodosius as augustus, however, healed

As a result, Themistius had to explain in his Oratio XXXIV the reasons for accepting this office under Theodosius. An example of contemporary criticism can be found in Palladas’ epigram (Ant. Pal. XI, 292). 9 For a study on the opposite philosophical position, see Fowden (1982). 10 For a full account of these precepts, see Stertz (1976, 349-352). 11 φύσει μετέχον ζῷον οὐράνιον, ἐκεῖθεν δοθὲν τοῖς τῇδε εἰς ἐπιμέλειαν. 12 καὶ αὐτὸς νόμος ὢν καὶ ὑπεράνω τῶν νόμων. [1] ἀλλὰ βούλει γνῶναι τὴν παρὰ φιλοσοφίας συντέλειαν; νόμον ἔμψυχον εἶναί φησι τὸν βασιλέα, νόμον θεῖον ἄνωθεν ἥκοντα ἐν χρόνῳ τοῦ δι’ αἰῶνος χρηστοῦ. [2] 13 φαίνεται ὑμῖν φιλανθρώπου ἀνδρὸς εἶναι ἀδικεῖν τε καὶ βλάπτειν ἀνθρώπους καὶ ἐπιβουλεύειν καὶ ταὐτόν τι ἐργάζεσθαι καθάπερ μισοῦντα; ἢ τοῦτο καὶ γελοῖον ὑπολαμβάνειν; οὐκοῦν ἐν τῷ τοιῷδε αὐτὸν ἀνάγκη καὶ δίκαιον εἶναι. τί δαί; ἀκολασταίνειν εἰς ἀνθρώπους ἢ ἐξυβρίζειν μῶν ἐθελήσειεν ἂν ὁ φιλάνθρωπος; ἢ πάντων ἥκιστα; πῶς γὰρ ἂν τοὔνομα ἀληθεύοι; οὐκοῦν τόδε γε αὖ πάλιν σωφροσύνην αὐτῷ μαρτυρεῖ. 14 The most relevant precepts, nonetheless, can be found in his Oratio I. This speech was personally delivered before Constantine in Ancyra and, in some ways, gave start to Themistius’ political career (Heather and Moncur 2001, 43-114). 15 See Dagron (1968, 100) for details of this description and a discussion on the historiographic features of Themistius’ works.

16

Scholze (1911) stands as the traditional study for dating the speeches of Themistius. A more recent chronology of them can be found in Vanderspoel (1995, appendix 5). 17 For a full chronological account of the first two years of Theodosius’ reign, see Seeck (1919, 251-255). 18 The amount of delegates seems to have reached such an unbearable number, that the emperor in 380 tried to put some restrictions on them (CTh XII, 12, 7). 19 Themistius normally adopts a particular way of structuring his public speeches by putting one philosophical notion as theme, which he discusses in relation to the reigning Roman emperor [e.g. Or. XIII entitled Ἐρωτικὸς ἢ περὶ κάλλους βασιλικοῦ]. For the verse limit of the presbeutikos, see Heath (2004, 423-424). On the more general context and relevance of rhetorical technography in the third and fourth century, see Heath (2004).

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later described as παλίρροια (the turning of the tide), by which Themistius makes clear his concern and awareness of the tremendous failure and military disaster recently suffered.22 Moreover, other peoples in the lower Danube area took advantage of the subsequent weakness and started to threaten the Balkans, including Constantinople itself. 23 This general state of insecurity and fear was precisely described by Themistius in the following paragraph:

him. In the second section (181a-c), Theodosius is presented as saviour of the difficult situation that the Roman Empire had to confront. In the third and most extensive part (181d-184a), Themistius tries to establish and confirm the favourable terms on which the relationship between Constantinople, the new Rome, and Theodosius, the new emperor —both selected because of their virtue (ἀρετή)— is to be based.

You have appeared for us as one man in place of all others, we look to you in place of all others — Dacians, Thracians, Illyrians, men at arms and the rest of our armament all of which vanished away quicker than a shadow, and we, who were once ourselves pursued, drive on at full pelt. It is because of the hopes left to us in you that we taken a stand, that we draw breath and believe that you shall now check the impetus of success of the Scythians and quench the conflagration that devours all things, which neither the Haemus could halt nor the boundaries of Thrace or Illyria, a hard passage even for a traveller (181a-b; trans. Heather and Moncur 2001).

Content and Historical Analysis Illness and Recovery: Theodosius the Saviour As previously stated, the theme of the proemium in Oratio XIV derives from an acknowledged illness and recovery of the author, as soon as he knew that Theodosius had been proclaimed augustus. There are two crucial points that need to be highlighted from this customary and adulatory introduction. First, we have the reference to the existence of a previous embassy of the Senate of Constantinople. As we will be able to attest throughout this paper, the existence of such previous contacts between Theodosius and the city proves fundamental to explain the arguments and proposals later presented by Themistius. None of the speeches that the rhetor prepared for the inauguration and celebration of a new emperor’s reign —Oratio V for Jovian, Oratio VI for Valens and Oratio XIV itself for Theodosius— were delivered straight after their proclamation, but leaving a calculated lapse of time.20 This particularity seems to be explained by the fact that Themistius occupied one of the most prominent positions in the Senate of Constantinople and, therefore, only when a first approach and negotiation had been undertaken by his colleagues, he composed his epidictic oratory. Indeed, it is specified in our speech that he received correspondence from the representatives that participated in that first Constantinopolitan embassy.

This powerful depiction, although clearly rhetorical and hyperbolised, summarises the ravaging raids of those peoples along the limes Danubianus, whose integration in the imperial territory proved unsuccessful at this point. Previously, Themistius had actively defended the integration of ‘Barbarians’ as a source of taxes, recruits and peacefulness and recommended such policies to earlier emperors (Or. VIII, 112c-d; Errington 1996; Daly 1972, 351-379). In Oratio XIV, however, he clearly favoured the necessity of a military counterattack and so supported the expedition of Theodosius. This change of opinion becomes patent in the second section of the rhetor’s speech. For, on the one hand, Themistius praises the new recruits levied by the emperor in 379 just before the summer campaign and, furthermore, he compares Theodosius with Achilles in the Iliad and bestows on him the Ares’ epithet ἀρτίπος.24

I learned from the letter issued by the mightiest of our temple wardens [senators of Constantinople] that we were to see the return of a golden age (180c; trans. Heather and Moncur 2001).

It is evident that after both the Persian expedition by Julian and Hadrianopolis, the shortage of soldiers in the eastern part of the empire was very severe (Jones 1964, 156). In consequence, Theodosius toughened the conditions of recruitment between 379 and his arrival at Constantinople (CTh VII, 13, 8-9; 22, 9-10; XII, 1, 83). As a result, Libanius (Or. XXIV, 15) bitterly complained and criticised this new attitude, according to which any men, regardless his military training, could be levied and troops were transferred from an already undefended Eastern frontier to the Illyricum. In contrast, Themistius regarded positively these circumstances, as new viceless soldiers joined the army committedly.

Once we are aware that Themistius did not prepare the Oratio XIV blindly, it is not difficult to suppose that the illness acknowledged refers in reality to the difficult general situation following the battle of Hadrianopolis.21 Theodosius, in contrast, represents the hope of recovery as the phrase return of a golden age shows. His arrival is

20 Or. V: Jovian became emperor on the sixth of June 363 and this speech was delivered on the first of January 364 at Ancyra. Indeed, Libanius [E 1430] criticised Themistius for not having joined another previous embassy sent by Constantinople, which met the emperor at Antioch. Or. VI: Valens reached the rank of augustus on the 28th of March 364 and Themistius seems to not have delivered his speech until winter (Scholze 1911, 25-27). This previous procedure would exactly match with the proposed gap between Theodosius’ accession and Oratio XIV. 21 For the traditional account of the battle at Hadrianopolis itself and the following events, see Amm. (XXXI, 12-16). For a very detailed modern study, see Lenski (2002, 320-367).

22 According to Palanque (1933, 58), other contemporaries such as Ambrose of Milan considered the outcome of the battle as a sign of the end of the world (Expos. In. Luc. X, 10; 14). On the general contemporary perception of this military disaster, see Straub (1942). 23 For the situation of unrest along the limes Danubianus both before and after 378, see Mócsy (1974, 266-296). 24 Hom. Od. 8, 310.

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speech, very remarkably, he again considered military abilities and war leadership as mere subsidiary qualifications, for the main dedication of the ‘good king’ was to rule civic matters (Or. XIV, 185c-197). Nevertheless, it is not difficult to explain that change of opinion, when one takes into account the disappointing results of the Gothic campaign between 379 and 381, which eventually led on to the Treaty of Federation in 382.29

And this army (στρατός) which has not tasted the life of luxury (ἄγευστος  ἡδυπαθείας) has now come together voluntarily, schooled (πεπαιδευμένος) to gain advantage from adversity (181c; trans. Heather and Moncur 2001).

This particular issue helps us to reaffirm the historical validity of Oratio XIV. Thus, the shortage of recruits present when Theodosius took over the command of the army underlies the allusion made by Themistius regarding the military forces of the new emperor. Yet, the rhetor presents their lack of experience as praiseful. Libanius, on the other extreme, provide us with a less favourable but equally contemporary perspective, as he considered that Hadrianopolis was a divine revenge caused by the death of his admired Julian. In sum, the events and data on which Themistius based the laudatory Oratio XIV were real, but the way in which these are displayed sough the support and praise of Theodosius. In this respect, we need to discuss whether Themistius delivered Oratio XIV as an internal figure of Theodosius’ regime or he still spoke as member of the Senate primarily.25 In other words, it is crucial for the complete understanding of this speech to find out if the rhetor simply tried to advertise publicly those policies which the new emperor wanted to apply right after his proclamation.

Constantinople and Theodosius The third section of Oratio XIV confirms that Themistius primarily acted as representative and leader of the Senate of Constantinople before Theodosius. Thus, the city used this speech to offer two crowns to the emperor, one of gold and the second of εὔνοια (good-will). The city of Constantinople owes you two crowns —one of gold, the other of goodwill; the Fair City (ἡ  καλλίπολις) is preparing the crown of riches for that day on which she shall place it on his brow when he returns in glory, bearing trophies of victory over the ill-starred barbarians (181d; trans. Heather and Moncur 2001).

As for the first one, it is important to note that the aurum coronarium is offered on condition that the emperor celebrated his triumph in Constantinople and, in such a way, the city made clear its royal aspirations. Regarding the crown of εὔνοια, this concept helps Themistius to introduce the notion of philosophy in his speech. As we have seen in the introduction, he considered philosophy as the ultimate truth and therefore his words and advices should be trusted as they emanated from his condition of philosopher. Yet, putting aside the rhetor’s panegyric tone, there is an interesting aspect that should be examined. Themistius affirms that Constantinople was the first city to confirm Theodosius’ proclamation.

It is undeniable that Themistius entered into Theodosius’ entourage after the arrival of the latter at Constantinople. For, he was appointed in charge of Arcadius’ education and accepted for the first time the relevant post of praefectus urbi. 26 However, I believe that the tone and themes chosen by Themistius in Oratio XIV did not emanate yet from an internal position in Theodosius’ regime, but from the previous embassy of Constantinopolitan senators, to which we previously alluded. Thus, the terms of agreement and collaboration between a recently neglected city and the new emperor would have been established by this delegation. Hence, Themistius would have composed his speech on the basis of that previous information, confirming and displaying more certainly the support that Constantinople was granting to Theodosius. Given this support and collaboration, it is not surprising that the emperor established himself in the city after the Gothic campaign. Actually, the so-called edict of Thessalonica (Cunctos populos) could be ascribed to the same context (CTh XVI, 1, 2).27 It is therefore very difficult to establish the exact point at which Themistius became an internal member of Theodosius’ regime, although this process would have been completed by the 19th of January 381 when his Oratio XV was presumably delivered.28 In this

Constantinople comes forward not only to seek what she wants but as the first to ratify the decree of proclamation (βεβαιοῦσα πρώτη τὴν ψῆφον  τῆς  ἀναρρήσεως (182a; trans. Heather and Moncur 2001).

This statement cannot be proved and is probably false.30 However, Constantinople would certainly have been very willing to accept and support the new eastern augustus. The city had recently lost the imperial favour of Valens after the usurpation of Procopius and the suspiciously cold reaction by its Senate in 365.31 In the following 10

25 On this particular matter, I agree with Errington (1996, 8-9) contra Heather and Moncur (2001, 30, note 86). 26 On the education of Arcadius, see Them. (Or. XVI, 204; 313a; 220d). For the post of Urban Prefect and the contemporary criticism, see earlier discussion in note 8. 27 On the particular circumstances of this much discussed and still considerably obscure imperial constitution, see Errington (1997), Ehrhardt (1964) and Vera et al. (1986). 28 On the dating of this speech, see Heath and Moncur (2001, 230).

29 For an account of this Gothic campaign and the subsequent Treaty of Federation, see Williams and Friell (1994, 23-35). 30 According to the account of Zosimus aforementioned [see note no. 18], the emperor would have received many delegations after his accession. Moreover, the distance from Constantinople to Sirmium is approximately 1000 km. 31 The usurpation of Procopius took place between the 28th of September 365 and the 27th of May 366 (Amm. XXVI, 5-8; Socrat. IV, 9, 8).

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years, Valens only visited the Bosphorus twice.32 A clear picture of this disaffection is provided by the events preceding the battle of Hadrianopolis, when Valens directly threatened to demolish Constantinople on his return.33 Hence we can easily understand why the Senate regarded Theodosius so positively; namely, new hope who could bring back the prosperity and progress reached under the Constantine dynasty.

The Accession of Theodosius

It is not the aim of this paper to analyse the transformation of Constantinople from its foundation to the time when Themistius wrote his speech. Nevertheless, it is important to highlight that the city at this latter point was still developing and trying to find its place and identity within the complex scenario of the later Roman Empire. 34 Themistius participated in this process as the evolution of the epithets by which he described Constantinople attests. Thus, the καλλίπολις (beautiful city) of his first speeches appears in Oratio XIV as βασιλεύς τῶν πόλεων (king of cities).35 In consequence, he considered that the situation of this μητρόπολις  τῆς  οἰκουμένης (capital of the empire) and that of the new emperor were analogous and, therefore, Constantinople suited Theodosius the best. Indeed, as Constantinople was companion of Rome, the augustus was κοινωνός of Gratian. For it is doubtless proper for the city which rules cities to join in celebrating those who rule over mankind. And yet of the two mother cities of the world —I mean that of Romulus and that Constantine— it is ours, as I would say, that is in greater harmony with you. For she had no association of any sort with the race of rulers, and yet she became partner in empire with the great city through her virtue (δι’ἀρετήν). And it was not family connection which advanced you to the purple, but virtue in superabundance, not close kinship but display of strength and manhood (182a-b; trans. Heather and Moncur 2001).

The proclamation of Theodosius as augustus is a complex process, whose record in the ancient sources presents important difficulties. According to the traditional account, Theodosius fled to his family estates in Gallaecia (North-Eastern Hispania) after the death of his father in the winter of 375/376 (Oros. VII, 33, 7; Jer. Chron. S.a. 376). During his retirement, he presumably married Aelia Flaccilla, also Spaniard, 36 and his son Arcadius was born (c. 377; Socrat. VI, 23, 7). Then, after the disaster at Hadrianopolis, Gratian would have recalled him and thereafter give the command of the eastern campaigns until his proclamation in Sirmium. This reconstruction of events, however, has been recently challenged, especially by Errington (1996a).37 In sum, he believes that the timespan between the 9th of August 378 and Theodosius’ proclamation in Sirmum on the 19th of January 379 cannot accommodate all the steps that supposedly preceded that dies imperii —namely, the arrival of news at Spain, the journey of Theodosius to the Balkans, a victory over the Sarmatians and a subsequent report of the battle before Gratian. He instead proposes to place the rehabilitation of Theodosius at some point between the death of Maximinus in 376 —who presumably had instigated the conspiracy against Theodosius’ father— and the early 378.38 Obviously, the traditional sequence of events is problematic. However, I cannot agree with Errington’s interpretation of Pacatus’ panegyric text or the use of the Chronicon Paschale by Vanderspoel as supporting evidence. 39 In contrast, I believe that the traditional account can be extensively maintained and that the previously neglected Oratio XIV —whose internal historical validity has been proved so far— can cast new light on this important discussion. First of all, we have highlighted throughout this paper the way in which Themistius emphasizes and celebrates the military qualities of the new emperor. This aspect, together with the context and first steps of Theodosius as augustus, would support the idea that Gratian was, above all, seeking a new commander after Hadrianopolis. Despite the results of the mission were eventually not as successful as Gratian would have wished, Theodosius apparently fulfilled the requirements of that post. Thus,

We can observe in this paragraph how emphatically Themistius refers to ἀρετή as the key factor for both Theodosius’ and Constantinople’s election. Very interestingly, the virtue of the new augustus emanated from his ῥώμη (strength) and ἀνδρεία (courage), namely, martial attributes. In this respect, all these recurrent references to his military abilities together with other crucial information contained in Oratio XIV prove fundamental to shed light on to the circumstances and reconstruction of the events which eventually led on to the accession of Theodosius.

36

Claud. (Laus Serenae 63-9) (Spanish origin). Zos. (IV, 44, 3); Symm. (95, 1); Theod. (Epit. 272); Claud. (De nupt. Hon. 43); Jord. (Rom. 311). Zon. (XIII, 18) (Theodosius’ wife). For the probable marriage during Theodosius’ retirement, see Matthews (1975, 93-94). 37 His new reconstruction of events has been followed by Vanderspoel (1995) and, less enthusiastically, by Heather (2010). 38 Maximinus was presumably beheaded by Gratian in the spring of 376 (Amm. XXVII, I, 57; Symm. E X, 2, 2-3; Or. IV, 11-12). For a more general portrait of this figure and his implication in Theodosius father’ death, see Demandt (1969, 616-625). 39 Errington wants to interpret Pactatus’ tenth (Pan. Lat. 12 [2]) as a reference to the presence of Theodosius in the Balkans before Hadrianopolis. However, the sentence ‘vix tecta Hispana successeras, iam Sarmaticis tabernaculis tegebaris’ could also be perfectly connected with the battle against the Sarmatians in the late 378, which Themistius and other sources recorded. On the use of the extremely unreliable Chronicon Paschale and other inconclusive evidence, see Heather and Moncur (2001, 119-120, notes 38-39) contra Vanderspoel (1995, 190-195).

32

Valens probably returned to Constantinople in March 370 (Amm. XXVII, 5, 10; Socrat. IV, 14, 1) and then from the 8th of December 370 (CTh XI, 31, 6) to the first of May 371 (CTh XI, 1, 14). See Dagron (1974, 82-83). 33 This episode graphically recorded in Socrat. (IV, 38, 7) can be dated to the 30th of May according to Chron. (I S. 242). 34 The best study on this particular regard remains Dagron (1974). 35 The term καλλίπολις is used by Themistius (41a; 42a; 44b; 70c; 58d; 70c; 83b; 151b; 181d; 248a; 354d). On the general evolution of the denomination of Constantinople, see Dagron (1974, 51-55).

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Spain, the immediate departure of Theodosius to the Danube and his proclamation between the late summer and early winter, albeit rare and exceptional, is technically plausible. Moreover, if we combine the key elements to which I have alluded so far (death of his father, marriage to Aelia Flaccila and Arcadius’ birth), it is very difficult to believe that Theodosius could have left Spain before 378 and impossible to accept his restoration right after Maximinus’ death. Furthermore, the name of Theodosius is not mentioned in any of the contemporary accounts such as Ammianus Marcellinus or the Codex Theodosianus between 375 and 378. This alwaysdangerous argumentum ex silentio could yet indicate that Theodosius would have not held any important office in that period. Thus, against Heather et al., who propose that Theodosius in 378 was first appointed dux Moesiae and then magister militum (Heather and Moncur 2001, 219; Vanderspoel 1995, 194-195; Errington 1996a, 449), I believe that he was directly designated magister militum/equitum upon his arrival. This would be the position to which Themistius refers in Oratio XV with the term ἱππάρχων.46

his father had been one of the most prominent military figures under Valentinian I and even reached the rank of magister equitum. 40 The young Theodosius followed those paternal steps in what Pacatus described as castrense collegium (Pacat. XII, 8, 3). Soon afterwards, he started an independent military career, which culminated in the post of dux Moesiae Primae and an important victory over the Sarmatians in 374 (Amm. XXIX, 6, 14-16; Zos. IV, 16, 6). As we have indicated earlier, this promising career was suddenly interrupted after the death of Theodosius the Elder. Yet, the influence of his family and acquaintances was not completely vanished. Indeed, the death of Maximinus proved fundamental for the progressive incorporation of members of Theodosius’ family into Gratian’s entourage such as Flavius Eucherius and Flavius Claudius Antonius.41 After this first phase and once we take into consideration their influential position at that time, we could understand why the emperor decided to precisely recall a man of Spanish origin.42 In fact, this designation could be included in the process of restructuration which Gratian undertook right after Hadrianopolis.43 Nevertheless, before continuing the examination of Theodosius’ accession in the light of Themistius’ Oratio XIV, there is an important aspect that is to be discussed. If we want to believe the traditional sequence of events, it is necessary to explain Theodosius’ journey from Spain. Given the limitations of travelling in Ancient Rome and Late Antiquity, couriers making use of the cursus publicus and imperial stationes covered an average of 50 miles per day.44 However, this rate is not applicable to extraordinary circumstances as those following the disaster at Hadrianopolis were. In this respect, we need to mention an exceptional case which resembles that of Theodosius. Immediately after the death of Nero, Icelus, freedman of Galba, set travel to Spain in order to inform his patron of that relevant event. According to Plutarch (Galba, VII, 1), the journey from Rome to Clunia (close to Cauca, where Theodosius apparently retired) took him less than a week. 45 Therefore, the arrival of news at

Like those famous Spartans who were four hundred in number but did not yield to countless myriads of barbarians, as Lucullus did not yield to Tigranes, nor Pompey to Mithridates, nor Caesar to the Galatians, nor the magister equitum to the Sarmatians (XV.198a; trans. Heather and Moncur 2001).

As magister militum/equitum, Theodosius had to confront the rebelled Sarmatians. This first and single campaign before his proclamation was to be deployed hastily for the winter months were approaching, as the critics of the traditional account of Theodosius’ accession have rightly indicated.47 The testimony of Themistius in Oratio XIV matches with these conditions and circumstances. And the Romans were summoning you to the kingship from that moment when you alone checked the raging Sarmatians as they overran the whole territory by the river, taking your stand with scant force and that not of your own choosing (182c; trans. Heather and Moncur 2001).

40 For a detailed account of Theodosius the Elder’s career, including all ancient references, see PLRE (I, 902-903) (Theodosius 3). 41 Flavius Eucherius was Theodosius’ uncle (Epit. de Caes. 48, 18; Them. Or. XVI, 203d) and by 19th March 377, he had become comes sacrarum largitiorum (CTh I, 32, 3a; PLRE 288). Flavius Claudius Antonius, possibly brother of Maria, Theodosius’ sister-in-law (Symm. E I, 90; Martindale 1967, 254-56) substituted Maximinus as praefectus praetorio Galliarum and in 377-8, he held the prefecture of Italy (PLRE 77). For details of this process, see Matthews (1975, 93-98). 42 Mclynn (1997, 171-178) has reasonably challenged the canonical idea that the Spanish Church was crucial and prime reason for Theodosius’ accession. 43 This restructuration would be reflected in CTh (X, 19, 9; XVI, 5, 5; Edict of Toleration) and C.J. (II, 7, 2). All these imperial decisions were taken before the end of August at Sirmium. Furthermore, it seems that Gratian designated the consuls of 379 at this point (Aus. Grat. act. IX, 42). Soon afterwards, both Flavius Hypatius (future prefect of Rome) and Eutropius were recalled. In a letter to the latter, Symmachus referred to the efforts by Gratian in reorganising the empire after Hadrianopolis (Symm. E III, 47). 44 See Ramsay (1925) for the traditional study of the speed and general characteristics of the cursus publicus. 45 Ἦν δὲ θέρος ἤδη, καὶ βραχὺ πρὸ δείλης ἧκεν ἀπὸ Ῥώμης Ἴκελος ἀνὴρ ἀπελεύθερος ἑβδομαῖος.

The ὀλίγῃ  δυνάμει  καὶ  οὐδὲ  ταύτῃ  ἐξειλεγμένῃ logically refers to the precarious condition of the Roman army after Hadrianopolis but, above all, to the fact that Theodosius had to take over the command without time to levy new recruits and prepare the battle cautiously. In fact, it is very difficult to accept that if Theodosius was already present in the Balkans before Hadrianopolis, as it has been suggested, Themistius would have described his forces in such terms. Naturally, the rhetor exaggerates the relevance of this battle for his final appointment as

46 On the problems of interpretation of the term ἱππάρχων, clearly a vague Greek translation of an official Latin term, see Vanderspoel (1995, 188, note 3). 47 Normally, the army in the Balkans returned to their winter barracks by September (Seeck 1919, 255; 259; 265). However, this should not be applied to the months after Hadrianopolis, when Goths and other peoples attacked cities and Roman soldiers in the area.

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Aitor Blanco-Pérez - Themistius and the accession of Theodosius I (Oratio XIV)

Constantinople —represented by Themistius in this speech— could not tolerate any friction and disagreement between both augusti, while Gothic raids had already reached its walls (Amm. XXXI, 16, 4).

augustus. However, there was no need to alter details, on which practically all ancient sources agree. Thus, Theodoret’s account (V, 5) also seems to confirm that Theodosius did not choose the forces he commanded against the Sarmatians.48 Finally, Theodosius was already familiar with this people, as he had already defeated them in 374 while holding the post of dux Moesiae (Amm. XXIX, VI, 14-16).49 Therefore, a quick victory or even a favourable agreement in autumn is possible and would support the maintenance of the traditional account.

Constantinople claims and alliance Themistius leaves the main objective of his embassy for the last part of Oratio XIV. Following the gradual structure of the speech, the prominent member of the Constantinopolitan Senate presents the terms on which the relationship, alliance and cooperation between the city and the new emperor should be based. Once again, we need to emphasise the crucial importance of the previous senatorial embassy as origin of Themistius’ claims. First of all, Theodosius needed to confirm the concessions (δωρεαί) granted to Constantinople by previous emperors (προπάτορες). Second, the city was to receive imperial dignity and prestige so as to become a real second Rome (δευτέρα  Ῥώμη), not solely for the quality of its public works and urban development.

It would be very naïve to believe that Theodosius’ election as eastern augustus was only due to a single battle. As we have previously attested, his recall from Spain first and final proclamation in Sirmium later resulted from the progressive incorporation of Theodosius’ relatives and acquaintances into Gratian’s entourage as well as his own prestige in the army and, above all, that of his father. Nevertheless, this success against the Sarmatians, albeit insignificant, would have confirmed everybody’s expectations before his dies imperii.

Former kings gave us multitude of columns and statues and an abundance of water, but you plant our senate thickly with honours and titles and cure this dearth which afflicts us no less than formerly the dearth of springs (183c; trans. Heather and Moncur 2001).

Theodosius and Gratian Once the connection between the new emperor and Constantinople has been established, Themistius devotes a considerable extent of Oratio XIV to enhance the relationship between Theodosius and Gratian. According to his idea that the emperor was chosen by god but proclaimed by men (Or. V, 65d-66c), he presents Gratian as a mere referee who elected Theodosius because of his virtuous nature.

These two points and, in general, the entire Oratio XIV provides us with illuminating evidence of the evolution of Constantinople and its senate throughout the fourth century. Thus, the local assembly composed mainly of those senators who followed Constantine after the foundation of the city, counted approximately 2000 members at the time of Theodosius’ accession.51 In fact, Themistius had actively contributed to this growth as he travelled across the East seeking and persuading the best candidates among provincial elites, who became lamprotatoi from clari (Them. Or. XXXIV, 13).52 At the same time, a urban prefect and not a proconsul started to administer the city. 53 Meanwhile, Constantinople was becoming the head and eastern capital of an empire whose division fostered its importance. The arrival of a new augustus brought new hopes and expectation to an already embellished urban centre, which lacked definitive imperial relevance. The relationship between Theodosius and Constantinople would begin to elevate the city to the rank of Byzantine capital, but, at the same time, ended up breaking the fragile integrity of the Roman Empire.

Your virtue (ἀρετή) made you emperor, and it was Gratian who proclaimed you (ἐκήρυξε)’ (182d; trans. Heather and Moncur 2001).

It is evident from the lines following this statement the way in which Themistius over-emphasised the apparently excellent relationship between both augusti. This, however, cannot hide the fact that Theodosius’ election —a man older than Gratian and without family bonds with him whatsoever— was odd and, therefore, required further justification. Indeed, it is very difficult to decide whether Gratian willingly chose Theodosius for the post or he was forced by the circumstances and his influential entourage to adopt that decision. Furthermore, the real collaboration between both emperors after Sirmium remains disputable. 50 Whatever the case may be,

48

αὐτίκα δὴ οὖν ἐκ τῶν Σπανιῶν τὸν ἄνδρα μεταπεμψάμενος καὶ στρατηγὸν χειροτονήσας, μετὰ τῆς συνειλεγμένης ἐξέπεμψε στρατιᾶς. 49 Dux Moesiae Theodosius iunior, prima etiam tum lanugine iuvenis, princeps postea perspectissimus, Sarmatas liberos ad discretionem servorum rebellium appellatos, conlimitia nostra ex alio latere invadentes, aliquotiens expulit et adflixit, congressibus densis adtritos, adeoque obsistentes fortissime turbas confluentes oppressit, ut caesorum plurium alites iuste sanguine satiaret et feras. 50 On both discussions concerning this relationship and its corresponding literature, see Escribano Paño (2006, 483-484, notes 53 and 54).

51 On the evolution of the Senate of Constantinople from its foundation to the time of Theodosius’ accession, see Dagron (1974, 122-199). 52 See Libanius’ (E 34; 77; 667; 1492) view on this process. The title of clarissimi had normally been given only to Roman senators. Yet, Themistius was already considered as such by Constantius before his reforms of the Constantinopolitan Senate in 357 (E Const. 19b). 53 Honoratus, first praefectus urbis recorded in Constantinople (Cons. Const. 359; Chron. Pasch. 359), was proclaimed in the presence of Constantius in the last quarter of 359.

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Conclusion As I hope to have shown throughout this paper, Themistius and his Oratio XIV are an invaluable source of information about the period following the battle of Hadrianopolis and, above all, regarding the first steps of Theodosius as Augustus. This speech provides us with an exceptional internal testimony of the contemporary events after the new emperor proclamation. Thanks to this study, we have been able to attest the historical validity of the great majority of the details described by Themistius. Accordingly, it would also be possible to maintain the traditional account of Theodosius’ accession, which had recently been challenged. Moreover, this text is crucial to understand the first contacts established between a newly elected eastern augustus and the recent eastern capital. Constantinople is very present in this speech. Its claims, alliance and aspirations are displayed through Themistius’ words of praise. A ‘second Rome’ was already born and its senators and highest representatives led the embassies that would permanently bring the emperor to their ‘reigning city’. As the accession of Theodosius was fundamental for the new capital, Oratio XIV is fundamental to internally clarify the context and circumstances of that historical landmark.

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constitución Cunctos populos del año 380 (CTh XVI, 1, 2).3 Sin embargo, el estudio pormenorizado de cada una de estas medidas revela que éstas no formaron parte de ningún tipo de programa político que previera la cristianización del calendario. De hecho, en 387 fue promulgado un feriale en la provincia de Campania que sólo comprendía festividades tradicionales por orden de los emperadores (iussu domnorum).4

La cristianización del calendario oficial romano y la política religiosa de Graciano, Valentiniano II y Teodosio I / The Christianization of the official Roman calendar and the religious policy of Gratian, Valentinian II and Theodosius I 1 Esteban Moreno Resano

Las provisiones imperiales en relación con el calendario fueron el resultado de puntuales intervenciones legislativas de los príncipes, cuyas motivaciones particulares se desconocen en la mayor parte de las ocasiones, de acuerdo con una concepción puramente casuística de la legislación. La mayor parte de ellas tenían como propósito inmediato regular en determinados casos los días hábiles e inhábiles para realizar actos jurídicamente válidos, públicos o privados. Era una forma de ejercer un mayor control imperial sobre la administración de justicia, previniendo arbitrariedades procesales, y, en cierto modo, también para determinar el ritmo de la vida pública.5 En este sentido, algunas normas estaban destinadas a regular la celebración de los ludi, uno de los elementos más importantes de la cultura cívica romana: la iussio de Valentiniano II que promulgaba un feriale dominorum en la provincia de Campania y la prohibición Teodosio I de celebrar ludi en domingo, salvo que coincidieran con natales imperiales (CIL X, 5792 = ILS 4918 [387]; CTh XV, 5, 2 [392]). Los príncipes aprovecharon estas ocasiones para introducir normas que suponían la atribución a la Iglesia de un mayor peso institucional y social, pero sin abrogar el ordenamiento tradicional del tiempo romano. Sólo las leyes de 389 y 392, que impedían respectivamente celebrar ludi durante las principales festividades cristianas y en domingo, abrogaban partes del ordenamiento del calendario civil tradicional (C. I. III, 12, 6, 6; CTh II, 8, 21). De todos modos, los principales ritos del cultus deorum, comenzando por el sacrificio y la adivinación, habían sido prohibidos repetidamente y siempre con mayor rigor en 381, 385, 391 y 392.6 Además, para mayor perjuicio de la religión pública romana, Graciano, después de rechazar el hábito de Pontifex Maximus, había ordenado retirar el altar de la Victoria del Senado y privado de toda inmunidad fiscal a sus sacerdotes.7 Los términos de las

Universidad de Zaragoza

Abstract The emperors Gratian, Valentinian II and Theodosius I, in consecutive interventions, given in 380, 381, 384, 385, 389 and 392, adapted the Empire’s judicial and administrative calendar to the time’s ordination arranged by the Christian liturgy. It was not a ‘christianization’ of the Roman calendar, because this was yet organized according with the feriae of the traditional religion. The main purpose of these measures was to guarantee the favour of the Church, bestowing official character to Her most important festivities, like Easter days, Christmas, Epiphany, the martyrdom of the Apostles Peter and Paul and all Sundays of the year, but they also tried to determine regulations on the working days to put in order public and private business. KEYWORDS: Late Roman Empire, Calendar, Christianization, feriae, liturgy

Las intervenciones normativas de Teodosio I, Graciano y Valentiniano II en relación con el calendario romano contribuyeron decisivamente a su llamada ‘cristianización’. Entre ellas se encontraban la suspensión de la instrucción de causas criminales durante la Cuaresma y la ‘amnistía’ pascual de 380, sus concreciones de 381, 384 y 386, el impedimento de realizar cualquier procedimiento o negocio, público o privado, en domingo (también de 386), el calendario judicial de 389, las prohibiciones de aplicar castigos corporales en Cuaresma de ese mismo año y de celebrar ludi en domingo de 392 y la inhabilitación, en el año 392, de los quince días del tiempo de Pascua (que comprendía la Semana Santa y la Semana de Pascua actuales) para formalizar todo negocio público o privado.2 Las disposiciones de Teodosio que, de modo general, acomodaban la administración de justicia a lo largo del Imperio al calendario litúrgico cristiano eran la consecuencia directa de la aplicación de los principios religiosos sancionados por el emperador con la

3 Véase Bianchini (1986). Sobre la ley Cunctos populos y su contexto, véase Ehrhardt (1964), Barone-Adesi (1979), Vera (1986), Lizzi Testa (1996), Errington (1997), Escribano Paño (1999; 2002) y Leppin (2003, 60-100). 4 CIL 3792 (ILS 4918). Según Trout (2001), el autor legal de este calendario fue el usurpador Magno Máximo. Sin embargo, tal y como indicó Mommsen (1848), la inscripción fue dedicada con ocasión del dies imperii de Valentiniano II (Fasti Hydat. ad a. 378), cuyo nombre aparece en la data consular. 5 Véase nota 2. 6 Las leyes teodosianas contra las prácticas paganas son: CTh XVI, 10, 7 (381); 8 (382); 9 (385); 10 (391); 11 (391); 12 (392). Véase, Gaudemet (2000, 35-40); Chuvin (1991, 63-77). 7 Sobre el rechazo de la indumentaria sagrada de los pontífices por Graciano, véase Zos. (IV, 36). No se sabe la cronología exacta de estas medidas, que deben de corresponder a los años 376, 381 o, a lo más tardar, 383, aunque los hechos se conocen con bastante precisión gracias al debate epistolar entre Símaco y Ambrosio de Milán (Symm., Rel. III, 15; Ambr. Med., Ep. XVII, 3; XVIII, 13). Véase, Sheridan (1966), Pohlsander (1969), Klein (1972), Vera (1981) y Siniscalco (2000, 111).

1

Este trabajo ha sido realizado gracias a la concesión de un Contrato de Investigación dentro del Subprograma ‘Ramón y Cajal’ (Ministerio de Ciencia e Innovación), y se inscribe dentro del Proyecto de Investigación HAR2008-4355/HIST, dirigido por la Dra. Mª V. Escribano Paño (Universidad de Zaragoza), financiado por el Ministerio de Ciencia e Innovación (FECYT) y del Grupo Hiberus, dirigido por el Dr. F. Marco Simón. 2 CTh II, 8, 18; 8, 19; 8, 21; CTh IX, 35, 4 (= CI. II, 12, 5); 35, 5; 35, 7; 35, 8; 38, 6 (380 ó 381); CTh XV, 5, 2; CSirm. 7; 8.

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leyes contrastan, sin embargo, con la moderada aplicación de sus cláusulas penales (Leppin 2003, 95-96). Sólo la usurpación de Eugenio, entre 392 y 394, y la consiguiente demanda de apoyo firme por parte de los obispos, llevó a Teodosio I a actuar con mayor dureza con relación a los paganos (Leppin 2003, 193-206).

en la organización del calendario, ya fuera el de la misma Roma o el de cualquiera de las ciudades del Imperio. Pero también es cierto que no acostumbraban a ejercer esta prerrogativa. Por lo general, hacían responsables de la organización y subvención de las festividades locales a curiales destacados de cada municipio (Frag. Vat. 187). En el contexto de las reformas administrativas emprendidas por Diocleciano y proseguidas por Constantino y sus sucesores, apercibidos de la importancia política del calendario, los emperadores prestaron mayor atención a regular directamente ellos el establecimiento de los días festivos, y en qué términos, y por consiguiente, de aquellos que no lo eran. Este hecho no significó, ni mucho menos, una reforma sistemática de los calendarios oficiales, pero sí un intento de establecer un cierto control sobre la organización del tiempo público. Constantino, por ejemplo, publicó en 323 una disposición que impedía a los jueces fijar feriae imperiales, reservándose el príncipe esta facultad (C. I. III, 12, 3 [4]; Moreno Resano 2007, 230; 2009, 200). Antes, en 321, había sancionado el dies Solis como dies festus (CTh II, 8, 1; III, 12, 2). Este interés por supervisar las fiestas públicas obedecía a dos razones: consolidar la autoridad de los príncipes y difundir un determinado discurso ideológico político. En el primero de los casos, el propio fortalecimiento de la autoridad imperial mediante su imposición como instancia normativa superior a cualquier otra, ya fuera legislativa, jurídica o consuetudinaria exigía intervenir en la regulación del calendario; en el segundo, la constitución de fiestas públicas era un eficaz medio para transmitir la propaganda oficial, uniendo la celebraciones cívicas (casi todas ellas, con un importante componente lúdico) al nombre del emperador (Moreno Resano 2007, 174-188). La institución de estas fiestas públicas coincidía con un período de grave crisis política. Las mencionadas leyes constantinianas fueron promulgadas durante los años posteriores a la primera guerra civil entre Constantino y Licinio (314-316) e inmediatamente anteriores al segundo y último enfrentamiento entre los augustos (323-324).10 Licinio, por su parte, estableció una feria castrense, también consagrada al Sol, en 323 (ILS 8940. Moreno Resano 2008, 196-200). Se podría decir que corresponden a una etapa de incremento de suspicacias entre los príncipes (tanto que llegaron a nombrar cada uno sus propios cónsules) y búsqueda de apoyos en previsión de un inminente nuevo conflicto civil. Este hecho que

Después de la muerte de Graciano en 383, la autoridad de Valentiniano II y Teodosio I se veía en entredicho en Occidente, ante la incómoda presencia en el colegio imperial de Magno Máximo (383-388).8 Su asesinato había proporcionado un lugar más ventajoso a Máximo, tanto que, en 387, había atacado los territorios de Valentiniano II, lo cual explica mejor su dependencia del apoyo de los obispos, en particular, de Ambrosio de Milán (Siniscalco 2000, 114; Leppin 2003, 122-133). Se trataba, en todo caso, de una normativa muy prudente desde el punto de vista político: el acomodo del calendario judicial a los tiempos litúrgicos era un gesto de favor hacia la jerarquía eclesiástica, pero, al mismo tiempo, no pretendía crear malestar entre quienes que se resistían a abandonar los cultos tradicionales (Leppin, 2003, 94-95; 133-134). De todos modos, en última instancia, el emperador favorecía a la jerarquía eclesiástica. Con estas concesiones, el emperador ganaba antes que perdía poder. No se trataba de que los obispos controlaran el Imperio, sino de poder contar con ellos para gobernarlo (Leppin 2003).

El tiempo en el siglo IV: calendario público y calendario cristiano La forma de organizar el tiempo dice mucho acerca de cualquier entidad política. En el Imperio romano no existía un solo calendario oficial. Cada ciudad y cada provincia tenían uno propio, aunque organizado según el modelo de la capital, Roma. Se modificaba en cada caso siempre que se exigiera, conforme a las disposiciones imperiales, de los gobernadores provinciales o de los miembros de las curias municipales.9 El hecho de observar un calendario homogéneo procuraba una consistente impronta identitaria al conjunto de los ciudadanos romanos, que era perfectamente compatible con sus particulares origines. Quienes no seguían ese calendario, como era el caso de los judíos y los cristianos, se hallaban segregados, de algún modo, de la sociedad, dependiendo su aceptación de los lugares y las épocas (Di Berardino 2002, 97; 2005, 95-96; 2006, 179-187). Al margen de este hecho, los calendarios en el mundo antiguo, absolutamente tradicionales desde el punto de vista religioso, en su forma y su concepción, tendían a ser conservadores, aunque no inalterables. Como pontifices maximi, los emperadores tenían facultad para intervenir

10

Hieron. Strid. (Chron., CCLXXIII Olymp. VII); Origo (An. Val., V, 16; 23-27); Zos., (II, 18, 1; 314-315); Aurel. Vict., (XLI, 8); Zos. (II, 22-25; 323-324). Véase Moreno Resano (2009a, 289-305; 2009b, 187206). La fecha de la primera guerra civil entre Constantino y Licinio, que revela la escasa solidez de los acuerdos alcanzados por ambos en Milán en 312, ha sido muy debatida, dada la aparente contradicción de las fuentes. Bruun, Chastagnol y Pohlsander coinciden en datarla en 316. De todos modos, como señalan Bruun (1961, 110; 2003), Neri (1975), Alföldi (1976), Di Maio, Zeuge y Bethune (1990), Chastagnol (1993, 314-318) y Pohlsander (1995), es más probable que dicha ‘guerra civil’ consistiera, más bien, en una suerte de hostilidad discontinua entre los Augustos, que llegaron al enfrentamiento armado en dos ocasiones: la primera en Cibalae, en 314, y la segunda, en 316, en Campus Ergenus. A pesar de la conciliación de Sirmio de 317 (Origo V, 19), Constantino y Licinio, pues desconfiaban mutuamente el uno del otro, no pudieron evitar llegar de nuevo a las armas en 323, segunda y última guerra civil que acabó con la victoria del hijo de Constancio.

8

Ps. Aur. Vict. (XLVII, 7); Oros. (VII, 35, 1); Socr. (HE, V, 11); Zos. (IV, 35). Sobre la situación creada después del asesinato de Graciano véase Zos. (IV, 37, 1) y Leppin (2000, 102-106). Después de atacar los territorios bajo la jurisdicción de Valentiniano II (Zos. IV, 42-43), Máximo fue cercado y asesinado por las tropas de Teodosio (Zos. IV, 46), quien le restituyó sus provincias (Zos. IV, 47, 2). 9 Sobre el calendario romano, véase Samuel (1972), Rüpke (1995; 2006) y Hannah (2005).

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demuestra que la propaganda era tan necesaria para ganar una guerra como el número de las tropas y los medios económicos para premiar su lealtad.

cristiano (Di Berardino 2006, 194). Este hecho no impedía la vigencia de calendarios completamente tradicionales, como el ordenado publicar por Valentiniano II en Capua en 387 (CIL X 3792 = ILS 4918). Pero conviene hacer una precisión a este respecto: la cristianización de los calendarios oficiales no se verificó mientras fue emperador Teodosio, sino bastante más tarde, cuando su hijo y sucesor Arcadio abolió la oficialidad de las fiestas paganas en 395 (CTh II, 8, 22). Esta medida tampoco prohibía su celebración: tan sólo las privaba de su carácter público, de modo que no eran festivas a efectos de la instrucción de negocios jurídicos (Di Berardino 2005, 113).14 Un paso más dio Honorio en 407, cuando publicó una ley que prohibía las manifestaciones cultuales paganas públicas en las provincias occidentales (CTh XVI, 10, 19 = CSirm. XII). La medida fue aplicada con desigual celo en cada lugar. En algunos casos, se encontró con abierta oposición por parte de los magistrados locales, como, por ejemplo, en la ciudad numidia de Calama (Aug. Hipp., Ep. XCI, 8; Di Berardino 2005, 98-99; 2006, 195-196). Cuando Polemio Silvio incluyó en su Laterculus, del año 448, el calendario de la ciudad de Roma, aparecen recogidas por igual las feriae tradicionales y las festividades cristianas (Migne, PL XIII, 686; Loi 1983, 1817-1818; Windau 2006, 704-705). Las tradicionales, sin embargo, carecían de carácter oficial. Polemio actuó con celo de anticuarista, pero también guiado por la propia realidad: a mediados del siglo V, el calendario tradicional distaba mucho de ser olvidado. Esto significa que los ciudadanos de Roma, salvados aquellos que destacaran por sus escrúpulos religiosos, celebraban tanto los días señalados por el calendario tradicional como por el cristiano. El primero les vinculaba a la tradición y recordaba su pasado glorioso, reforzando su identidad cívica, y el segundo, les ofrecía la protección providencial de Cristo, reforzada por la intercesión de los santos, comenzando por la de los Apóstoles Pedro y Pablo.

El reconocimiento del cristianismo como religio licita en 312 no conllevó ninguna modificación inmediata de la organización del tiempo público en el Imperio. La liturgia cristiana seguía su propio calendario, que nada tenía que ver en su concepción con el calendario romano, y, por eso, se organizó de modo completamente independiente (Theodor. Cyr., Graec. affect. cur. VIII, 67-70. Jiménez Sánchez 2003, 213). Según observó Daniéliou (1966, 32), el calendario romano distribuía las fechas en función del ciclo agrícola y ganadero; en tanto que el calendario litúrgico cristiano organizaba sus festividades con fines esencialmente doctrinales, y más en concreto, para manifestar la intervención providencial de Dios en la Historia. Cuando Constantino sancionó el Dies Solis como dies festus el Dies Solis, había consagrado un día festivo al Sol Invicto, de acuerdo con una concepción absolutamente tradicional, en sentido religioso, del tiempo (Moreno Resano 2009a, 289-305; 2009b, 187206).11 Dada la coincidencia del Dies Solis con el dies dominicus, la jerarquía eclesiástica acabó reconociendo las leyes constantinianas como la sanción del Domingo. Pero esta identificación, que nunca tuvo visos de oficialidad, no se produjo hasta el año 335, cuando Eusebio de Cesarea la formalizó en su Triakonterikós (Euseb. Caes. De laud. Const., IX, 10; XVII, 14; ibid. VC IV, 19-20, 23; Moreno Resano 2009a). Constantino no puso ningún impedimento a esta asimilación, visto que contentaba por igual a cristianos y a los observantes de los cultos tradicionales. La única medida constantiniana en relación con el calendario litúrgico fue su intervención para fijar la celebración de la Pascua, cuyo propósito no era sino evitar conflictos internos dentro de la Iglesia (Euseb. Caes., VC, III, 5; IV, 22; Di Berardino 1991; 1993). En su códice-panegírico del año 354, Filócalo recoge por separado el calendario civil y el cristiano (Stern 1953; Salzman 1990). El hecho de que las festividades cristianas fueran socialmente relevantes en la Roma de Constancio II no significa que fueran oficiales.

Los precedentes El proceso de cristianización del calendario romano, o, cuando menos, el de su adaptación al creciente peso institucional y social del cristianismo, no se inició con la llegada al poder de Teodosio. Constantino había sancionado el Dies Solis como dies festus, en términos absolutamente tradicionales, impidiendo que se realizara durante el mismo cualquier tipo de negocio, público o privado, con excepción de las manumisiones, y con la autorización expresa de que se pudieran llevar a cabo las labores agrícolas en los distritos rurales de las ciudades en época de cosecha (CTh II, 8, 1; C. I. III, 12, 2; Moreno

Pasada la reacción reformista de Juliano y las tensas relaciones entre el Imperio y la Iglesia durante el principado de Valentiniano I, tanto Graciano como Teodosio I y Valentiniano II, eran conscientes de que debían competir por ejercer el patrocinio eclesiástico, por lo que adoptaron algunas medidas para ganarse el apoyo de los obispos (Escribano Paño 2004).12 En 381, 385, 391 y 392 se prohibieron los sacrificios, y, con ellos, casi todas las prácticas públicas de la religión tradicional.13 Además, se adoptaron otras destinadas a adecuar el funcionamiento de las instituciones (principalmente, el de la administración de justicia) al calendario litúrgico

14

Otra interpretación es la propuesta por Jiménez Sánchez (2003, 211, n. 12), también considerada por Di Berardino (2005, 112), según la cual continuaron realizándose celebraciones tradicionales, como los ludi, pero descargadas de connotaciones religiosas. De todos modos, conviene observar a este propósito, que, en la Antigüedad, prácticamente todos los aspectos de la vida social, cotidianos o no, estaban impregnados de religiosidad, pagana o cristiana (Di Berardino 2006, 183; 211).

11

La interpretación de las leyes de 321 siempre ha sido debatida, en función de si debe ser comprendida como un texto relativo a la Dies Dominica (o dies Dominicus) o al (o la) Dies Solis. 12 Sobre la política religiosa de Juliano véase la obra de Scrofani (2010); en relación con la de Valentiniano I, las monografías de Lenski (2002) y Lizzi Testa (2004). 13 Sobre las leyes teodosianas contra las prácticas paganas, véase nota 6.

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Resano 2009a). Nada tenía que ver esta norma con la Κυριακή o Dies Dominicus de los cristianos, aunque la jerarquía eclesiástica la interpretó como un privilegio en su beneficio, por su coincidencia con el Dies Solis. La ley se aplicó, como demuestran algunos documentos de carácter procesal, pero, en una fecha indeterminada, cayó en desuso (P. Oxy. 3758, ll, 119; 127; Girardet 2007, 309; 2008, 369). De hecho, Valentiniano I parecía ignorar la existencia de este precedente constantiniano cuando prohibió, en 368, que los exactores citaran a los cristianos para fijar sus cargas fiscales (CTh VIII, 8, 1; IX, 7, 10; Di Berardino 2002, 101; 2005, 103-104). Otra norma que sirvió de precedente y modelo para algunas leyes de Teodosio I fue la amnistía pascual concedida por Valentiniano I en 367 (CTh IX, 38, 3; Di Berardino 2003; 2006, 191).

de otros cultos, cuya observancia, inseparable del calendario que fijaba las fiestas, marcaba el ritmo de la vida en la mayor parte de las ciudades del Imperio. El tiempo público se cristianizaba, en tanto que las celebraciones litúrgicas cristianas congregaban progresivamente a mayor número de fieles.

Las fiestas administrativas Teodosio I no contó con un programa de reforma del calendario público romano, y probablemente, ni siquiera se propuso tenerlo. La prohibición de que se instruyeran causas criminales durante la Cuaresma del año 380 (CTh IX, 35, 4), un mes posterior a la constitución Cunctos populos, reconoce, desde el punto de vista de la administración de justicia, los tiempos fijados por la Iglesia para la ordenación del año litúrgico (Bianchini 1986, 247; Di Berardino 2006, 194). El texto de la ley fue abreviado por los compiladores teodosiano, por lo que no se conserva más que uno de sus dispositivos y se ha perdido toda la información relativa al caso que había originado la intervención imperial. Fue cursado en Tesalónica a 27 de marzo de 380 y estaba dirigido a Albuciano, en calidad de vicario de la diócesis de Macedonia. En principio, la aplicación de la norma sólo estaba prevista dentro de las provincias bajo su jurisdicción: Macedonia, Épiro Nueva, Épiro Antiguo, Tesalia, Acaya y Creta. A diferencia de la Cunctos populos, la ley no era un edicto, sino una suerte de instrucción que resolvía probablemente una solicitud elevada al emperador sobre una causa judicial concreta en el curso de la propia Cuaresma de 380. En todo caso, a partir del caso concreto, se había elaborado un principio procesal general. La motivación de la medida es estrictamente religiosa: los cuarenta días que preceden a la Pascua están reservados a la observancia religiosa, por reverencia a los ritos que se celebran en su transcurso (auspicio cerimoniarum). Más clara acerca de las razones concretas de esta medida es el fragmento de otra ley (CTh IX, 35, 5), esta vez, del año 389, dirigida por Teodosio desde Forum Flaminii (cerca de Foligno) al prefecto del pretorio de Oriente, Taciano, y que prohibía expresamente el empleo de la tortura corporal de los procesados por causas criminales durante la Cuaresma, tiempo sagrado (sacratis ... diebus) y en el que se esperaba la salvación de sus almas (quibus absolutio expectatur animarum), es decir, su reconciliación sacramental. Era pues, la práctica del tormento, habitual en este tipo de procesos si no había confesión del acusado y, a veces, de los testigos, lo que aconsejaba su suspensión. La norma de 389 parece explicar la de 380, también a propósito de un caso concreto planteado al emperador, aunque planteando una explicación más elaborada desde el punto de vista jurídico y doctrinal. Este es el aspecto más revelador de la ley de 389: expone cuál es su propósito, toda vez que la norma era extraña a la jurisprudencia clásica romana. Es posible que las autoridades encargadas de estos procesos no aplicaran la medida de 380 por considerar que no impedía la tortura y que carecía de sentido jurídico. Además, una ley dirigida

Pero, al mismo tiempo que se introducían estas modificaciones en el ordenamiento del tiempo público, el calendario oficial seguía organizándose en función de la religión tradicional romana. El calendario romano transcrito por Filócalo en 354 constata que Constantino había establecido siete ferias imperiales, que fueron conservadas y confirmadas primero por Constante y luego por Constancio II.15 A la muerte de Juliano, se incluyó entre las feriae imperiales el Natale Iuliani (6 de noviembre), de acuerdo con el calendario de Polemio Silvio (Migne, PL XIII 686). Dada la distancia cronológica que separa los calendarios recogidos por Filócalo y Polemio, es posible que se instituyeran más feriae imperiales entre 353 y 448, posteriormente abolidas, pero no ha quedado constancia textual de ellas. A propósito de Juliano, cabe recordar que, dentro de su política filotradicionalista, si bien no instituyó ninguna nueva feria pública, sí incentivó el Natale Solis (24 de diciembre). Con tal ocasión, el emperador apóstata celebró pronunció en 362 en Antioquía el discurso Al rey Sol, presentando al Sol como divinidad tutelar del Imperio, haciendo eco de las doctrinas mitraicas (Liefferinge 1999, 238; Scrofani 2010, 54-66). La oración se considera un acto de reafirmación e incentivo de los cultos tradicionales frente al cristianismo (Scrofani 2010, 55). De todos modos, es preciso considerar que el Nacimiento de Cristo no era celebrado en Oriente el 25 de diciembre, y que la celebración del Natale Solis por Juliano en Antioquía tiene más que ver con la preparación que se llevaba a cabo de la guerra contra Persia y, principalmente, con el rearme ideológico de los ciudadanos de la Siria romana, que con una reacción ante la cristianización de las instituciones romanas. También demuestra, tanto la vitalidad del culto imperial, manifestado a lo largo del año con la mencionada sucesión de feriae consagradas a los príncipes, como la 15 Las feriae imperiales establecidas por Constantino contenidas en el calendario de Filócalo eran las siguientes: Natalis Diui Constantini (27 de febrero), Natalis Diui Constantii (31 de marzo), Aduentus Diui Constantini (18 de julio), Aduentus Diui Constantini (21 de julio), Natalis Diui Constantini (25 de julio), Profectio Diui Constantini (28 de septiembre) y Aduentus Diui Constantini (8 de noviembre). Un documento egipcio documenta la celebración de los Vicennalia de Constantino (SB, V. 8020, 12; P. Strasb. III, 139). Véase Stern (1953, 71); Perpillou-Thomas (1993, 168); Moreno Resano (2007, 229-230).

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en el año 392 al prefecto del pretorio de Oriente, Taciano, impedía realizar toda acción legal, pública o privada, durante los quince días de Pascua (CTh II, 8, 21).

El asesinato de Graciano en 383 y el consiguiente acceso de Valentiniano II al título de Augustus senior acaso exigieron una renovación de las medidas de 380 y 381. Además, las expresiones retóricas de esta provisión, tan enfáticas como enrevesadas, explican por qué Valentiniano dirigió en 384 al Vicario del Prefecto del Pretorio de Italia, Marciano, una nueva instrucción sobre la aplicación de la ‘amnistía pascual’, que excluía del levantamiento temporal de las penas a los reos de lesa majestad, los homicidas, los encantadores (uenefici) y obradores de maleficios, violadores, adúlteros, violadores de sepulcros, secuestradores y falsificadores de moneda (CTh IX, 38, 7). En términos muy parecidos se expresa una carta imperial dirigida en 385 al prefecto del pretorio de Italia, Neoterio, que explica las anteriores medidas (CTh IX, 38, 8 = Br. IX, 28, 1). Finalmente, en 386, Teodosio dirigió a un oficial llamado Antioquino, probablemente, el vicario de Tracia, Macedonia o Ponto, una epistula que reiteraba los casos en los que se aplicaba la ‘amnistía’ y aquellos en los que la pena debía ser aplicada con todo rigor, ya enunciados en las leyes anteriores (CSirm. 8; Tilden 2006, 184-186). La novedad de esta carta imperial es que, además de reiterar en qué casos no se debía aplicar la suspensión de las penas, especificaba dentro de éstas, el encarcelamiento con cadenas, el exilio, la deportación y el trabajo forzado en minas (CSirm. 8). Esta provisión teodosiana obedece, por una parte, a la necesidad de extender a las provincias orientales las sucesivas concreciones a la ‘amnistía’ de 380 aportadas por la cancillería occidental con ocasión de los cambios en el colegio imperial, y, por otra, a la demanda de un texto legal que, por razones prácticas, planteara de forma sistemática y específica los distintos casos y sus excepciones, en los que se debía aplicar la suspensión de penas con ocasión del tiempo de Pascua. Dada la generalidad del texto enviado a Antioquino, Teodosio reiteró nuevamente el propósito de la norma: no convenía que las voces discordantes de los infortunados reos se oyeran entre los ritos festivos pascuales (CSirm. 8). Las medidas de ‘amnistía’ temporal de Teodosio, sustancialmente enriquecidas por Graciano y Valentiniano II, pretendían, por lo tanto, ser un manifiesto de la humanidad del emperador, pero también un instrumento para restablecer periódicamente la concordia cívica y evitar que ésta se viera quebrantada.

A estas disposiciones hay que añadir la suspensión de la aplicación de penas durante los quince días del tiempo litúrgico pascual (llamada ‘amnistía pascual’), concedida por el emperador en 380, y ratificada con ciertas precisiones en 381, 384, 385 y 386. La ‘amnistía’ de 380 fue dirigida al prefecto del Ilírico, Eutropio, y tiene relación con el intento de Teodosio de afianzar su propia autoridad imperial mediante una campaña legislativa favorable a los nicenos (CSirm. 7).16 No se conserva el texto en su integridad, pero, por sus características y contenido, parece corresponder a una circular imperial enviada a los distintos prefectos del pretorio en forma de epistula. El hecho de que la concesión aparezca recogida en una compilación occidental, la Collectio Sirmondiana, sugiere que circulares similares fueron destinadas a los prefectos del pretorio de Valentiniano II. Esta colección de leyes imperiales ha transmitido sólo la enviada a Eutropio. La ‘amnistía pascual’ (término que se presta al equívoco, puesto que no suponía un indulto, sino una suspensión de las penas), tal y como había sido formulada por Valentiniano I en 367 (CTh IX, 38, 3) y 368 (CTh IX, 38, 4), conllevaba una profesión de fe personal (ob diem Paschae, quem intimo corde celebramus, señalaba la de 367). Su sanción parece, por lo tanto, una norma deducida de la oficialización del credo niceno con la constitución Cunctos populos, pues Teodosio aprovechó la ocasión para declarar que veneraba la festividad pascual con común y excelsa profesión (quam communi et praecelsa professione ueneramur), esto es, compartiendo la misma fe que comunidad de los ciudadanos del Imperio, que era también la doctrina revelada a los Apóstoles por el Salvador (CSirm. 7; Tilden 2006, 144-147). Las medidas de 380 se concretaban en la liberación de los presos de las cárceles durante la Pascua, con excepción de los confinados por causas criminales. Pero sus términos distaban mucho de ser claros, y más, cuando procedían de la cancillería oriental de Teodosio, y no de la occidental. Su aplicación en Roma e Italia, a donde fueron destinadas las dos siguientes leyes y que estaban bajo la autoridad de Graciano, resultó técnicamente dificultosa. Ante esta situación, era necesario precisar y explicar las normas. Por eso, un año después, en 381, Graciano, emperador de Occidente, envió a Antidio, Vicario del Prefecto de la Ciudad de Roma, unas instrucciones muy detalladas al respecto, que prescribían que los parricidas, los homicidas, los violadores de doncellas, los adúlteros, los incestuosos, los provocadores de tormentas mediante ritos mágicos, los envenenadores, falsos profetas y falsificadores de monedas quedaban excluidos de los beneficios de la ‘amnistía pascual’ (CTh IX, 38, 6; Tilden 2006, 155-156).

Pero la aplicación de estas medidas, tanto las relativas a la interrupción de procesos por causas criminales en Cuaresma y tiempo de Pascua, como la suspensión de la aplicación de penas durante el ciclo pascual, se prestaba a la confusión: la fecha celebración de la Pascua variaba según el lugar donde se tuviera que instruir la causa y había ocasionado no pocas disensiones en el seno de la Iglesia (Zelzer 1978; Di Berardino 2006, 194-195). Además, los instructores de las causas podían no ser cristianos, de modo que su conocimiento del calendario litúrgico fuera impreciso. Eutropio, por ejemplo, debía de ser pagano cuando redactó su Breuiarium en 369 ó 370. Pero, entre 380 y 381, nombrado prefecto del pretorio del Ilírico por Teodosio, se convirtió en adalid de su política eclesiástica (Escribano Paño 2004). Una de las razones era que se trataba de un hombre de su confianza, y otra,

16 Sobre el ejercicio de Eutropio como prefecto del pretorio del Ilírico, véase Bonamente (1977), Bird (1988) y Escribano Paño (2004, 140, notas 26-27).

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su desvinculación con ningún grupo doctrinal cristiano, hecho que acreditaba su objetividad en la aplicación de las medidas imperiales (Tilden 2006, 147-148). Es precisamente la coexistencia en el Imperio de varios calendarios, algunos abiertamente incompatibles, como el tradicional romano y el litúrgico, con las dificultades que conllevaba para la administración de justicia, y, en general, de ordenación de la vida pública, lo que parece explicar el empeño de los emperadores en precisar cuáles eran los días hábiles y para qué tipo de acciones (Di Berardino 2005, 113).

referencia al efecto. Además, señala como días de descanso administrativo los ocho días siguientes a las calendas de enero, los dies natales de Roma y Constantinopla, los días de Pascua, entre los que se cuentan el domingo de Pascua y los siete días que le preceden y le siguen, las fiestas de la Navidad, la Epifanía y la conmemoración de la ‘pasión apostólica’, en referencia al martirio de Pedro y Pablo, el domingo y todos los natales imperiales, tanto los que celebraban la toma de auspicios como los de comienzo del principado (CTh II, 8, 19, 2-4 [= Br. II, 8, 2, 2-4]; C. I. III, 12, 6, 25). Tampoco permitía la recaudación de impuestos y la liquidación de deudas en los quince días del ciclo pascual (C. I. III, 12, 6, 6). En todas las fiestas cristianas declaradas oficialmente festivas (que no feriae) no se permitía la celebración de ludi (C. I. III, 12, 6, 3). No se trataba de una ley novedosa en sus contenidos, pues demuestra haber empleado fórmulas presentes en la ley de 386: para prevenir malentendidos especificaba en los mismos términos que el dies Solis era conocido como Domingo, al menos desde una generación (quos dominicos rite dixere maiores) y además, extendía la prohibición de recaudar impuestos en el ‘Día del Señor’ a los días de Pascua (C. I. III, 12, 6, 4.6; CTh II, 8, 18). Conviene advertir que esta ley no añadía fiestas cristianas al calendario tradicional, pues éste sólo comprendía celebraciones tradicionales. El propósito de esta disposición era reunir en un solo texto legal todas las medidas vigentes relativas a la regulación del calendario administrativo, teniendo presente la necesidad de adecuar la administración de justicia al calendario litúrgico, sin alterar la naturaleza del oficial.

En este mismo sentido se puede comprender la constitución dirigida en 386 por Valentiniano II al entonces prefecto del pretorio de Italia, Principio, que impedía la realización de toda actividad pública y privada, en particular, de litigios, reuniones de carácter cívico y el requerimiento del pago de deudas. Quien desobedeciera la orden, sería considerado sacrílego, y, en consecuencia, expulsado de la Iglesia (CTh II, 8, 18). De todos modos, la aplicación de la pena estipulada para los infractores de esta medida estaba fuera de la jurisdicción civil, pues correspondía al obispo decidir quién y por qué razones debía ser apartado de los sacramentos. Al margen de esta observación, la disposición no tomaba como modelo la norma constantiniana de 321, que había caído en algún momento en desuso. Por el contrario, por los términos y los casos que plantea, desarrolla la medida de Valente de 368 que prohibía a los exactores reclamar deudas fiscales a los cristianos (CTh VIII, 8, 1; IX, 7, 10). Otra evidencia de ello es la definición del Dies Solis como dies Dominicus, identificándolo como un dies festus semanal específicamente cristiano.17 La acumulación de normas relativas a la alteración del calendario administrativo tradicional, con la dispersión de disposiciones que llevaba pareja, explican igualmente que Valentiniano II dirigiera en 389 a Albino, prefecto de Roma y máximo responsable de la administración de justicia en la capital del Imperio, una ley que señalaba los días en que no se podían instruir causas ni realizar negocios públicos o privados (CTh II, 8, 19 [= Br. II, 8, 2]; C. I. III, 12, 6). La ley, de todos modos, pues incluye entre los días feriados el dies natalis de Constantinopla, también debía de estar dirigida al prefecto del pretorio de Oriente. Tanto el Codex Theodosianus como el Codex Iustinianus recogen la versión publicada en Roma (CTh II, 8, 12 [= Br. II, 8, 2]; C. I. III, 12, 6). No obstante, el texto dispositivo recogido en el Codex Iustinianus está menos extractado que el compilado en el Codex Theodosianus. En primer lugar, esta ley confirma la vigencia de todas las feriae señaladas por el calendario romano (CTh II, 8, 19, 1 [= Br. II, 8, 2, 1]; C. I. III, 12, 6, 1). Se desconoce cuál era el calendario oficial en 384, pero el copiado por Filócalo en 354 puede servir de

La celebración de ludi Si los emperadores habían procurado acomodar el calendario administrativo y judicial a los tiempos y fechas señaladas de la liturgia cristiana, se mostraron mucho más conservadores con relación al calendario civil. Éste, como ya se ha señalado, tenía su razón de ser en la distribución de las feriae tradicionales, y, a diferencia del judicial, no admitía la inclusión de festividades cristianas. A pesar de la evidente cristianización del Imperio, y de que los principales ritos del cultus deorum, comenzando por el sacrificio y la adivinación, habían sido prohibidos repetidamente y siempre con mayor rigor entre 381 y 392, la religión tradicional seguía presente en el calendario oficial. Ejemplo de ello es el índice de ferias promulgado en la provincia de Campania (ILS 4918), de acuerdo con Mommsen, por orden de Valentiniano II, y según la opinión de Trout, por el usurpador Magno Máximo.18 Fue publicado con el nombre de Feriale domnorum (o ‘Ferial de los emperadores’), en tanto que había sido promulgado por orden de los emperadores (iussione domnorum). De él

17

La ley de 370 se refería al domingo como Die Solis, qui dudum faustus habetur (CTh VIII, 8, 1; IX, 7, 10); la de Valentiniano II como Solis die, quem dominicum rite dixere maiores (CTh II, 8, 18). La diferencia entre la concepción del Dies Solis entre los textos de Valentiniano I y Valentiniano II es que en 386 el Dies Solis es una denominación convencional del Domingo cristiano, tal y como venía haciéndolo una generación (quem dominicum... dixere maiores).

18

Según Trout (2001) el autor legal de este calendario fue el usurpador Magno Máximo. Sin embargo, tal y como indicó Mommsen (1848, 6372), la inscripción fue dedicada con ocasión del dies imperii de Valentiniano II (Fasti Hydat. ad a. 378), cuyo nombre aparece en la data consular.

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3; Chuvin 1991, 43-44; Gaudemet 2000, 29-30; Siniscalco 2000, 97; Moreno Resano 2011, 50-53). Su hermano Constancio II, primero en Oriente y luego en Occidente había velado porque las celebraciones lúdicas a cargo de praetores en Roma y Constantinopla tuvieran lugar regularmente.19 Los ludi, por lo demás, eran una parte insustituible de la vida social romana, pues no sólo eran una forma de diversión, sino, a falta de otros medios, daban servían para aportar cohesión ideológica a la ciudadanos que asistían a ellos. Los obispos los rechazaban como parte de una cultura pagana que había perseguido a muerte a los cristianos.20 Sus proclamas no tuvieron demasiada acogida. Tal es así, que la ley de 389 prohibía las ediciones lúdicas durante el tiempo de Pascua, desde siete días precedentes hasta los siete días siguientes al domingo de Resurrección, además los días de Navidad, Epifanía y el de los Apóstoles Pedro y Pablo (C. I. III, 12, 6, 3). En 392 Teodosio dirigió al prefecto de Roma, Próculo, una norma que prohibía la celebración de ludi en domingo, exceptuando aquellos realizados en honor de los emperadores (CTh II, 8, 20). Por otra parte, se indica claramente la razón que había llevado a adoptar estas resoluciones: impedir que la atracción de los espectáculos apartara a los fieles de asistir a los oficios eclesiásticos (CTh II, 8, 20). Era uno de los grandes servicios que hacía el emperador a la Iglesia: facilitar la asistencia de los fieles a las reuniones litúrgicas, eliminando las distracciones que les ofrecían los espectáculos.

se ha conservado la copia grabada en el anfiteatro de Capua por el notable Félix, en cumplimiento de un voto, con ocasión del Natale de Valentiniano, el 22 de noviembre (CIL X, 3792 [= 4918]). Que se realizara en esta fecha tiene un significado valor político, toda vez que Magno Máximo era entonces dueño de Italia (Zos. IV, 42-43). En cualquier caso, es preciso hacer una observación a este respecto: el feriale conservado en el anfiteatro de Capua no fue grabado allí por orden imperial, sino por voluntad de un notable local, Félix, y con el consentimiento de su administrador, el sacerdote Romano. El calendario había sido promulgado con anterioridad, acaso unos pocos meses antes, por lo que viene a indicar la propia inscripción, por orden de Valentiniano. En todo caso, por prudencia, tanto el dedicante de la inscripción como el administrador del feriale habían evitado mencionar a los emperadores por su nombre. Los años 387 y 388 fueron años de conflicto armado civil en Italia. Este hecho refuerza una de las conclusiones de Trout: en un contexto de inestabilidad política, la confirmación de festividades tradicionales trataba de garantizar la lealtad de los notables locales hacia el emperador. Sólo que el autor de éstas debió de ser Valentiniano, único príncipe cuyo nombre aparece en el texto epigráfico (Leppin 2003, 120). El feriale domnorum se trataba, en efecto, de un calendario religioso tradicional, pues la propia inscripción indica que había sido grabado bajo el ejercicio del sacerdote de la ciudad Romano el Joven (administrante Romano iun(iore) sacerdote). Tanto la ubicación de la lápida, el anfiteatro, como la mención expresa de la celebración allí de rosaria el 13 de Mayo, sugieren que el motivo de que fuera trasladado a soporte epigráfico fue su interés para la organización de ludi, así como de otras fiestas tradicionales relevantes en Campania (Barnish 2001, 391; Trout 2001, 167-170), como la lustración junto a distintas corrientes de agua de la provincia (el 1 de Mayo en el lago Casilino, el 25 de Julio ‘junto al camino de Diana’ —se refiere al templo de Diana Tifatina— y el 27 de Julio en el lago Averno) y la fiesta del fin la vendimia en Acerusa (15 de octubre). La legislación recogida en el Codex Theodosianus ofrece una imagen un tanto distorsionada de la religión pública en época teodosiana, en la que gozaban de más vitalidad de la que reflejan las disposiciones imperiales: la prohibición del sacrificio y otros muchos ritos no había impedido la confirmación de otras celebraciones por orden directa de los príncipes, como es el caso de los ludi (Hunt 1993; Trout 2001, 178; Leppin 2003, 120).

Conclusiones El interés por obtener una buena relación con la Iglesia, y, sobre todo, con los obispos, no explica por sí solo la sucesión de normas promulgadas por Graciano, Valentiniano II y Teodosio, que reconocían la oficialidad de las principales festividades cristianas. A la necesidad de contar con la alianza del clero se unió la exigencia de lograr un mayor control sobre la administración de justicia, fijando fechas en las que se impedía realizar cualquier tipo de negocio público y privado. Se trataba así de evitar la arbitrariedad de magistrados, funcionarios, jueces y, en general, de los ciudadanos, que, de otro modo, se podrían atener para ejercer sus funciones a distintos calendarios vigentes. Controlar el tiempo, y con él, al menos, la vida pública de las personas, era una forma de ejercer el poder. De ahí el interés de los emperadores por fijar los días en que se podía administrar justicia, cobrar impuestos o celebrar ludi. Las primeras normas en este sentido fue promulgada por Teodosio I en 380: una de ellas impedía instruir causas criminales durante la cuaresma y la siguiente, establecía la suspensión de la aplicación de las penas de presidio durante el entonces tiempo litúrgico de la Pascua. Graciano asumió las normas adoptadas por Teodosio I en

Los ludi eran celebraciones de inequívoco carácter pagano, aunque hubieran sido transformadas en actos de homenaje al emperador, desplazando a las divinidades tradicionales como sus destinatarias principales. El mismo texto del feriale domnorum había sido dedicado por Félix a Valentiniano II en cumplimiento de un voto en 387. Por esta razón habían sido preservadas por la legislación imperial, a diferencia del resto de ceremonias que conformaban el cultus deorum. Constante había prohibido en 342 la demolición de templos fuera de las ciudades porque solían ser la sede de ludi (CTh XVI, 10,

19

CTh I, 6, 1; 28, 1; CTh VI, 4, 12; 4, 13; CTh 8, 1; CTh XI, 1, 7; 15, 1; 23, 1; CTh XII, 1, 48; CTh XIII, 1, 3; CTh XV, 1, 7. Véase, Giglio (1990, 65-104; 2007, 73-77) y Moreno Resano (2011, 58-62). 20 Sobre los ludi en la literatura cristiana de los siglos IV y V, véase Jiménez Sánchez (2006) y Lugaresi (2008).

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381, introduciendo las debidas especificaciones, con toda probabilidad, después de recibir solicitudes de aclaración de sus términos. Valentiniano II hizo otro tanto en 384 y 386. De todos modos, sólo la ley de 389 de Valentiniano II, que fijaba un calendario judicial vigente en todo el Imperio, logró precisar los días hábiles para la administración de justicia y realización de cualquier negocio público o privado. A pesar de ello, en 392 fue necesario explicar uno de sus dispositivos, explicitando que no se podían celebrar ludi en domingo, salvo que estuvieran consagrados a fiestas imperiales. La cristianización del calendario romano llevada a cabo en época teodosiana no fue, por lo tanto, el resultado de una política programática. Se fue desarrollando en función de su aplicación, que exigió reiteradas precisiones. Éstas, en cualquier caso, se realizaron siempre de acuerdo con el principio político de conferir a la Iglesia un mayor peso institucional, adecuando el calendario oficial a la liturgia cristiana.

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and early Christian writings —those that qualify as ‘historic’ and ‘apologetic’—, hold some responsibility for the distortion of this historical period. It should also be noted that a pagan point of view is less frequently acknowledge due to the scarcity of sources.

The persecutores in the late antique Christian literature (fourth-fifth century AD): Christian historical retrospective of the period of persecution after the Edict of Thessalonica (AD 380)

Based on G. E. M. de Ste Croix’s (1963, 6-38) idea that the persecution of Christians took place over three different phases, we can also distinguish three periods in the ideological and historical formulation of the figure of the persecutor, culminating in Theodosius’ time:

Jorge Cuesta Fernández Universidad de Alicante Universidad de Murcia

1. A first period, between the second and third centuries AD, when the figure of the persecutor got forged, pointing to the first persecutores through the apologetic genre: The Apology of Melito of Sardis, preserved today through Eusebius’s Ecclesiastical History, and Tertullian’s Apologeticum.

Abstract During the reign of Theodosius I (AD 379-395) Nicene Christianity was proclaimed as the official state religion through the declaration of the Edict of Thessalonica on the 27th of February 380. This was not exclusively the Emperor’s doing, but also Gracian’s (AD 375-383) and Valentinian’s (AD 375392) whose aim it was to fight Arrianism and the last lashes of traditional Roman paganism.

2. A second period begins after the end of the Great Persecution and coincides with the beginning of Christian historiography. Eusebius’s Ecclesiastical History and Lactantius’s De mortibus persecutorum were responsible for further shaping the image of the persecutor.

Left behind were three hundred years of hostilities and general persecutions that had threatened the very survival of the numerous Christian communities. The time of Emperor Decius (AD 249-251), also being the Epistolae of Cirprianus of Carthage, was of great importance to understanding the mentality of the first Christians.

3. A third period, which coincides with the ‘Theodosian Age’, when the image of the persecutor was fully built up, thanks to the works of Orosius and Sulpicius Severus.

However, during the reign of Theodosius I and in the decades following we count on other sources that tell us about the persecutores who attacked and nearly exterminated the Church. These persecutores were mentioned by Augustine of Hippo, Sulpicius Severus, Paulus Orosius and Jeronimus.

Apart from the ideological and historical evolution of the figure of the persecutor through apologetic literature and Christian historiography, we will consider other issues in parallel, such as the debate arisen on an emerging Christianity concerning the exact number of persecutions: eschatological and millenarian beliefs of some of these authors regarding the link between the persecutores and the figure of the Antichrist, and atheological discussion on the violent deaths of these emperors.

In this work I intend to revisit fragments of texts in which these Christian authors conducted a historical retrospective on the time of the persecutions in order to analyse their point of view concerning those Emperors who had already been labelled as persecutores by previous authors (in accordance with a historical reality or an intentional manipulation) who wrote after the end of the persecutions, such as Lactantius and Eusebius of Caesarea.

Beginnings: Melito of Sardis and Tertullian of Carthage (second-third century AD)

KEYWORDS: Persecution, Tertullian, Sulpicius Severus, Orosius, Nero

The genesis of the persecutores begins with the main features of the Christian literature from the second and third centuries: the apologetic literature (Goodman and Price 1999; Jaeger 1985; Padovese 1988). It grew throughout the second century, together with the literature of martyrdom. Apologetic literature emerged and developed as a result of the rapid development of Christianity in the upper classes and educated society. This type of literature began with two main authors, Quadratus and Aristides, during the reign of Hadrian. However, its heyday was in the second half of the century, coinciding with the reign of Marcus Aurelius, starring Justin, Athenagoras, Tatian, and Minucius Felix.

The period AD 64-313 has been commonly referred to as the ‘persecution’ due to the episodes of violence and hostility against Christian communities, both local and general, conducted by the popular masses, the provincial authorities and, ultimately, by a number of Emperors across the Roman Empire, being especially violent those in its Eastern territories. This period has been, and still is, the subject of extensive scholarship, despite the distorted and romantic image of the period that has reached us, occassioanly reduced to martyrdom, catacombs, evil emperors and Christian executions on the Coliseum’s sand. Cinema, literature

The works of these authors have in common being a response to the flagitia, pagan allegations of ‘atheism’,

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379–455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire ‘cannibalism’ and ‘incest’ (Adamik 2001, 397-404; Edwards 1992, 71-82; McGowan 1994, 413-442). Apart from silencing these accusations and defending the antiquity and authenticity of Christianity, they laid out the concepts of ‘good emperor’ and ‘evil emperor’, although this is not a strictly Christian sentiment, as these concepts were originally found in pagan historiography.

Tertullian then comments on Domitian, who is compared and equated to Nero in cruelty (V, 4). He describes Domitian’s actions against the Christians as shy as a consequence of Emperor’s own resignation. For this reason and for the derogation of acts decreed by the Emperor Domitian himself, those who were punished with exile could return to their homes, which was not entirely correct.3

According to the pagan historians, the ‘bad emperor’ was he who threatened the dignity of the Senate. For Christians the ‘evil emperor’ was antisenatorial, pagan and persecuted the Christians. On the other hand, the emperors considered ‘good’ by the apologists were those who have behaved in a condescending way with Christians or have openly embraced Christian doctrine (Teja 1999, 19), although this latter view did not develop until the second period mentioned above.

Furthermore, after Nero and Domitian, Tertullian urged the audience of the Apology to look for other emperors who have acted against Christianity. He then presents Marcus Aurelius as a ‘protector’. Tertullian backed this designation on a letter written by the Emperor which accounts how the Roman legions in Germania survived thanks to some rains brought by Christian prayers present among the Roman troops. Tertullian explains that this event did not put an end to the persecution, but eased up its decrees and punishments, aimed now primarily at the accusers (V, 6).

Melito of Sardis addressed an Apology (AD 170), to the Emperor Marcus Aurelius, in defense of Christians. This work has reached us through a few small fragments that Eusebius embodied into his Historia Eclesiastica (Euseb. HE. IV, 26, 5-11). The origin of this work lies in the aggravation caused by the adoption of new provisions, which were exploited by sycophants and those wishing to expoil land and property from Christian landowners (IV, 26, 5). Melito presents Nero and Domitian as the only ‘evil’ emperors (IV, 26, 9), as he could not present all the persecutores because he lived and wrote in the second century AD.

The laws enacted in the second century against the Christians are a critical part of Tertullian’s writing. Once he addresses this question, and as consequence of it, he begins to explain the involvement of different emperors in these laws, although he does not consider them persecutores, as in his historical mentality he only considers Nero and Domitian in this way (just like Melito of Sardis). About Trajan he says he partly reversed some of those laws, prohibiting the search for Christians. Tertullian emphasizes with some irony the ambiguity of the legislative measure, which was contained in the rescript to Pliny the Younger sent because it informed the Emperor of issue of Christians in the province of Bithynia (II, 7-9).Hadrian, Vespasian, Antoninus Pius and Lucius Verus, despite being mentioned, did not implement any laws against Christians (V, 7-8).

Unlike the apologist Justin, who wrote 25 years earlier and attributed the anti-Christian actions of the emperors (who are not mentioned by name) to the influence of demons or daimones (Just. Apol. II, 1, 2), Melito attributed anti-Christian action to the influence of poor advisers that he considered ‘evils’, and, essentially, the real instigators of persecution that existed until he wrote his Apology. Tertullian is also included in the apologetic genre, especially for his Apologeticum, which claims to defend the innocence of the Christians from the crimes and offenses they are accused. At the beginning of this work, he presents a brief tour through history, explaining the attitude of Roman emperors toward Christianity. Leaving aside the fact that Tiberius forbade the persecution of Christians (Tert. Apol. V, 2), Tertullian began his persecutores with reference to the figure of Nero.

The birth of Christian historiography: Lactantius’s De Mortibus persecutorum and Eusebius of Caesarea’s Ecclesiastical History It is wrong to think that we can argue for the existence of a genre of historiography in early Christianity before the Edict of Milan (AD 313). The truth is that the ‘Christian History’ grew out of Constantine’s victory at the Battle of Milvian Bridge (AD 312). Previous to this period, we find nothing similar to works that discuss Christianity, as Christianity originally had no interest in the past (except the one described by God in the Bible), but rather in the future and salvation, given the eschatological and apocalyptic content of the Christian message in its early years.

Moreover, he urges the readers to review their own history to realize that it was Nero, the last of the JulioClaudian’s, who persecuted Christians (V, 3-4).1 The anti-Christian behaviour of the emperor is, according to Tertullian, reason for honor and satisfaction, as the knowledge and understanding of Nero’s character explains his violent attitude against Christianity.2

1 The references to Nero as anti-Christian Emperor are also present in other Tertullian’s works: Nat. I, 13; Scor 15. 2 This idea is present in one of Tertullian’s works (HE. II, 5, 4): ‘About the defense of heretics’, in a passage that Eusebius translate himself.

3 It was not Domitian who allowed the repatriation of those who had been banished, nor was he responsible for the suppression of lesemajesty charges and the adoption of Jewish customs. It was his successor, Nerva (AD 96-98)

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Jorge Cuesta Fernández - The persecutores in the late antique Christian literature (fourth-fifth century AD) It is precisely in the works that have a similar content that we find the foundations of theological significance that Christians will give to their historical works from the fourth century onward. Lactantius, as we discussed below, will show the unhappy ending reserved for those who persecuted and attacked the Church. Such is de case of De Mortibus persecutorum (AD 317), a play that reveals the fate of persecutores and tells the agony of emperors considered ‘unchristian’, from Nero to Maximinus Daia, in a very descriptive way. God has no mercy on the emperors who attack the Church, in fact he turns a deaf ear to their desperate cries and regrets. Furthermore, we have to emphasize that the punishment reserved by God for these emperors was extended also to their families (Lact. Mort. pers. 50).

Like Tertullian, Lactantius considers Domitian a tyrant equal to his predecessor Nero. According to LActantius, his reign, negative from the beginning, met and end when the Emperor decided to act against the Christians, noting that if he had not taken any anti-Christian action, Domitian would have had a long and lasting reign, despite being a bad Emperor (III, 1). Regarding the origin of this anti-Christian action, Lactantius says that the demons drove him to persecute Christians. The fatality of his punishment not only affected his life, but also his place in public memory. Despite running a significiant urban developemnt, Domitian underwent a damnatio memoriae (III, 2-4). Unlike other authors, especially later ones, Lactantius does not mention any of the second century emperors as persecutores of a Christian Church in expansion or consolidation, mainly because the Empire was directed by numerous emperors deemed ‘good’. However, regarding that period, the most remarkable and outstanding difference between Lactantius and other authors is his failure to mention Septimius Severus and Maximinus Thrax as persecutores (III, 4-5).5

Lactantius names many persecutioners: Nero, Domitian, Decius, Valerian, Aurelian, Diocletian, Galerius, Maximian and Maximinus Daia. In Nero’s case, Lactantius does not explain how the arrival of Peter in Rome, the miracles he performed, or the acknowledgement of the success of Christianity led Nero to become the first persecutor (II, 5-6). Lactantius does not tell us, when describing his end, that he committed suicide: he simply informs us that he disappeared, adding that his final resting place was never located (II, 7). In Suetonius (Nero.50) we find a very different tradition, in which Nero was buried in the mausoleum of Domitius in Pincio, where it was the object of a great veneration by Roman people for a long time. In that same place, the Pope Pascual II ordered the construction of Santa María del Popolo in AD 1099, in order to stop the witchcraft and demonic practices that were carried out there. Therefore, the important linkage of Nero to the apocalyptic figure of the Antichrist in the works of Lactantius must be noted. In fact, Lactantius does not believe in all that he accounts: he simply informs us of the beliefs of a few, who he considers ‘crazy’ and who claimed that Nero’s body was taken to a place and kept alive to meet the Sibyl’s predictions.

Decius, the third persecutor, does not escape from a horrible death. The emperor who Lactantius regards as an ‘abominable animal’ was killed by barbarians, and did not receive a burial, being devoured by birds of prey on the ground (IV).6 Valerian becomes the fourth persecutor, and the fatal destiny that God chose for him was not horrible and quick death, but rather a ‘slow and painful’ one. We know that the Emperor was captured by the Persians and, according to Lactantius, he was prey to a humiliating and disgraceful servitude, and a subsequent unpleasant death (V, 1-7).7 Aurelian, the fifth persecutor, was killed even before he could act in such way. Nevertheless, God decided to punish him because of his thoughts about persecuting Christians. At the end of his narrative, Lactantius shows that the penalties charged by God to the persecutores encouraged future emperors: Diocletian, Galerius,

Lactantius informs us of another popular belief that became central for the meaning of Nero’s position as a persecutor of Christians: the fact that Nero was the first persecutor also makes him the ultimate and a forerunner of Antichrist. This is another belief to be added to the popular, apocalyptic and millennial menatlity regarding the figure of Nero. Lactantius’ opinion is very sharp on these beliefs: they have no credibility whatsoever. In fact, he also rejects the idea that Nero himself will returned to open the door to hell and clear the way for the devil, causing total destruction (II, 8-9).4

quite logical that it had a great strength, especially in pagan circles, who saw Nero as a saviour that would end the triumph of Christianity. Nero appears quite frequently in the end of the fourth century as ‘Contorniate’ (Alföldy 1943, 59). Lactantius’ rejection of these beliefs is connected to the defense of his own convictions: Nero could not return from death or still be alive because God punished those who attack the Church by death (Nautin 1955, 892-899). 5 Lactantius exaggerate and is not historically correct. His silence about the persecutores of the second century AD and early third is evidence of the demonstration that persecution originated in the emperors considered ‘bad.’ 6 Lactantius’ description of Decius differs completely from the image given by pagan historians (Script. Hist. Aug. Aurel. 42, 6; Epit. De Caes. 29, 2; Zos. I, 21). Christian writers informing us about the persecution sparked against Christians, agree with the hardness of it. 7 About the humiliations received from the Persians, they are quite contradictory if we consider the study by J. Gagé (1964) on Bichapur’s reliefs. Apparently, the humiliation never occurred and Valerian kept his life. In addition to that, the horrible death of the Emperor would be rather a distortion of an obligation imposed by Shapur to Valerian: this Emperor was made to wear the skin of donkey dyed red as a symbol of submission.

4 A belief that announces the return of Nero as the Anticrhist arose from a mixture of pagan, Jews and Christians traditions. Also keep in mind that there were people who posed as Nero in the Eastern Empire (Tac. Hist. I, 2; II, 8, 9; Suet. Nero. 40; 47; 57; Dio. 64; Dio. Crys. Orat. XXI, 10; Zonar. XI, 5, 12). Judeo-Christian literature transforms Nero into the Antichrist or his deputy and faithful servant: Orac. Sibil. 4; 5. As it is shown in Lactantius’s testimony, these beliefs about the link between Nero and the Antichrist was the object of a profound speculation, we find a very paradoxical situation, consedering that the fourth century AD is the witness of the end of anti-Christian persecution. However it is

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379–455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire Maximian and Maximinus Daia, whose reigns and persecutions occupy most of the work (VI).8

The Antonine Emperors were not considered as persecutores as a result of their relatively favorable laws toward Christians, despite the presence of martyrdom stories in the books dealing with their reigns (IV-V), being the best known the martyrs of Lyon (V, 1;AD 177).

Galerius, whom Lactantius considers the main instigator of the Great Persecution and the worst of all the emperors treated in the De Mortibus persecutorum, was the victim of an illness described with exaggerated realism. Diocletian was a victim of madness, Maximian committed suicide, and Maximinus Daia, after being defeated by Licinius, was swept away by greed; he even ingested a poison that did not killed him instantly, but he remained in a state of constant pain that blinded him.9

The next one to be responsible for persecution against Christians is Septimius Severus (VI, 1). In the first half of the third century, at the beginning of the period known as ‘military anarchy’, the fourth persecutor can be named: Maximinus Thrax. Political reasons prompted the Emperor to carry out a prosecution: the family of the previous Emperor, Severus Alexander, had many Christians in their imperial court (VI, 28). However, the persecution ordered by Maximinus focused mainly on the ecclesiastical hierarchy (which did not affect all of the Christians). Similarly, Decius carried out a persecution, not only to restore the ancient Greco-Roman cults, but especially due to resentment toward his predecessor, Philip the Arab, that Eusebius considered favorable to Christians (VI, 34) (Grégoire 1950, 43; 90; Parsons 1967, 134-141; Crouzel 1975, 545-550; Elia 1979, 267-282).

The persecutores also occupy an important place in the Ecclesiastical History, but they are not main characters, as in the works previously discussed. The ten books that make up this work range from the origins of the Church to Constantine the Great’s victory over Licinius. In this period there was no methodical analysis of the spread of Christianity: the Ecclesiastical History proves to be the story of a set of events, through the use of several documents and sources. We can consider this an original work for the following reasons: the main character is the set of all Christians, and their actions had a transcendental dimension, especially the resistance shown by many during the persecution and the triumph of Catholic orthodoxy against heresies. Moreover, the success of Christianity would never have occurred without divine assistance, as the enemies of Christians (not only pagans, but also Jews and heretical movements) were backed by the devil. The final victory between the two sides was decided by Constantine, whom Eusebius considered as an image and Vicar of Christ on earth.

Moreover Trebonianus Gallus, Decius’s successor, as a result of a letter sent by Dyonysius, bishop of Alexandria, to Hermamoón, acted against Christians despite the fact that these performed prayers for peace in the Empire and his health (VII, 1) (Sordi 1962-63, 132-136). Christian communities, after the demise of both Emperors, enjoyed a small period of peace until the arrival to power of the Emperor Valerian, who began again persecution against Christians, despite he had adopted a favorable attitude toward them in the early years of his reign (VII, 10, 3) (Healy 1905; Paschini 1958, 130-137).

Eusebius’ work does not always deal with Roman Emperors as persecutores: he only refers to them as such in the case of Nero and Domitian. Indeed, he first tells us that Nero put his hands on Christians in an impious action steeped in power (Euseb. HE. II, 25, 1). As for Domitian, he is considered a ‘successor’ of Nero and he is compared to him in his animosity toward Christianity (III, 17). Furthermore, Eusebius presents very interesting news concerning Domitian: he gave order to execute members of the family of David and Eusebius himself. Pointing to an ancient tradition, he claimed that some of them were relatives of Christ and saved their lifes, resulting on the cancellation Christian persecution (III, 20, 1-5).

However, according to Eusebius, the Emperor underwent a dramatic change of attitude as a result of the instigation of the chief of Egypt’s magicians, because he considered them an obstacle to his rituals (VII, 10, 3). Fortunately for the Christian communities, peace returned as a result of the capture of the Emperor in Persia (Eusebius does not refer to his captors as ‘the Persians’, but rather he uses the generic name which the Romans gave to all those people who were not part of the provinces of the Empire: the term ‘barbarian’) and the beginning of the solo reign of Gallienus, son of Valerian, who Eusebius informs us ended the persecution begun by his father and return the cemeteries to the bishops (VII, 13).

8 The sources do not agree among them when they speak about Aurelian as persecutor of the Christians. It’s likely that he held a similar policy to Galienus. Aurelian intervened in the conflict between Paul of Samosata and Domnus in the Church of Antioch (Euseb. HE. VII, 30, 19; Millar 1971, 1-17). While we consider Aurelian as a persecutor of the Christians, the sources are divided between whether they think that Aurelian persecuted the Christians or he simply thought about persecuting them (Oros. Hist. VII, 23, 3; 27, 12; Aug. Civ. VIII, 4, 2; Zonar. 12, 27; Euseb. HE. VII, 30, 21). 9 The main part of the Lactantius’s work begins in chapter seven. In this part, He tells the reigns of the tetrarchs and their persecutions against Christians. According to Lactantius, Galerius (XXI-XXIII) and Maximinus Daia (XLI) died terrible.

If Aurelian was considered a persecutor by Lactantius, from Eusebius’ point of view he was an emperor favorable toward Christians. In fact, he mediates in the conflict that divided the Christian community of Antioch between Paul of Samosata and Dommus. Regarding the Great Persecution and its principal architects, unlike Lactantius, Eusebius is not focus on the figure of the emperors (except when he recounts the last days and words of Galerius and Maximinus Daia’s horrible destinity) but rather on the attitude shown by Christians

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Jorge Cuesta Fernández - The persecutores in the late antique Christian literature (fourth-fifth century AD) toward the difficulties arising from the prosecution, the descriptions of martyrdom and especially the end of the difficulties and the beginning of a new age, represented by Constantine the Great’s rise to power and his solo government after the defeat of Licinius.

it took place, Nero and the Antichrist would have to intervene. Nero would be pictured once more as a persecutor, as he did in the last years of his reign, when he submitted the monarchs of the western Roman empire. Moreover, he forced mankind to worship false idols. The Antichrist would also act in the East, conquering Jerusalem and making it capital of his kingdom, repairing not only the city but also the Temple (II, 14, 1-2).

Christian historical hindsight after the Edict of Thessalonica (AD 380): Sulpicius Severus and Orosius

The Antichrist, just like Nero, would conduct a prosecution to compel humanity to renounce Christianity, fooling everyone posing as Christ himself and forcing everyone to be circumcised (II, 14, 3-5). We have to take into account that when Sulpicius informs us about the millenarian ideas of Martin presented at the synod already mentioned, Nicene Christianity had been adopted as the official religion throughout the Roman Empire through the Edict of Thessalonica sixteen years ago.

The Theodosian Age also holds an important historiographical production, shown in the figures of Sulpicius Severus and Orosius. Both works represent the culmination of the figure of the persecutor and the historic Christian view of the period of persecutions. The first of the two authors discussed in this communication is Sulpicius Severus. He wrote two Chronicles, a Life of St. Martin, three Epistles and three Dialogues. The persecutores and the persecutions occupy an important place in the second Chronicle, while the first focuses on the events which are presented in the books of the Old Testament. Similary to previous authors, Sulpicius named Nero as the first persecutor, and considered him the most detestable man and animal. Concerning to the eschatological beliefs collected by Lactantius, which points to the emperor as the ultimate persecutor and forerunner of the Antichrist, Sulpicius puts this point in doubt (Sul. Chron. II, 28, 1).

Millenarian beliefs that link Nero with the Antichrist acquired an original tone from that in Lactancius’ work, since here Nero died at the hands of the Antichrist and the world would be subjected to the will and command of the latter until the coming of Christ. In addition, the Antichrist from Martin’s point of view is not an idea but a reality. A reality that at this point is still in its infant stage. I have to emphasize the fact that the expression of these ideas was not rooted in the millennial year that marks the synod, but eight years before it was hold. Sulpicius did not devote as many lines to the rest of persecutores as he did with Nero: Domitian (Chron. II, 31, 1), Trajan (II, 31, 2), Hadrian (II, 31, 6),11 Marcus Aurelius (II, 32, 1) and Septimius Severus —we find him mentioned in the Chronicle II as ‘Severus’ in the same way as its predecessor, ‘Aurelius’.

Regarding Nero’s anti-Christian persecution, unlike other Christian authors, Sulpicius draws on the passage of Tacitus, in which Nero used Christians as a scapegoat in order to dismiss the accusations for the Great Fire of Rome in AD 64 (II, 29, 1-4). Sulpicius says that he committed suicide, but he does not know where his body is. Therefore, he simply reported a belief of his time, linked to a passage in ‘Book of Revelation’ (A 13, 3) which argued that Nero had survived the injury that he had inflected on himself so that he could go back and fulfill his role as forerunner of Antichrist (II, 29, 5-6).10

Unlike Eusebius of Caesarea, and as we shall see with Orosius, Sulpicius does not include Maximinus Thrax among the persecutores, although he records his acts against clergy in many Christian communities — not globally or generally— during his reign (II, 32, 2).12 The enumeration of the persecutores continues with Decius, Valerian, Diocletian and Maximian. The number of persecutores is reduced to nine, considering the tetrarchs as a single persecutor. In relation to the persecution carried out by these two emperors (Sulpicius does not reveal the historical involvement and responsibility of Galerius and Maximinus Daia in the Great Persecution), he says that it was the worst of all: it was a time when the Roman Empire was flooded by the blood of many martyrs. In addition, the martyrdom of Christians was mostly a voluntary martyrdom, because it was sought with a greater ambition than the one shown by the bishops of Sulpicius’s period (II, 32, 3-6).

In his letter dedicated to the deacon Aurelius, telling the story of the death of St. Martin, Sulpicius said that he would have liked to be a martyr, but he could not be one as a result of the period in which he lived. It is then when, after highlighting Martin’s desire to be a martyr and surrender himself to death and the most horrible tortures, he presents the reigns of Nero and Decius as periods of exemplary martyrdom. This fragment is very important because we can find on it a proof of the Christian mindset prone to voluntary martyrdom (E 2, 9). In the second Dialogue, Sulpicius notes Martin’s presence at the synod of Nimes in the year AD 396 (Dia. II, 13, 8). It is in this passage that Martin presents his eschatological beliefs about the end of the world: before

11 Persecutor at first, he would eventually prohibit the prosecution if crime was not committed by the Christians. 12 In this question, Sulpicius Severus does not agree with authors as Eusebius of Caesarea and Orosius. About Maximin Thrax, Orosius considers him the seventh persecutor. Lactantius does not say anything about this emperor.

10 Sulpicius Severus refers to the Book of Revelation to speak about Nero’s return as servant of Antichrist.

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379–455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire he considers a persecutor), Diocletian and Maximian.14 It is not the intention of this paper to list the disasters, according to Orosius, which occurred in the Empire due to Christian persecution, but rather to note the important historical development of persecution as told by Orosius —that each persecutor came after Nero, who was the first.

This datum, together with the one above, have to be taken into account to realize the growing importance of the question of voluntary martyrdom among the early Christians, especially at the time of Theodosius, when martyrdom was desired by many (e.g. Saint Martin) but unlikely to happen within the borders of the Empire as a result of the change in attitude towards Christianity since Constantine’s conversion.

In addition to the question of the persecutores, it is important to take into account the interesting question of the fautores or instigators, those emperors who tolerated Christianity or accepted it openly, but this is another issue that deserves further investigation.

Despite the gravity of the Great Persecution —Sulpicius states it lasted ten years—, Christianity survived. Highlighting the heroic character of Christians who were involved in that decade, Sulpicius expresses his intention to include stories of martyrdom in his second Chronicle. However, as he stated, he finally refused to do it in order making his work to too extensive. Nine are the persecutores mentioned by Sulpicius, with the Antichrist being the tenth, who will act when the world’s end was near (II, 33, 4). The rest of the chronicle is dedicated to the time of Constantine.

Conclusions We can draw the following conclusions from the information presented in this paper: Firstly, the number of persecution and the persecutores:

Furthermore, we can find in Orosius a historical perspective of the era of persecution similar to that described by Sulpicius Severus and Lactantius. In fact, we could qualify it as a ‘merger’ of both historiographical traditions. His Historiae Adversus Paganos, held to mark the fall of Rome by the Visigoths in AD 410, contains the sad end, providentially sent from God, to all those who had persecuted Christians. Moreover, he incorporates a new element, absent in De Mortibus Persecutorum, which increases the punishment sent by God, a detail that adds to the infamous death of the persecutores: the persecution against the Christians was accompanied by a series of misfortunes for the Empire. Therefore, everyone was affected by the anti-Christian attitude of the emperor, except, of course, Christians.

a. Melito of Sardis: He does not point out a specific number of persecutions, but he points two emperors out as persecutores and ‘evil’ emperors: Nero and Domitian. b. Tertullian: He presents Nero as the first persecutor and Domitian as the second. The rest of emperors who he mentioned (Trajan to Marcus Aurelius) are not qualified in that way. c. Lactantius, writing after the end of the Great Persecution, is capable of presenting an entire historical development of the persecution, together with a tragic ending for all those emperors. The persecutores are: Nero, Domitian, Decius, Valerian, Aurelian, Diocletian, Maximian, Galerius and Maximinus Daia: nine persecutores in total, although he has been traditionaally assigned six.

Regarding the number of prosecutions, Orosius points out ten; this resembles the ten plagues of Egypt that God sent against Pharaoh in the time of Prophet Moses. This comparison did not escape the criticism of St. Augustine, who rejected the idea of ten persecutions, because they would have to add the Jewish authorities’ actions during the apostolic age, Christ’s very death, and the attitude shown by Arrian emperors, such as Valens, pagan, such as Julian the Apostate (which Orosius include, but not in the top ten of persecutores) and the persecutions in Persia (Aug. Civ. XVIII, 52, 1-2).13

d. Eusebius, in his Ecclesiastical History, recounts the events related to persecution, but not many emperors directly linked to these: Nero, Domitian, Septimius Severus, Maximinus Thrax, Decius, Valerian, Maximian, Diocletian, Galerius, Maximinus Daia, Trebonianus Gallus and Licinius (the latter for being against Constantin). The emperors of the Antonine dynasty were not treated in this way. The persecution of the Antichrist is not mentioned. In total, twelve persecutores.

The ten persecutores set chronologically by Orosius are: Nero, Domitian, Trajan, Marcus Aurelius (‘Marcus Antoninus’), Septimius Severus (who says ‘he took the name’ Pertinax, ‘in honor of his predecessor’), Maximinus Thrax, Decius, Valerian, Aurelian (whom, like Lactantius and in contrast with Eusebius of Caesarea,

e. Sulpicius Severus devotes a small part of his Second Chronicle to persecutions, describing nine of them with the tenth one led by the Antichrist. Nero is the first persecutor and he will also be the last one because he becomes the forerunner of the Antichrist when the persecution is carried out by the latter. Maximinus Thrax is not included among the

13 Augustine, Civ. XX, 19, 3, makes an exegesis of the second epistle of Paul of Tarsus to the Thessalonians (2 Ts, 3). In this epistle, Paul speaks about Roman Empire and the Antichrist. Augustine comments on this passage and he thinks that Paul could speak about Nero. Augustine does not believe in Nero as Antichrist and He expounds the different beliefs about this question. About the comparison between ten persecutions and Egypt’s ten plagues, Augustine does not finish the question.

14 The persecution against Christians is not the main question of Orosius’s Historiae.

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Jorge Cuesta Fernández - The persecutores in the late antique Christian literature (fourth-fifth century AD) persecutores, but Trajan and Hadrian are included despite their pro-Christian measures. f. Orosius accounts ten persecutions and equated to the Ten Plagues of Egypt, which lead to criticism by his contemporary Augustine as he considered many other historical figures who attacked the Church should be included. An eleventh, yet to take place and that will be led by the Antichrist. Secondly, the issue of persecutions and persecutores is linked to a parallel question particularly evident in the Lactantius’ and Sulpicius Severus’ works: the popular belief in the late-antique Christian mentality of linking the Antichrist and the first of the persecutores, Nero. Moreover, the existence of the Antichrist is not presented as an idea, but as a reality, according to the information provided by Sulpicius Severus. We have in the abettors the other side of the coin: the ‘good’ emperors, who were in favor of Christianity, from the mid-second century to the early-fifth century AD: Trajan, Hadrian, Marcus Aurelius, Constantine and, above all, Theodosius. The position of many of them regarding Christianity could be debatable. Finally, the image of the persecutor has its roots in the pagan conception of the bad emperor as antisenatorial (which is Christianized by Tertullian) and as antiChristian emperor. This conception will achieve its consolidation with the beginning and development of incipent Christian historiography, which began with Lactantius and Eusebius of Caesarea and continued with Sulpicius Severus and Orosius. However, it is remarkable that emperors like Commodus or Heliogabalus, who are considered antisenatorials and bad emperors by pagan sources, do not join the several lists of the persecutores. Thus, we find several differences in Christian sources regarding the identity of the persecutores and the number of persecutions that took place. Moreover, it seems the result of random choice to select a few emperors and leave out others, despite the presence of martyrdom in their reigns, and that would have swelled the lists above. Similarly, despite the long lists, only Nero achieved posthumous fame. He woke up in a Christian society in considerable fear, being tied as he was to the figure of the Antichrist, as we have seen in authors such as Lactantius and Sulpicius Severus. However, the greater fear engendered by the approaching end of the millennium, was that any Roman emperor was connected to the Antichrist. Everyone was related to the Antichrist on this occasion. The eschatological figure of the Antichrist became the main character of the millennial mindset of the Middle Ages.

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Neoplatonist thinkers did exercise a powerful and unrivaled influence on patristic theology, for this article I shall limit my analysis to the works of Plato himself, on whose teaching the very essence of Neoplatonist philosophy is based.

From the cave to the desert: The Platonic myth of the cave and its Christian echoes Javier Martínez Universidad de Oviedo

If the present study perhaps adds nothing new to a field that has been of the utmost significance in both theological and philosophical scholarship for centuries, I hope that it will, nonetheless, offer a fresh approach to it. Above all, this article is witness to the truly amazing connection between not only the Hellenic philosophy and Christian doctrine, but, ultimately, between GrecoRoman culture and Christian thought and way of life. This is, indeed, something easy to forget, especially when discussing the late centuries of the Roman Empire, a period considered by many, when compared to the greatness of classical thought and society, to be a time of irreversible loss. I shall bring Plato’s ideologies, Christian patristic thought and early hagiography together to demonstrate how, ultimately, the very core of Christian thought and culture has developed, in all its intellectual and spiritual greatness, from the beauty and depth of Greco-Roman thought and the incomparable magnificence of its civilization.

Abstract The similarities between Plato’s metaphysics and ethics and Christian theology have been discussed and debated since the earliest times. Much of the debate has focused on how Platonic echoes were discernible in Christian thought. In this paper, I shall turn my attention to the figure of the holy man, as described by Brown, and the ascetic movement born in the deserts of Syria and Egypt; I shall identify the evident parallel between the hermit’s attitude to the material and the spiritual world and that of Plato, as described in the myth of the cave. The concept of freeing oneself from the binds of physical needs and demands through denial of the body’s desires is central both to ascetic ideals and Platonic thought. For Plato, just as for the Christians, the body and its limitations are the true obstacle between Mankind and pure knowledge of the Being, or God.

The first essential step towards the discovery of a Platonic pattern within early Christian hagiography is to analyze those parts of Plato’s thought most easily associated with Christian ethics, cosmology and metaphysics. I will proceed by using his own words as a starting point.

Through textual analysis, I shall demonstrate that this concept is very much present in early hagiography, as well as being truly relevant to the creation and development of the monastic movement. KEYWORDS: Platonic and Christian thought, Augustine, holy hermit, wise man, myth of the cave, hagiographies

The myth of the cave, as explored in book VII of the Republic, is a magnificent example of how close Platonic metaphysics and ethics sailed to the shores of early Christian thought. This famous allegory describes the ultimate, unfortunate situation of Mankind, chained to the sensible, material world by the binds of the body:

The influence Plato had on the development of Christian philosophy has been widely discussed and reviewed, since the very early centuries of its existence. In the next few pages, I intend to analyze the evident relationship between Platonic ideals and the way of life of the early desert fathers of the third and fourth centuries, as well as the influence Plato may have had on the earliest representatives of monasticism in Western Europe.

ἰδὲ  γὰρ  ἀνθρώπους  οἷον  ἐν  καταγείῳ  οἰκήσει  σπηλαιώδει,  ἀναπεπταμένην  πρὸς  τὸ  φῶς  τὴν  εἴσοδον  ἐχούσῃ  μακρὰν  παρὰ  πᾶν τὸ σπήλαιον, ἐν ταύτῃ ἐκ παίδων ὄντας  ἐν  δεσμοῖς  καὶ  τὰ  σκέλη  καὶ  τοὺς  αὐχένας, ὥστε  μένειν  τε  αὐτοὺς  εἴς  τε  τὸ  πρόσθεν  μόνον ὁρᾶν, κύκλῳ δὲ τὰς κεφαλὰς ὑπὸ τοῦ  δεσμοῦ  ἀδυνάτους  εριάγειν, … (Rep. VII, 514a ff.).

Most of this work will be based on the analysis of the Platonic myth of the cave, as explained in Plato’s Republic, and the way its message compliments the Christian ideal of asceticism. After a brief reading of the myth itself, I will contextualize it within the thought of the early Church Fathers, focusing on Saint Augustine’ view of Platonic ideas. This analysis of Platonic and patristic sources will then be placed in the socio-historical context of asceticism, where, in my opinion, clear echoes of Platonic philosophy are readily discernible.

Imagine an underground chamber like a cave, with a long entrance open to the daylight, and as wide as the cave. In this chamber are men who have been prisoners there since they were children, their legs and necks being so fastened that they can only look straight ahead of them and cannot turn their heads (Trans. Lee 2003, 241).

Such is the human condition, according to Plato; unable to move and unaware of what is truly real, Man sees nothing but the shadows of reality on the wall of a cave:

It is needless to observe that what we consider Platonic influences on Christian thought did not simply emerge from the teaching of Plato, but also from the words of the Neoplatonists such as Plotinus and Porphyry. Though the

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire τοὺς  γὰρ  τοιούτους  πρῶτον  μὲν  ἑαυτῶν  τε  καὶ  ἀλλήλων  οἴει  ἄν  τι  ἑωρακέναι  ἄλλο  πλὴν  τὰς  σκιὰς  τὰς  ὑπὸ  τοῦ  πυρὸς  εἰς  τὸ  καταντικρὺ  αὐτῶν  τοῦ  σπηλαίου  προσπιπτούσας (Rep. 515a).

and real world, only to be suddenly blinded by the true light of the Sun and the perfection of the objects that created the shadows at the bottom of their former home. From a Christian perspective, those chains are our physical bodies and their sensible needs, by which we are kept away from a higher, spiritual reality: the true essence and home of our true self, the soul.

(…) do you think our prisoners could see anything of themselves or their fellows except the shadows thrown by the fire on the wall of the cave? (Trans. Lee 2003, 241).

The analysis of Plato’s metaphysics given by Augustine in The City of God clearly emphasizes why Plato’s thought was so closely and intimately related to Christian beliefs. Firstly, both doctrines are closely concerned with a higher form of reality, immutable and everlasting, on which the world surrounding us is molded:

We are tied to a material imitation of the reality of the Huperouranion (Plato, Phaedrus, 247c; trans. Fowler 1982, 474-477), the land of pure ideas; until freedom is obtained from the slavery of material needs, true knowledge of it cannot be achieved.

… Socrates, ut hoc faceret, taedio rerum obscurarum et incertarum ad aliquid apertum et certum reperiendum animum intenderit, quod esset beatae uitae necessarium, propter quam unam omnium philosophorum inuigilasse ac laborasse uidetur industria (De Civitate Dei VIII, 3; Migne 1900).

As Socrates explains in the second part of the allegory, the cave represents the sensible world, in which Man is enslaved by the needs of his body and can see only the shadows of true reality, the sensible objects created by the demiourgós as imitations of the truth. The only way to see the light outside the cave, that is, the ideal world of the huperouránion, is by freeing oneself from the ties of this world of shadows.

… Socrates [in the text, but clearly is Plato’s ideal, nda] did this [trying to explain the existence of a higher, immutable reality] because he was wearied of obscure and uncertain things, and so wished to direct his mind to the discovery of something manifest and certain, which was necessary in order to the obtaining of a blessed life, that one great object toward which the labor, vigilance, and industry of all philosophers seem to have been directed (Trans. Dods 1887, 145 f).

These ties, these chains, which cripple our attempt to participate in the eternal essence of ideas, are our own physical, sensible desires and bodies. Full revelation will finally come when the freed individual, having struggled to observe the true light that illuminates the true forms of all existing things, manages to stare at the Sun and contemplate, in full participation, the true source and essence of all that exists.

Augustine feels Platonic metaphysics were seeking, just as Christian doctrine is, to address the ancestral human need to understand the existence of a Being who truly created and contains everything.

Even this short overview of the myth is enough to give an idea of how profoundly close its metaphysical concepts are to that natural theology Saint Augustine mentions in The City of God (VIII, 3). Such similarities were as evident to the early Church Fathers as they are to us today; the true world is not the physical realm, but its ideal counterpart, its form, which exists only in the huperouránion, the world of ideas. We can only truly embrace and participate in the world of ideas if we renounce the material boundaries our body —itself a mere shell for our soul— imposes on us. By doing so, we are able to look straight into the Sun of the myth of the cave, that is, to participate in the true nature of existence.

Even more interestingly, both doctrines clearly emphasize the essentiality of rejecting the relative, sensible world, in order to fully understand and embrace the truths offered by this Being. This is, indeed, a crucial point; freeing oneself from the metaphysical slavery that sensible needs impose upon one’s soul, we saw, is at the very heart of the myth of the cave. If applied to life, Plato’s struggle to escape from the chains of the cave can be compared to a conscious movement away from sensible pleasures, indulgence and lust.

The allegory reads just as clearly from a Christian point of view; the cave is the sensible world as we know it, and its shadows are, just as they were for Plato, mere representations of a higher reality, at once created and contained in the essence of God. In the myth of the cave, the Sun is the origin of all forms and the final end we must strive to contemplate in order to truly know reality. In similar fashion, the Christian God is the true origin of the created world, but also the only path to accessing true knowledge of a higher grade.

Physical desire and sensible pleasures, not limited to those of a sexual nature, were considered obstacles to a fulfilling way of life much earlier than Christianity emerged. Living an existence free from their distractions was necessary in order to fully contemplate and understand Knowledge; this idea was a key point of both Stoicism and Neoplatonism. In Graeco-Roman culture, men of gravitas, that is, thinkers, philosophers, or anyone who held a position of accepted wisdom within society, were known to practice restraint when it came, for instance, to their eating habits or to their abode and clothing. Proof of this, lies in the many occasions that

In order to contemplate the Sun, the men in the cave had to be freed from their chains and walk, for the first time, from the place they had believed since birth to be the only

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they vehemently argued against the, to their eyes, lascivious habits of their leading classes (Grimm 1996, 34-65). Frugality, even before becoming synonymous with saints and hermits, before becoming one of the symbols of the holy man, was the emblem and symbol of the wise man. Frugality, again, is the first step towards breaking those very chains that keep Man in the cave, unable to turn his head and fully comprehend the true essence of things and their higher origin. In precisely the same way, and for exactly the same reasons, frugality becomes the leading path to opening one’s eyes to the truth of God and the true nature of the higher existence that awaits the believer. This is, clearly, the way a Christian mind would consider it. Breaking free from the cave, if read within a Christian frame of mind, can therefore easily become the renunciation of pleasure and all that is required by our bodies, in order to be cleansed from the dust and filth of sensible reality and so be free to contemplate God. Augustine’s word in The City of God, again, merges together, through his interpretation of Plato’s doctrine, Christian thought and Hellenistic philosophy:

This particular aspect of Platonic doctrine, it is now clear, has found its way strongly into Christian thought and it is far from being only a theological matter; just as the wise men of Graeco-Roman times sought to do, the figure of the holy man, as sketched magisterially by Peter Brown (Brown 1981), embraced the same form of refusal of the mundane, in an attempt to achieve union, participation and understanding of the greater truth embodied by God. Asceticism as a way of living developed in the lands of Syria and Egypt around the middle of the second century onward and became relatively quickly a fully formed symbol of proximity to God. Endorsed in its authenticity by figures of great doctrinal weight such as Clement of Alexandria in the East and Jerome and John Cassian in the West —Jerome himself a figure of asceticism formed in the desert of Syria— it soon became clear that, at least in part, the great appeal of the figure of the hermit was related to the strength and willpower demonstrated in transcending the needs of the body to achieve communion with the Divine. The first known hermit in the history of the Church, and, certainly, the first to have had the honor of his life being recorded in a hagiographical piece, was Saint Anthony of Egypt. Athanasius, bishop of Alexandria from 328 to 376, composed his Life of Saint Anthony around 360, only a mere four years after the death of Anthony himself (Gregg 1980). The piece, besides setting the standards of a new genre, that of Christian hagiography, 1 became a bona fide best seller of the time, hugely influential in the West after Evagrius of Antioch translated it into Latin around 374. Athanasius’ work clearly defines a strongly Christian figure, whose struggle against sin and Satan in the desert is reminiscent —here a pattern for future lives of saints is set— of the actions and choices of Jesus Christ (Matthew: 4, 1-11; Mark: 1, 12-13; Luke: 4, 1-13).

quandoquidem ab eis causas rerum uidebat inquiri, quas primas atque summas nonnisi in unius ac summi dei uoluntate esse credebat; unde non eas putabat nisi mundata mente posse conprehendi; et ideo purgandae bonis moribus uitae censebat instandum, ut deprimentibus libidinibus exoneratus animus naturali uigore in aeterna se adtolleret naturamque incorporei et incommutabilis luminis, ubi causae omnium factarum naturarum stabiliter uiuunt, intellegentiae puritate conspiceret (De Civitate Dei VIII, 3; Migne 1900). For he saw that the causes of things were sought for by them [the Platonists nda],—which causes he believed to be ultimately reducible to nothing else than the will of the one true and supreme God—, and on this account he thought they could only be comprehended by a purified mind; and therefore that all diligence ought to be given to the purification of the life by good morals, in order that the mind, delivered from the depressing weight of lusts, might raise itself upward by its native vigor to eternal things, and might, with purified understanding, contemplate that nature which is incorporeal and unchangeable light, where live the causes of all created natures (Trans. Dods 1887, 146).

Although truly Christian in its setting and its great emphasis on prayer to achieve communion with God, Athanasius’ work is also a crystalline portrait of that very need to severe the ties with the material world to achieve illumination and knowledge, which Plato had envisaged more that 500 years earlier. While explaining to Glaucon the myth of the cave, Socrates states that, while the capability to know the world of ideas is innate in all humankind,2 ‘the mind as a whole must be turned away from the world of change until its eye can bear to look straight at reality, and at the brightest of all realities which is what we call the good’ (Rep. 518c; trans. Lee 2003, 245). 3 Anthony, Athanasius says (Migne 26, col. 841. 2), was a young man of Egyptian origin when he

Augustine’s interpretation is seamless and agrees with non-doctrinal readings of Plato’s metaphysics. Plato did envisage the need of a mind purified from sensible constrictions, in order to achieve full contemplation of the world of ideas, the vessel and source of truth and knowledge. And what could this vessel and source of truth and knowledge be, to the Christian eye, if not God? Truly, in this ultimate refusal of the physical world and its needs, the pristine voice of Plato speaks in unison with the Church Fathers.

1 On hagiography, its style and its relation to social and political history, I suggest the dated, yet always fundamental and truly unrivaled work of Delehaye, especially his Légendes (1955) and the Leçons (1934). 2 The matter of knowledge and how it is instilled in the human soul before the very birth of the human being who carries it, is the main topic in Phaedo (Fowler 1982), and occupies also the first four books of Republic (Lee 2003). 3 οὕτω  σὺν  ὅλῃ  τῇ  ψυχῇ  ἐκ  τοῦ  γιγνομένου  περιακτέον  εἶναι,  ἕως ἂν εἰς τὸ ὂν καὶ τοῦ ὄντος  τὸ φανότατον δυνατὴ γένηται  ἀνασχέσθαι θεωμένη τοῦτο δ᾽ εἶναί φαμεν τἀγαθόν ·.

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similarity, or the strong connection between Plato and Athanasius’ words. Whereas Socrates explains to Glaucon that the mind needs to abandon the realm of material reality to achieve a higher knowledge, Athanasius describes, so to speak, the moment in which the young Anthony’s soul takes the ultimate decision of doing so. It is interesting to note that the moment of revelation falls upon Anthony as a true illumination, sudden and almost unexpected —albeit its content is not entirely unknown to the youth— just as the light of the world of ideas, represented by the Sun in the myth of the cave, falls upon those who knew of it innately in their soul, but who had only just freed themselves. We are told that Anthony comes from a Christian family and that he practices regularly, which means he is aware of the spiritual requirements of his faith. Anthony knows, just as Plato explains through the soothing voice of Socrates, that the way to achieve true freedom and true knowledge —knowledge of the huperouránion for the Greek philosopher, and knowledge of God for the Christian hermit— is by breaking the chains around our limbs. In other words, true knowledge is gained by breaking free from the slavery of those sensible needs represented in the Life of Anthony by his material possessions and his land, and turning towards the true light of the Sun outside the Cave; that is, the solitary contemplation of God.

found himself orphaned around the age of twenty. One day, entering the church, he was hit by the thought which was to change his life: Μετὰ  δὲ  τὸν  θάνατον  τῶν  γονέων,  αὐτὸς  μόνος  κατελείφθη  μετὰ  μιᾶς  βραχυτάτης  ἀδελφῆς∙ καὶ ἦν ἐτῶν ἐγγὺς δέκα καὶ ὀκτὼ, ἢ  καὶ  εἴκοσι  γεγονὼς,  αὐτός  τε  τῆς  οἰκίας  καὶ  τῆς  ἀδελφῆς  ἐφρόντιζεν.  Οὔπω  δὲ  μῆνες  ἓξ  παρῆλθον  τοῦ  θανάτου  τῶν  γονέων  αὐτοῦ,  καὶ  κατὰ  τὸ  εἰωθὸς  προερχόμενος  εἰς  τὸ  Κυριακὸν,  καὶ  συνάγων  ἑαυτοῦ  τὴν  διάνοιαν,  ἐλογίζετο  περιπατῶν,  πῶς  οἱ  μὲν  ἀπόστολοι  πάντα  καταλιπόντες  ἠκολούθησαν  τῷ  Σωτῆρι∙  οἱ  δὲ  ἐν  ταῖς  Πράξεσι  πωλοῦντες  τὰ  ἑαυτῶν  ἔφερον  καὶ  ἐτίθουν  παρὰ  τοὺς  πόδας  τῶν  ἀποστόλων,  εἰς  διάδοσιν  τῶν  χρείαν  ἐχόντων,  τίς  τε  καὶ  πόση  τούτοις  ἐλπὶς  ἐν  οὐρανοῖς  ἀπόκειται.  Ταῦτα  δὴ  ἐνθυμούμενος, εἰσῆλθεν εἰς τὴν ἐκκλησίαν,  καὶ  συνέβη  τότε  τὸ  Εὐαγγέλιον  ἀναγινώσκεσθαι,  καὶ  ἤκουσε  τοῦ  Κυρίου  λέγοντος  τῷ  πλουσίῳ∙  Εἰ  θέλεις  τέλειος  εἶναι,  ὕπαγε,  πώλησον  πάντα  τὰ  ὑπάρχοντά  σοι,  καὶ  δὸς  πτωχοῖς,  καὶ  δεῦρο  ἀκολούθει  μοι,  καὶ  ἕξεις  θησαυρὸν  ἐν  οὐρανοῖς.  ῾Ο  δὲ  ᾿Αντώνιος,  ὥσπερ  θεόθεν  ἐσχηκὼς  τὴν  τῶν  ἁγίων  μνήμην,  καὶ  ὡς  διʹ  αὐτὸν  γενομένου  τοῦ  ἀναγνώσματος,  ἐξελθὼν  εὐθὺς  ἐκ  τοῦ  Κυριακοῦ,  τὰς  μὲν  κτήσεις  ἃς  εἶχεν  ἐκ  προγόνων  (ἄρουραι  δὲ  ἦσαν  τριακόσιαι  εὔφοροι  καὶ  πάνυ  καλαὶ),  ταύτας ἐχαρίσατο τοῖς ἀπὸ τῆς κώμης 

The same message delivered in the third and fourth centuries by Anthony’s practice and Athanasius’s words are presented by Jerome’ hagiographies Life of Hilarion (Vita Hilarionis; Migne 1845; trans. Fremantle 1893) and Life of Paul (Vita Sancti Pauli Eremitae; Migne 1845; trans. Fremantle 1893), where one can find some of the most clear-cut descriptions of how to break the very chains described by Plato in the myth of the cave, by a path of renunciation, mortification and prayer. Prayer, clearly, becomes the Christian counterpart to the rational contemplation of the world of ideas described by Plato, as the principal means of fully understanding the original Being.

After the death of his father and mother he was left alone with one little sister: his age was about eighteen or twenty, and on him the care both of home and sister rested. Now it was not six months after the death of his parents, and going according to custom into the Lord’s House, he communed with himself and reflected as he walked how the Apostles left all and followed the Saviour; and how they in the Acts sold their possessions and brought and laid them at the Apostles’ feet for distribution to the needy, and what and how great a hope was laid up for them in heaven. Pondering over these things he entered the church, and it happened the Gospel was being read, and he heard the Lord saying to the rich man, ‘If thou wouldest be perfect, go and sell that thou hast and give to the poor; and come follow Me and thou shalt have treasure in heaven.’ Antony, as though God had put him in mind of the Saints, and the passage had been read on his account, went out immediately from the church, and gave the possessions of his forefathers to the villagers (Trans. Robertson, 1892, 196).

Figures such as Jerome and John Cassian, through their way of life —both of them embraced, to a greater or lesser extent, asceticism— and their writings, helped to create the ‘myth’ of the desert hermit, which became a symbol of reverence and an example of faith to be followed (Rousseau 1978). Just as the gravitas of the Graeco-Roman world did, so the hermit becomes the living proof of the philosophical and spiritual achievement Man can reach, if finally freed from his corporal and sensible ties to this world. The hermit could control his body and its needs, creating fertile soil from the harsh, arid ground of a godless existence; the body is prone to be tempted, and restraint from satisfying its requests is a powerful weapon in the hand of the holy man to keep those temptations at bay, as Jerome, for instance, makes clear in the Life of Hilarion.

Although the background of the two passages is different, one being classical in essence and philosophical in its content, the other Christian at its own core, even the more inattentive reader will notice the fundamental grain of

Titillabat itaque sensus eius, et pubescente corpori solita voluptatum incendia suggerebat. Cogebatur tirunculus Christi cogitare quod nesciebat, et eius rei animo pompam volvere, cuius experimenta non

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Javier Martínez – From the cave to the desert noverat. Iratus itaque sibi, et pectus pugnia verberans (quasi cogitationes caede manus posset excludere): Ergo, inquit, aselle faciam, ut non calcitres… (Migne 1845, 23, col. 32, 16).

hagiographies, and, more generally, by all Christian writings from roughly the third century onward. Basing this comparison on the well known myth of the cave and earlier hagiographical works related to hermits, I believe I have shown how the texts themselves portray a clearly Platonic attitude, residing strongly in the holy men’s choice of cutting all ties with the sensible world in order to achieve full contemplation of God. This, I have explained, is parallel to the teachings of Plato as expressed by Socrates in the myth of the cave, even down to the allegorical image of the Sun as the revealing light and emanation of the real truth; ultimately, is not Paul himself converted after having been blinded by light on the way to Damascus? (Acts 9: 3-19; 22: 6-21). This light is the very same as the Sun in the myth of the cave, which Plato allegorizes as the origin of the true knowledge of the true system of things.

Satan therefore tickled his senses and, as is his wont, lighted in his maturing body the fires of lust. This mere beginner in Christ’s school was forced to think of what he knew not, and to revolve whole trains of thought concerning that of which he had no experience. Angry with himself and beating his bosom (as if with the blow of his hand he could shut out his thoughts) “Ass!” he exclaimed, “I’ll stop your kicking…” (Trans. Fremantle 1893, 304).

Restraint is key if one desires to finally leave the Platonic cave of illusions; the hermit of Late Antiquity is, very much, a follower of Plato, albeit possibly without acknowledging this fact entirely. Although the examples of Anthony, Hilarion and Paul are all set in the eastern deserts of Egypt or Syria, the ascetic movement was quick to spread onto western shores. The western Christian world felt strongly drawn to hermitical practices and those who followed them; it was also natural that some felt the need to partake in this tradition, and that monastic communities molded on the way of the desert fathers would begin to develop. John Cassian, himself an experienced practitioner of ascetic life, founded around 415 one of the first monastic communities of the West, near Marseilles, and was witness to the growth of another archetypal western coenobium, that of Lérins, founded around the same time by Honoratus. Both John Cassian and Honoratus had been greatly influenced by the blooming ascetic movement of the Desert Fathers, who profoundly influenced their attitude to the sensible world of material creations.

To conclude, although it is widely understood that Platonic philosophy was particularly influential upon Christian doctrine in the form of Neoplatonic ideas, which further elaborated on the original Platonic substratum, I believe that the metaphysical teachings of Plato himself are very clearly present, and powerfully so, not only in early patristic thought, as the interest shown by Augustine exemplifies, but also in the newly born genre of Christian hagiography. The figure of the holy hermit became the Christian embodiment of the Hellenic thinker, who renounces what is material and mutable to seek final communion and understanding with that which is spiritual and unchanging. Christians call it God, Plotinus the One, and it is the union of the world of the ideas —representing true knowledge from where everything has derived— and the figure of the demiourgós, the creating hand behind all that exists in Plato’s philosophy.

Cassian’s Collations is a vivid, lively mirror of the life habits of the hermits of the East, 4 transplanted to a western setting and organized into a set of rules. These rules were the first, proper attempt to structure monasticism in writing in the Western World. Within its pages, the message of ascetic life as a way to knowledge, and prayer as a means of supporting the quest to the higher truth of God, is structured in a collection of maxims, through which Man can achieve illumination and holiness. Most of these maxims are based on the idea, once again, of severing one’s ties to the material world. Whether it is represented by food, clothing, wealth and, indeed, people, the monk has to break free from it, in order to eventually obtain through prayers and renunciation a contemplative state of being.

The acceptance of the inner similarities between Platonic and Christian thought by Church Fathers and hagiographers alike, is, in my opinion, just another example of how the early centuries of the development of Christianity were still imbued with the wisdom, rational, habits, and, indeed, social constructions of the GraecoRoman world. This fact emphasizes how the modern, western Judeo-Christian society roots itself deeply and powerfully in classical philosophic-social grounds, a matter unfortunately swept aside and almost forgotten, as proven by the scarce presence, for instance, in most regions of the western world, of an in depth study of Graeco-Roman culture in an educational context that is not academic. We are all, indeed, cultural children of the sages of Athens and Rome; the beauty of their words and the truth of their messages should never be lost.

Albeit very briefly, these few pages have shown how Platonic influence on Christian thought and way of life can be strongly supported by textual analysis of 4

The same must be noted of the works of Clement of Alexandria, who first in the East outlined the idea of bringing the ascetic lifestyle out of the desert and into especially created communities, the monasteries. These very ideas were to be taken up by his disciple, Origen (Chadwick 1967, 170-185).

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Reception of Proclus in Pletho and Ficino 1

restrict my arguments to his concept of the human being, specifically of Man as an intermediate agent. The reasons for my choice are:

Jesús de Garay University of Seville

1) Proclus’ are some of the best preserved texts of Late Antiquity, and we therefore have access to more and better documentation for the analysis of his doctrines and reception. This is particularly evident in the 15th century.

Abstract

2) His reception is important, but follows a winded and complicated path. The 15th century has been particularly characterised as marked by the restoration of Platonism, and specifically by the reception of Proclus.

Late Antiquity is often defined as a period of little interest in the history of Philosophy. Such a diagnosis is erroneous. By treating a specific author and a concrete problem, I will seek to illustrate the importance of philosophical thought from the fifth century AD, at least in terms of the impact its reception had during the early stages of modern Western culture. My exposition will focus on Proclus (410-485) and his reception in the 15th century, particularly in Pletho (c. 1355-1452) and Marsilio Ficino (1433-1499). I will restrict my arguments to his concept of the human being, specifically of Man as an intermediate agent.

3) It is difficult, however, to make precise distinctions between doctrines that are specific to Proclus and to others (and not only because of the vagueness of the notion of Platonism, 2 which includes Iamblichus and Plotinus, as well as Plato himself). 4) Italian Renaissance has traditionally been identified with a shift in priority toward the human being and its dignity. This humanistic approach has apparently been given specific attention in Platonic thinkers such as Pletho, Nicholas of Cusa, or Marsilio Ficino. 3

KEYWORDS: Proclus, Pletho, Ficino, Neoplatonism, reception

5) Lastly, it is important to distinguish between different receptions of Proclus in different philosophers, and pay attention to the different dates in which his texts were published in Europe.

Introduction Late Antiquity is often defined as a period of little interest in the history of Philosophy. With the exception of Augustine of Hippo, there is a marked tendency to regard the period as a parenthesis in the evolution of philosophical thought. Neoplatonism in particular has sometimes been described as nothing but metaphysical imagery of a confused, decadent and mystical nature. According to this view, its only real value would be doxographical, in the transmission of the cultural brilliance of Classical Antiquity, suppressed for centuries by Medieval Christianity. It would not be until the 15th century that Renaissance humanism infused new life to this school of classical philosophy, which lay abandoned —or worse still, had been corrupted— for almost two thousand years.

By treating a specific author and a concrete problem, I will seek to illustrate the importance of philosophical thought from the fifth century AD, at least in terms of the impact its reception had during the early stages of modern Western culture.

Reception of Proclus before the 15th century 4 The ideas and texts of Proclus were present in Byzantium, with explicit acknowledgement of his authorship There is also indirect reception of his doctrines via the Dionysian corpus, which takes on some of the doctrines of Proclus in a form that was acceptable

Such a diagnosis will obviously strike anyone with some knowledge of the philosophical thought of the period as a caricature. But it does reflect enduring myths that are hard to remove, and which have resulted, at best, in a lack of interest. In any case, the diagnosis is a false one. Late Antiquity saw the emergence, within different schools of thought and philosophical currents, of philosophers of unquestionable importance —because of their doctrines in themselves, and due to their influence on philosophical thought in later centuries.

2 It would definitely be appropriate to speak of Renaissance Platonism in the 15th Century as a whole, of the presence of Neoplatonism, of the Platonic Academy of Florence, etc. But it would be a good idea not only to establish differences within Christian Platonic tradition (e.g. Scotus Eriugena, Augustinus, Pseudo-Dionysius or Gregory of Nyssa) but also within pagan tradition, distinguishing between Porphyry, Plotinus, Iamblichus and even the Hermetica. We otherwise find ourselves before an unorganised assortment (‘Renaissance Platonism’) wherein anything can be included, creating confusion. This is obviously made more difficult by the constant references made by Platonists themselves to a prisca theologia, sapientia antiquissima or philosophia perennis, going back to Zoroaster, Hermes or Moses, and agreed upon by all Platonists. It seems evident that, with these precepts, attributing a specific doctrine to one philosopher or another was of secondary importance. 3 We can certainly find Proclus’ doctrines in the work of other philosophers, such as Giovanni Pico de la Mirandola, and in the 16th century in Agostino Steuco, Clavius, Bruno or Kepler, but I will not refer to these here. 4 I have treated the history of this reception in greater detail in one of my articles (De Garay 2007, 1-4).

My exposition will focus on Proclus (412-487) and his reception in the 15th century, particularly in Pletho (ca. 1355-1452) and Marsilio Ficino (1433-1499). I will 1 This text is part of Research Project FFI2010-15582 (FISO Subprogram), of the Ministerio de Ciencia e Innovación (Gobierno de España).

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Such Latin tradition was well known and appreciated by Nicholas of Cusa, while it was very probably unknown to Pletho. Despite the connection both Cusanus and Pletho had with Bessarion, 8 indicating an obvious community of interests and reading, their intellectual development followed very different paths. Their approach with regard to the Corpus Dionysianum perhaps marks the point of furthest distance between them. While in Pletho we find a marked rejection of Palamism, and therefore a clear separation from Pseudo-Dionysius and Byzantine monastic tradition, in Nicholas of Cusa there is a firm inclination towards Dionysian texts, wherein−he was certain−lay the inspiration for Proclus’ Platonism, and Roman Platonism in general (Latin and Greek).

to Christian orthodoxy. This would also allow his ideas to penetrate Byzantium, without raising the doctrinal objections faced by Proclus himself, who was often seen as a symbol of Greek pagan culture in opposition to Greek Christianity. The fact is that, regardless of orthodoxies and heterodoxies, already in Damascius, Pholoponus and Olimpiodorus, then later in Psellos during the 11th century, and even until the fall of Byzantium (with Pletho and Bessarion), Proclus’ philosophy would be at the centre of philosophical and theological debate in Byzantium (Benakis 1987; Podskalsky 1976). 5 In the Muslim world, Al-Kindi’s circle produced a body of Neoplatonic texts, influenced by different sources (d’Ancona 1996, 68-88). One of these texts, the Liber de Causis, was attributed to Aristotle, when in fact it was a summarised reconstruction of Proclus’ Elements of Theology (d’Ancona and Taylor 1994).

On the other hand, Cusanus’ appreciation for Meister Eckhart, apparent in the importance he attaches to Negation, and particularly emphasised in his Negative Theology, is completely alien to Pletho, who discards this form of theology altogether. That is to say, the interlocutors with whom they debate are radically different. Nicholas of Cusa reads Greek with difficulty, and uses the translations of Proclus available to him, 9 concentrating principally on the Elements of Theology and the Commentary on Plato’s Parmenides (Steel 198285; Bormann 1986). In reading Platonic Theology, however, he would have to make do with extracts, until the appearance of Balbus’ translation in 1462 (Saffrey 2002b; Beierwaltes 2005), only two years before his death. Not to mention the differences in cultural tradition between Byzantium and Rome, and the different religious and political views of one and the other. There is another important element that is unfortunately not sufficiently clear, namely the figure of Elysha. If, as seems probable, Elysha was a follower of Suhrawardi’s doctrines, and Pletho in turn accepted the doctrines of Elysha, the distance between Pletho and Cusanus, in terms of philosophical upbringing, is further stretched, since Nicholas of Cusa was unfamiliar with the philosophical thought of Suhrawardi.

Proclus’ philosophy found its way to the Latin West by various means. The direct reception of his work (except for his Elements of Physics) would have to wait until Moerbecke’s translations, between 1268 and 1286. But there was already an indirect reception of his work, one that would take a complex and winding route, channelled down two paths especially: the work of PseudoDionysius (Lilla 1994) and the Liber de Causis. Pseudo-Dionysius’ success in the West has much to do with the translation and commentary of the Corpus Dionysiacum, by Scotus Eriugena. Eriugena also translated and commented on the writings of Maximus the Confessor, who had been deeply influenced by Dionysian texts. Furthermore, the philosophic thought of Eriugena himself includes many elements close to Proclus’ philosophy, without ever citing Proclus (and probably without knowing him). 6 Anyhow, PseudoDionysius’ works followed their own path in Western Europe, and have received much commentary. Another means by which Proclus’ philosophy penetrated the West indirectly was the Liber de Causis. The Liber de Causis was also widely read and commented in the 13th and 14th centuries. Proclus’ philosophy would attract attention from disciples (Sturlese 1987; de Libera 1992) of Albertus Magnus, such as Dietrich of Freiberg or Berthold of Moosburg. Nicholas of Cusa would later adhere to this Albertine tradition, after Heymeric van der Velde (Colomer 1975). 7

Scholarios would argue that all of Pletho’s doctrines came from Proclus, 10 but that Pletho would have deliberately hidden this fact to vaunt the originality of his philosophy. The truth is that, in the work we have access to, Pletho mentions Proclus only occasionally, and is sometimes clearly critical (Tambrun-Krasker 2006, 89). 8 They even met personally, as Pletho took part in the Council of Ferrara-Florence (1438-1439) along with Bessarion and Nicholas of Cusa. Bessarion always considered himself a disciple of Pletho’s, and held him in high regard. There does not seem, however, to be relevant influence of Pletho in Cusanus’ texts, even if he was aware of the controversy with Scholarios. 9 He did not, however, seem interested in the Commentary on Timaeus —partially translated by Moerbeke— or in the Commentary on the First Book of Euclid’s Elements (which was not translated into Latin until 1560 by Francesco Barozzi), or other works touching on Physics or Astronomy, which included themes and observations that would have been of special interest to Cusanus. He seems not to have encountered the Commentary on Alcibiades (neither did Ficino) and seems not to have been interested in the doctrine on magic contained in De sacrificio et magia. 10 ‘Scholarios was also right in attributing much of Gemistos’ philosophy to Proclus’ (Woodhouse 2000, 73).

5

In Georgia, an area culturally very close to Greek Byzantium, Proclus’ doctrines and texts were widespread, particularly through Joane Petrizi (12th century ca.) who wrote a Commentary on the Elementatio theologica (Iremadze 2004). 6 ‘Allerdings wird sich ein direkter, historisch verifizierbarer Bezug Eriugenas zu genuin-neuplatonischen Quellen, also etwa zu Plotin, Porphyrios oder Proklos, schwerlich nachweisen lassen’ (Beierwaltes 1994, 35). 7 In the Tractatus problemmaticus (1428) he frequently cites Proclus, and particularly his doctrine of self-conscience and self-constitution of the intellect, with repeated references to proposition 83 of the Elementatio theologica, which corresponds to proposition 15 of the Liber de Causis: ‘omnis sciens qui scit essentiam suam, est rediens ad essentiam suam reditione completa’.

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Jesús de Garay – Reception of Proculus in Pletho and Ficino

Pletho, although neither of these has been conserved (Athanassiadi 2002). It did not, however, include the Book of Laws, which he must have encountered at some point in time, as he makes reference to it in his commentary to the Dionysian De Divinis Nominibus. Nicholas of Cusa, on the other hand, was known in the Florentine Academy, but his influence seems not to have been decisive. 16

Scholarios’ assertion is interesting indeed, in view of Pletho’s work. In fact, doctrinal differences between Pletho and Proclus are significant, as observed by Brigitte Tambrun-Krasker (2006, 126; 146-172). 11 Along with the denial of Negative Theology, Pletho insists on the correspondence between the One and Being, and defends an entirely Affirmative Theology, under different terms than in Proclus, who apparently has more in common with Porphyry (op. cit. 173-185) and Aelius Aristide (op. cit. 187-195). Also, the Commentary on Parmenides does not seem to play a decisive role in his philosophical and religious thought.

The human being as an intermediate agent in Renaissance Platonism

The figure of Ficino became prominent after the deaths of Pletho and Cusanus. If he knew Pletho personally, it would have been as a child, and the influence of Cusanus, if there was any, would have been even lesser. His early translations of Plato’s and Plotinus’ Corpus Hermeticum already reflected a clearly different perspective. As opposed to Cusanus, Ficino knew and appreciated Iamblichus 12 as much as, or more than he did Proclus, 13 and certainly Plotinus, later. ‘Amo equidem Platonem in Iamblicho, admiror in Plotino, in Dyonisio veneror’ (Marsilio Ficino, Opera 925). 14 His translation of the Commentary on Alcibiades was not written until the 1490s. In comparison to Cusanus, his knowledge of the history and transformations of Platonism was far more precise. Cusanus, though, was also interested in the Corpus Hermeticum, although his interest was limited to the Latin Asclepius. It is however interesting to see how little importance Pletho attaches to Hermes within the genealogy of ancient wisdom, although this may be deliberate, and not so much for lack of interest (TambrunKrasker 2006, 89-91).

Interest in the human being, characteristic of the Renaissance, is in line with one of the central elements of Platonism. In Platonic tradition, the human being is composed of soul and body, the soul being a complete substance, independent of the body. The human being is thus defined by the soul, of which intelligence is the noblest part, because of its capacity to know the intelligible world of ideal Forms. Beyond the plurality of the intelligible lies the unity of the intelligible, which may be attained by the most elevated portion of the soul. The ‘oneness of the soul’, the ‘flower of the intellect’, the ‘flower of the soul’, ‘one within us’, etc. are all common expressions in this Platonic tradition —especially in Proclus— and refer to Unity within the human being, by which humans can somehow recognise the One within themselves. 17 For this Platonic tradition, it is not so much about the Self as an individual and empirical subjectivity, but about the Unity that defines the Self, but transcends it: it is the One ‘inside’ us.

Otherwise, Ficino had access to a large body of works by Pletho: The ms. Riccardianus graecus 76, which belonged to him, includes De Differentiis, a reply to Scholarios, the Book on Virtue, Treatise on Destiny and the funeral orations to Cleopa and Helena, with numerous notes on the margins. 15 According to the index prepared by Matthieu Devaris, the manuscript also contained the Chaldean Oracles, with commentary by Psellos and

On the other hand, the human soul, in Middle Platonism and Neoplatonism, is included in a general analysis of the soul, with special attention being paid to World-Soul, following the indications of the Timaeus.

16

Regarding reception of Cusanus in the Florentine Academy, see Flasch (2003). Cassirer insisted on the continuity of Renaissance Platonism, from Nicholas of Cusa to Ficino, something that can hardly be argued today. Nonetheless, Flasch states there is evidence that Pico della Mirandola knew and used Cusanus’ texts. Recent research by Cesare Vasoli also seems to indicate certain proximity between them, mainly in their texts De christiana religione and De raptu Pauli. Pierleoni da Spolet–doctor of the Medicis and personal friend of Ficino– owned manuscripts by Cusanus, which he had studied carefully (214215). 17 Nevertheless, this and other expressions have different interpretations for different Platonic thinkers. In Proclus, as later in Psellos or Pletho, there is use of the terminology included in the Chaldean Oracles, and there is a specific interpretation of this ‘one within us’ and ‘the flower of the intellect’ (García Bazán 1991, frag. 1). Thus Proclus, in his commentary on the Chaldean Oracles, distinguishes between ‘flower of the intellect’ and ‘flower of the soul’: ‘Perhaps, therefore, this intellect's flower is not the flower of our whole soul, though it is the most unitary element of our intellectual life, and that the soul-flower is the union of our multiform psychical powers. For we are not merely intellect, but combine discursive reason, opinion, attention and will; and all these powers are subsumed under an essence combining divisible manifoldness with indivisible unity. The Emanating One is two-fold: the first of our powers is unity, or the soul-flower; which alone unites us to the Father of the Intelligibles’ (Johnson and Guthrie 1925).

11 Whatever the case, there are undeniable doctrinal affinities between Pletho and Proclus, both in the general orientation and vindication of a pagan Platonic theology, and in specific issues, e.g. regarding private property (Garnsey 2008). 12 Regarding the importance of Iamblichus in Ficino (greater than Plotinus), see Celenza (2002). As opposed to Plotinus, Iamblichus and Proclus assert the ‘complete descent’ of the soul (Steel 1978). 13 The title he chooses for his opera maius (Platonic Theology), however, is the same as Proclus’. The ms. Riccardianus 70 includes Platonic Theology by Proclus, with notes on the margins by Ficino (Saffrey 2000a). 14 See also the letter written to Bessarion (De laude Platonicorum interpretum): ‘When this gold was given to Plato by God, it shone in him most brilliantly, because he was so pure in heart. Although this great brilliance is revealed in his words and writings, yet the treasure became enveloped by darkness in the mind […]. But when that gold was put into the workshop first of Plotinus, then of Porphyry, Iamblichus and eventually of Proclus, the earth was removed by the searching test of fire, and the gold so shone that it filled the whole world again with marvellous splendour’. 15 Regarding reception of Pletho in Ficino, see Tambrun-Krasker (2006, 241-259).

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Pletho’s doctrine of Unity in Plurality is the basis for his depiction of the human being as a connection with the universe. The human being unites all realities precisely because human Unity is not pure Unity, but Unity that unites differences. The relationships that conform the structure of the universe are very diverse, but there are two fundamental relationships: first, the conjunction of all immortal beings (and especially the connection between the gods of the intelligible world —eternal part of the Whole–and the gods of our world— perpetual part of the Whole), and secondly, the connection between the immortal and mortal parts of the universe. This second connection is made through the human being, from within itself.

The human soul is presented with the same attributes that define any soul. But most importantly, it is defined as an intermediate agent, already by Plato in the Timaeus 35a, and then again by Plotinus (IV, 4, 3, 10-13) and Proclus (Elements of Theology, 190; Dodds 1963). 18 This role as mediator, given to the human being, will be central to the doctrines of Pletho and Marsilio Ficino, although each will interpret it in his own way.

Human mediation in Pletho All that is real, according to Pletho, implies identity (καθ᾽αὑτόν) and alterity (πρὸς ἕτερον). Which is to say, it is a combination, or composition, of that which is secundum se, and of what exists by virtue of its relationship with something other than itself. Therefore, the human being exists in itself, and in relation to the Other. What this means is that along with the part of the human being that exists and knows itself of its own accord, there is also something that places the human being in relation to the Other (be this something other than the human being, or something other than the rational soul).

We believe it was for the sake of harmony in the universe (ὑπὸ ἁρμονίας τοῦ παντὸς) that the gods, our creators, combined (μίξιν) the immortal and the mortal in us, following the rules of Zeus, to unite the two parts of this world, the immortal and the mortal by means of this human form that acts as a point of division between them (μεθορίῳ τινὶ τῷ ἀνθρωπείῳ τοῦτῳ σχήματι συνδεοίσθην). To make the universe whole and perfect, it had to be made up of the immortal and the mortal, so that it would not separate from itself or disperse, but would truly be reunited within a structured whole (σύστημα). Just as some things in the universe, very different one from another, can be tied together by beings that lay in between (μεθοριοῖς) and are made up of existing elements, the mortal has become related to the immortal by means of the intermediate agent that is the human being (τῳ κατὰ τὸν ἄνθρωπον τοῖτον μεθορίῳ συνεδέθη). 19

Human moral perfection will consequently also include this double aspect. Virtue is related, on one hand, with φρόνησις (Reason), by which we grow in self-control and self-knowledge, and on the other hand with Justice, which integrates everything that constitutes our relation to others. In order to be just, we must not separate ourselves from this world, but occupy our place in social hierarchy and in the universe (Tambrun-Krasker 2006, 224).

The human being as an intermediate agent is not, in any case, a reference to the soul alone, but to a compound of soul and body. It is the human being, including the human body, which carries out this role of mediator in the universe.

Virtue (Tambrun-Krasker 1987; Masai, F. 1956, 245263) does indeed require us to resemble God, but only insofar as is possible for humans (Teeteto 176AB). As opposed to asceticism, and its disregard for the body, and monasticism in general, and its rejection of social relations, Pletho insists that Virtue does not imply uniting with the divine and cancelling out differences, but rather reaching unity within plurality. Hence, human perfection depends directly on its relationship with all other realities.

A trait that is very characteristic of Pletho, at least in the texts we have access to, is his socio-political perspective. This is where he distances himself from the directly metaphysical problems treated in Neoplatonic tradition. For Pletho, ontology and politics are one. The universe is a community (κοινωνία), a society, and an absolute polis. All beings in the universe, mortal or immortal, form a community, where each is related to the other. Degrees of association vary: superior beings have a better and stronger association than inferior beings. Human beings are mere imitators of the society of the gods, but their association is superior to that of animals and plants. Each individual is at the centre of the complete polis of all living beings. Other than that, men are citizens of the universe insofar as they are integrated in the polis they live in.

In Proclus, and before him in Porphyry (Sententiae 32), political virtue is only one of the initial stages of moral perfection, a starting point for greater perfection through other virtues —purifying, contemplative, paradigmatic and theurgic (De Garay 2011). Political virtue therefore represents not a culmination of moral life, but rather its Propaedeutics. Proclus (De malorum subsistentia XXIII, 21-25) insists in claiming, nonetheless, that the Good in Man does not involve separating oneself from the world, but imitating the gods in their generative and productive activity of doing the Good.

Human mediation is not carried out in a way that is constant or unchanging, but is rather a mission, a task

18

‘Every soul is intermediate between the indivisible principles and those which are divided in association with bodies’. Proclus underlines the fact that the intermediate nature of the soul is what defines it most accurately (In Tim. III, 151, 3-4): ‘the expression ‘in the middle’ describes the essence of the soul’.

19

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Tratado sobre las leyes, 127 (trans. Lisi and Signes 1995)

Jesús de Garay – Reception of Proculus in Pletho and Ficino

Ficino introduces various innovations that transform some of the elements that make up this tradition.

assigned to humanity by Zeus himself. As long as humans are subject to change and time, their mediation is unstable and needs to be perpetuated throughout time and change. Men are born, and men die —and so, too, do societies— making it the responsibility of the whole of humanity to perpetually carry out the function of intermediate agents.

Notably, he classifies the different degrees of reality into five clearly differentiated levels: God, Angel, Soul, Quality, and Body. So that we may finally reach the desired goal, let us once more assemble things on five levels, placing God and Angel at the summit of nature, Body and Quality at the foot, but Soul halfway between those on high and those below. We would do well to call soul the third and middle essence, as the Platonists do, because it is the mean for all and the third from both directions. If you descend from God, you will find Soul at the third level down; or at the third level up, if you ascend from Body (Ibid. 231-2).

Souls must therefore always descend into bodies (metempsicosis) and the human species must continue to reproduce. These are obligations imposed by God on humanity, so that it can contribute to the perfection of the Whole. Humans have a mission (λειτουργία) to fulfil in the world, and this mission is what gives them their excellence and dignity. 20 Man’s earthly mission consists in maintaining the universe’s cohesion, from the hierarchical position that befits him. As opposed to Christianity, where Christ is the mediator par excellence, for Pletho it is all of humanity that fulfils this task (just like the gods mediate between Zeus and all other beings).

Ficino’s precision in distinguishing between the five levels is striking, not so much because it implies a rupture with traditional Platonic thought, but because of the accuracy with which he draws the difference. Also, God is characterised as one unique God, while the many pagan gods, demons and souls superior to human souls, are included in the concept of ‘Angel’.

To summarise, Pletho seems to follow Platonic tradition, though not Proclus in particular, regarding the soul’s mediation faculties (and especially mediation of the human being, as made up of soul and body). His references to Proclus seem to be dissipated within the whole of the tradition, wherein are included the Chaldean Oracles, attributed by Pletho to Zoroaster, and commented by Proclus and Psellos. The ideas of other Neoplatonists such as Hierocles or Plutarch also seem to have influenced Pletho. Furthermore, Pletho strongly underlines the solidarity of man and the universe, and at the centre of his thought, we find the relationship of the human being with the Other (πρὸς ἕτερον), where ‘the Other’ is a being of material, divine or human nature.

The soul is therefore primarily the human soul, classified as third and intermediate essence. Thus, the perspective from which the soul is analysed focuses exclusively on the human soul. This gives the human being a central role in all of Ficino’s doctrine. Obviously in Proclus (and generally in Platonic tradition) the human being is the referent in relation to which all reality is analysed, and particularly the soul. But in Ficino, the approach is decidedly anthropocentric, consigning everything relative to the soul of the world and divine souls to a secondary role. It is not so much the soul that is of interest, but the human soul. And so, all Neoplatonist doctrine regarding the soul is now applied to the human being.

Human mediation in Ficino

Because it is the universal mean, it possesses the powers of all. If this is so, it passes into all. And since it is the true bond of everything in the universe, when it passes into some things, it does not abandon others, but it moves into individuals while forever preserving all things. It can with justice, accordingly, be called nature’s centre, the mean of everything in the universe, the succession or chain of the world, the countenance of all things, and the knot and bond of the world (Th. Pl. III, II, 6; vol. 1, 242).

Ficino also adheres to Platonic and Neoplatonic thought regarding the mediation of the soul: ‘The soul is the middle level of being. It links and unites all the levels above it and below it when it ascends to the higher and descends to the lower levels’. 21 The soul is the link between all beings, from the highest to the lowest, a relationship running in both directions. Nevertheless, 20 ‘the gods make the soul descend and unite with a mortal body on various occasions, every time in a different body, for the sake of harmony in the universe, and so that in this union of mortal and immortal elements, taking place within our race, the universe may find unity within itself’ (Tratado sobre las Leyes 11). Pletho (Chaldean Oracles, frag. 106) comments ‘…man, you are a device of daring nature!’, stressing the fact that Man takes on important tasks: Man must see the grandeur of his mission, like a new Heracles. Pletho’s references focus on Zoroaster (i.e. the Chaldean Oracles) as he explains his doctrine on the dignity of Man, as recipient of a mission ordered by God to establish mediation between the immortal and the mortal, and to govern over the material physical world; he does not, however, and despite the analogies, refer to the Hermetia. 21 Anima est medius rerum gradus, atque omnes gradus tam superiores quam inferiores connectit in unum, dum ipsa et ad superos ascendit et descendit ad ínferos (Th. Pl. III, II, 1; Hankins and Bowen 2001, vol.1, 231).

Ficino’s anthropocentrism is thus established: Man is the key to the universe and possesses all potentialities of all other realities, from the divine itself to the most material. It is on this level, and not on the Angel’s, that the universe can be represented in its full splendour, as it is connected to all other levels of reality. The most intimate of connections between all realities is made within the human being. This is where one element of Neoplatonist doctrine plays an essential role: the socalled ‘vehicle’ (ὄχημα) of the soul. This doctrine, with variations, goes all the way back to Iamblichus. In

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Proclus, we find a clear assertion in that regard, in proposition 196 of the Elements of Theology: ‘Every participated soul makes use of first body which is perpetual and has a constitution without temporal origin and exempt from decay’. If the soul is always associated to a body, and the soul has perpetual existence, then there must also be a body perpetually connected to the soul. Said first body will always be united to the soul, and holds the apogee (ἀκρότης) of imagination and rational life. It is an image (εἴδωλον) and projection of rational life. Apart from this body, ethereal and immortal, there is another corruptible body that dies with the individual. This doctrine emerged from the Chaldean Oracles and is covered by Psellos, Pletho and Ficino. The doctrine varies from one thinker to another, but Ficino essentially adheres to Proclus’ approach (Th. Pl. XIII, 4; XIII, 2).

earthly world. In comparison, the Angel —intermediate reality between Man and God— is irrelevant. The entire intelligible world is therefore reduced to the sphere of the soul. 22 The soul now unites all intelligible reality, and from there, rises directly toward God. Rupture with Neoplatonic tradition is not, however, as drastic as it may seem. In fact, Proclus had already underlined the unifying nature of the soul, by stating that all things are transcendentally united by the One, as cause of all things; while the soul unites all things immanently, as the middle point of all things, and the unity of all united beings: the soul expresses mediation, communication between all things (In Tim. III, 131, 30132, 3). 23 In this sense, Ficino states that the soul manifests a mutual love between all things (amor mutuus, caritas mutua, mirum commertium).

Ficino does however modify an essential point of Platonic doctrine regarding the soul, thus receiving, incidentally, direct criticism from Pico for straying so clearly from Neoplatonic tradition. According to Ficino, the soul —that is, the human soul —was created by God directly: ‘Soul accepts existence from God without an intermediary’ (Th. Pl. V, XIII, 1; vol. II, 79). Ficino here turns to Christian doctrine, and leaves the pagan Neoplatonic tradition aside:

We can summarise by saying there is no specific reception of Proclus in Ficino that distinguishes him from the rest of Neoplatonic tradition. There is one essential point, however, in which Ficino seems to ground himself on Proclus specifically: the self-constitution of the soul. 24 In Plotinus, the One is characterised as being causa sui. With this paradoxical expression he underlines the fact that there is no greater unity than being one’s own cause. Proclus, on the other hand, understands that being one’s own cause entails a certain inner duplicity: there must be a difference between a cause and its effect. If something can be described as its own cause, then it cannot be the First Principle, the One.

Although Plotinus, Proclus, and several other Platonists believe that soul is created by Angel, I more willingly follow Dionysius the Areopagite, Origen, and Augustine, the most excellent of the Platonists, who think that soul was created by God alone (Ibid.).

Already in proposition 10 of his Elements of Theology, Proclus states, ‘all that is self-sufficient is inferior to the unqualified Good’. Self-sufficiency indicates complete possession of one’s own Good. But this implies, says Proclus, that the absolute Good of which the selfsufficient participates ‘is superior to participation and fulfilment’, ‘and beyond self-sufficiency’. Further in the text, an entire section is dedicated to the self-constituted (τὸ αὐθυπόστατον): these are propositions 40 to 51, where he analyses the characteristics of the selfconstituted, already recognising a difference between the self-constituted and the First Principle: ‘It follows, then,

In order to make his thesis stronger, Ficino advances arguments taken directly from Thomas Aquinas. Ficino’s transformation here is radical. Not only have all intermediate beings been fused into the One and the human being within one only reality (Angel), but now, said intermediate reality (the second essence, the Angel, the intelligible world) has also lost its intermediate nature. It is true that it conserves greater ontological perfection compared to the human soul, but, just like Epicurean gods, it is irrelevant for human life and for the order of the physical world. Thus, the conversion (regressus) of the soul towards the One is carried out directly and without intermediation by said superior realities.

22 ‘Ficin opère une véritable inflexion de l’ordre noétique vers l’ordre psychique en caractérisant la tierce essence par la triade Être-vie-pensée qui définissait, chez Plotin, le Noûs même c’est-à-dire l’Intelligence ou l’Être’ (Schefer 2001, 20). 23 καὶ εἷς ἔστω σύνδεσμος τῶν ὄντων ὁ ἐν αὐτοῖς ὤν, ἡ ψυχή. συνδεῖ γὰρ καὶ τὸ ἕν τὰ πάντα, ἀλλ᾽ἐξῃρημένως (πάντα γὰρ ἥνωται ἀλλήλοις ὡς ὁμόγονα καὶ ὡς ἐκ μίας αἰτίας ὄντα καὶ ὡς πρὸς ἕν ἐφετὸν ἀνατεταμένα), συνδεῖ δὲ καὶ ἡ ψυχή, ἀλλ᾽ὡς ἐν αὐτοῖς οὖσα, καὶ ὡς ἐν τῇ ἀναλογίᾳ τὸ μέσον ἕν ἐστι τῶν συνδεομένων, οὑτω καὶ τὴν ψυχὴν μέσην θετέον τῶν ὄντων, συνδέουσαν ἅμα καὶ συνδεομένην, ὡς αὐτοκίνητον ὑπάρχουσαν. 24 ‘La conversion réflexive est le mouvement de l’essence de l’âme qui se constitue en tant qu’essence. Le retour est l’acte de l’âme, mais aussi son être même qui en totalité revient sur son propre fondament. […] Ainsi, ce retour complet, ce repliement de l’acte, est toujours repliement de l’essence elle-même. Ce thème proclusien de la conversion vers soi, rapporté au pouvoir de produire soi-même sa propre activité de connaissance, de vie et de mouvement, appartient à la substance ellemême’ (Schefer 2001, 21).

It is probable that the Corpus Hermeticus, which he already paid special attention to in 1463, influenced Ficino in his reformulation of Platonism. Pletho’s doctrine includes certain elements that are very closely similar to the Hermetic tradition: the human being as copula mundi, the mission entrusted to Man by God to govern the world, the work of the soul within the body, the temporal succession of men in their task of governing the world, etc (Asclepius 6, 8, 10, 11; Treatise X, 22; etc.; Copenhaver 2000). In any case, Hermetic texts describe reality as being made up of three elements: God, the Cosmos, and the Human Being, the latter serving as connection to all things, and charged with governing the 180

Jesús de Garay – Reception of Proculus in Pletho and Ficino

His argument may be summarised as follows: the soul is inclined to the most perfect of movements, circular and reflexive. This perfect activity manifests itself in the reflexive movement of intelligence and will. The soul’s essence consists precisely in this perfect and selfconserving activity. Consequently, the soul’s essence is per se existens, insofar as it is a life that sustains itself.

that the self-constituted must exist, but posterior to the First Principle’ (Pro. 40). This feature of self-constitution is applied to all realities inferior to the One, and therefore to all realities that exist between the human soul and the One. It is also applied to all souls, the human soul included. 25 Every soul is self-animated. For if it is capable of reversion upon itself, and all that is capable of such reversion is self-constituted, then soul is selfconstituted and the cause of its own being (Pro. 189). It seems clear to Proclus that the soul is capable of reversion upon itself, because the soul is capable of knowing itself: All that is capable of self-knowledge is capable of every form of selfreversion. For that it is self-reversive in its activity is evident, since it knows itself. […] But if in activity, then also in existence, as has been shown: for everything whose activity reverts upon itself has also an existence which is self-concentrated and self-contained (Pro. 83).

Let us see this in more detail. Firstly, argues Ficino, activities or movements of the soul are of two types: direct actions (actus rectus) and reflexive actions (actus reflexus) (Th. Pl. VIII, IX, 2). In the first case, life expands towards the exterior. In the latter, activity reverts upon itself, constituting its own identity.

Ficino knows this doctrine of Proclus’ well, and refers to it specifically:

Life is the inner force that is awakened in the first movement, from which all movements of the living emanate.

There are two sorts of activity: one flows outside the agent, like heating; another remains within, like knowledge and will. It can hardly be disputed that the activity which flows outside is distinct from existence, which never flows out from the thing itself (Th. Pl. V, XIII, 8; vol. 2, 84-5).

Here Proclus makes the following distinction: he argues that unchangeable essences come from God in a way just once, but that they preserve themselves through their own power. For, since they exist through God simultaneously and without motion as wholes, they are able in some manner to remain at rest thereafter through themselves, and then to proceed by their own power from their own particular potentialities to their own acts. Wherefore he calls such essences self-subsistent and claims that they are, in a sense, self-producing (Th. Pl. XI, VI, 11; vol. 3, 308-9).

What I mean by life then is where this internal power of moving exists. This power is to be found pre-eminently in the source, origin and first movement of all activity. For movement is internal and common to the utmost degree where it is the first. But first movement is located in that third essence. So that is where life is (Th. Pl. III, II, 7; vol. 1, 242-3).

Ficino argues that this first movement is circular movement, the only kind of movement that is always conserved in an identical state over time. The soul is thus characterised by said circular movement, by which —and despite time— it always remains identical to itself. ‘Sempiternal circular motion, then, is proper to the third essence insofar as the essence is brought back in a circle to itself’ (Th. Pl. III, II, 8; vol. 1, 244-5).

To define the soul —and ultimately to argue in favour of the soul’s immortality, object of the whole of Platonic Theology— he refers to Proclus’ doctrine, again explicitly: Proclus says–and I just mention it in passing–that soul, since it is the principle of generation, gives birth to and animates itself such that it possesses essence from itself. In general, with regard to every indivisible substance existing in its own essence, he affirms that it both produces and preserves itself; whereas with regard to all divisible substance, even in the case of the heaven itself, he says that it is necessarily produced and preserved by another. But let him look to this argument himself (Th. Pl. VIII, XV, 4; vol. 2, 3567).

The circular nature of the soul’s movement is manifested in conversion, in reflexive movement, and in an awareness of its own activity. Insofar as this reflexive movement is independent of the limitations of matter, said awareness is also intellective. If this is so, it must be aware of itself and what it contains within itself. If it is aware, it must know. But it knows by understanding as long as it recognizes its essence as spiritual and free from the limitations of matter. For it is knowledge of such which is called understanding (Th. Pl. III, II, 8; vol. 1, 244-7).

Although he does not mention Proclus expressly, Ficino will often return to the human soul’s self-constitution, which distinguishes it even from the Heavens.

Here, Ficino’s references to circular movement and the very essence of the soul do not allude so much to Aristotelian cosmology as to Proclus’ dialectic: according to Proclus, the circle and circular movement express precisely the dynamic nature of the soul, and of all reality from the soul’s perspective. All has its origin in the same centre, within a perpetual movement of coming and going

25

‘Wir finden bei Proklos eine bemerkenswerte Umkehrung des ursprünglichen Sinns des Delphischen Spruchs. Der Aufruf ‘Erkenne dich selbst’ wird jetzt zum Anlass, um zu sich selbst zurückzukehren und in sich selbst den Grund des eigenes Seins und vor allem des eigenen Guten zu finden’ (Steel 2006, 255).

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This interpretation of Platonism is in contrast with Pletho’s, who identifies freedom with acceptance of the necessity of destiny (Masai 1956, 226-269). For Ficino, on the other hand, Platonism produces a radical affirmation of human freedom. Firstly, the soul is defined as a separate activity, independent of the body. Not only this, it is also regarded to be an activity that essentially constitutes itself, and therefore acts freely, independent of any other cause. It is an absolute existence, free of all ties, universal, not subject to a place or time, or any other specific circumstances. It is also an undivided existence, individual, singular —that is, identical to itself— like the centre of the circle constituted by its activity.

(πρόοδος-ἐπιστροφή). The temporal expresses its identity circularly. Within the context of the whole of Neoplatonic tradition, Proclus’ continuous reference to the circle is a very defining characteristic. Thus, Ficino’s definition of the rational soul (Th. Pl. III, II, 7; vol. 1, 243-4) implies temporality and discursive rationality, and always, animation of the body (Th. Pl. III, II, 8; vol. 1, 246-7). In short, the rational human soul is an activity that conserves itself. Such permanent activity is the expression of its identity, which remains the same over time. Because the soul’s is the first movement of all, the soul must move itself. ‘Since it is the first to be moved, this essence necessarily moves through itself freely and in a circle. If it moves through itself, it acts surely through itself’ (Th. Pl. V, V, 5; vol. 2, 30-31). 26

Conclusions

Ficino uses many different arguments when touching on this point, but time and time again, he concludes in favour of the immortality of the human soul. By asserting the independence and self-sufficiency of the human soul, he favours his strategic line of argument, which is to prove that once the soul has been created, its principle of self-constitution will enable it to remain active indefinitely, and of its own accord. ‘Soul is essence; it is also life. We have shown in our earlier proofs that it is immortal because it is an essence existing in itself’ (Th. Pl. V, XV, 1; vol. 2, 90-1).

In conclusion, the reception of Proclus in Renaissance Platonism was of great importance, introducing a number of philosophical themes that were influential to various authors such as Pletho, Cusanus, Bessarion, Ficino or Pico. Given Neoplatonism’s many different transformations and disguises, it is often difficult to make out where the influence of one author ends and another’s begins (Plotinus, Proclus, Iamblichus, Dionysius, etc.). It is therefore impossible, at times, to identify Proclus as a source for Pletho or Ficino, as his doctrines are easily confused with those of Plotinus, Iamblichus and other authors. From what we have seen here, we cannot speak of a dominating presence of Proclus in the 15th century. At least, not in Pletho or Ficino.

Several of Ficino’s arguments share a premise he often repeats: evidence of reflexivity in intellectual activity and free will. The fact that there is reflexivity witin an activity is evidence, for Ficino, that there is also reflexivity in its essence: ‘If the soul reflects upon itself via its operation, it also does via its essence’ (Th. Pl. IX, I, 4; vol. 3, 1011). 27 Reflexivity, as explained above, is not limited to intellectual conscience alone, but extends to will, which loves itself (per voluntatem in naturam eandem, quando se affectat et amat), and which also loves itself when it desires something else (per voluntatem in voluntatis actum, quando et vult aliquid, et vult se velle) (Th. Pl. IX, I, 3; vol. 3, 10-11).

There are, however, certain doctrines that can be ascribed to Proclus directly, either because Renaissance authors mention him themselves, or because of the specificity of some of his doctrines in the context of Neoplatonism. As for Pletho, it seems unlikely that everything Scholarios said about him was invented simply for the sake of slandering him, since both in Byzantium and Italy, a connection with Proclus no longer necessarily implied heterodoxy. What is relevant, in any case, is his hostility towards Dionysus and subsequent Neoplatonic tradition: in distancing himself from an isolated mystical Neoplatonism, he moves away from the medieval Dionysian tradition —which, in turn, is essential to Latin Platonism and to orthodox mystical theology (Lossky 2009, chapters I and II). Whatever the case, there are numerous elements in Pletho’s doctrines that are notably different from Proclus’.

Finally, Ficino considers the soul’s self-constitution to be an affirmation of freedom. This means that the soul’s independence and self-sufficiency implies the ability to act absolutely of its own accord. To exist in itself and act for itself is the same as acting freely (Th. Pl. IX, IV, passim.). And this, according to Ficino, is how we should interpret Plato, for whom to move on one’s own (per se moveri) and to act freely (libere agree) are the same (Th. Pl. IX, IV, 19; vol. 3, 56-7). Proclus is presented, as Plotinus was before him, as the defender of human freedom, in opposition to advocates of a deterministic view, conditioned by the heavens and bodily fluids (Th. Pl. IX, IV, 10; 18).

As for Ficino, he documented the reception of various Neoplatonic authors himself. He certainly makes reference to Proclus often, although he apparently only translated the Commentary on Alcibiades, and at a late date. But there are also many references to Platonists in general, such as Plotinus, Iamblichus, Dionysius, Pletho or Augustine. In any case, it is reasonable to assume that Proclus’ doctrine on the self-constitution of the soul had a relevant impact on Ficino’s conception of human existence and its freedom.

26

…quia cum moveatur primo, necessario movetur per se libere in circuitum. Si per se movetur, per se utique operatur. 27 si per operationem in se reflectitur, reflectitur etiam per essentiam

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reading is enough to make quite apparent― the two authors’ outlook and intentions vary significantly, the consequence of the diversity of their respective cultural contexts. Indeed, Eunapius seems to have been totally unaware of Laertius’ work, and does not appear to have shown the slightest interest in doxographical literature or in the genre of philosophical διαδοχαί.4

Diogenes Laertius between tradition and innovation: philosophers and θεῖοι ἄνδρες* Sergi Grau Universitat de Barcelona

The most interesting contrast between the two is, without a doubt, the way in which the philosophers that appear in both works are characterised as θεῖοι ἄνδρες ―or, as the English language tradition prefers to put it, pagan holy men― at a time of wide-ranging cultural changes and radical upheaval which would ultimately culminate in Christian hagiography.5 I contend that Diogenes Laertius occupies an ambiguous and uncertain position in this process, one that I will break down in this paper.

Abstract It has become commonplace for scholars to point out the similarities, as well as the vast differences —despite both works belonging to the literary genre of philosophical biography— between Diogenes Laertius’ The Lives of Eminent Philosophers and Eunapius of Sardis’ Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists, which were in all likelihood written in the space of less than a century. It is particularly salient that, although this phenomenon is often backed up by archaeological evidence, the heroisation or even deification of some ancient Greek philosophers in Laertius’ Lives tends only to be dealt with in the epigrams dedicated to them by the author – the place where Laertius usually expresses his own personal stance and his judgement on the lives and deaths of the philosophers in question. There are scarce few references to this typically Greek religious process in the body of Laertius’ narrative, except, tellingly, where this is to condemn it as fraud. As such, this short article looks to explore the somewhat ambiguous mentality, which can be seen to undergo a transformation of sorts, which emerges in Laertius’ Lives regarding the cult of the philosophers and their divine character. This is presented against a particularly significant historical backdrop immediately preceding the popularisation of the figure of the θεῖος ἀνήρ and Christian hagiography, a viewpoint which brings into focus a number of changes and continuities.

In the first place, it is worth noting that there is some evidence as to cases of genuine heroisation ―and even deification― of ancient Greek philosophers after their death, through the institution of a cult, or a shrine with an altar, whose existence has also been attested to on occasion through non-biographical documents and archaeological excavations. The most famous example is the cult of Pythagoras in the basilica at the Porta Maggiore in Rome (Carcopino 1926), which inspired Boyancé to write his canonical work about the cult of the Muses in the ancient philosophical schools and the process whereby their scholarchs were heroised.6 Thus, it appears plausible to suggest that the different philosophical schools were set up in the form of a community, with their own rules and ways of life,7 based

KEYWORDS: Diogenes Laertius, pagan holy men, Ancient Greek biography, Ancient Greek philosophers, philosophical afterlife, heroisation, deification, Laertian epigrams

of the efforts to date his lifetime carried out before the 19th century, see Trevissoi (1908-1909). Eunapius, meanwhile, is generally believed to have lived from around 347-349 to 414, although these dates are far from certain or without their controversy; see Goulet (1980, 60-64), Blockley (1981-1983, I, ix, 1), Banchich (1987) and Penella (1990, 2-4). 4 This is made apparent even in the prologue (454); see Goulet (1979). 5 Besides the now classic studies by Bieler (1935-1936), Brown (1971), Talbert (1978), Fowden (1982) and Cox (1983), must-reads on this subject include the more recent contributions by Blackburn (1991), Anderson (1994), and the voluminous update by Du Toit (1997, 77-96), who is the only scholar to have analysed Laertius’ work from this perspective; however, his account is fundamentally semantic in approach, centring around a commentary of DL VII, 117-119 and not venturing into the areas I explore in this essay. Of course, the characterisation of the θεῖος ἀνήρ is outlined extensively in the depiction of Apollonius of Tyana by Philostratus, probably written at the beginning of the third century AD, which Eunapius not only knew, but indeed praised (cf. Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists, 454), but which Laertius seems to be unaware of. 6 On the cult of the philosophers in the context of their schools, see Boyancé (1937, 229-348). 7 Pythagoras represents the most explicit case of this, with a fair few prescriptions that are more religious than philosophical in nature (Porphyry, V., XX, XL; Iamblichus, Vit. Pyth. XXX, LXVIII, CLXXXVIII, CCXXV; DL VIII, 22-24), and indeed speak of a distinctly communal lifestyle, in which resources are shared out (DL VIII, 10; Iamblichus, Vit. Pyth. XXVIII, XXX, LXXIV-LXXV, CLXVII; Porphyry, V. XXXIII). Cleobulus also gives a long list of rules of conduct (DL I, 92); Epicurus lives in the Garden with his followers, united by bonds of friendship and by the observance of a range of common prescriptions and customs (DL X, 9-10); and even Diogenes the Cynic sets out a sort of list of rules in relation to behaviour and common lifestyle (DL VI, 31). It can also be inferred that life at the Lyceum must have been somewhat community-like, particularly if one

It has become commonplace for scholars to point out the similarities (Watts 2010), as well as the vast differences ―despite both works belonging to the literary genre of philosophical biography― between Diogenes Laertius’ The Lives of Eminent Philosophers1 and Eunapius of Sardis’ Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists,2 which were in all likelihood written in the space of less than a century.3 However, as is widely recognised ―and a first *

This essay was produced as part of the research project “Los contextos del drama ático: de la inserción en la polis a la teorización filosófica” (FFI2009-13747), funded by the Spanish Ministry of Science and Innovation. It has also benefited from the research group “Studies in Ancient Greek Literature and its Reception” (2009SGR 799), funded by the Generalitat de Catalunya. 1 Since T. Dorandi’s highly awaited edition continues to be just that, I continue to use the edition by M. Marcovich. 2 As above, while we continue to await the publication of R. Goulet’s much-anticipated edition, I will continue to quote from G. Giangrande’s edition. 3 The most recent attempt to place Diogenes Laertius historically is that of Runia (1997, col. 601), according to whom he must have lived, at the very latest, in the middle of the third century A. D. Mejer (1994, 832), simply asserts that “il a pu vivre vers 200 a J-C”. For a summary of all

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on the cult of the founding master, which was often initiated immediately after his death (Boas 1948, 449).8 Moreover, these communities would then have circulated narratives about the apotheosis of their founders, so as to heighten these figures’ (and their own) standing.9 In any event, it is clear that the cult of some philosophers did exist and cannot be considered in isolation from the philosophical schools they founded.

verses of Cratinus, in which Solon himself speaks, explicitly identifying himself with Ayax, the heroguardian spirit of Salamina par excellence (fr. 246 Kassel-Austin):

In Laertius’ biographies, however, it is the closing epigrams, which are normally his own work and only occasionally lifted from others, that most often serve to uphold a philosopher’s apotheosis. Indeed, the body of the text includes only sparse references to this quintessentially Greek religious process, and even then this is predominantly, and significantly, to denounce it as a sham. Only a handful of philosophers are considered divine on the basis solely of their life’s actions: Epimenides, who is referred to as the favourite of the Gods, θεοφιλέστατος (DL I, 110); Pherecydes, who was divine because he was a prophet (DL I, 116) and spoke the language of the Gods (DL I, 119); Pythagoras, naturally, as ever, crowned by a divine halo (DL VIII, 14 is just one example); Empedocles, who called himself an “immortal god” (DL VIII, 62 = DK 31 B 112), a boast that is picked up throughout the biographical tradition; Democritus, whose predictions earned him fame as ἔνθεος (DL IX, 39); and Menedemus, who presented himself as having been inspired by the Gods when he went around in the garb of a Fury, claiming to have come from Hades to witness everything men did wrong and report these faults to the infernal Gods (DL VI, 102), although in this case these actions were largely and typically cynical and parodic (Clay 1991, 3414-3420).

Laertius’ epigram stresses his extraordinary ability as a legislator, which made him worthy of heroisation:

As men say, I still this isle inhabit, sown o'er the whole of Ajax's famous city. (DL I, 62; trans. Hicks/Yonge/author)11

Σῶμα μὲν ἦρε Σόλωνος ἐν ἀλλοδαπῇ Κύπριον πῦρ, ὀστὰ δ' ἔχει Σαλαμίς, ὧν κόνις ἀστάχυες. ψυχὴν δ' ἄξονες εὐθὺς ἐς οὐρανὸν ἤγαγον· εὖ γὰρ θῆκε νόμους αὐτοῖς ἄχθεα κουφότατα. The Cyprian flame devour'd great Solon's corpse, far in a foreign land; but Salamis retains his bones, whose dust is turned to corn. The tablets of his laws do bear aloft his soul to heaven. Such a burden light are these immortal rules to th' happy wood. (DL I, 63; trans. Hicks/Yonge/author)

As is well known, in Greece it was customary to consider the great legislators of cities their second founders, which is no doubt the reason why many of them were heroised (Farnell 1921, 361), such as Lycurgus, for whom there was a hero cult in Sparta (CIG 1256; Herodotus I, 65; Strabo, 366; FHG 3, 390; Farnell 1921, 361). This is not the only instance of one of the so-called Sages having an altar erected and temple consecrated in his honour: the same was also true for Pittacus’ “Pittacian sacred domain” in Mitylene (DL I, 75) and Teutameum (named after his father, Teutamus) for Bias in Priene (DL I, 88),12 in all likelihood to reward his services to the country, in the same way as those who had perished defending it were recognised.13 Pausanias (III 16, 4) also reports the existence of a ἡρῶον consecrated to Chilon, heroised, according to the text, for his vast wisdom (τοῦ σοφοῦ νομιζομένου). It was the same story for Aristotle in the city of Stagira, for which he was a legislator and benefactor (DL V, 2; Vita Marciana 17 Düring), just like the Sages in their respective cities: after his death, an altar was erected in his honour in the place where he was buried and this sacred site was given the name Aristoteleum (Vita Marciana 17-18 Düring = Vita Vulgata 17 Düring). There is no evidence, however, of a genuine cult of the founder of the Lyceum, as can be judged from the instructions left by Theophrastus in his will as to the most appropriate location for the statue of the master (DL V, 51).14

There are even fewer examples of philosophers explicitly stated to have been venerated with a cult by their fellow citizens: the Cretans offered sacrifices to Epimenides as a god (DL I, 114), while some versions tell the same story about Empedocles, following his mysterious disappearance (DL VIII, 68). Anaxagoras received a sort of yearly cult in Lampsacus (DL II, 14-15) and, according to Aelian (VH VIII, 19), an altar was erected for him in the city, upon which the words Νοῦς and Ἀλήθεια were inscribed. The fact that Solon’s ashes were scattered around the island of Salamina (DL I, 62) can also be interpreted in this light, according to Farnell (1921, 361).10 This heroisation is certainly in evidence in the reads the accounts of the Peripatetics; it is by no means impossible that this was also the case back at the Academy. 8 Boyancé (1937, 267) asserts that the funeral elegy dedicated to the memory of the master by Speusippus (DL III, 2) was the catalyst for Plato being viewed in Apollonian terms, thus paving the way for his subsequent heroisation. 9 Talbert (1978, 1626) wonders whether “any of the didactic biographies of philosophers or rulers [were] produced, either directly or indirectly, by communities whose existence depended upon some divine or hero figure who was the object of the community’s reverence, devotion or worship”, a musing he naturally seeks to answer in the affirmative. 10 “…[it signifies] the desire to settle his guardian-spirit in the island and suggests hero-cult; for the same history is told of Phalanthos at Tarentum, who was heroized in the latter city”. Indeed, according to Justin (II, 4), his remains were dispersed in the agora, and the city decreed divine honours for him.

11 Translated excerpts from Diogenes Laertius’ The Lives of the Philosophers have largely been taken either from Hicks (1972) or Yonge (1853), with some of my own additions and/or modifications. 12 Or Bianteum, according to IPriene (11, 245; 113, 88; 117, 34). 13 According to Farnell (1921, 326-327), “the cult is a reward for patriotism”. 14 Boyancé (1937, 316): “Il semble qu’on doive déduire qu’Aristote n’était point le parèdre des Muses et n’était pas à proprement parler héroïsé, puisque son portrait paraît simplement qualifié d’ἀναθῆμα”.

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Sergi Grau - Diogenes Laertius between tradition and innovation First of all (Anth. Pal. VII 60): Here, first of all men for pure justice famed, and moral virtue, Aristocles lies. And if there e'er has lived one truly wise, this man was wiser still; too great for envy. Another is (Anth. Pal. VII 61): Here in her bosom does the tender earth embrace great Plato's corpse. His soul aloft has ta'en its place among the immortal Gods. Ariston's glorious son –whom all good men, though in far countries, held in love and honour, remembering his pure and god-like life. And another, more modern one (Anth. Pal. VII 62): ― Eagle, why fly you o'er this holy tomb? Or are you on your way, with lofty wing, to some bright starry domicile of the Gods? ― I am the image of the soul of Plato, and to Olympus now am borne on high; his body lies in his own native Attica. (trans. Hicks/Yonge/author)

In all of these cases, one could make the case that Diogenes Laertius stays perfectly poised within the margins of traditional Greek religiosity. There is no trace, however, of traditional-style heroisation narratives along the lines of The anonymous life of Plato which, in a manner of speaking, sticks to the canonical form of traditional hero accounts: a woman15 makes her way to the oracle, most probably the one at Delphi, following the death of the master, to ask whether a stele of Plato should be placed alongside the images of the gods, with the oracle’s response in keeping with what we have come to expect on the basis of other such heroisations (Vita Platonis Anonyma 218-224): You would do well to venerate the master Plato, whose glory is on par with the gods: you will be due a noble grace from the gods, amongst whose ranks that man can now be counted. (trans. author)

It is widely accepted that Delphi often acts as a device to endorse historical heroisations, in a process identical to the one outlined above: the citizens address the Delphic oracle, whose response is that the person in question, often an athlete, must be honoured because he has become a hero who can no longer be found amongst the living.16 Like Epimenides and Empedocles, Plato was already considered divine when alive, and he is even said to have been of Apollonian birth, although it is worth noting that this motif is only fully developed in later sources, such as the Anonymous life or the work of Olympiodorus (In Platonis Alcibiadem commentarii 176178), in which Plato’s Apollonian pedigree is foregrounded.17 Nevertheless, although none of these events appear in the prose, the epigrams cited by Diogenes Laertius (III, 43-44) are altogether explicit with regards to his apotheosis:18

The epigram dedicated to him by Laertius, meanwhile, is simply a reworking of the famous oracle in which Plato is compared with Asclepius, one looking after the soul while the other tended to the body (Olympiodorus, In Platonis Alcibiadem commentarii 176-178), openly declaring him the son of Apollo (DL III, 45): καὶ πῶς, εἰ μὴ Φοῖβος ἀν' Ἑλλάδα φῦσε Πλάτωνα, ψυχὰς ἀνθρώπων γράμμασιν ἠκέσατο; καὶ γὰρ ὁ τοῦδε γεγὼς Ἀσκληπιός ἐστιν ἰητὴρ σώματος, ὡς ψυχῆς ἀθανάτοιο Πλάτων. If fav'ring Phoebus had not Plato given to Grecian lands, how would the learned God have e'er instructed mortal minds in learning? But he did send him, that as Asclepius, his son's the best physician of the body, so Plato should be of the immortal soul. (trans. Hicks/Yonge/author)

πρῶτον (Anth. Pal. VII 60)· σωφροσύνῃ προφέρων θνητῶν ἤθει τε δικαίῳ ἐνθάδε δὴ κεῖται θεῖος Ἀριστοκλέης· εἰ δέ τις ἐκ πάντων σοφίης μέγαν ἔσχεν ἔπαινον τοῦτον ἔχει πλεῖστον καὶ φθόνος οὐχ ἕπεται. ἕτερον δέ (Anth. Pal. VII 61)· γαῖα μὲν ἐν κόλπῳ κρύπτει τόδε σῶμα Πλάτωνος, ψυχὴ δ' ἀθάνατον τάξιν ἔχει μακάρων υἱοῦ Ἀρίστωνος, τόν τις καὶ τηλόθι ναίων τιμᾷ ἀνὴρ ἀγαθὸς θεῖον ἰδόντα βίον. καὶ ἄλλο νεώτερον (Anth. Pal. VII 62)· ―αἰετέ, τίπτε βέβηκας ὑπὲρ τάφον; ἦ τινος, εἰπέ, ἀστερόεντα θεῶν οἶκον ἀποσκοπέεις; ―ψυχῆς εἰμι Πλάτωνος ἀποπταμένης ἐς Ὄλυμπον εἰκών, σῶμα δὲ γηγενὲς Ἀτθὶς ἔχει.

One might argue then, as suggested above, that Laertius’ epigrams accept a form of deification of the ancient philosophers that the prose part ignores or even, on occasion, refutes. The lives ―and to an even greater extent, the deaths― of Diogenes Laertius’ philosophers are human, all too human, often teeming with defects that are anything but philosophical, and even on occasion even spilling over into the distinctly absurd (Grau 2010). Other brief indications of hero cult in Laertius include the shrine that Parmenides had built in honour of his master Ameinias (ἡρῷον ἱδρύσατο) following his death (DL IX, 21); or the funeral rites, in the form of decrees and statues, that the city of Athens bestowed upon Zeno of Citium (DL VII, 11-12; 29), which subsequently led to a hero cult of the stoic. At least this is what seems to be implied by an epigram by Antipater of Sidon (A Anth. Pal. III, 104) taken up Diogenes Laertius (VII, 29):

15 Boyancé (1937, 273) identifies her as one of his disciples, Axiothea of Phlius (DL III, 31). 16 The most interesting examples, in light of the parallel that can be drawn with Plato, are, in fact, two athletes: Theagenes of Thasos (Pausanias VI, 11, 8) and, particularly, Cleomedes of Astypalea (Pausanias VI, 9, 7), where the oracle offers a very similar response as for Plato. 17 See also the following clearly biographical utterance: ἔστιν δὲ καὶ ἐκ τῶν μετὰ τὸν βίον αὐτοῦ τὸ θεῖον αὐτοῦ καταμαθεῖν (Vita Platonis Anonyma 218). 18 On these epitaphs, whose source Laertius fails to cite, see Notopoulos (1942) and Tarán (1984).

τῆνος ὅδε Ζήνων Κιτίῳ φίλος, ὅς ποτ' Ὄλυμπον ἔδραμεν, οὐκ Ὄσσῃ Πήλιον ἀνθέμενος, οὐδὲ τά γ' Ἡρακλῆος ἀέθλεε· τὰν δέ ποτ' ἄστρα

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schools. Furthermore, while some of their biographies ―and the work of other authors on them― contain relatively overt signs of heroisation, this is not the case in Diogenes Laertius.22 As noted above, it is only Laertius’ epigrams that include references to the cult and exaltation of some of the philosophers in his work, a feature that remains notably absent from the prose. Moreover, it is worth adding that the image most commonly used to describe this exaltation is that of ascension to the heavens and even rising to be beside the Olympians, as attested to by the various epigrams already cited. It is indeed the celestial element of this type of apotheosis, as earlier pointed out by Boyancé,23 which represents the real innovation in the hero cults of historical eminences, who cast aside their traditional chthonic character to become celestial beings, a status they attain, moreover, by virtue of their moral qualities. Particularly remarkable in this light is the mention of Heracles in the epigram in honour of Zeno (DL VII, 29): like the Dioscuri and Dionysus, in classical Greek religiosity Heracles occupied an ambiguous position between god and hero, before they ultimately all become actual Olympian gods. In addition to the epigrams quoted above, another interesting example comes with the text Laertius (II, 46) dedicates to Socrates:

Here Cittium’s pride, wise Zeno, lies, who climb’d the summits of Olympus; but ne‘er strove to raise on Ossa the pine-clad Pelion; nor did he emulate th’ immortal toils of Hercules; but found a new way for himself to the stars – the way of temperance alone. (trans. Hicks/Yonge/author)

Another case in which a divine sign accompanies the death of a philosopher is that of Carneades: there was a lunar eclipse, “as if the most beautiful of all the stars, next to the sun, wished to indicate, as one might say, its compassion for the philosopher” (DL IV, 64). On the other hand, although it is one of the most distinctive and most widely studied (Boyancé 1937, 322),19 there is nothing in Laertius’ Life of Epicurus to suggest that he was deified. The full details of his cult were prescribed in his will: the heirs of his school were to make funerary offerings (ἐναγίσματα) to all his family, as well as to him on his birthday, while his own memory and that of Metrodorus was to be honoured on the twentieth day of each month (DL X, 16-18).20 While Boyancé (1937, 324) did not see any sign of apotheosis in this cult, viewing it rather as simply a group whose life, like at the Academy or the Peripatos, was structured around the precepts of a religion (1937, 327), more recent studies, such as the work of D. Clay (1986, 11, note 2), have systematically analysed the cult of Epicurus, confirming that there was indeed such a thing as a genuine hero cult around the figure of Epicurus as a founder.21

πῖνέ νυν ἐν Διὸς ὤν, ὦ Σώκρατες· ἦ σε γὰρ ὄντως καὶ σοφὸν εἶπε θεός, καὶ θεὸν ἡ σοφίη. πρὸς γὰρ Ἀθηναίων κώνειον ἁπλῶς μὲν ἐδέξω· αὐτοὶ δ' ἐξέπιον τοῦτο τεῷ στόματι. Drink then, being in Zeus's palace, O Socrates, for truly did the God pronounce you wise, and wisdom God, for when thou didst frankly take the hemlock at the hands of the Athenians, they themselves drained it as it passed your lips. (trans. Hicks/Yonge/author)

It seems, therefore, that the philosophers who are subject to a clear apotheosis in Laertius’ Lives are overarchingly the recognised thaumaturges and the founders of the great

Here Socrates is explicitly presented as a god who has undergone a celestial apotheosis as a result of his wisdom; however, there is no mention of any sort of cult in his honour, which strikes one as somewhat odd in light of his biographical tradition, in which there is no shortage of testimonies as to his divine or semi-divine character,24 with a particular emphasis on the events surrounding his death.

19 “Le penseur, qui fut l’adversaire le plus acharné et de la providence des dieux et de l’immortalité de l’âme, est peut-être celui dont les disciples vénérèrent le plus pieusement le souvenir”. This is indeed a clear contradiction with the doctrine of λάθε βιώσας, a fact which Plutarch condemns on several occasions (1129a; 1089c). As elsewhere, this veneration comes from the philosopher’s work, according to which the sage is a god (Men. 124, 134; see also Lucretius III, 322: dignam dis degere uitam), in which beatitude predominates (Men. 123): it seems logical, therefore, that the disciples would identify the image of the sage with that of the master. 20 For an analysis of Epicurus’ will, see Dimakis (1987) and Dorandi (1991). Cicero, too, expressed shock at these prescriptions, and going to no great lengths to hide his scorn (Fin. II, 31, 101), while Pliny (N. H. XXXV, 5) describes the ritual: Epicuri uoltus per cubicula gestant ac circumferunt secum. Natali eius sacrificant, feriasque omni mense custodiunt uicessima luna quas icadas uocant, precisely the ones that se ne uiuentes quidem nosci uolunt. See also Aelian (fr. 39), who offers a similar account. 21 “The provisions of Epicurus’ will as evidence for a cult of heroes among the Epicureans”. This had previously been noted by Deneken (1886, col. 2534). Clay (1986, 27) sees the cults of the statues of the master and the festive celebrations of his dies natalis as a proof that Epicurus “was the founder of the cults of his philosophical community and in a true sense a heros ktistes, and it is in his life that we see the most eloquent exemplification of the attempt to imitate the divine (ὁμοίωσις θεῷ)”. There may even be archaeological evidence of a place of cult, as can be seen in a passage in Heliodorus (I, 16, 5) which refers to a μνῆμα frequented by the Epicureans on the outskirts of Athens: this, at least, is how Clay (1986, 26-27) and Clark (1973, 386) see it.

22

Diogenes the Cynic, who may also have been subject to a hero cult, is another interesting case; see Daraki (1986, 99-100) and López Cruces (2004). 23 Boyancé (1937, 247; 291; 307): hero cult undergoes “une modification essentielle, le jour où elle a cessé d’être une forme plus élevée du culte des morts, où le héros est devenu non plus chtonien, mais céleste”. 24 Indeed, he compares himself to the likes of Achilles (Plato, Crit. 44b) and Heracles (Plato, A 22a), and asserts that his task is a divine one (Plato, A 20e; 21a; 27b; 30c). Clay (1972) develops the idea that Socrates compares himself to a mule (Plato, Conu. 221e; A 27e) because he sees himself as a demigod, like Achilles and Heracles, i.e., someone halfway between men and gods, just like mules are a cross between donkeys and horses. For the comparison with Heracles, see Loraux (1985).

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Sergi Grau - Diogenes Laertius between tradition and innovation οὐ μᾶλλον Πολέμωνα, τὸ σῶμα δέ· τοῦτο γὰρ αὐτὸς βαίνων ἐς ἄστρα διάβορον θῆκεν χαμαί.

This process whereby celestial apotheosis is framed in epigrammatic form is particularly common when philosophers have had a violent and thus noble death: their enemies may well have managed to destroy their body, but not their persons. Such is the case of Anaxarchus, tortured to death by the tyrant Nicocreon of Cyprus, for whom Laertius composes a triumphant epigram, emulating the philosopher’s own celebrated words: “πτίσσε τὸν Ἀναξάρχου θύλακον, Ἀνάξαρχον δὲ οὐ πτίσσεις”, “Beat the pouch of Anaxarchus, but you will not beat Anaxarchus himself” (DL IX, 59):

Can you not hear? We have buried Polemon, who was here vanquished by a disease, the terrible burden of humans. But Polemon was not vanquished, rather his body. For his self left this earth as he rose to the heavens. (trans. Hicks/Yonge/author)

What is more, these epigrams offer a particularly interesting insight from the point of view of biographical commonplaces, inasmuch as they seem to anticipate, at least in their form, the literary formula of the later — naturally celestial— Christian apotheoses, in which the martyr stands firm in the face of torture, proffering lapidary statements at the moment of their death, their soul abandoning their body to rise up to the heavens, the realm of God. Furthermore, in the majority of the apotheoses explored thus far, there is a blurring of the lines between hero cult and divine cult, particularly in relation to the position occupied by gods and heroes in the ancient Greek religious system: philosophers are likened to gods, glorified like gods and, most importantly, as highlighted above, lose their traditional chthonic quality and become celestial. There is unfortunately no space within the scope of the present essay to analyse the nature of this ritual change, which Farnell considered degraded (Farnell 1921, 361),27 in any greater depth, but suffice it to say that the celestial apotheosis of the philosopher rapidly took root as a cliché within the biographical tradition (Holland 1925, 207).

πτίσσετε, Νικοκρέων, ἔτι καὶ μάλα · θύλακός ἐστι· πτίσσετ'· Ἀνάξαρχος δ' ἐν Διός ἐστι πάλαι. καί σε διαστείλασα γνάφοις ὀλίγον τάδε λέξει ῥήματα Φερσεφόνη, ‘ἔρρε μυλωθρὲ κακέ’. Beat more and more; you're beating but a pouch; beat, Anaxarchus is long housed with Zeus. And after she has drawn you upon her cardingcombs a little while, Persephone will utter these words: Out with thee, villainous miller! (trans. Hicks/Yonge/author).

This same topos reappears in the epigram in honour of Zeno of Elea,25 another to fall glorious victim to torture by tyrants, this time at the hands of Nearchus; while there is no mention of a celestial apotheosis to the heavens with Zeus, the verses do include the motif of the demise of the philosopher’s body as apart from his self (DL IX, 28): ἤθελες, ὦ Ζήνων, καλὸν ἤθελες ἄνδρα τύραννον κτείνας ἐκλῦσαι δουλοσύνης Ἐλέαν. ἀλλ' ἐδάμης· δὴ γάρ σε λαβὼν ὁ τύραννος ἐν ὅλμῳ κόψε. τί τοῦτο λέγω; σῶμα γάρ, οὐχὶ δὲ σέ.

Lucian (Per. 39) offers a compelling parody of this cliché in his account of the death of the cynic Peregrinus: when asked by some dullards about his death on the pyre he tells them that at the very moment at which it was kindled an earthquake took place and a vulture emerged out of the midst of the flames, screaming, as it flew off to heaven: ἔλιπον γᾶν, βαίνω δ’ ἐς Ὄλυμπον. And, naturally, Philostratus’ well-known account of the apotheosis of Apollonius of Tyana takes up the same motif: having entered the temple of Artemis in Crete, the doors closed behind him and a chorus of maidens struck up, chanting: στεῖχε γᾶς, στεῖχε ἐς οὐρανόν, στεῖχε (Philostratus, V. A. VIII, 30). As is the case for a range of other ancient philosophers, Apollonius’ divine character was recognised even while he was alive (Philostratus, V. A. III, 50; IV, 31; V, 24; VII, 11; 21; 31; 38), with the most conspicuous precedent coming with the death of Empedocles: as above, at midnight one of his disciples heard an extraordinary voice calling the philosopher and then saw a celestial light and the glare of torches; thus convinced of the apotheosis of their master, all those present offered sacrifices in his honour like to a god (DL VIII, 68). Later, Diogenes Laertius recounts, his friend Pausanias erected a funerary monument and a shrine for him (DL VIII, 71). The older biographies, however,

You wished, Zeno, and noble was your wish, to slay the tyrant freeing Elea from the harsh bonds of slavery. But you were disappointed; for the tyrant caught you and pounded you in a mortar. But what is this that I say? It was your body he crushed, not you. (trans. Hick/Yonge/author)

The cult reserved for tyrannicides was well established in ancient Greece, going back as early as Harmodius and Aristogeiton, who received hero cult in Athens (Demosthenes XIX, 280; Pollux VII, 91). But the same formula is similarly reiterated in the epigrams dedicated to some philosophers who, far from violently at the hands of a tyrant, died a placid and peaceful death, which is regarded equally favourably in the biographical tradition.26 This was true for the scholar Polemon of Athens (DL IV, 20): οὐκ ἀΐεις; Πολέμωνα κεκεύθαμεν, ὃν θέτο τῇδε ἀρρωστίη, τὸ δεινὸν ἀνθρώποις πάθος.

25

In truth, as remarked by Dorandi (1994), both accounts draw on the same biographical cliché, and it is likely that Zeno’s version is based on that of Anaxarchus. 26 For a categorisation and analysis of the different ways in which the ancient philosophers met their death, see Grau (2010).

27 Indeed, he views the heroisation of real persons as “a new and sudden aberration, a sign of a later decadence in the Greek religious intellect”.

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Hades (DL VIII, 21),31 explaining how the hoax had been perpetrated: he alleges that, as soon Pythagoras he arrived in Italy, the philosopher built an underground chamber, like Zalmoxis in the Herodotean account (IV, 95), and that his mother kept him in touch with what was going on in the outside world by sending him down tablets upon which events were inscribed (DL VIII, 41).32 Hermippus also belies the story whereby Empedocles brought a young girl back to life, asserting that she was in fact still alive when the philosopher found her (DL VIII, 69 = fr. 27 Wehrli = FGrHist 1026 F 62). At any rate, Laertius’ preference for the less divinising versions of the stories of both philosophers is made suitably apparent, as is his wont, in the decidedly malicious epigrams that he composes for the pair. In reference to Pythagoras (DL VIII, 44) he writes:

contain nothing comparable to the scene of Apollonius introducing himself to his disciples after his death in order to confirm his new divine status to them (Philostratus, V. A. VII 31). Diogenes Laertius, on the other hand, tends to have no truck with these marvels, going to great lengths, rather, to refute them: this is assuredly the most significant difference between the biographical narration —and, thus, the image— of the ancient philosophers and those of the so-called θεῖοι ἄνδρες. Indeed, Diogenes Laertius favours Hippobotus’ account of the death of Empedocles (fr. 16 Gigante), according to which so desperately did the philosopher seek to be considered a god, he leapt into the crater of Etna, only for the volcano to spit out one of his legendary bronze sandals, betraying his real fate; or even that the philosopher had instructed one of his slaves to declare that he had seen him rise up towards the heavens amidst much clamour and glowing lights (DL VIII, 69). Like Lucian’s mendacious Peregrinus, whose story we examined above, Empedocles stands accused of having sought to become a god by following in the footsteps of Heracles, through fire (Brelich 1958, 194).28 Diogenes Laertius also has time for Timaeus’ account (FGrHist 566 F 6), according to which Empedocles died in exile in Peloponnesus, without a tomb, something less than extraordinary at the time according to Timaeus (DL VIII, 71), who lambasts Heraclides Ponticus for upholding the deifying version (fr. 84 Werhli).

οὐ μόνος ἀψύχοις ἔπεχες χέρας, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἡμεῖς· τίς γὰρ ὃς ἐμψύχων ἥψατο, Πυθαγόρα; ἀλλ' ὅταν ἑψηθῇ τι καὶ ὀπτηθῇ καὶ ἁλισθῇ, δὴ τότε καὶ ψυχὴν οὐκ ἔχον ἐσθίομεν. ἄλλο (Anth. Pal. V 34)· ἦν ἄρα Πυθαγόρης τοῖος σοφός, ὥστε μὲν αὐτὸς μὴ ψαύειν κρειῶν καὶ λέγεν ὡς ἄδικον, σιτίζειν δ' ἄλλους. ἄγαμαι σοφόν· αὐτὸς ἔφα μὲν οὐκ ἀδικεῖν, ἄλλους δ' αὐτὸς ἔτευχ' ἀδικεῖν. You're not the only man who has abstained from living food, for so likewise have we; and who, I'd like to know did ever taste food while alive, Pythagoras? When meat is boil'd, roasted well and salted, then we eat food that has no soul. Another is: So wise was wise Pythagoras that he would touch no meats, but called it impious, bade others eat. Good wisdom: not for us to do the wrong; let others impious be. (trans. Hicks/Yonge/author)

This is also the case for Pythagoras, to give another of the most important examples: the idea that he was venerated as a god while still alive only appears in the later sources, such as in the renowned passage in Iamblichus in which he recounts that Pythagoras’ disciples ranked him with the gods, viewing him as akin to a benevolent divinity, declaring that he was the Pythian Apollo, Hyperborean or Paean, or one of the divinities from the moon, or, lastly, that he was one of the Olympian Gods, who had come down to the earth in order to correct the life of the living and extend to them the salutary felicity of philosophy (Vit. Pyth. XXX).29 Aristotle, however, asserts that Pythagoras was venerated in Italy even during his time (Rhet. 1398b), and it seems that the house in which his disciples gathered in Metapontum was turned into a temple in honour of Demeter, while the garden at the front was consecrated to the Muses (Porphyry, V. P. IV; DL VIII, 15; Iamblichus, Vit. Pyth. CLXX); indeed, it is possible that Pythagoras received a cult in this temple following his death (Boyancé 1937, 234-235).30 The site was still visited as late as Cicero (Fin. V 2, 4). Diogenes Laertius, meanwhile, prefers the versions that dispute his divine character, in the vein of Hermippus, who raised doubts about the philosopher’s celebrated descent to

And upon Empedocles (DL VIII, 75) he wrote the following lines: καὶ σύ ποτ', Ἐμπεδόκλεις, διερῇ φλογὶ σῶμα καθήρας πῦρ ἀπὸ κρητήρων ἔκπιες ἀθανάτων· οὐκ ἐρέω δ' ὅτι σαυτὸν ἑκὼν βάλες ἐς ῥόον Αἴτνης, ἀλλὰ λαθεῖν ἐθέλων ἔμπεσες οὐκ ἐθέλων. καὶ ἄλλο (Anth. Pal. VII 124)· ναὶ μὴν Ἐμπεδοκλῆα θανεῖν λόγος ὥς ποτ' ἀμάξης ἔκπεσε καὶ μηρὸν κλάσσατο δεξιτερόν· εἰ δὲ πυρὸς κρατῆρας ἐσήλατο καὶ πίε τὸ ζῆν, πῶς ἂν ἔτ' ἐν Μεγάροις δείκνυτο τοῦδε τάφος;

31 J. Bollansée’s (1999) commentary on Hermippus (FGrHist 1026 F 25) is particularly useful. 32 In fact, as Burkert (1962, 155-161), in spite of its distinctly satirical tone, Hermippus’ account nevertheless draws on certain ancient archetypes: the instructions Pythagoras receives from his mother are ostensibly really instructions from the Mother, i.e., Demeter, with whom the philosopher remains openly connected in order to travel to Hades. Hermippus likely took an ancient text and turned it into this rationalist caricature. Echoes can also be found in Lucian, Alex. IV, 20.

28

For fire as an immortalising element, see Desman (1949). For Heracles’ immortalisation and his role as a precedent for other apotheoses, see Stoessl (1945). 29 See also Iamblichus (Vit. Pyth. LIII, CXLIII, CL, CCXXV). 30 This interpretation varies from that of Vallet (1974), who endorses the idea that the later meaning of the word στενωπός as “alley” applies in the context: as he sees it, the Metapontines thus dubbed the street on which Pythagoras’ house was located στενωπὸς μουσεῖος in his honour.

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Sergi Grau - Diogenes Laertius between tradition and innovation You, Empedocles, didst purge your body in the nimble flame, fire thou didst drink from everlasting craters. I say not that you threw yourself at once into the stream of Etna's fiery flood. But seeking to conceal yourself you fell, and so you met with unintended death. And another runs: ‘Tis said the wise Empedocles did fall out of his chariot, and so broke his right thigh. But if he leapt into the flames of Etna and so took a draught of life, how could his tomb then be shown in Megara? (trans. Hicks/Yonge/author).

to subject the ancient philosophers to the same hero cult as so many other historical characters; in particular legislators, athletes and citizens who died defending the country, such as tyrannicides, as well as poets, with whom they indeed display the greatest similarity, since both groups were heroised on the basis of their work and their cult originated within a defined community.34 In this regard, Laertius’ biographical accounts in prose fail to deviate from the traditional canons and conventions, although they do, on some specific occasions, successfully debunk ostensible apotheoses. It is in the epigrams, meanwhile, that Laertius gives pride of place to any innovations, particularly in reference to the formulation of the divine apotheosis of θεῖοι ἄνδρες as heavenly ascent. Bearing in mind that the epigrams are the place in which Laertius tends to issue his final personal judgement on the life and death of the philosophers covered in the prose biographies,35 it is not too great a leap to suggest that they are also the site in which the new schools of thought prevalent in his time make themselves felt most acutely, while the rest of his oeuvre continues to conform to the tradition that underscores his sources, which in turn draw exclusively from the work of philosophers from before the first century AD. Indeed, there is no shortage of interesting departures from tradition: neither Pythagoras nor Epicurus, nor other philosophers whose deification is commonplace in later sources, are explicitly deified, or even heroised, in Diogenes Laertius’ work. One could say, therefore, that Laertius does not seem to have shared the penchant for thaumaturgy, conjecture and fantastical narratives that were to become all the rage amongst the public that consumed the biographies of philosophers and hagiographies.36

Similarly, there are some cases in Laertius’ Lives in which the sham is exposed in the nick of time and the philosophers’ claims put paid to for all posterity. The most prominent example of this comes with Heraclides Ponticus: according to Demetrius of Magnesia (F 18 Mejer), he reared a snake, aiming to make it appear on his deathbed, so that the multitude who had congregated would think that he had migrated to the Gods,33 but the fraud was revealed just in time, and Heraclides’ name left categorically soiled (DL V, 89-90), a fact also attested to by Laertius’ epigram (V, 90): ἤθελες ἀνθρώποισι λιπεῖν φάτιν, Ἡρακλείδη, ὥς ῥα θανὼν ἐγένου ζωὸς ἅπασι δράκων. ἀλλὰ διεψεύσθης, σεσοφισμένε· δὴ γὰρ ὁ μὲν θὴρ ἦε δράκων, σὺ δὲ θήρ, οὐ σοφὸς ὤν, ἑάλως. You wish’d, O Heraclides, when you died, to leave a belief among mankind, that you, when dead, a serpent had become. But you were deceived, you sophist, for this your serpent was indeed a beast, and you were thus discovered and pronounced another. (trans. Hicks/Yonge/author)

Hermippus’ version (fr. 42 Wehrli = FGrHist 1026 F 71) is even more outlandish, Heraclides going as far as to bribe the Pythian priestess to proclaim that the citizens should present the philosopher with a golden crown while alive, and then pay him honours as a hero upon his death. However, just as Heraclides is being crowned in the theatre, he is beset by a sudden apoplexy and drops dead, the ambassadors he had sent to consult the oracle are stoned to death, while the Pythian priestess is killed having been bitten by a snake within the shrine (DL V, 91). Lucian’s account of the death of the false prophet Alexander is yet more scathing still: he refuses to countenance the suggestion of even a hint of divine retribution in his sudden death, but rather, picking up where Heracles left off, states that it must be put down to pure chance (Alex. 60).

34

As well as the evidence presented by Farnell (1921), more recently Clay (2004, 127-153), explores the evidence of cults of poets, thereby demonstrating that there were no cultic differences where poets and philosophers were concerned. Aristotle (Rhet. 1398b), meanwhile, offers a highly interesting inventory of real persons who were the subject of a cult in their time, including —and hardly coincidentally— poets and philosophers, both honoured on account of their wisdom. 35 Indeed, the epigrams added by Laertius at the end of most of his biographies are the place where it is easiest to glean the author’s sympathy for or aversion to the respective philosophers: they represent without a doubt the most personal part of his work, as they are purely products of his own creativity and he often uses them to clarify which of the conflicting versions set out in the prose he favours, or simply to offer a definitive and categorical verdict on each philosopher (Veillard 2009, 78-79). For a systematic analysis of this device, I refer to Grau (2010). 36 In this regard, I broadly agree with Veillard (2009, 82-87), which is indeed consistent with the more extensive treatment of the subject in Grau (2009, 289-297). Nevertheless, I believe that this essay serves to qualify his hypotheses in some respects.

In conclusion, therefore, it can be stated that in the Greek religious and biographical tradition, there was a tendency 33 Literally, to pretend that he had left to be with the gods, ἵνα δόξειεν εἰς θεοὺς μεταβεβηκέναι. This clearly parodic scene also takes us back to the celestial, rather than chthonic, notion of the hero, as discussed above. The device of heroisation through the presence of a snake, however, remains a chthonic and traditional one; see Farnell (1921, 366), Brelich (1958, 220-222) and Burkert (1985, 195; 201).

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Abstract

criticism.7 The genre of the latter poem restricts spaces for programmatic statements, here reduced to the final lines of the poem, where he underlines the novelty of his poetry.8 In the Dionysiaca, because of the chosen genre, he enjoys more freedom. The most important programmatic spaces of the Dionysiaca are the proems introducing the first and second half of the poem, the beginning of books 1 and 25. There Nonnus develops a series of interrelated topics also appearing elsewhere in the poem.

This paper attempts an analysis of the rhetorical elements of novelty in the Dionysiaca of the fifth-century Graeco-Egyptian Nonnus of Panopolis. The author concludes that the poet restricts his references to novelty to the second proem of the Dionysiaca, a programmatic space in which it became a common element. Though the poem was considered to embody the late antique ‘new style’ already in its time, novelty was too perilous a concept to be used extensively throughout the poem to characterise Dionysus and his world.

The first of these topics is the rejection of the traditional symbols of poetry, to be replaced by others which are better adjusted to the theme of the poem. In the first proem, the poet claims the narthex, the nebris, wine, the aegis carried by Maron and the satyrs, and the drum,9 and rejects Homeric poetry, considering it rancid and reeking.10 He also rejects the aulos (the symbol of bucolic poetry) because he is afraid of affronting Apollo.11

KEYWORDS: Nonnus of Panopolis, late antique epic, novelty, intersections of rhetoric and literature, reception studies

A similar rhetoric of rejection of ‘old’ genres or of an old-fashioned understanding of other poetic genres recurs throughout the poem,12 usually transformed into an agon. Nonnus does not consign other genres to oblivion; on the contrary, he builds his new epic defeating poetically the rest of the genres. In this confrontation, Dionysus (and his entourage), the new epic and the poet (who becomes part of the Dionysiac thiasos in the first proem) form a united front against other gods, other genres (and different ways of understanding them) and other poets.

Rhetoric of novelty in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus of Panopolis1 Laura Miguélez-Cavero University of Oxford

The appreciation of novelty does not show as a novel element in late antique Greek literature. It is present already in the Homeric poems2 and Callimachus chooses untrodden paths as the topic for his poetry.3 Each generation and each writer define their literary personality highlighting their own proposals, just as much as they try to attract onto themselves the authority of earlier, established authors. In the works of Nonnus of Panopolis, we perceive the creative tension between the claim on earlier achievements and the creation of an epic style often described as ‘new’ in contemporary criticism.4

Grapes and wine defeat the attributes of the rest of the gods, often in a symbolic agon: e.g. Dionysus’ wine defeats Aristaeus’ honey (19, 225 ff.) and Demeter’s wheat (12, 210; 254-5).13 Dionysus defeats his divine 7 The influence of the Commentary of the Gospel of John by Cyril of Alexandria is particularly clear (Livrea 1989, 25; Livrea 2000, 52-53; De Stefani 2002, 9; Agosti 2003, 52-56; 145-147). 8 ‘About many other miracles which Jesus himself performed kept quiet the witness of truth with knowing silence. If a mortal were to put them all into writing successively, I think that not even the infinite, beautifully shaped cosmos could contain so many recently forged books’ (Nonn. P. 21, 139-143). βίβλους… νεοτευχέας refers to the books of the New Testament —books of the Old Testament are P. 6, 217 προτέρων… ἀσιγήτων ἀπὸ βίβλων— and to the novel stance of books such as the Paraphrase, along the lines of turns of phrase such as Homer’s δίφροι / καλοὶ πρωτοπαγεῖς νεοτευχέες (Il. 5, 193-4), Timotheos’ μοῦσαν  νεοτευχῆ (Pers. 216) or Theocritus’ κισσύβιον... / ἀμφῶες, νεοτευχές, ἔτι γλυφάνοιο ποτόσδον (Id. I, 27-28), on which see Hunter (1999, 78, n. 28). Analysis in Agosti (2004, 18-19; 2006, 53-60). 9 ‘Give me the fennel, Mimallons! On my shoulders in place of the wonted kirtle, bind, I pray, tight over my breast a dapple-back fawnskin, full of the perfume of Maronian nectar’ (Nonn. D. 1, 34-7); ‘Give me the jocund tambours and the goatskins!’ (ibid. 39). Both in Rouse (1940). 10 ‘And let Homer and deep-sea Eidothea keep the rank sink of the seals for Menelaos’ (Nonn. D. 1, 37-38). 11 ‘But leave for another the double-sounding pipe with its melodious sweetness, or I may offend my own Apollo; for he rejects the sound of breathing reeds’ (Nonn. D. 1, 39b-41). 12 E.g. when Bacchus organises as part of the funerary games of Staphylos a contest of pantomime (19, 137-158; 181-188). There are also some references to the instruments of other genres in the second proem (25, 18; 25, 20b-21; 25, 267b-270). 13 See also 12, 257-289: Dionysus rejoices because the vine has defeated the plants of other gods.

Nonnus asserts his credentials to innovation starting with the conception of his two works: he is a Christian who in his Dionysiaca engages in the celebration of a pagan god who does not come into conflict with his own Christian beliefs,5 and in the Paraphrase of the Gospel of John he reduces the presence of Homer, usually ubiquitous in biblical epic,6 and reflects contemporary biblical 1 Research for this paper was financially supported by the Spanish Ministry of Science and Innovation, which funded the project FFI201021125 (FILO). 2 ‘For men praise that song the most that comes the newest to their ears’ (Od. 1, 351-352; transl. Murray 1995), on which see D’Angour (2011, 184-9). See also Pindar (N. 8, 20-21) and Timotheos (PMG 796). On the semantics of newness see D’Angour (2011, 19-84). 3 Call. (Aetia Prolog. 25-28); D’Alessio (2004). The same motif recurs in Opp. (C. 1, 20-21). On tradition and innovation in Hellenistic poetry, see Bing (1988, 10-90). 4 Vian (1986) differentiates archaising and modern poets, and Agosti and Gonnelli (1995, 293) follow this division, albeit with flexibility. See also Gonnelli (2003, 7-10) and Agosti (2009, 113-116). 5 Among other reasons, because the Dionysiaca neither reflects on Dionysiac rituals, nor the symbolic and philosophical interpretations of Dionysiac religion proposed in Imperial times (Vian 1988; 1994, 214233; 1995a, 83-84). 6 On the differences between classicising Biblical epic and Nonnus’ Paraphrase, see Agosti (2001, 92-99).

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enemies (Hera, Poseidon), monsters (the giants), heroes who are, like him, sons of Zeus (comparison with Perseus, Minos and Heracles in book 25), and his human enemies (the Indians). The new epic defeats the old one (especially Homer)14 and other genres (Miguélez-Cavero 2008, 167-180). Nonnus’ main line of attack against Homer is that he chose a minor theme (the war of Troy, a small city) and a minor protagonist (Achilles).15 The defeat of a genre is particularly visible in the episode of Hymnos and Nicaea (books 15-16), where thanks to the wine, Dionysus deflowers Nicaea, who had remained unaffected by Hymnos’ pastoral methods of seduction (Harries 1994, 72-76; 2006, 529-536). Dionysus triumphs and so do the poet and his epic. In other words, when the poet gets Dionysus to defeat the other gods, he achieves his own victory against Homer.

alone, but to compete both with the old and the new, in terms of traditional mimesis. Also, the programmatic statement is not introduced in the first proem of the Dionysiaca, which had necessarily to mirror somehow traditional epic proems, but relegated to the second proem, where explicit references to innovation and to composition in the contemporary poetic frame would have been expected, especially when related to the proems of earlier anthologies of epigrams.19

Nonnus was considered novel already in Antiquity and the agon with ancient poets became a common topic in programmatic texts The agon with the ancient poets, in terms similar to Nonnus’, became a common topic in programmatic texts in Late Antiquity, and reached even minor authors such as Dioscorus of Aphrodito,20 but the best example is that of Agathias. In the proem to his Kyklos of epigrams, where he positions himself regarding the tradition of the anthology (Magnelli 2008), he introduces the themes of the seven books which he has gathered. In the first one he presents the ‘new’ poets, who have composed poetry in rivalry with the old ones (AP 4, 3, 114-117):

The agon with ancient authors, especially with Homer, is continuous in the poem, but Nonnus (D. 25, 27-30) makes only one explicit claim of rivalry with his contemporaries: But I will set up the toils and sweat of Dionysos in rivalry with both new and old; I will judge the manhood of the sons of Zeus, and see who endured such an encounter, who was like unto Bacchus.16

I will first select for you, competing with men of old time, all that the parents of the new song wrote as an offering to the old gods. For it was meet to adhere to the wise model of the ancient writers.21

We know that the comparison between ancient and modern authors was real in literary circles, where classical and more recent texts were read, analysed and valued.17 Besides, his agonistic conception of poetry (Agosti 2006, 51-53) makes the new one inseparable from the old with which it establishes a constant dialogue through frequent references to the old.18 Here Nonnus does not follow Callimachus’ call to walk untrodden ground (Aetia Proem 25-8): this is not a call for novelty

In the prologue to his Histories (proem. 8) Agathias remembers the process of editing the anthology and refers to this passage:

14

On Nonnus and Homer, see Hopkinson (1994); Vian (1991). ‘Once more let us slay the race of Erythraian Indians: for Time never saw before another struggle like the Eastern War, nor after the Indian War in later days has Enyo seen its equal. No such army came to Ilion, no such host of men’ (Nonn. D. 2, 359-363; 25, 22-27a; 25, 257-260). He refutes Homer in 42, 178-181 (cancelling Il. 13, 636-639). This does not prevent Nonnus of invoking Homer to praise Dionysus (13, 47-50; 25, 9-10; 253-254; 260b-270; 32, 184b-185). 16 Novelty becomes repetition with the adverb πάλιν, ‘once more’: (25, 1) Μοῦσα,  πάλιν  πτολέμιζε  σοφὸν  μόθον  ἔμφρονι  θύρσῳ; (5) Ἰνδῴης  πλατάνοιο  πάλιν  κλάζουσι  νεοσσοί; (18-19) εἴπατε,  Μοῦσαι, / τίς  πάλιν  Ἀμφίων  λίθον  ἄπνοον  εἰς  δρομόν  ἕλκει; (22) Ἀλλὰ πάλιν κτείνωμεν Ἐρυθραίων γένος Ἰνδῶν. See Agosti (2006, 51). 17 E.g. Synesius does not send a letter to Marcian, because he knows that it will be read and analysed in his literary circle, where old and new texts are read (Lit. 101, 69-78: ‘I should have liked to write to him [Marcian] directly, but I have become stiff, that I may not expose myself to corrections from the pedants who polish every syllable. There is no small danger that the letter would be read in the Panhellenion. This I call the place in which many a time I thought deep thoughts, where the famous from all parts of the world meet, to hear the sacred voice of the old gentleman whose researches comprehend tales both past and present [παλαιὰ  καὶ  νέα  καταμαστευούσης  διηγήματα]’). Transl. Fitzgerald (1926). Analysis: Garzya and Roques (2000, 357-358; nn. 33; 37); Agosti (2006, 40-43). 18 And Homer is the old poet par excellence: of the Iliad, Nonnus says that it is ‘a book immortal as the Dawn’ (D. 25, 254: βίβλος  ὁμόχρονος Ἠριγενείῃ). 15

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Furthermore I thought it a praiseworthy and not unpleasing undertaking to make as complete a collection as possible of those recent and contemporary epigrams which were as yet unknown and indiscriminately murmured on the lips of some, and to write them down appropriately classified and arranged. (Translation Frendo 1975)

To which we should add that later on he will call Nonnus one of the new poets (Hist. 4, 23, 5): At all events this theme [the contest of Apollo and Marsyas], which is handled by the poets of old, has been taken over and exploited also by modern poets, one of whom Nonnus of Panopolis in Egypt.

19 The proem to the Garland of Meleager (AP 4, 1) and the proem to the Garland of Philippus (AP 4, 2), insisted that the collected poems contained an innovative element (AP 4, 1, 53-55; AP 4, 2, 1-6; 13-14). 20 E.g.: ‘It is not necessary to celebrate Homer, nor the dancing Muses: it is preferable to sing your name, sung by all, because you have grace and charm and the dear flower of eloquence’ (Diosc. Aphr. 9, 4-5 Fournet; see analysis in Agosti 2005, 212-213). On Eudocia, see Agosti (2001, 74-85). 21 Also, ‘I am going to serve you a meal to which many new flavourings contribute’ (AP 4, 3, 19-20); ‘I recently kneaded fresh poetical dough’ (29b-30). Transl. Paton (1927).

Laura Miguélez-Cavero - Rhetoric of novelty in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus of Panopolis

We may think that this is simply a temporal division of poets into old and new,22 but Agathias seems to echo Nonnus’ νέοισι καὶ ἀρχεγόνοισιν ἐρίζων (D. 25, 27), which makes this not only a chronological but also a stylistic classification (Miguélez-Cavero 2008, 88-90; Gonnelli 2003, 9-10). This means that Nonnus had become a champion of modern poetics to the eyes of his contemporaries and learned readers of the following centuries.23 A sign of his novelty occurred in programmatic passages, in the agon with previous poetry and with other poets composing in the same new style.

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Dionysus himself is presented as a reincarnation of the first Dionysus, Zagreus, son of Zeus and Persephone, killed by the Titans.28

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Dionysus is not presented as the founder of his own mysteries: first Dionysus and his nurse Mystis learn how to perform them out of instinct (9, 111-131; Chrétien 1985, 109) and later Ino is attributed the instauration of Bacchic choruses following a prophecy by Apollo (9, 284-286).

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Vine and wine are presented as a novelty, but constantly put on a level with the attributes of other gods.29 The vine comes from the metamorphosed body of Ampelus (12, 174-196), from whom it receives its name, and is described as a young, recently grown plant30 which reflects faithfully the nature of the young man. The detailed description of the metamorphoses insists that Ampelus’ nature does not change because of his transformation into a plant (Vian 1995, 70). The metamorphosis simply happens, without Dionysus having any role in it. Dionysus cannot be credited with the creation of the vine.

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Wine is an invention of Dionysus, who, without being explained the procedure, presses it for the first time as soon as Ampelus is ripe,31 but immediately afterwards Nonnus explores an older narrative on the origins of wine: a drop of divine nectar fell to earth and from it germinated the plant; a snake sucked up the ripe bunches and on seeing it Bacchus remembered Rhea’s ancient prophecies; together with his satyrs he harvested and pressed the grapes (12, 292-397). In this second version Dionysus has two instructors, the snake and Rhea, and a choir of helpers (the satyrs),

The rhetoric of novelty is not extended to the rest of the Dionysiaca Though Nonnus had a clear message of novelty which enjoyed a good literary welcome, the discourse of novelty is not generalised in the Dionysiaca. He does not apply the rhetoric of novelty to his topic every time this is possible, despite the fact that Dionysus was considered a ‘new’ god in the Olympic pantheon and that the propagation of his mysteries and the cultivation of the vine, which make up a considerable part of the Dionysiaca, were innovative. In the Dionysiaca there are references to young persons (νέοι) and recent elements,24 just as in Homer,25 but most events are not presented as a novelty, but as a repetition of earlier ones or against a background of comparisons with similar events: -

The union of Zeus and Semele is compared with other relationships of Zeus with mortal women and goddesses26 and described in a similar way to previous attachments of Zeus. 27

22

‘Either Nonnus is to be redated as a poetic contemporary of Agathias, or Agathias’ use of the term “new” is to be taken in the very general sense of modern as opposed to the ancient classics, flexible enough to subsume poets of half a century to a century earlier, thereby exploding current doctrine regarding the content of the Cycle’ (Baldwin 1986, 61). 23 On Nonnian influence in later literature, see Hernández de la Fuente (2008b, 227-237); Miguélez-Cavero (2008, 85-93). 24 References to young persons(3, 414 νεότριχος… παρειῆς; 10, 178; 217; 224; 281; 309; 11, 204; 387; 12, 160; 15, 164; 238; 255; 25, 462; 37, 444; 46, 201). There are recent weddings (2, 594 νεόζευκτῳ σέο  νύμφῃ; 24, 134; 47, 405; 48, 237), pregnancies (10, 8 νεογλαγέων  ἐπὶ μαζῶν; 48, 764) and recent deaths (8; 286 νεοπενθέι θυμῷ; 18, 86; 24, 180; 25, 550; 26, 46; 37, 100; 42, 348; 43, 134; 47, 213). Also newly made objects (17, 57 νεοπηγέα τυρόν; 18, 116-17; 24, 303; 48, 691) and constructions (3, 134 νεοσταθέος… μελάθρου; 5, 91; 6, 385-6; 18, 294). Νεός is a complicated term, meaning both ‘young/youthful’ and ‘new/fresh’ (see LSJ s.v.). Καινός and its composites are alien to epic tradition (including Nonnus), but not to dramatic (A. Eu. 406; E. Med. 298) and historiographic texts (Hdt. 9, 26; Thuc. 3, 38, 5). 25 Young people: Il. 2, 789; 8, 102; 9, 36 = 258; 13, 95; Od. 1, 395; 8, 110; 11, 39. Recently made or modified objects: Il. 5, 193-194; 9, 342; 15, 469; 17, 36; 21, 592; Od. 4, 436-437; 6, 64; 8, 404. 26 Especially 7, 110-135; 205-214; 352-368; 8, 134-150; 9, 208-242. Dionysus as son and image of Zeus (9, 149): νέον υἶα τεοῦ Διός; (10, 374): Ζηνὸς ἀεθλητῆρος ἔχων μίμημα τοκῆος. 27 See the analogy between the courting of Semele (7, 171-368) and those of Harmonia (5, 88-189) and Persephone (5, 563-621; 6, 155-

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161), as explained by Chuvin (1992, 3-5) and Gigli Piccardi (2003, 453455). Ino nurses Bacchus and Melicertes (9, 92-96), just as Electra nurses Emathion and Harmonia (3, 384-408). 28 Nonn. (D. 5, 563-564) ‘for already Zeus ruling on high intended to make a new Dionysus [νέον  Διόνυσον], a bullshaped copy of the older Dionysus [μίμημα  παλαιγενέος  Διονύσου]’; (10, 294) ὡς στεροπὴν Ζαγρῆι  πόρες, προτέρῳ  Διονύσῳ (Zagreus will be later described [10, 297] as δεύτερος  ἄλλος  ἔτι  βρέφος  ὑέτιος  Ζεύς); (24, 47-49) ‘you have the whole shape of Zagreus [καὶ  σὺ  φέρεις  Ζαγρῆος  ὅλον  δέμας]. Grant this favour then… to whom you are sprung; for you came from the heart of that first-born Dionysos, so celebrated [ἀρχεγόνου  γάρ  /  ἐκ  κραδίης  ἀνέτελλες  ἀειδομένου  Διονύσου]’. See also D. (27, 340-341; 39, 72). For its analysis see Hopkinson and Vian (1994, 265-267). About Zagreus in the D., see García-Gasco Villarrubia (2008, 1592-4); Hernández de la Fuente (2002). 29 7, 60-63; 76-77 wine is for men like nectar for gods; 7, 85-97 Dionysus’ vine rivals Demeter’s wheat; 7, 103-105 comparison with other gods; 10, 292-308; 12, 110-113; 207ff. 30 12, 185-187 αὐτοτελὴς  δέ  /  ὄρχατος  ἀμπελόεις  χλοεροὺς  ὄρπηκας  ἑλίσσων  /  οἴνοπι  γείτονα  δένδρα  νέῳ  μιτρώσατο  καρπῷ; 191-192 ἀρτιφυῆ  δέ  /  ὄρχατον; 196 ἀεξιφύτοιο  δὲ  κούρου; 335 βότρυας... νεοθηλέας. 31 ‘The god untaught, without winepress and without treading, squeezed the grapes firmly with hand against wrist, interlacing his fingers until he pressed out the inebriating issue, and disclosed the newflowing load of the purple fruitage, and discovered the sweet potation’ (12, 197-201).

The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

which plays down his role πρῶτος εὑρετής (Vian 1995a, 74-78; 1995b, 200-203).32 -

three main directions (Herrero de Jáuregui 2010, 272275):38 1) presenting the New Testament as the fulfilment of the Old Testament39 and claiming that Judaic tradition was earlier than the Greek one; 2) transposing the principles of antiquity and novelty to a cosmic order;40 3) delegitimizing ancient religion as a source of authority.

The expansion of Dionysiaca religion and of the cultivation of the vine is not presented as a novelty,33 but as the task which Dionysus needs to accomplish to be admitted in the Olympus, just as other gods, including Zeus, had done before.34

Had Nonnus developed in his Dionysiaca the argument of novelty for Dionysus, he risked turning him into a dangerous divinity willing to subvert the natural order. This explains why Dionysus’ mission is the pacification and ordering of areas inhabited by barbarians, as commanded by Zeus, the guardian of universal order, who restores universal harmony when it is lost in the Dionysiaca.41 A second risk, a perturbing one given Nonnus’ active Christianity (Vian 1988; 1993; 1994, 214233, esp. 222 ff), would be that Dionysus’ novelty would somehow leak onto the divinity of Christ: given his shared elements with Christ (questioned paternity and divinity, proselytism of a new doctrine, alteration of the statu quo), presenting Dionysus as an innovator could imply an image of Christ as a revolutionary.42 And if we consider that Nonnus would have had first-hand knowledge of the religious effervescence in fifth-century Egypt, we can imagine that he knew that this was a risk which contemporary Christians could not take, given their constant philosophic and religious confrontation with the pagan elite.43

It is true that one of the reasons why Nonnus insists on the ‘normality’ of Dionysus being part of the Greek Pantheon is because presenting him as a god from the beginning is a good strategy to minimise the criticism of his enemies about his not very divine appearance. In other words, Dionysus is a god, no matter his ridiculous aspect (Miguélez-Cavero 2009a, 564-569; 2010, 30-35). However, the absence of novelty from the general (nonprogrammatic) discourse of the Dionysiaca should also be related to a certain aversion to novelty, which pervades late antique social tissues. New arrivals to the elite were frowned upon,35 novelty lacked prestige and was identified with the subversion of the natural (i.e. traditional) order of things. Innovation was proper of tyrants and usurpers, and constantly avoided by good rulers.36 To this respect Christians have an added obstacle, because their message is recent, in comparison with traditional religion and Judaism, and it is presented in the New Testament as a novelty and a breaking-off with traditional order.37 To this setback Christians react in Though see a later reference in 27, 338-340 Δηώ, / …φθονέουσα… Διονύσῳ / ὅττι μέθης ποτὸν εὗρε. 33 See the descriptions of the arrival of Dionysus with this cult and the vine: ‘All the people gathered there, to whom Iobacchos offered his fruitage, accepted his rites and welcomed his dances, bowing the neck to invincible Dionysos, wishing for the quietude of peace without bloodshed’ (14, 285-289); 14, 121-130; 18, 1-8, 318-319 (together with 21, 232-239); 320-326; 47, 1-33, 474-481; 40, 291-297. 34 When Zeus’s orders are first mentioned (13, 1-7) Dionysus needs to punish the Indians with war for their injustice and impiety and to teach all countries his rites and the cultivation of the vine (6b-7: ἔθνεα  πάντα  διδάξῃ  /  ὄργια  νυκτιχόρευτα  καὶ  οἴνοπα  καρπὸν  ὀπώρης). However, when Iris passes on Zeus’ message (19-34), she urges Dionysus to wipe out the Indians so as to punish their impiety and with this win access to the Olympus, just as Hermes, Ares, Apollo and Zeus had to accomplish a task. See also Staphylos’ exhortation (18, 217-21) and his comparison of Dionysus with Perseus (18, 290-305); exhortation of Eris, in the shape of Cybele (20, 44-98). 35 E.g. Basilius (Epist. 90, 2), on the problems of the Church, including νεωτέρων ἀνθρώπων ἐφευρέματα. 36 Amm. Marc. 21, 10, 8 [Julian about Constantine] ‘nouator turbatorque priscarum legum et moris antiquitus recepti’; description of the eunuch Eutropius according to Eunapius (Suda E 3776 = Blockley 1981-3, vol. II, Eunapius, frag. no. 65); Io. Lydus (Mag. II, 19): κενόδοξος  γὰρ  ὢν  ὁ  Δομιτιανὸς  τοῖς  νεωτερισμοῖς  ἔχαιρεν·  ἴδιον  δὲ  τυράννων  ἀνατρέπειν  τὰ  πάλαι  καθεστηκότα. For a more general context, see Themistius (Or. 26), where he defends himself of the double accusation of innovating in philosophy and introducing new gods (313d ἀδικεῖ, φασὶν  ἐμὲ  λέγοντες, νεωτερίζων  εἰς  φιλοσοφίαν, καινὰ  εἰσάγων  δαιμόνια). About the duality uetustas / innouatio in fourth- and fifth-century Latin literature, see Cracco Ruggini (1985a). 37 Mt. 9:16-17; Mk. 1:27; 2:21-22; Lk. 5:36-38; 22:20; 2Cor. 3:6; Heb. 8:8-12. Conversion implies leaving behind the old error to start a new, true life (Eph. 4:22-24) and the Apocalypse talks of the new heaven and earth of the final return of the Messiah (3:12; 21:1-5). 32

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With this in mind we understand better Nonnus’ winding way, when he sees it only normal to talk about the novelty and colourfulness of his style in programmatic passages, but avoids at all costs that his poem upsets his Christian brothers and can be transformed into an argument by the other side. His first strategy is to keep away from novelty when possible: he does not call Dionysus novel and in general there are few new things in the Dionysiaca. Then, as other Christian authors do, he elevates his topic to a cosmic perspective. Not only does 38

On Christian rhetorical answers, see Cameron (1991, 120-188). Present already in New Testament passages such as Mt. 5:17-18. Prophetic passages of the Old Testament are interpreted in the light of the New Testament (Gen. 49:10; Is. 7:14; 11:10) and not prophetic passages are given a typological interpretation. There are supporters of the literal interpretation of the Scriptures, usually associated to Antioch, and sponsors of different degrees of interpretation, allegory and allegoresis (frequently associated to Alexandria). Cf. Simonetti (1985); Kannengiesser (2003, I, 206-258). 40 A good starting point was the hymn of the λόγος from the beginning of the Gospel of John (1:1). This may have been a good reason for Nonnus to choose this Gospel as text base for his Paraphrase (De Stefani 2002, 14-21). See also Clement of Alexandria’s Paedagogus on the λόγος as an educator (book I), and the hymn to Christ as λόγος  παιδαγωγός at the end of the work. 41 D. 1-2 (Typhonomachy); 38 (Phaethon). 42 Which explains that the reader of the Dionysiaca is never allowed to doubt of the divinity of Dionysus: his conception and birth are narrated in detail and those characters who doubt of the divinity of Dionysus do so mislead by another divinity or out of self-interest (Miguélez-Cavero 2010, 31-35). 43 Kahlos (2009) shows the evolution of Christian rhetoric from the principles of tolerance and temperance, common up to the third century, towards a more aggressive rhetoric, based on the refutation of the plurality of opinions and truths and searching for religious unity. On the academic, philosophical and religious atmosphere in late antique Alexandria (Watts 2006, 143-256; 2010a). 39

Laura Miguélez-Cavero - Rhetoric of novelty in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus of Panopolis

he give a cosmic prelude to several important episodes (6, 4-108; 7, 7-109; 11,485-12,117; 41, 155-427; Vian 1993), but he frequently resorts to the notion of the eternal return (metamorphoses of basic elements,44 sequence of loves,45 sequence of human generations,46 circularity of time,47 regeneration of the κόσμος,48 succession of ages, predetermined and written down in primeval registers,49 and succession in the celestial kingdom).50

programmatic passages, freer and understood to be applied only to the aesthetics of the work, not to its contents. Regarding the novelty in the Dionysiaca in general, in the light of the last decades of research, we should be careful: for instance, Nonnian metrics had always been considered novel, but the analyses in the past thirty years have proved that the evolution of the hexameter was gradual (Whitby 1994) and that probably Nonnus did not feel his metrics as a novelty, but as a reinforcement of traditional metrics, in confrontation with a general relaxation with the rules of composition of the hexameter by less talented and more innovative poets (Jeffreys 1981; Agosti and Gonnelli 1995, 289-298; Agosti 2006, 61-62).

Besides, he does not restrict himself to description, but is particularly aggressive towards the deviations of the appropriate order: the παρθένοι  φυγόδεμνοι (women who reject married life) are raped and made mothers;51 Typhon (1-2) and Phaethon (38) have to die because they have unsettled cosmic order; 52 those who hinder or reject the Dionysiac order commanded by Zeus either die (Orontes, Deriades, Pentheus) or are deprived of all their strength (Lycurgus, Morrheus).

We can understand it better if we compare it with the contemporary aesthetics. Jaś Elsner (2004, 304-309) suggests that between 300 and 500 the antiquarian appreciation of the artistic achievements of the past, or ‘visual antiquarism’ (Elsner 1998, 169-197; 2004, 288293), led to what he calls cumulative aesthetic: pieces of previous epochs were removed from their original locations and integrated as spolia in new buildings, in a gesture of continuity, but also of reformulation and reinterpretation of the past out of its original context.55 Innovation was best accepted under the banner of tradition (Formisano 2007, 281-283). In Nonnus, the ubiquitous presence of Homer and of the classical paradigms masks a renovation of the epic genre and the references to recent and novel elements such as the pantomime or the ceremonies of the imperial court (Miguélez-Cavero 2009b). Of course, these elements are difficult to point out, but they prove that Nonnus was very much interested in innovation, though in his cultural background novelty could only be claimed in programmatic passages.

With these strategies Nonnus shuns the perilous elements of novelty, but the circular conception of history also allows him to leave room for post-Dionysiac ages. Christian readers could understand that after Dionysus mankind gains access to Christ’s true revelation, in the wait for the final bequest of new sky and earth (Apo. 3:12, 21:1-5). This is not difficult to imagine, especially taking into account that in the Paraphrase (V, 154-156a) Nonnus uses similar cyclic images of time.53 We could even say that the constant metamorphosis of the world, keeping the essence of things while changing their shape, leaves space for the theology of the incarnation (Jn 1:14 ‘and the word was made flesh and came to live with us’).54

Does Nonnus, then, give up on novelty? A more difficult question than at first sight one would think. Clearly, Nonnus avoids the rhetorical argument of novelty throughout the Dionysiaca, save for the 44 See the metamorphoses of Zagreus into Dionysus in Nonn. (D. 6, 174-6; to be read with Gigli Piccardi 2003, 484-5). Metamorphoses of Dionysus also in 36, 292-353; 40, 40-54. Members of the Dionysiac entourage (Mystis, Ampelus, Cissos, Telete, Staphylos, Botrys, Methe and Pythos) are transformed Dionysiac elements. 45 7, 117-27 (Eros’ arrows marking the affairs of Zeus as an indication of the different ages); theoretical reflections (11, 356ff.; 12, 290-1; 17, 5-7); the absence of love hinders the regeneration of the cosmos (episode of weaving Aphrodite in 24, 230-329). 46 3, 249-56 (reformulating Il. 6, 145-211). Also LXX Gen. 3:19 ὅτι γῆ  εἶ εἰς γῆν ἀπελεύσῃ (expanded in Ps. 90 [89]). 47 Eternal return of hours, days, seasons, years: 11,485-12,117; 38, 1017; 40, 366-380; 47, 472-473. 48 6, 377-388 (end of the Great Flood), 40, 392-398 (the phoenix as the symbol of eternal renewal). 49 Harmonia’s tablets: 12, 30-112; 41,339-400. 50 Little explored in the D. (García-Gasco Villarrubia 2008, 1585-1591). 51 15, 169-16. 405 Nicaea; 48, 90-237 Pallene; 48, 238-973 Aura. See Miguélez-Cavero (2009a, 575-582). 52 On the struggle between order and chaos in the D., see Hernández de la Fuente (2008b, 65-78). 53 ‘Seek the revelations written in the books pronounced by God, with which you will have the hope of having in the ever-returning circle of time a life which does not diminish’. See comm. in Agosti (2003, 523). 54 Paraphrased by Nonnus (P. 1, 39-45; De Stefani 2002, 136-141).

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55

On the harmony between old and new in the West, see Meier (2001).

cronológico. No obstante, el problema de la diversidad cronológica de los testimonios se reduce si tenemos en cuenta la índole conservadora de la religión, frente al mayor evolucionismo de otros ámbitos sociales.

La teúrgia, de época teodosiana a Nono de Panópolis. Una visión panorámica / The Theurgy, from the Theodosian age to Nonnus of Panopolis: a panoramic overview Rosa García-Gasco Villarrubia

Hacia una definición de teúrgia

Universidad Complutense de Madrid Universidad Carlos III de Madrid

La evolución de un concepto El teúrgo, practicante de la teúrgia, debe su nombre a la unión de dos raíces, θεός y ἔργω, que dan lugar a una serie de términos cuyo significado literal es susceptible de resumirse con cierta simplicidad: tanto ‘ejercer una acción sobre los dioses’ como ‘actuar como un dios’ parecen un punto de partida válido. La invención del término teúrgia se le atribuye por lo general al fundador legendario, Juliano, quien habría creado el término para diferenciar a los teúrgos, θεουργοί, que actúan sobre los dioses, de los teólogos, θεόλογοι, que hablan sobre ellos.

Abstract Theurgy is one of the most complex aspects to study in the area os religious late Antique beliefs, given its relationship with magic and its wide presence in the Neoplatonic works. This paper tries to offer an overview of the evolution of theurgic belief and practice from its earliest manifestations until its weakening, paying equal attention to earlier and later statements that are relevant to a global understanding and that are scattered not only in philosophical, but also poetic works. From the most important epic work in Late Antiquity, Nonnus’ Dionysiaca, comes the passage from Book XIII, widely commented in the second part of this paper. The text shows how the features of the theurgis, as regarded by the Neoplatonists and other sources, remain unchanged through the centuries. The emphasis on the magic use of the word, the knowledge and use of symbols, the idea of intelligence against brutish strength, the dual concept of fire, and the appropriation of mysterical and philosophical terminology, can completely enlighten the kind of knowledge Nonnus could have of some the most representative theurgic procedures.

El significado y las connotaciones del término ‘teúrgia’, activo todavía en nuestros días, han ido avanzando en una dirección paralela a la que siguieran durante la Tardoantigüedad. En el fondo, pocas son las novedades que afectan a su consideración desde entonces hasta hoy:2 despreciada por su parecido razonable con la magia por parte de los defensores del racionalismo; elevada a la categoría de arte sagrada (ἱερατική τέχνη) y dignificada por sus defensores y practicantes, entre los que se incluyen los filósofos neoplatónicos.3

KEYWORDS: theurgy, Dionysiaca, Nonnus, magicians and thaumaturgists

Perviven aún hoy una serie de movimientos pseudofilosóficos que se consideran implícitamente herederos de la teúrgia antigua en lo que tiene que ver con prácticas y con creencias. Se trata en su mayor parte de movimientos extremadamente heterogéneos y dispersos, lo que impide seguirles la pista con cierta eficacia. Pero puede reconocerse con relativa facilidad la presencia de creencias mágicas, disfrazadas de contenido doctrinal que facilite su ennoblecimiento frente a la magia vulgar y corriente, en un mecanismo comparable, mutatis mutandis, con la acción del neoplatonismo durante la Antigüedad Tardía. Dodds (1960, 263-290), en un apéndice que ya es prácticamente locus classicus de la cuestión, señala el resurgimiento de sedicentes teúrgos desde la Inglaterra victoriana y durante la primera mitad del siglo XX, en un proceso que relaciona con la crisis de fe en la religión tradicional y la búsqueda de una nueva espiritualidad. Dodds pone en paralelo la teúrgia con las

Objetivos y límites Dentro del ámbito de las creencias religiosas de la Antigüedad Tardía, la teúrgia es uno de los aspectos más complejos, sobre todo por su cercanía práctica con la magia y por su presencia y aprovechamiento por parte del neoplatonismo. Existen completos estudios del resto de las creencias y prácticas mágicas de la Antigüedad Tardía, que facilitan su comprensión por parte del estudioso, pero en el caso de la teúrgia el conocimiento del que disponemos es mucho menos profundo.1 El propósito de este capítulo no es otro que ofrecer una visión general, panorámica, de la evolución de la creencia y la práctica teúrgicas a lo largo de la época teodosiana, si bien prestaremos atención a los testimonios anteriores y posteriores que resultan relevantes para una comprensión global del particular. Los testimonios se encuentran diseminados, inmersos en obras sobre todo filosóficas, aunque también de otra índole, lo que dificulta una reconstrucción en profundidad de cualquier estadio

2 Sobre la evolución de la magia desde la Antigüedad Tardía hasta la época contemporánea, véase Bremmer and Veenstra (2002). 3 Para una visión sumaria del papel del neoplatonismo en la Antigüedad Tardía, cf. sobre todo Lloyd (1970; 1998), Lewy (1978), Chadwick (1999) y Smith (2004). Con atención a la importancia de la teúrgia en el sistema de pensamiento de los neoplatónicos en general, cf. Saffrey (1984) y Lisi (2011). Y para estudios de la importancia de la teúrgia en autores concretos: Steel (1978), sobre Jámblico, Damascio y Prisciano; Saffrey (1981); Sheppard (1982); Di Pasquale (1993), sobre Proclo; Shaw (1971), sobre Jámblico; Smith (1974); Saffrey (1988), sobre Porfirio.

1 La tarea de estudiar globalmente la teúrgia había sido iniciada por una recopilación de todos los textos dispersos a cargo de Bidez y Cumont (1938; 2007), pero se vio interrumpida por la muerte del primero.

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sesiones de espiritismo, en boga en su época, a la luz de la comparación entre el trance de los médiums con una de las dos ramas de la teúrgia, que implica el uso de un humano como receptáculo del poder divino (Dodds 1960, 276-281). Tal vez por el hecho de que las crisis ideológicas y religiosas suelen repetirse con cierta periodicidad en diferentes etapas de la historia, la teúrgia pervive todavía hoy, más o menos encubierta, en unos parámetros muy similares a los que la permitieron resurgir gracias al ímpetu de la nueva ‘espiritualidad’ decimonónica. Mantiene incluso rasgos comparables a los que poseyera en su inicio y, sobre todo, en los últimos siglos del Bajo Imperio, cuando se situara frente a la potencia de una nueva fe, el Cristianismo, que amenazaba con destruir largos siglos de tradición.

adivinación, los poderes purificadores de la iniciación y, en una palabra, todas las operaciones de la posesión divina’ según Proclo (Theol. Plat. 1, 113, 6; SaffreyWesterink).

Magia y teúrgia

El origen de la teúrgia

Teúrgia y magia presentan numerosos elementos comunes. Pero para un mejor y más efectivo acercamiento a la teúrgia son más rentables sus diferencias o, más bien, los argumentos con los que quienes la practican o defienden quieren diferenciarla de la magia. Es esta última, en palabras de Luck (1985, 3), ‘A technique grounded in a belief in powers located in the human soul and in the universe outside ourselves, a technique that aims at imposing the human will on nature or on human beings by using supersensual powers. Ultimately, it may be a belief in the unlimited powers of the soul’. Magia y teúrgia comparten la creencia en los poderes suprasensuales (e ilimitados) del alma y del universo circundante. Ambas, además, pueden dominarse a través de un aprendizaje y se desempeñan como una profesión, razón por la que ambas son consideradas τέχναι.

El exotismo, el misterio y la antigüedad de las prácticas religiosas orientales sedujeron desde muy pronto a los griegos. Hacer remontar a Egipto y Oriente en general los orígenes de un culto o conjunto de cultos implicaba estar más cerca de la verdad, dada la equivalencia entre antigüedad y respetabilidad que llevó a que, en el caso de la religión, lo extranjero fuera no sólo aceptado, sino también objeto de profunda admiración. La teúrgia procede de la región de babilonia de la Caldea, según la imaginación de los autores grecolatinos. Entre los caldeos, los magi, traducción latina del nombre μάγοι, que señalaba una casta sacerdotal, formaban parte del clero oficial y era miembros del consejo de los reyes, en cuyo beneficio invocaban a los dioses protectores del estado (Cumont 1987, 162). Las prácticas de estos magi gozaron de tal prestigio que sobrevivieron a la caída de Babilonia y se extendieron por todo el mundo occidental. La teúrgia habría sido por primera vez practicada en Caldea por aquel Juliano, autodenominado ‘el Teúrgo’, hijo de un Juliano ‘el Caldeo’. Mientras este último era tenido por autor de cuatro libros acerca de los δαίμονες, a su hijo, el Teúrgo, se le adjudicó enseguida la autoría o compilación de un conjunto de ‘oráculos en hexámetros’, llamados en las fuentes Θεουργικά,  Τελεστικά  o  Λόγια δι’ ἐπῶν. Lobeck (1829) conjeturó que se trataba de la misma obra a la que Proclo había dedicado el extenso comentario al que alude el biógrafo Marino (Vita Procli, 26). Así quedó ratificado gracias a un escolio a Luciano5 y a una afirmación de Pselo según la cual ‘Proclo se enamoró de los poemas en hexámetros que los admiradores llamaban logia, en los que Juliano expuso las doctrinas caldeas.’ (Scripta Minora 1, 241, 25). Estos Oráculos Caldeos (Λόγια  Χαλδαϊκά) parecen ser una heterogénea colección de sentencias de pretendida profundidad y naturaleza filosófica. No nos han llegado íntegros, sino que se nos han transmitido sobre todo gracias a fragmentos del comentario de Proclo y a la obra de Pselo.6 Juliano reivindicó el origen divino de los Oráculos al afirmar que eran θεοπαράδοτα (Marino, Vita

Pese a esta delimitación simplista a partir del tipo de propósitos de la magia y su vertiente filosófica, más ‘depurada’, hay ocasiones en las que esta cuestión no queda del todo clara y los límites se vuelven de nuevo difusos. La teúrgia tiene también una finalidad inmediata, a juzgar por el hecho de que Jámblico dedica el libro III del De Mysteriis a la técnica de adivinación y por la pretensión de Proclo de haber recibido numerosas revelaciones de los δαίμονες sobre el pasado y el futuro (In Remp. 1, 86, 13).

Son de diversa índole los elementos que hacen de la teúrgia, desde el punto de vista de su defensor y practicante, una manifestación religiosa de mayor rango y prestigio del que merece la magia. Entre los más importantes se encuentra su propósito eminentemente religioso, frente a los fines de la magia vulgar y corriente, supuestamente profanos. Para Proclo resulta fundamental la oración, que ha de lograr el conocimiento de los símbolos inefables de los dioses como vía para la asimilación con ellos. En último término, se busca la identificación máxima con la divinidad (Proclo, In Ti. 211) o, de otro modo, la ascensión del alma al Primer Principio.4 En la magia el humano que logra sus propósitos lo hace imponiendo su propia voluntad sobre la naturaleza, los dioses u otros seres humanos. Pero el teúrgo no necesita imponer sus deseos ni su voluntad: los dioses simplemente obedecen sus peticiones, aunque dicha obediencia, en el fondo, se debe al modo de vida ascético y a la posesión de una serie de condiciones particulares con las que no todos los seres humanos cuentan. Teúrgia es ‘un poder más alto que toda la humana sabiduría, que abraza las bendiciones de la

5 4

6

El único excluido de la necesidad de oración (Procl. In Ti. 1, 213, 2).

198

Philopseudes 12, IV, 224 Jacobitz (Westerink 1942). Editados conjuntamente por Des Places (1971).

Rosa García-Gasco Villarrubia - La teúrgia, de época teodosiana a Nono de Panópolis

(Nilsson 1961 [2], 469). Autores como Plotino, Porfirio, Jámblico y Proclo los tuvieron en cuenta y apreciaron, si bien no todos en el mismo grado. Por tal razón, entre otras, la relación entre el neoplatonismo y la teúrgia es enormemente compleja, pero podemos presentar un sumario que nos sirva de punto de partida.

Procli 26), de acuerdo con lo que resulta ser una aspiración común de la literatura ocultista helenística (Festugière 1950, 309). Se trata al parecer de una serie de comentarios a un único poema compuesto de respuestas oraculares donde se entremezclan elementos persas y concepciones del neoplatonismo temprano.7 Su datación es tan oscura como lo son su autoría y significación: la fecha de composición aproximada más aceptada, propuesta por Kroll (1894), apunta al siglo II d.C., a la época de los Antoninos. Su estilo ampuloso y extravagante y su contenido oscuro permiten pensar que la labor de Juliano no debió ser la redacción, sino la compilación a partir de una serie de respuestas oraculares efectuadas por ciertos ‘espíritus’ por boca de personas en trance, dentro del marco de una práctica frecuente de la teúrgia (cf. infra). Según Pselo (Script. Min. 1, 241, 29), Juliano habría procedido a ponerlos en verso, lo que se corresponde directamente con el modus faciendi del sistema religioso griego8 y, al tiempo, facilita que una serie de cláusulas sin sentido puedan conducirse a una interpretación determinada. También habría sido obra de Juliano el comentario, preciso para que el lector alcanzase una mediana comprensión de los oráculos.

En origen, teúrgia y neoplatonismo estuvieron bien diferenciados, como señala hábilmente Dodds: “el creador de la teúrgia era un mago, no un neoplatónico. Y el creador del neoplatonismo no era ni un mago ni un teúrgo” (Dodds 1960, 265). Por ejemplo, Plotino, defensor del racionalismo frente a la magia, no emplea el término teúrgia, ni sus seguidores lo consideran un teúrgo. Olimpiodoro (Olimp. In Phaed. 123, 3) lo sitúa, junto con Porfirio, entre los neoplatónicos partidarios de la filosofía per se, frente a la práctica teúrgica. Pero la teúrgia está lejos de seguir un camino sin fisuras a lo largo de la Antigüedad. Desde su legendario surgimiento en época de Marco Aurelio hasta su supervivencia más o menos clandestina en época de Justiniano, e incluso Bizancio, los vaivenes y fluctuaciones experimentados por esta técnica son numerosos y variados. Con Plotino, como se desprende de la opinión de Kroll,9 el neoplatonismo parece haber tomado parte en un proceso de alejamiento de la superstición, que entraría en leve retroceso con el comentario de los Oráculos Caldeos en el De regressu animae de su discípulo Porfirio, lo cual supuso en cierto modo una concesión a la escuela ‘contraria’. Ya con Jámblico se abre la puerta de forma determinante a una técnica que se revitaliza al son de la cada vez mayor pujanza del cristianismo.

De Juliano el Teúrgo apenas tenemos más datos, aparte de una coincidencia cronológica aproximada con Marco Aurelio y algunas noticias de sus actuaciones taumatúrgicas. Durante una de las campañas imperiales contra los cuados, en el año 173 d.C., Juliano habría puesto en práctica un ritual de control climático, provocando una tormenta para poner fin a una grave sequía en el campamento romano a través de la conjuración de los poderes divinos de acuerdo con la voluntad humana. El control del clima es con cierta frecuencia objeto de rituales mágicos y teúrgicos e implica influir sobre un elemento natural que escapa al control de los seres humanos corrientes. En la magia la eficacia del ritual depende exclusivamente de una realización correcta y minuciosa, conforme a un procedimiento que es invariable tanto por lo que respecta al componente hablado como al dramatizado. La teúrgia reivindica, en cambio, que los dioses prestan su eficacia maravillosa a la petición humana; el ritual sin más carece de poder, ‘la acción humana recibe su sentido en virtud de una acción y de una iniciativa divinas’. (Cremer 1969, 20; Hadot 1978, 719).

Procedimientos teúrgicos Donde más se asemejan teúrgia y magia es precisamente en el modus operandi teúrgico. Así puede reconstruirse a partir de testimonios que, como el de Proclo, pertenecen al final de la Antigüedad Tardía y no estrictamente a la época teodosiana, si bien no podemos eludirlo, por tratarse de la información más completa. Proclo alude con frecuencia al poder de los σύμβολα y de los συνθήματα en relación con la teléstica (τελεστική), rama de la teúrgia consistente en la animación de estatuas por la introducción de un espíritu en ellas, con la intención de conseguir oráculos (In Tim. 3, 155, 18):

Teúrgia y neoplatonismo Generalidades

Lo propio de la teléstica es construir sobre la tierra oráculos y estatuas de los dioses y a través de ciertos símbolos hacer necesario lo que surge de una materia parcial…

Para los filósofos neoplatónicos los Oráculos Caldeos llegaron a ser una auténtica ‘biblia’ de conocimiento

Proclo considera que los símbolos están diseminados por todo el universo por obra del Primer Principio (In Crat. 21, 1: σύμβολα γὰρ πατρικὸς νόος ἔσπειρεν κατὰ 

7

Sobre los Oráculos Caldeos, véase Kroll (1894), Léwy (1978), Dillon (1977), Des Places (1971), Majercik (1989), Reale (2004), Tonelli (2008). 8 Sobre el funcionamiento de los oráculos en el mundo griego la bibliografía es amplísima. Véase, por ejemplo, Roux (1976), Parke (1967), Parker (1985), Savignac (1989), Vilette (1991), Lévêque (1995), Rosenberg (2001), Philpot (2004), Iles-Johnston (2008), Hernández de la Fuente (2008a), García-Gasco (forthcoming).

9 ‘Se elevó a sí mismo mediante un enérgico esfuerzo intelectual y moral por encima de la nebulosa atmósfera que le rodeaba’ (Dodds 1960, 267).

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κόσμον). El uso de σύμβολα se remonta a los Oráculos Caldeos, como testimonia Pselo (Scripta Minora 1, 447, 8), que además ofrece la definición más completa de σύμβολα aludiendo a piedras, plantas, aromas, raíces o animales que se encuentran en relación directa con la divinidad y que, por ello, pueden representarla si el teúrgo las introduce debidamente en las estatuas (Epist. 187). Animales, hierbas y olores aparecían ya en la obra de Porfirio (Myst. 233, 10) en relación con la sympátheia universal como causa de la correspondencia que los dioses y determinados elementos del mundo natural establecen entre sí. Sólo el τελεστής conoce el modo de ocultar los símbolos dentro de la representación o estatua para que ésta pueda ser poseída por el dios (Proclo In Tim. 1, 273, 11). Este ‘secreto profesional’ teúrgico afectaba también a la pronunciación correcta de los nombres y al conocimiento de los atributos divinos (Proclo In Crat. 72, 8).

momento de los peligros que pueden derivar de un mal uso de la práctica teúrgica. Frente al abismo implacable que tradicionalmente se había extendido entre la esfera de lo divino y de lo humano, ciertas corrientes religiosas a cuyas fuentes acudiera el neoplatonismo, postularon para los hombres un origen que destruía la vieja barrera y hacía del ser humano una criatura poseedora de alma. Por tanto, el hombre pasaba a ser capaz de prolongar su existencia más allá del mundo terreno, lo que le hacía similar a la divinidad. En la doctrina órfica, por ejemplo, el origen común de dioses y hombres se justificaba míticamente con el relato de la muerte de Dioniso a manos de los Titanes y el surgimiento de los seres humanos a partir de los restos del dios y de sus asesinos.11 Los neoplatónicos explotarían con toda conciencia las implicaciones antropológicas del mito, perfectamente coherente con la aspiración última de su propio sistema: el ascenso a la divinidad, ἀναγωγή, que resulta posible gracias a la comunidad de origen, aunque requiera además un prolongado y esforzado proceso ascético. En la elaboración doctrinal de Plotino, la formulación del origen compartido había tenido lugar de modo filosófico, no mítico, lo que supone ir un paso más allá, desde el mito antropogónico órfico a la formulación de la teoría emanacionista (Brisson 2010). Pero Porfirio no era un autor tan racional como lo fuera Plotino, y su estudio de los Oráculos Caldeos abriría la puerta a la plena instauración de la teúrgia en la filosofía neoplatónica. Jámblico (que moriría en el año 325 d.C.) volvió a comentar los Oráculos y escribió un extenso tratado, el De mysteriis, que constituye una férrea defensa de la teúrgia como modo de contactar con la divinidad a través de los ‘símbolos inefables’ (ἀπόρρητα  σύμβολα) que sólo los dioses comprenden y de los signos o prendas (συνθήματα) que tienen poderes por sí mismos (De mysteriis 96, 13).

La teúrgia parece haber seguido un segundo procedimiento, consistente en inducir la presencia de un dios o de un δαίμων en un receptáculo humano, llamado en las fuentes κάτοχος o, más específicamente, δοχεύς. Al igual que la teléstica se basa en la creencia de una estrecha relación de semejanza entre la imagen de un dios y el original, esta segunda modalidad teúrgica se explica a partir de la interpretación de las alteraciones de un ser humano como efecto de la posesión de un dios o espíritu. La técnica era ya usada por los Julianos, como señala implícitamente Proclo (In Remp. 2, 123, 8). Fírmico Materno (Err. Prof. Rel. 14) alude también a ella cuando habla de cierto oráculo de Porfirio, supuestamente emitido por el dios Serapis después de haber sido invocado para introducirse en el cuerpo de un hombre. A diferencia de los oráculos oficiales, donde el dios posee al médium espontáneamente, en la mayoría de los casos teúrgicos que conocemos la posesión parece producirse como respuesta a una llamada del teúrgo, lo que contradice la pretensión generalizada de que no existía tal compulsión.10

Gracias al testimonio de Eunapio de Sardes (Vit. Soph. 474s), autor de plena época teodosiana, sabemos que todavía Eusebio de Mindo (discípulo de un tal Edesio, quien a su vez era discípulo de Jámblico) había prevenido a Juliano el Apóstata contra Máximo el Teúrgo y la práctica de la teúrgia, que considera ‘un estudio perverso de ciertos poderes derivados de la materia. Juliano no dudó en replicar a Eusebio manifestando su amor por la filosofía de Jámblico y por la ‘teosofía’ de su homónimo, es decir, Juliano el Teúrgo (Epist. 12 Bidez). Máximo el Teúrgo gozó de un amplísimo poder en la sombra mientras duró el reinado del Apóstata, que favoreció el auge y la estabilidad pública de la teúrgia. Pero la muerte del emperador y la reacción cristiana que castigó de modo ejemplar a Máximo en 371 d.C. causó un retroceso en las prácticas teúrgicas (Am. Marc. 29, 1, 42; Zósimo 4, 15). Por ello, los testimonios en época teodosiana son más bien escasos y oscuros. Como técnica de contacto con la divinidad siguió viva y continuó transmitiéndose en secreto, de padres a hijos, dentro de determinadas familias, una costumbre que ya había llamado ‘caldea’

La teúrgia en época teodosiana y sus postrimerías Aunque Porfirio, discípulo de Plotino, murió en torno al año 304 d.C., casi un siglo antes del reinado de Teodosio I, resulta ser una figura de indudable valor en la configuración plena de la teúrgia. Primer editor de la obra plotiniana, define con gran exactitud la figura del teúrgo y sus rasgos. A él se debe la recuperación de los Oráculos Caldeos, que, como asegura San Agustín (De civ. Dei 10, 32) comentó y citó ‘por doquier’ en su obra De regressu anima. El objetivo de tal obra parece ser asegurar que las celebraciones teúrgicas podían purificar el alma y hacerla apta para la ascensión a la divinidad. Con todo, Porfirio parece ser consciente en todo

10 Jámblico (De myst. 3, 18; 145, 4) niega explícitamente que hubiera compulsión. En otro pasaje (6, 5-7) señala, en cambio, que obligar a los dioses es parte del ritual egipcio, pero no del caldeo.

11

200

Sobre el mito antropogónico del orfismo, cf. Bernabé (2008).

Rosa García-Gasco Villarrubia - La teúrgia, de época teodosiana a Nono de Panópolis

religiones mistéricas, en un complejo entramado de creencias cuya argamasa es difícil de determinar, aunque parece verosímil que lo que da sentido a tan heterogéneo conjunto sea precisamente el neoplatonismo, de hondo calado en la sociedad tardoantigua. El pasaje que vamos a comentar ha sido señalado por los estudiosos de Nono como testimonio de una escena de teúrgia clara (Gigli 1985, 221-224),13 con independencia de si se trata o no de un reflejo fiel de las creencias del poeta.

Diodoro Sículo (2, 29, 4). Pero es con Teodosio cuando la clandestinidad cobra mayor sentido (Dieterich 1925; Festugière 1950). Según Marino (Vita Procli 28), su maestro Proclo había aprendido la θεουργική ἀγωγή12 de una tal Asclepigenia, hija de Plutarco de Atenas. Este Plutarco, al parecer, había restablecido la Academia platónica en Atenas. Al igual que sus colegas de la nueva escuela se proclamó seguidor de Porfirio y Plotino, pero sobre todo de Jámblico. Siriano, que lo sucedió al frente de la Academia, y Proclo son sus más ilustres discípulos. En los escritos de Plutarco prima la aspiración de encontrar puntos de reconciliación entre la obra de Platón y Aristóteles, aunque el segundo es priorizado frente al primero. El comentario al De anima fue la contribución más importante de Plutarco de Atenas a los estudios aristotélicos, después de Alejandro de Afrodisias. En el ámbito de la teúrgia, adquirió fama de ser capaz de entrar en unión mística con la divinidad (Andron 2008).

El texto (Dionisíacas 13, 474-494) forma parte de un excursus situado dentro del catálogo de los ejércitos que se reúnen para luchar del lado de Dioniso contra los indios. El poeta de Panópolis se refiere a los contingentes que cada región, mítica o real, aporta a la causa de la extensión del culto dionisíaco por el mundo. Nono alude a un lugar, Estátala, de donde también ha acudido un número indeterminado, aunque importante, de combatientes (13, 474-478):

Los neoplatónicos de la escuela de Atenas, en el siglo V siguieron enseñando y practicando la teúrgia. Cabeza de este resurgimiento fue Proclo, autor de un Περὶ ἀγωγῆς y de un comentario sobre los Oráculos Caldeos, además de taumaturgo: Marino destaca su gran habilidad para producir lluvia (26, 28). Después de Justiniano la teúrgia volvió a la clandestinidad, pero nunca desapareció: a través de Bizancio, llegó al Medievo europeo y desde ahí, por los más diversos vericuetos, a nuestra actualidad, donde pervive, como dijimos, en forma de heterogéneas y escurridizas ideas y prácticas.

Un gran ejército vino también de Estátala. Allí Tifón, exhalando el aliento ardiente del rayo de fuego quemaba las tierras vecinas; en medio de una espiral de humo las montañas ardieron por obra del abrasador Tifón, y sus cumbres se quemaban entre devoradoras centellas.

Muy pronto, apenas introducido el nombre de la región de la que proceden las tropas, encontramos la alusión al monstruo Tifón y a los estragos que causa en aquellas tierras, en forma de incendio, sólo por medio de su respiración.14 Apolodoro resume las líneas esenciales del enfrentamiento entre Zeus y Tifón (1, 6, 3): tras relatar cómo Tifón asciende al Olimpo y provoca la huida de cada uno de los dioses principales, aterrorizados, el mitógrafo se detiene brevemente en el robo por parte del monstruo de los tendones del único dios que le hace frente, el gran Zeus, en un muy arcaico motivo literario cuya fuente, según la propuesta de Rouse, es Pisandro de Laranda.15 Nono introduce algunas variantes en el episodio, que abarca desde el fin del canto primero hasta el comienzo del segundo de las Dionisíacas,16 entre las que se encuentra la inclusión de Cadmo como artífice de la recuperación de los tendones de Zeus (frente a Egipán, que aparece en la versión tradicional).

La teúrgia en la literatura post-teodosiana: el poder de la palabra Nono, Dionisíacas 13, 474-494: el contexto y la tradición A lo largo de la historia y después de época teodosiana, la teúrgia sigue su camino, marcado por la continuidad, aunque no desprovisto de vaivenes y altibajos, y se refleja todavía en la literatura tardoimperial. El recorrido que hemos presentado brevemente permite examinar desde la teúrgia un episodio de las Dionisíacas de Nono, en el canto decimotercero de la epopeya. El objetivo es tratar de comprobar qué valor tiene tal práctica para el poeta y cuál es su sentido a la luz de los textos neoplatónicos. El sincretismo ideológico, siempre resaltado en cualquier estudio que se precie sobre la obra de Nono, se descubre con particular claridad en las Dionisíacas, que en su ingente extensión aglutina motivos de diversa procedencia y diversas épocas. Nono recibe y asimila una prolongada tradición y la teúrgia es un buen ejemplo de tal aglutinación, por tratarse de un conjunto de creencias y prácticas que maduran y llegan a su plenitud en obras de autores, como Porfirio y Jámblico, anteriores en más de doscientos años al poeta de Panópolis. Hay lugar en las Dionisíacas para la magia, la astrología y las

La destrucción del monstruo Tifón y su metamorfosis en volcán, relatada por Apolodoro (1, 6, 3; 43-44), se encuentra también en Dionisíacas 2, 553-660, episodio que relata prolijamente la derrota del monstruo. Por otro lado, este desenlace no resulta un obstáculo para que 13 Recoge su testigo Vian (2003, 246s), señalando explícitamente que el protagonista del pasaje se comporta ‘à la façon d’un théurge’. 14 La historia de Tifón, el monstruo hijo de la Tierra que desafía el gobierno de Zeus, está a punto de hacerse con el poder en los cielos y termina aniquilado por los olímpicos, estaba ya presente en el Ciclo Épico (Severyns 1967, 170s). Otros autores que aluden a Tifón: Hes. (Th. 820ss); Pind. (P. 1, 15ss); Aesch. (PB 351ss); Ant. Lib. (28); Ov. (Met. 5, 321ss); Higino (Fab. 152). 15 Rouse (1962, 41, en nota a 1, 511); Fr. 15, en Olymp., In Plat. Phaed. 172, 1-12 Norvin. Es clara la analogía con el mito hitita de la lucha contra el dragón (Bernabé 1979). 16 Para las variantes tradicionales de la tifonomaquia hasta llegar a Nono, cf. Hernández de la Fuente (2008b, 66-75).

Ἀγωγή es el término técnico empleado para aludir al conjuro capaz de traer almas de difuntos o dioses. Los ejemplos son muy abundantes, tanto en los neoplatónicos como en los Papiros Mágicos (PMag.Par. 1, 139; Iam. (Myst. 3, 6); Procl. (In Tim. 3, 120, 22).

12

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Tifón vuelva a aparecer once cantos más tarde, fuera de esta tifonomaquia, lo que algunos estudiosos (sobre todo Vian 1976, 90-103) consideran una de las muchas disonancias que pueblan el episodio.

citado. Claro es que ahora existe una contraposición interesante, la del fuego del monstruo frente al de la palabra del sacerdote: καὶ  πυρὸς  ἕλκος  ἔχων,  τετορημένος  ἔγχεϊ  θερμῶι,  /  ἄλλωι  θερμοτέρωι  νοερῶι πυρὶ κάμνε Τυφωεύς. En este pasaje, pues, el sacerdote de Zeus actúa como lo habría hecho el propio Zeus, aunque Tifón llega a sentir más terror del que había padecido incluso frente al dios: ‘y no había temblado tanto ante el que arroja los rayos como temblaba ante el guerrero mista que de su boca lanzaba un dardo elocuente’. La secuencia (13, 494) νοερῶι…πυρὶ incide en la contraposición del fuego físico, cargado de connotaciones negativas, frente al fuego ‘de la mente’ o ‘inteligible’, νοερός, contemplado desde un prisma positivo.

El fuego destructor y el fuego benefactor Hay en todo el episodio noniano de Tifón, tanto en las referencias de los cantos I y II como en el del XIII que estamos comentando, una insistencia en el fuego como elemento ambivalente. Así, en la tifonomaquia, el monstruo lo emplea como arma destructora. Pero también Zeus actúa de ese modo, lo que convierte a ambos en representantes de sendas concepciones: el fuego de Zeus es representante de una instancia celestial, mientras que el de Tifón representa lo terreno, lo primigenio y lo irracional. En el episodio del sacerdote de Estátala es fundamental el fuego. En 13, 474-478, que contiene la presentación del lugar y del monstruo, ya encontramos la descripción de su acción destructora en los primeros versos, repletos de alusiones al calor, al incendio, al campo semántico del fuego en general: θερμὸν  ἀναβλύζων  πυριθαλπέος  ἄσθμα  κεραυνοῦ  /  ἔφλεγε  γείτονα  χῶρον,  ἀελλήεντι  δὲ  καπνῶι  /  αἰθομένου  Τυφῶνος  ἐτεφρώθησαν  ἐρίπναι,  /  γυιοβόρωι  σπινθῆρι  μαραινομένων κεφαλάων…  Tras esta presentación del elemento maligno del relato, el texto continúa en 13, 479-494, donde aparece un segundo personaje, un humano, que vencerá a Tifón: …pero un sacerdote de Zeus Lidio abandonó su fragante templo y le hizo frente sin espada, sólo con su palabra afilada, con su palabra usada como lanza, no con hierro forjado. Contuvo e hizo obedecer al hijo de la tierra con su lengua, pues tenía una lanza impetuosa por boca, un puñal por palabra, un escudo por voz; y de su garganta inspirada derramó la siguiente orden: “quédate quieto, maldito”. Como por arte secreta, quedó el gigante abrasador sujeto por la cadena sabia de una palabra invencible, temeroso de un varón cuya única arma era su inteligencia, que no llevaba grilletes de hierro sino de palabras vengadoras. El enorme monstruo no había temblado tanto ante el que arroja los rayos como temblaba ante el guerrero mista que de su boca lanzaba un dardo elocuente, y retrocedió sufriendo heridas con voz, obra de una palabra afilada, y torturado por la herida de fuego, atravesado por una lanza al rojo, sucumbió Tifón bajo otro fuego más ardiente: el de la mente.

El sacerdote lidio, un ‘guerrero místico’ y un ‘hombre divino’ Como hace notar Vian (2003, 246s), la verdadera denominación del lugar donde tiene lugar la escena que venimos comentando no es Estátala, sino Sátala (Σάταλα). La modificación del poeta, Στάταλα, presente en el texto por medio del genitivo Στατάλων, que complementa a πολύς  στρατός, tiene como objetivo para facilitar el juego de palabras etimológico. El poeta se permite de este modo relacionar el nombre del territorio con la oración στῆθι, τάλαν, ‘detente, maldito’, que provoca el fin de Tifón. El sacerdote lidio es un personaje novedoso que personifica un nuevo modo de vencer la irracionalidad y la brutalidad, a través de la inteligencia y su señal más evidente, la palabra. Como hemos visto, el conocimiento de las palabras precisas, entre las que se encuentran los nombres verdaderos de los dioses, forma parte de las condiciones necesarias para efectuar un ritual teúrgico en las fuentes neoplatónicas. Otras claves que corroboran la presencia de teúrgia en este pasaje las encontramos en el vocabulario: primero, hay que destacar el empleo en los versos 485 y 490 de términos relacionados con la raíz μυστ-, el adjetivo derivado del término que significa ‘iniciado’, μυστίς, y el propio sustantivo, μύστης, respectivamente. Cada uno de ellos desempeña una función idéntica con los nombres a los que acompañan: μυστίς califica al conjunto de procedimientos de que se sirve el sacerdote para lograr su propósito, llamado τέχνη en tanto que se trata de una disciplina para cuyo dominio se precisa de una dedicación o estudio previo. Además, la calificación de ‘mística’ aplicada al ‘arte’ con que el humano vence a Tifón permite reconocer en el pasaje un ritual mágico donde son reconocibles dos partes: los δρώμενα, ‘lo que se hace’, frente a los λεγόμενα, ‘lo que se dice’. La magia se apropia de gran cantidad de terminología relacionada con los misterios gracias a una base común: la búsqueda del contacto directo con la divinidad, la necesidad de iniciación y la obligación de mantener el

La condición abrasadora de Tifón encuentra en su oponente, este ‘sacerdote lidio de Zeus’ que sale a su encuentro en el pasaje, un poderoso guerrero sobre cuya arma principal, la palabra, el fuego de Tifón no tiene más remedio que rendirse. Volvemos a encontrar una importante concentración de términos relacionados con lo ígneo en 13, 492-494, los dos últimos versos del pasaje

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secreto.17 La secuencia μυστίδι τέχνηι de nuestro texto apunta a la magia en tanto que un saber precisado de conocimiento específico, en el que no tienen cabida los profanos y que se identifica con la teúrgia, en su vertiente más elaborada desde el punto de vista doctrinal.

maravillosos. Tales personas se consideran poseedores de una piedad superior a la de los demás seres humanos. Por su cercanía con los dioses, por esa relación privilegiada, consiguen lo que desean. Merece la pena citar el testimonio del Lapidario órfico, que parece aludir a la condena a muerte de un mago, denominado aquí δῖος  φώς (Orph. L. 71-74):18

En el verso 490 el sustantivo μύστης sirve de aposición a ῥηξήμων: el sacerdote que Nono dibuja en los versos que estamos tratando es concebido como un ‘guerrero místico’. Su arma es la palabra (desnuda, pero muy consciente), que combate el fuego destructivo simplemente con dos palabras. En el fondo, esa expresión que incita a Tifón a quedarse quieto es la última fase, la única visible, de todo un proceso de aprendizaje que conduce al dominio de una disciplina, una τέχνη, y no podrían haber sido dos palabras cualesquiera las capaces de lograr efectos maravillosos.

A todo el mundo le resulta en seguida fastidioso y odioso aquél a quien los pueblos dan el sobrenombre de mago. Y él, el hombre divino, tendido en tierra yace, con la cabeza cortada por la espada, en una terrible forma de muerte.

Muy similar, en cuanto a su contenido, parece el testimonio de la Apología de Apuleyo, obra que el autor latino compuso para defenderse de acusaciones de practicar la magia. En 26, 12 alude a la facilidad con la que el vulgo incurre en el error de creer que es un mago quien por sus relaciones especiales con los dioses consigue de ellos todo lo que les pide:

La insistencia en la palabra como arma con que el sacerdote vence al monstruo se encarna en el abundante vocabulario relacionado con la facultad del habla y sus órganos: μύθος, ἔπος, γλῶσσα, ἀνθερεών, y στόμα, o incluso φωνή. Dos adjetivos, φωνοείς, de la misma raíz de φωνή, y λάλος, cuyos significados son muy próximos entre sí permiten al lector asociar la palabra como emisión de sonido con la inteligencia, que la estructura y dota de contenido racional.

Según costumbre del vulgo, consideran algunos que es un mago quien, gracias a la comunidad de conversación con los dioses inmortales, es capaz de todo lo que quiere, por medio de la fuerza increíble de ciertos encantamientos.

El concepto de communio loquendi cum deis immortalibus resulta fundamental en la teúrgia y puede ponerse en relación con la consideración del teúrgo como un ser especial, que goza de relaciones privilegiadas con los dioses. En el texto de Nono, el sacerdote destaca por su piedad, lo que constituye una vía para alcanzar la mencionada relación de privilegio. Jámblico relaciona el conocimiento por parte del teúrgo de las ‘contraseñas secretas’ con su estatus especial (De Myst. 6, 6, 2):

La inteligencia aparece también representada en el pasaje gracias a los adjetivos que califican al arma del sacerdote en su particular combate: σοφός, ‘sabio’, ἔμφρων y νοερός, cuyos significados son prácticamente idénticos, ‘dotado de entendimiento’ y ‘referente al pensamiento’; existen entre estos términos leves diferencias de matiz, desde luego, además de diferentes grados de presencia en las fuentes literarias. Si bien σοφός y ἔμφρων son prácticamente términos cotidianos, νοερός, usado primero por Platón para separar el mundo intelectual del tangible, está íntimamente ligado a la filosofía neoplatónica, domo denota el amplio uso del adjetivo hasta el neoplatonismo tardío. Otras metáforas empleadas para aludir al arma mágica del servidor de Zeus son las espadas, puñales, lanzas o dardos, sobre todo en vv. 480483 y 487s, además de la denominación del sacerdote como ‘guerrero místico’, que constituye una metáfora en sí misma.

Gracias al poder de las contraseñas secretas, el teúrgo no da órdenes a las potencias cósmicas como un ser humano ni como dotado de alma humana, sino que se sirve de formas de exigir que superan su propia esencia, porque forma parte del orden divino: no con la intención de que hagan todo a lo que les fuerza, sino para mostrarles por medio de tales palabras cuán grande, de qué tipo y cuál es la fuerza que tiene gracias a su trato con los dioses, la que el conocimiento de los símbolos inefables le ha concedido.

En el ámbito de la magia y las religiones mistéricas, al igual que en el de la teúrgia, varios elementos pueden ser calificados de ἄρρητα y de ἀπόρρητα: rituales secretos, dioses de condición inefable (porque su nombre verdadero está cargado de poder), objetos considerados sagrados que han de apoyar el desarrollo de los rituales (por ser igualmente el receptáculo de prodigiosas capacidades) y, por último, palabras, discursos o relatos. Con esta última posibilidad hemos de relacionar el texto de Jámblico: el filósofo califica de ἀπόρρητα al término συνθήματα, que presentamos traducido como

La acción doctrinal que el neoplatonismo ejerciera sobre la magia en su versión teúrgica se serviría históricamente del concepto de ‘hombre divino’, δῖος ἄνθρωπος, que, bajo esta forma o alguna equivalente, aparece de modo recurrente en testimonios que pretenden dignificar la actividad del mago. El recurso más frecuente es señalar una mala interpretación por parte del vulgo, que juzga mal a determinados seres humanos por realizar actos 17

Cf. Graf (1997), sobre todo el capítulo “How to become a magician: the rites of initiation”. En torno al problema del empleo del vocabulario religioso con significado mágico, cf. Vian (1988), que, centrado en las Dionisíacas, denomina ‘desacralización’ a la pérdida del sentido primero que sufren los términos religiosos en la epopeya.

18 Para una visión sumaria de los problemas suscitados por el Lapidario, entre ellos su datación, cf. Martín Hernández (2010).

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‘contraseñas’, aun cuando su sentido y composición son prácticamente idénticos a los del término σύμβολον. Σύνθημα aparece en las fuentes con un significado que abarca desde lo más general (y por ello, ‘cualquier cosa sobre la que hay acuerdo’ y por ello ‘señal convenida de antemano’, como en Hdt. 8, 7), hasta lo más concreto (como en D. S. 1, 86, donde significa ‘estandarte militar’). En Ateneo 5, 215e su sentido es bastante más abstracto, pues significa ‘comunión’ o ‘conexión’. En suma, se trata de un signo acordado conjuntamente por dos o más partes. Una señal convenida que no es necesariamente auditiva, al menos a priori, pero sí lo es en el texto de Jámblico, como puede deducirse de la referencia contextual a unas ‘palabras’ o ‘discursos’ mediante cuyo uso (ἐν  τῆι  τοιαύτηι  τῶν  λόγων  χρήσει) el teúrgo exhibe su poder, que, en última instancia, se debe al trato o cercanía con los dioses (τὴν  δύναμιν διὰ τὴν πρὸς θεοὺς ἕνωσιν). Nono basa en la palabra, de forma tan precisa como insistente, la eficacia de la acción teúrgica del sacerdote de Estátala. Con dos palabras, una interpelación directa y efectiva, consigue este hombre piadoso acabar con el destructivo Tifón.19 Podemos ofrecer dos razones que lo explican, a ojos del poeta y de sus lectores. Primero, porque este personaje conoce un “arte secreta”, al que ha accedido por iniciación, tal como indican la expresión del verso 485, ὑπὸ  μύστιδι  τέχνηι, y el término μύστης de 490, que podemos relacionar con el adjetivo ἀπόρρητος del texto de Jámblico, en el que nos hemos detenido brevemente, y cuyo significado se mueve entre lo mistérico, lo secreto y lo inefable. Segundo, porque la divinidad está con él: el servidor de Zeus retratado por Nono pronuncia la orden gracias a la inspiración (‘de su garganta inspirada’, verso 484). Ya hemos visto en el texto de Apuleyo que la relación con los dioses es una de las condiciones de efectividad de la teúrgia: un representante del género humano puede obtener la ayuda y las condiciones especiales de la divinidad de dos maneras: por aprendizaje y por ‘préstamo’ divino; es decir, que el dios preste su eficacia momentáneamente. No se trata de vías incompatibles: pueden darse simultáneamente. Pero no hay teúrgia sin la ayuda explícita de la divinidad. En la obra de Nono la cercanía con los dioses no se explicita jamás con términos similares a los de Apuleyo ni a los de Jámblico y en la mayor parte de las ocasiones el privilegio reviste la forma de una relación mítica: determinados personajes de las Dionisíacas consiguen sus propósitos porque son dioses o tienen un origen divino. El sacerdote de Estátala es la única excepción en la epopeya dionisíaca, pues sin ser pariente de dioses, es capaz de vencer a Tifón, en virtud de su uso de la palabra ‘dotada de inteligencia’ y de su piedad, que lo acerca al tipo histórico del ‘hombre divino’. 19 El modo en que Tifón resulta vencido recuerda además a las inscripciones de amuletos protectores contra enfermedades (Kotansky 1991 en Faraone and Obbink; Kotansky 1994).

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A modo de conclusión Después de un recorrido sumario por las generalidades de la teúrgia y de una breve historia de su trayectoria a lo largo de la Tardoantigüedad, con especial atención al siglo IV, hemos llegado al comentario de un texto que recoge, a modo de aluvión, los rasgos que los neoplatónicos adjudicaban a los teúrgos. No sólo pretendemos mostrar que Nono conocía las fuentes y, tal vez, la práctica teúrgica, sino también que dichas fuentes conservan casi intacta su eficacia informativa. En otras palabras y, como se ha ido viendo, que los rasgos del teúrgo, tal como los recogen Porfirio, Jámblico, e incluso Apuleyo y el Lapidario, se mantienen invariables a través de los siglos. La importancia de la presencia del sacerdote de Estátala en el texto de Nono trasciende lo anecdótico y el mero excurso. El poeta introduce en la acción un personaje novedoso cuyo papel en la epopeya, a pesar de no ir más allá de esta única intervención, cobra relevancia porque ilustra el conocimiento que el de Panópolis pudo tener de algunos de los más representativos procedimientos teúrgicos. La teúrgia, grosso modo definible como una vertiente filosófica de la magia, encuentra en la palabra su herramienta fundamental. La palabra es resultado de la estructuración del sonido por obra de la inteligencia y se opone marcadamente en el pasaje a la brutalidad de Tifón, con la razón, que el texto presenta aludida por adjetivos como σοφός, ἔμφρων y νοερός. Este último término es el que más de cerca se relaciona con la terminología filosófica, que marca la frontera entre los autodesignados ‘hombres divinos’, capaces de hablar directamente con los dioses y conseguir todo lo que les piden, gracias a sus relaciones especiales con ellos. El vulgo incurre en el error habitual de considerarlos hechiceros, cuando en realidad poseen una piedad personal que supera la media, como parece el caso del sacerdote que protagoniza el texto comentado.

hasta el punto de que Norden (1986 [=1898], I 439) ya viera inadecuada la expresión al uso de “prosa con fuerte colorido poético” y en su lugar propusiera la más radical y gráfica definición de poesía con apariencia de prosa”.3 Sobre esta sugerente acuñación de Norden hace algunos años ha vuelto Völker (2006, 589-612), quien la analiza en profundidad sobre la base de siete “PoesieMerkmale”;4 con todo, su análisis, excelente en lo descriptivo, se ha mostrado menos atento a captar las complejidades del discurso metaliterario himeriano en lo referente a la frontera entre la prosa y el verso, una materia que desde siempre fue objeto de amplia controversia en el terreno de la oratoria. Ciertamente, el uso corriente que hace Himerio de términos técnicos como μέλος, ὕμνος u ᾠδή para establecer ecuaciones con el discurso retórico, junto a predicados verbales como ᾄδειν o su compuesto προσᾴδειν para aludir a la acción de declamar,5 demuestra un denodado esfuerzo del orador por incorporar o suplantar a la poesía cantada. En ello la elocuencia de Himerio es, no obstante, un “caso límite”.6 Desde el s. IV a. C. han sido muchos los juicios desfavorables sobre la identificación de la prosa oratoria con la poesía.7 En el contexto de la Segunda Sofística la voz de Elio Aristides ha clamado con fuerza contra todos aquellos que profanan los misterios de la oratoria declamando ὥσπερ  ἐν  μέλει (Or. 34, 47 Keil) o, con su rasgo de ironía característico, el maestro de retórica de Luciano ha aconsejado a su alumno como medida de impacto transformar a la menor oportunidad en μέλος su discurso (Rh.Pr. 19), aun cuando —según sabemos por otro texto lucianesco (Demon. 12)— ello signifique “afeminar” su oratoria. Y en la Vida de los sofistas de Filóstrato otros ejemplos se suman contra la práctica “asianista” de rematar el discurso con la denominada ᾠδή, una porción sobreañadida a la argumentación de

La frontera entre la prosa y el verso en la sofística del Bajo Imperio: reconsiderando a Himerio / Frontiers between prose and poetry in Greek sophistic of the Late Roman Empire: Himerius reconsidered* José Guillermo Montes Cala Universidad de Cádiz

Abstract This paper aims to reexamine Himerius as a sophist, focusing on the pedagogical and ethical background of the highly frequent identification between prose and poetry within the corpus of his orations. Himerius’ views on this metaliterary aspect constitutes a fundamental concern to provide a new approach to the analysis of the poetic tone of his eloquence. The study presented here is divided in three sections: the first (‘If I were a poet’) starts by discussing those numerous passages that exemplify an equivalence relation, then the second (‘I am not a poet, I am only a prose writer’) explores the meaning of all those others that follow the mixed topos of recusatio-excusatio, a rhetorical device used by Himerius to accept the superiority of poetry over prose, and in contrast the third and last (‘Better to be a prose writer than a poet’) draws attention to those few cases concerning the rhetorical device of ὑπεροχή or primacy of oratorical prose over poetry. Of special interest is the evidence that this set of Himerius’ metatextual reflections and metaphors allows us to see both the prestige of μουσική for education in a school of rhetoric and the obsolescence of reviving the oral and musical basis of traditional Greek παιδεία in Late Antiquity. KEYWORDS: Greek oratory of the fourth century A.D., Metaliterature, Himerius as sophist and ‘poet’, Himerian comparisons between prose and poetry, Poeticality in oratorical prose

                                                                                                 Atenas); diciembre del 361-c. 369 (ausencia de Atenas: primero, en la corte de Juliano; luego, en el Este y en Asia Menor con una visita a Egipto); c. 369-década de los 80 (regreso a Atenas y segundo período de enseñanza como sofista en la ciudad). 3 Sin duda con esta precisión terminológica Norden parece estar contestando a Teuber (1882), quien en su tesis se limitaba a hablar del color poeticus de la oratoria de Himerio y de la mezcla de expresiones prosaicas y poéticas en sus discursos. Como rétor se orienta Himerio según Norden en la dirección contraria a la de Libanio, siendo el único ejemplo en la oratoria del siglo IV d. C. llegado a nosotros del “nuevo estilo”, aquel precisamente deudor de la corriente asianista. 4 Los rasgos poéticos allí enumerados son los siguientes: 1) la citación de poetas; 2) la invocación (o alusión) a las Musas; 3) la comparación del orador con aves canoras (cisne, ruiseñor, golondrina) o insectos de reputada musicalidad (cigarra); 4) la asimilación de la prosa oratoria al canto (μέλος, ᾠδή, ὕμνος); 5) la alusión a instrumentos o conceptos musicales; 6) el empleo metafórico de la terminología propia de los misterios; y 7) la presencia de exempla mitológicos (dioses y héroes). 5 Véase, para los pasajes, Völker (2006, 604 s.). 6 Según ya reconociera Sirago (1989, 73), en comparación con otros oradores como Elio Aristides (citas escasas) o Dión de Prusa (leer poesía lírica para un buen orador es andar perdiendo el tiempo, Or. 18, 8). Rizzo (1898, 516-22) contrastaba también este aprecio de Himerio por la poesía con la actitud de desprecio de Elio Aristides, Eunapio o Temistio. 7 Recuérdese cómo Aristóteles (Rh. III 1, 1404a 25) arremetía contra los excesos de la ποιητικὴ λέξις de Gorgias. En efecto, según éste expresaba en Hel. 9, prosa y verso están al mismo nivel, ya que ambos son λόγοι. Los conocidos σχήματα Γοργίεια apuntan decididamente a esta nivelación trasvasando procedimientos de la antigua poesía a la nueva Kunstprosa.

El interés de Himerio por la poesía y, muy especialmente, por la lírica1 es fácilmente constatable con una mera y superficial lectura del corpus accesible de sus discursos,2

                                                             *Este trabajo se enmarca dentro de los proyectos de investigación HUM2007-62489 y FFI2010-19067 del Plan Nacional de I+D+i (España). 1 Este acusado tono poético de su oratoria ha sido desde siempre señalado por los estudiosos: Teuber (1882), Rizzo (1898), Norden (1986 [=1898], I, 438-40), Burgess (1902, 166-94), Walden (1909, 235), Schenkl (1913, 1635), Cuffari (1983), Völker (2003, 28-32), Penella (2007, 14-6). Como recuerda Penella, Himerio se ha ganado un puesto de honor como fuente de los testimonios y fragmentos de los poetas mélicos. 2 En el presente trabajo numeraremos y citaremos, salvo que indiquemos lo contrario, los textos de Himerio por la edición crítica de Colonna (1951). Para una clasificación de la obra conservada véase Völker (2003, 35-49). Barnes (1987, 223 s.) distribuye buena parte de esta producción en cuatro etapas cronológicas a lo largo de la segunda mitad del s. IV d. C.: 343-352 (enseñanza como sofista en Constantinopla); 352-diciembre del 361 (primer período de enseñanza como sofista en

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ritmo exagerado y declamación cadenciosa: con esta servidumbre al efectismo formal hechizaba a su auditorio Favorino de Arlés (VS, 492); o declamaba el alumno severamente reprendido por Iseo de Siria (VS, 513); o, remedando al ruiseñor, trinaba Adriano de Tiro (VS, 589), o, en fin, con tales “retorcimientos canoros” (καμπαὶ  ᾀσμάτων) arruinaba la eufonía del discurso Varo de Laodicea (VS, 620). Ya en el contexto de la oratoria del Bajo Imperio y en línea con esta corriente tradicional de pensamiento, los reiterados pronunciamientos del coetáneo Temistio marcan también un abierto contraste con la posición de Himerio: el defensor de una oratoria que aspira a ser política y filosófica no pertenece a la categoría de los oradores que, como las cigarras, se solazan cantando al sol de mediodía (Or. 21, 4); ni vierte sobre sus oyentes la dulce y afeminada melodía del canto (Or. 22, 2); ni mucho menos se propone interpretar diversos μέλη (Or. 24, 1) o canturrear sin fundamento anteponiendo el deleite a la utilidad (Or. 26, 5).8 Pero no es tan sólo una mera cuestión de estilo, sobrevenida por una inadecuada aplicación de aquellas exigencias de “armonía” (ἐμμέλεια), “buen ritmo” (εὐρυθμία) y “modulación” (μεταβολή) que, por ejemplo, Dionisio de Halicarnaso reclamaba para la πεζὴ  λέξις al igual que para la música vocal o instrumental (Dem. 48, 9-10).9 En el comienzo de su Misopogon (Mis. 1-2) el también coetáneo Juliano, el emperador que hizo venir de Atenas a su corte de Constantinopla a nuestro sofista, nos recuerda que el tipo de παιδεία imperante entre ciudadanos libres en el s. IV d. C. pone freno a ejercer “el arte de las Musas en versos cantados” (ἡ  ἐν  τοῖς  μέλεσι  μουσική) y por esa razón, para hacer su autocensura, ha buscado el auxilio de las Musas en la composición de un “canto” (ᾄσμα) “en estilo pedestre” (πεζῇ  λέξει). Este “canto” de Juliano nos sitúa ahora en el plano de la metáfora, allí donde posibles contradicciones terminológicas quedan resueltas y “el arte de las Musas” puede figuradamente recurrir a la prosa. Esta elección se debe además a una cuestión de pedagogía. Así pues, en este mismo juego metafórico hemos de situar las continuas invocaciones y referencias de Himerio a las Musas y su arte10 y sus frecuentes comparaciones con los poetas (con los líricos, preferentemente).11 La impostura poética permea la prosa oratoria de Himerio, pero no por mero afán de preciosismo formal sino, ante todo, por una más profunda razón de παιδεία, razón por lo demás fundamental como sabemos en el

desarrollo de la μουσική en Grecia. Himerio parece tener muy presente que buena parte de la poesía lírica tradicionalmente ha estado ligada al “arte coral” (χορεία) y, en línea con el pensamiento platónico, parece suscribir la suposición formulada por aquel anónimo ateniense de Leyes (Pl. Lg. II, 654a, 6) sobre que “la primera educación” (ἡ πρώτη παιδεία) se recibe “a través de las Musas y Apolo” (διὰ Μουσῶν τε καὶ Ἀπόλλωνος).12 Así va reconstruyendo la vetusta analogía entre la oratoria y la μουσική con la mirada puesta en la misión educadora que tiene por delante y en la excepcional capacidad psicagógica del arte de las Musas.13 El ejemplo platónico del Protágoras (341a), con la mención del poeta Simónides como una especie de “protosofista”, señala ya la antigüedad de la imagen del sofista presentándose como heredero de los poetas líricos, como oportunamente recuerdan Graziosi/Haubold (2009, 110 s.). Una de sus charlas de escuela, de la que sólo conservamos el comienzo, deja ver con nitidez el peso de esta herencia: “Los poetas líricos de antaño, si alguna vez se aprestaban a ir a otra tierra, no hacían la partida en silencio, sino que con un canto y una melodía se despedían del coro de los suyos” (Or. 11, 2-4).14 Este “coro de los suyos”, del que se está despidiendo el orador, es desde luego el conjunto de sus estudiantes en la escuela de Atenas.15 Su “elocuencia” (λόγοι) se hace así equivalente a “canto y melodía” (ᾠδὴ  καὶ  μέλος), a esa particular y solidaria fusión de música vocal e instrumental. A Himerio le interesa especialmente recalcar, en el plano de la metáfora, esa antigua y estrecha asociación entre texto poético, ritmo y melodía propia de la μουσική. La continua evocación de todos esos factores señala la relevancia del componente pedagógico en una oratoria como la suya, básicamente orientada al ámbito escolar y a la formación de futuros rétores. El análisis que a continuación emprendemos tiene por principal objeto reconsiderar desde esta óptica el rico discurso metaliterario de nuestro sofista en torno a la relación de la prosa (oratoria) con el verso, atendiendo para ello a las coincidencias y aparentes divergencias que encierran tanto aquellos frecuentes casos de presunta relación de equivalencia (“Si yo fuera poeta”) como aquellos otros más ocasionales de presunta relación de contraste expresada mediante una recusatio atenuada (“Soy prosista, no poeta”) o mediante una ὑπεροχή o “sobrepujamiento” (“Mejor ser prosista que poeta”). De

                                                            

12 La χορεία consiste en “danza” (ὄρχησις) y “canción” (ᾠδή) y “el que ha bailado bastante en coro” (ὁ ἱκανῶς κεχορευκώς) es “el que está educado” (ὁ πεπαιδευμένος), mientras que “el que no baila en coro” (ὁ ἀχόρευτος) es “el no educado” (ὁ ἀπαίδευτος). Véase, al respecto, Murray (1996, 16). 13 De las cualidades terapéuticas del λόγος, similares a las δυνάμεις de la μουσική, también nos hablará Himerio en su Or. 16, un discurso improvisado a raíz de una disputa en la escuela, cuando allí nos haga una glosa del célebre pasaje de Od. 4, 219-22 sobre el φάρμακον de Helena. 14 Himerio aquí está componiendo, dentro de las reglas precisas de la literatura epidíctica, un típico λόγος συντακτικός (o συντακτήριος), esto es, un “discurso de partida” (Men. Rh. 430, 9 - 434, 9). 15 Una denominación por lo demás convencional en el marco de las escuelas de retórica: véanse Völker (2006, 605 s.) y, para el caso paralelo de Libanio, Petit (1957, 22 s.).

                                                            

8 No entramos, empero, en si toda esta polémica de Temistio contra la retórica “cantante” está realmente dirigida contra Himerio, quien con los verbos ᾄδειν y προσᾴδειν define a menudo el propio modo de recitar discursos (Maisano 1995, 738). 9 Dionisio expone su doctrina sobre la “euritmia” de la prosa en Comp. 25 partiendo de la célebre proclama aristotélica ῥυθμὸν δὲ μὴ ἀκριβῶς (Rh. III 8, 1408b, 31). Estos mismos argumentos los repitirá en Dem. 50, 6-10 al abordar la ἐμμέλεια como primera cualidad de la oratoria demosténica. 10 Véase, para una clasificación de las mismas, Völker (2006, 596-600). 11 Incidentes en las vidas de los poetas líricos (Anacreonte, Estesícoro, Píndaro o Íbico) son a menudo comparados a su propia situación como orador (Penella 2007, 13).

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dicho análisis extraeremos finalmente las conclusiones más relevantes.

aquellos que antes no lo fueron (Or. 36, 56-8). O en otro, de salutación en este caso y dirigido al procónsul Basilio, vuelve a invocarse la consabida ἐξουσία de los poetas a la hora de establecer el parangón del laudandus con la divinidad: si a Homero le fue permitido comparar al rey Agamenón con tres dioses, también al encomiasta en prosa le será posible tomarse la misma libertad (Or. 47, 57-60). Este topos viene, así pues, de lejos y una relectura, dentro de los textos de la Segunda Sofística, del comienzo del conocido prólogo al Himno a Serapis de Elio Aristides, con su expresiva y muy irónica alusión a la feliz y licenciosa raza de los poetas, bastará para apreciar su destacada presencia en la prosa oratoria de época imperial.18

Si yo fuera poeta Himerio recurre a esta fórmula condicional para expresar el deseo irrealizable de gozar como orador de la misma licentia que el poeta, el cual es calificado con cierta envidia como εὔτολμος en varias ocasiones.16 Este topos de la ποιητικὴ ἐξουσία lo encontramos ya en la literatura del siglo IV a. C. tanto en el marco de la poesía dramática, donde poetas cómicos de la Μέση como Antífanes (fr. 189 K.-A.) o de la Νέα como Dífilo (fr. 29 K.-A.) expresan amargas quejas contra la libertad de los tragediógrafos para hacer y decir cuanto les venga en gana, como en el marco de la prosa oratoria, cuyo locus classicus es un célebre pasaje del Evágoras de Isócrates (Or. 9, 8-11) donde se reflexiona, en clave metaliteraria, sobre el novedoso experimento de “encomiar mediante la prosa” (διὰ λόγων ἐγκωμιάζειν) en rivalidad directa con el encomio poético con el objeto de mejor apreciar las extremas exigencias de este nuevo género dentro de la retórica epidíctica, ya que el mismo no participa de las ventajas de la licencia poética y, en consecuencia, no puede usar de ninguno de los numerosos κόσμοι de expresión y contenido con que de suyo se adorna la poesía encomiástica.

La Or. 9 de Himerio está constituida por el Ἐπιθαλάμιος  εἰς  Σεβῆρον19 que se nos ha transmitido en A con una completa προθεωρία o “comentario preliminar” del propio orador muy importante por su contenido metaliterario:20 Ἴσως  μὲν  ἄν  τῳ  περίεργον  εἶναι  δόξειε  τὸ  περὶ  τῶν  ἐπιθαλαμίων  τεχνολογεῖν·  ὅπου  γὰρ  Ὑμέναιος  καὶ  χοροὶ  καὶ  ποιητικῆς  αὐτονομίας  ἄδεια,  τίς  ἐνταῦθα  τέχνης  καιρός;  ἐπεὶ  δὲ  χρὴ  τὸν  ἐπιστήμονα  καὶ  ἐν  τοῖς  τοιούτοις  μηδὲν  δίχα  τέχνης  ποιεῖν,  βραχέα  καὶ  περὶ  τούτων  εἰπεῖν  ἄξιον.  ἔστω  τοίνυν  ὁ  ἄριστος  ἐπιθαλαμίων  κανὼν  τὸ  τὴν  μὲν  λέξιν  πρὸς  τοὺς  ποιητὰς  ὁρᾶν,  τὰ  πράγματα δὲ πρὸς τὴν χρείαν, τὸ δὲ μέτρον  πρὸς  τὴν  ὑπόθεσιν.  ὧν  εἰ  πάντων  ὁ  λόγος  ἐστόχασται,  σαφέστερον  δείξει  τὸ  σύγγραμμα.

En Himerio tenemos formulado de acuerdo con el esquema condicional referido este mismo tópico: “si yo también participara de la licencia de los poetas, te habría mostrado el Iliso llorando, te habría pintado las hermosas aguas de Calírroe con el color del abatimiento…” (Fr. 1, 7). Pese a la brevedad del fragmento y a no poder especularse con ciertas garantías a qué momento del discurso pertenecía, sí puede afirmarse que estamos ante un magnífico ejemplo de “falacia patética” o adscripción de rasgos y sentimientos humanos a la naturaleza inanimada, de tanto prestigio en la tradición poética griega.17 El orador formula el deseo irrealizable de gozar de la ποιητικὴ ἐξουσία para dar expresión de forma abierta a una συμπάθεια de acento estoico.

Tal vez podría creerse que es cosa superflua prescribir reglas artísticas sobre los epitalamios, porque, donde estén Himeneo, unos coros y la garantía de licencia poética, ¿qué pinta allí el arte? Pero, ya que el entendido debe incluso en tales supuestos no hacer nada sin arte, vale la pena hablar también sobre éstos brevemente. Sea, así pues, la mejor regla de los epitalamios el mirar en la dicción a los poetas, en el contenido a la necesidad y en la longitud al asunto. Si el discurso ha logrado cumplir con todos estos objetivos, más claramente lo mostrará lo escrito (Or. 9, 3-11).

No obstante, también contamos con otros ejemplos himerianos de apelación a la licencia de los poetas en contextos no lacunosos para excusar ciertos atrevimientos perpetrados en el marco del encomio. En un discurso de despedida a Flaviano el orador pide perdón a la concurrencia si se pone a decir versos, pero la culpa de tal licencia la tiene su amor por el procónsul de Asia, esto es, ese mismo ἔρως que según el célebre adagio de la Estenebea de Eurípides (fr. 663 N.2) sabe hacer poetas a

En esta breve introducción nuestro orador adapta a sus fines la oposición ars / ingenium de raigambre platónica sobre la base de la doctrina de la licencia y el entusiasmo

                                                            

18 Aristid. Or. 45, 1-3 K. Véase, para un comentario más detenido del pasaje, Russell (1990, 201-6). 19 Se trata del único epitalamio de Himerio que nos ha llegado íntegro. Entre los títulos de los discursos himerianos recogidos en el cod. 165 de Focio (=Φκ, p. 9, 60) figura también un ἐπιθαλάμιος ῥηθεὶς εἰς Παναθήναιον, el cual Colonna (1951, 153) publica como la Or. 37 asignándole aleatoriamente el texto de algunos extractos napolitanos. 20 Restos de otras προθεωρίαι himerianas se hallan en el comienzo de dos de sus μελέται, la Or. 1 y la Or. 3, así como en el encabezamiento de un propémptico en forma de diálogo, la Or. 10. Para el uso ocasional de este tipo de comentarios por otros oradores del mismo período (Libanio, Temistio) o de época posterior (Coricio de Gaza), véase Penella (2007, 10, nota 35).

                                                             16

En Or. 20, 10 la comparación del comitente (Musonio) con un dios (Apolo), un topos encomiástico, se deja a “un poeta bien osado” (ποιητής τις εὔτολμος), quien desde la tradicional licentia poetica no dudaría en establecerla. También en Or. 38, 80 se invoca la osadía del poeta (ποιητὴς ἄν τις εἶπεν εὔτολμος) en el remedo de peán que el orador dedica al procónsul Cervonio. 17 Véanse, para el concepto y su aplicación a la poesía griega, las útiles precisiones de Buller (1981).

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poéticos. Así pues, sitúa en el eje de la τέχνη toda la tratadística retórica que con sus especulaciones teóricas ha constituido el κανών ο regula que mejor regirá el λόγος  ἐπιθαλάμιος como tipo epidíctico de discurso, una “norma” que se concreta en su aplicación al triple nivel del estilo (λέξις), del contenido (πράγματα) y de la longitud (μέτρον) y es tan sólo accesible al “entendido” (ὁ ἐπιστήμων), es decir, a aquel que nada hace “sin arte” (δίχα  τέχνης).21 Con esta visión “tecnológica” del epitalamio el orador marca distancia con respecto a los poetas inspirados, aquí plasmados mediante la evocación de sus tradicionales ἄδεια y αὐτονομία y, sobre todo, de su posesión divina (en este caso, de Himeneo como dios inspirador de la poesía epitalámica), y, desde esta toma de conciencia de su condición de prosista sujeto a reglas preestablecidas, nos receta como precepto estilístico para el discurso nupcial el tomar de modelos poéticos anteriores la adecuada dicción. No obstante, no hay en ello contradicción alguna con su precedente proscripción del ingenium poético, ya que este acercamiento a fuentes poéticas está perfectamente ubicado en el código de las enseñanzas prescritas por la τεχνολογία retórica.22 El prólogo del epitalamio comienza con un prestigioso parangón mítico, Apolo haciendo resonar a los acordes de su lira un γαμήλιον μέλος por las alcobas, que de entrada invita a establecer la consuetudinaria ecuación entre poesía (plasmada en la ejecución del γαμήλιον μέλος) y prosa oratoria (plasmada en la declamación del λόγος  ἐπιθαλάμιος); sin embargo, Himerio adopta aquí la pose propia de un prosista al expresar, aunque solo sea momentáneamente, cierta reticencia hacia la autoridad de los poetas: “si no es mito lo que cuentan los poetas” (9, 27 εἰ  δὲ  δὴ  μὴ  μῦθος  ὁ  ποιητῶν  λόγος). Aquí μῦθος adquiere las connotaciones negativas habitualmente atribuidas a los relatos poéticos como contrarios a la verdad.23 Himerio también reflexiona sobre la qualitas estilística que sería la más apropiada a este γαμήλιον  μέλος:

                                                             21

Nuestras principales fuentes retóricas de época imperial para la tipología y el tratamiento de los discursos nupciales son los capítulos II (μέθοδος γαμηλίων) y IV (μέθοδος ἐπιθαλαμίου) de la Τέχνη ῥητορική atribuida a Dionisio de Halicarnaso y los capítulos XIII (περὶ ἐπιθαλαμίου) y XIV (περὶ κατευναστικοῦ) del Περὶ ἐπιδεικτικῶν de Menandro el Rétor. Los tipos γαμήλιος y ἐπιθαλάμιος del PseudoDionisio se corresponden, respectivamente, con los tipos έπιθαλάμιος y κατευναστικός de Menandro. Una buena introducción a su estudio siguen siendo Russell (1979) y Russell/Wilson (1981, 309-23). 22 En su segunda parte (9, 12-24) la προθεωρία elabora la estructura del epitalamio conforme a la reglas consuetudinarias de la retórica epidíctica, si bien se observan ligeras diferencias con el esquema propuesto por Menandro el Rétor: véanse, sobre las mismas, Rizzo (1898, 547-51), Penella (2007, 142-5). Este Epitalamio a Severo es un λόγος τετραμερής (“discurso cuatrimembre”) que consta de las siguientes secciones: (1) prólogo (9, 25-72); (2) tesis sobre el matrimonio (9, 72-136); (3) encomio de los esposos (9, 136-208), que en realidad reúne dos secciones de Menandro (elogios de la familia y de la pareja); y (4) descripción de la novia (9, 208-77). 23 Más adelante, en 9, 94-6, también se criticarán como mendaces los mitos de autoctonía, ya que se defiende allí que la humana fue la última especie que Γάμος produjo sobre la tierra. Por ello se califica de mero Ἀττικῆς χάριτος παίγνιον el mito de Cécrope y el surgimiento de la humanidad desde el suelo ático. No obstante, en este caso Himerio no explicita fuente poética alguna para el μῦθος censurado.

οὐκοῦν ὥρα καὶ ἡμῖν, ὦ παῖδες, ἐπεὶ καὶ τὰς  ἡμετέρας καλοῦμεν Μούσας πρὸς γαμήλιον  χορὸν καὶ ἔρωτα, ἀνεῖναι τὴν ἁρμονίαν τὴν  σύντονον,  ἵνʹ  ἅμα  μετὰ  παρθένων  ἐπʹ  Ἀφροδίτῃ  χορεύσωμεν.  ὅτι  δὲ  μέγας  ὁ  κίνδυνος  οὕτως  ἁπαλὸν  μέλος  εὑρεῖν,  ὡς  τὴν  θεὸν  ἀρέσαι  τῷ  μέλει,  παρʹ  αὐτῶν   ποιητῶν  μανθάνειν  ἔξεστιν,    οἱ  πλείους  οἶμαι  δεινοὶ  τὰ  ἐρωτικὰ  γενόμενοι,  κατὰ μὲν θεῶν καὶ παρθένων ἐπιτολμῶσαν  τὴν  Ἥραν  ἔδειξαν,  τὰ  δὲ  Ἀφροδίτης  ὄργια  παρῆκαν  τῇ  Λεσβίᾳ  Σαπφοῖ  ᾄδειν  πρὸς  λύραν  καὶ  ποιεῖν  τὸν  θάλαμον·  ἣ  καὶ  εἰσῆλθε  μετὰ  τοὺς  ἀγῶνας  εἰς  θάλαμον,  πλέκει  παστάδα,  τὸ  λέχος  στρώννυσι,  γράφει παρθένους,  νυμφεῖον ἄγει καὶ  Ἀφροδίτην  ἐφʹ  ἅρμα  Χαρίτων  καὶ  χορὸν  Ἐρώτων συμπαίστορα. καὶ τῆς μὲν ὑακίνθῳ  τὰς  κόμας  σφίγξασα,  πλὴν  ὅσαι  μετώποις  μερίζονται, τὰς λοιπὰς ταῖς  αὔραις ἀφῆκεν  ὑποκυμαίνειν,  εἰ  πλήττοιεν.  τῶν  δὲ  τὰ  πτερὰ  καὶ  τοὺς  βοστρύχους  χρυσῷ  κοσμήσασα  πρὸ  τοῦ  δίφρου  σπεύδει  πομπεύοντας  καὶ  δᾷδα  κινοῦντας  μετάρσιον.  ἡμῖν  δὲ  καὶ  ἀναγκαῖον  τὸ  σπούδασμα. Así pues, muchachos, llegado es también el momento, ya que convocamos a nuestras Musas a un nupcial coro y al amor, de que relajemos la melodía solemne, para que junto con las doncellas dancemos en honor de Afrodita. Que entraña un gran peligro hallar una canción tan tierna como para complacer con ella a la diosa, puede aprenderse de los propios poetas, la mayoría de los cuales, diestra como es en cuestiones de amor, ha mostrado a Hera actuando atrevidamente contra dioses y doncellas y, en cambio, ha cedido a la lesbia Safo cantar a la lira los ritos de Afrodita y preparar el tálamo. Ella, tras los certámenes, entró en el tálamo, dispone la cámara nupcial, hace la cama, describe a las doncellas, las lleva a la alcoba nupcial y a Afrodita al carro de las Gracias y al coro de los Amores, sus compañeros de juego. Tras atarle el pelo con jacinto, salvo la parte que le cae por la frente, deja que ondee lo que queda suelto a los vientos que puedan levantarse. Tras haber adornado con oro las alas y los bucles de estos, les urge a formar la comitiva ante el carro y a mover en el aire las antorchas. También nosotros nos debemos a tales afanes (Or. 9, 29-47).

Nos movemos aquí en el terreno de la contraposición entre la ἄνεσις (“relajación”) y la συντονία (“elevación”) en materia de estilo, ya observada en la teoría sobre el λόγος ἐπιθαλάμιος por Menandro el Rétor (399, 16-18). No obstante, Himerio no está siguiendo las mismas pautas de Menandro sobre la dialéctica de estilos y más bien está interesado en la cualidad definidora de la poesía amatoria como género de tono menor pues, en consonancia con la imagen general de la oratoria como poesía, λόγος y μέλος estarían en exacta correspondencia: la mayoría de los poetas eróticos, ante

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todo para el epitalamio μετὰ  τοὺς  ἀγῶνας (9, 39), al igual que su precedente mítico, el dios Apolo, lo hacía líneas antes μετὰ τὰς μεγάλας νίκας (9, 25), es decir, en ambos casos precisándose a través de una transparente secuencia temporal que lo epitalámico pertenece a una esfera más íntima y privada, ajena a la exterioridad propia de toda competición poética. Esta analogía es aún más valiosa si es contemplada en la frontera entre el verso y la prosa, pues por extensión también categoriza el λόγος ἐπιθαλάμιος como discurso de tono privado y ajeno al μέγεθος de las públicas ἐπιδείξεις. La correspondencia entre poesía (Safo) y oratoria (Himerio) se estrecha finalmente en torno al motivo del común σπούδασμα: también es ahora deber del orador componer un epitalamio en prosa, toda vez que el novio, Severo, ha sido uno de sus alumnos de elocuencia más destacados.28

la manifiesta dificultad de dar con una canción tan “tierna” (ἁπαλόν) como para complacer a Afrodita, se ha dedicado a cantar las añagazas de Hera contra los amantes de Zeus antes que a componer auténtica poesía epitalámica, la cual han cedido a Safo. De manera tan destacada, mediante el empleo de la fórmula programática cedant, se nos introduce la figura de la poetisa de Lesbos como modelo literario indiscutible a imitar.24 En este pasaje se propone el sáfico como modelo específico para el epitalamio frente al poético general de la προθεωρία. La técnica de trasvasar acciones y motivos de los personajes al propio poeta (a Safo, en este caso) es recurrente en Himerio25 y quizá tengamos que ver en todo ello que nuestro orador está al cabo de una larga tradición biografista en torno a la exégesis de los poetas, de la cual son máximos exponentes las Vitae poetarum, apoyadas en muchas ocasiones en esta misma conversión de situaciones ficticias que están dispersas a lo largo de sus obras en hechos presuntamente veraces de sus biografías. El editor Colonna (1951, 76) creyó detectar en este pasaje hasta cuatro reminiscencias textuales de Safo (que hemos transcrito con caracteres expandidos); sin embargo, ya Cuffari (1983, 61) veía muy difícil confirmar este extremo, pues no contamos con ninguna base de comparación, si bien se sentía inclinada a interpretar en general el contexto himeriano como una “citazione compendiaria che riproduce lo schema di qualche epitalamio saffico”. Es muy posible que en este compendio nuestro orador se haya servido de algunas παραπλοκαί26 o “inserciones” de citas parciales de versos sáficos, alterando en cualquier caso la forma dialectal del original y no sabemos a ciencia cierta si también su esquema métrico, conforme al tropo de la paráfrasis paródica (κατὰ  παρῳδίαν) teorizado por Hermógenes, el cual salvaguarda la requerida unidad de estilo en el discurso (donde texto prosístico citante y texto poético citado deben siempre formar ἓν  σῶμα, “un solo cuerpo”) mediante la cita literal pero parcial de versos y el añadido de la prosificación del resto con el objeto de al menos lograr una cierta unidad conceptual (μία  ἰδέα).27 Tiene además interés observar cómo funciona aquí el principio de la analogía, ya que, se nos dice, Safo dispuso

Al cierre del prólogo el discurso metaliterario acerca de esta frontera entre el verso y la prosa se hace aún más explícito. Himerio dejará a Posidón y los demás dioses tales cantos nupciales (9, 69 s. ἡμεῖς  δὲ  τὰ  μὲν  τοιαῦτα  θεοῖς καὶ Ποσειδῶνι παρήσομεν), porque él se aplicará a cantar la boda de Severo partiendo de donde es razonable y necesario que un orador como él lo haga, a saber, abordando de acuerdo con la preceptiva retórica el primer topos de la tesis sobre el matrimonio (Or. 9,70-2).29 Siguiendo el plan inicialmente trazado, proseguirá luego con la presentación del segundo topos, el encomio de los contrayentes, donde encontramos una referencia general a los ποιηταί que cantan estas y todas las demás lindezas del matrimonio según costumbre “delante del tálamo”; pero esta es una ocasión muy especial, ya que con sus encantos la actual pareja “impone como sello distintivo” (ἐπισφραγίζεται) la gracia del matrimonio (Or. 9, 136139). El modelo sáfico vuelve a hacerse presente en este momento para compendiar el motivo encomiástico de la σύγκρισις de los contrayentes: Σαπφοῦς  ἦν  ἄρα  μήλῳ  μὲν  εἰκάσαι  τὴν  κόρην,  […]  τὸν  νυμφίον  τε  Ἀχιλλεῖ  παρομοιῶσαι  καὶ  εἰς  ταὐτὸν  ἀγαγεῖν  τῷ  ἥρωι  τὸν  νεανίσκον  ταῖς  πράξεσι.  ὥσπερ  γὰρ  ἐκεῖνον  ἡ  ποίησις  τοῦ  παντὸς  Ἑλληνικοῦ  κατὰ  τοὺς  πολέμους  προΐστησιν,  οὕτω  καὶ  οὗτος  τῆς  καθʹ  αὑτὸν  ἀγέλης  ἡγούμενος  πολλοὺς  καὶ  μεγάλους  ἄθλους ἀνείλετο·.

                                                            

24 Sin duda se trata de la misma Σαπφικὴ μελῳδία aludida por Coricio de Gaza en uno de sus discursos nupciales (Or. 5, 19 F.). Sobre la omnipresencia de Safo en los epitalamios, véase Wheeler (1930, 206 s.). [D.H.] Rh. 4, 1 Sp. prescribía las ἐπιθαλάμιοι ᾠδαί de Safo como παραδείγματα y Men. Rh. 402, 17 s. aconsejaba las citas de poemas sáficos junto a las de Homero o Hesíodo. A pesar de las citas y referencias constantes, Cuffari (1983, 64-9) considera muy discutible que nuestro sofista tuviera del texto de Safo un conocimiento profundo. 25 Or. 46, 43-6 (descripción de Apolo en Safo y Píndaro); 48, 105-31 (paráfrasis del Peán a Apolo de Alceo); 65, 3-6 (trasvase a Homero de las acciones de sus héroes iliádicos). Sobre el procedimiento, véase Lieberg (1990). 26 Para estas παραπλοκαί de poemas tanto propios como ajenos en el cuerpo de la prosa, véase Hermog. Id. 2, 338 Rabe. 27 En Hermog. Meth. 447 se contrapone, al abordarse la cuestión del uso de versos en la prosa, este tropo de la παρῳδία al tropo de la κόλλησις o inserción “sinfónica” de versos completos en un texto prosístico. Sobre esta misma combinación de citas literales parciales de un texto poético con paráfrasis en prosa del resto y sus ventajas de cara a la unidad de estilo, véanse también las prescripciones que Men. Rh. 413, 30 s. da acerca del uso de un fragmento yámbico de Eurípides en el marco del παραμυθητικὸς λόγος.

Propio de Safo era, en efecto, comparar a la muchacha con una manzana, […] y equiparar al novio con Aquiles e igualar las acciones del joven con las del héroe. Pues, como la poesía coloca a aquél al frente de todo el ejército griego durante

                                                            

28 La inserción aquí de un διήγημα como ejercicio retórico sobre Posidón y Pélope adquiere un valor paradigmático indudable con respecto a la situación presente del discurso: Posidón educó a su amado Pélope e igualmente en sus nupcias “le cantó una canción de bodas” (9, 69: ἐπῇσε τι καὶ μέλος γαμήλιον). El dios marino se convierte así en otro referente mítico que, junto con el de Apolo, se ha de sumar al histórico de Safo. 29 Para las citaciones parafrásticas ocasionales de textos poéticos de Homero en esta sección del epitalamio, véase Cuffari (1983, 36-9).

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire ἀνάγκη  φθέγγεσθαι·  ὦ  λευκότητος  καὶ  γάλακτος·  ταῦτα  γάρ  πού  τις  ποιμὴν  παρʹ  ἐκείνοις ποθῶν τὴν Γαλάτειαν τὴν Νηρηΐδα  προσείρηκεν, ἐκ τῆς ἑαυτοῦ ποιήσας τέχνης  τὸ μέλος.

los combates, así también ése, guiando su propia grey, ha ganado muchos grandes certámenes (Or. 9, 185-194).

La comparación de los novios con el mundo vegetal o animal es desde luego un motivo tradicional de encomio en los epitalamios.30 Ahora bien, no tenemos apoyo textual para el origen inequívocamente sáfico de la comparación del novio con héroes como Aquiles en contextos epitalámicos, aunque sí con deidades: en concreto, ya es comparado con Ares, por ejemplo, en Sapph. fr. 111 V. y en nuestro pasaje la figura de Aquiles es precisamente evocadora de la ἀριστεία en cuestiones marciales.31 Con todo, resulta destacable que en este caso el orador haya desatendido el método de la ἀντεξέτασις o “paralelismo” tal como lo prescribe Menandro el Rétor para la predicación de la hermosura de los cónyuges.32

Vamos, pues, lo (sc. el discurso) meteremos en la alcoba y lo convenceremos de que vaya al encuentro de la belleza de la novia. Oh, mujer hermosa, oh, mujer grácil —pues te cuadran los encomios de la lesbia—, ya que contigo juegan las Gracias de rosáceos tobillos y la dorada Afrodita, las Horas hacen florecer los prados. Y tú baila con ellos saltando ligeramente al compás de la melodía. […] Y si yo quisiera describir la flor de tu apariencia, fuerza es que empleara las palabras de los poetas: ¡Oh, blancura incluso de leche! Estas son las palabras que un pastor dirigió en algún sitio en las obras de estos poetas a la nereida Galatea, a la que amaba, tras haber usado de su propia industria para componerle una canción (Or. 9, 226-231; 242-246).

El orador siente que, con sus digresiones, se ha salido de su objetivo inicial y por ello piensa que es hora de volver a la alcoba nupcial para ir al encuentro de la belleza de la novia y hacer de la misma una pintura verbal, es decir, la ἔκφρασις  τῆς  νύμφης que constituye el tercer topos del discurso epitalámico. En su tratamiento volvemos a hallar nuevas y sugerentes formulaciones del esquema condicional en torno a la relación entre prosa oratoria y verso. En un primer pasaje Himerio, como componedor de un discurso nupcial, se hace eco del mismo procedimiento que ya antes pusiera en práctica (9, 39 ss.) y se ve al modo de Safo entrando en el propio tálamo:

Las citas poéticas aquí insertas ya fueron analizadas por Cuffari (1983, 49-55) y muestran, con la presencia de textos de Teócrito y Anacreonte reunidos en un contexto declaradamente sáfico, la perspectiva personal de Himerio como exegeta de ese continuum constituido por la tradición poética griega.33 Desde su subjetiva y restrictiva percepción de esa tradición, el sofista quiere dar a entender que estamos ante un nuevo y flagrante caso de imitación en segundo grado, de acceso al texto de Safo con la mediación de los textos de Anacreonte o del Teócrito “epitalámico” del Id. XVIII. Por ello nuestro orador nos introduce, al hilo de la primera citación poética y en el plano metaliterario, la acotación de que estos motivos encomiásticos cuadran al contexto porque son “de la lesbia”, es decir, de la autora por excelencia de epitalamios.

φέρε οὖν, εἴσω τοῦ θαλάμου παραγαγόντες  αὐτὸν  ἐντυχεῖν  τῷ  κάλλει  τῆς  νύμφης  πείσομεν.  ὦ  καλή,  ὦ  χαρίεσσα·  πρέπει  γάρ  σοι  τὰ  τῆς  Λεσβίας  ἐγκώμια.  σοὶ  μὲν  γὰρ  ῥοδόσφυροι  Χάριτες  χρυσῆ  τʹ  Ἀφροδίτη  συμπαίζουσιν,  Ὧραι  δὲ  λειμῶνας  βρύουσι·  σὺ δʹ ὑπὲρ αὐτῶν χορεύειν κοῦφα σκιρτῶσα  πρὸς  μέλος·  […]  εἰ  δὲ  καὶ  τὸ  ἄνθος  τῆς  ὄψεως  γράφειν  ἐθέλοιμι,  τὰ  ποιητῶν 

Tras una breve secuencia sin citaciones poéticas aparentes, donde se describen los Érotes entretejiendo coronas de rosas que esparcen por el lecho y, en un cuidado trícolon, las tres partes (Πειθώ, Πόθοι y Ἵμερος) en que se divide la belleza de la novia (Or. 9, 232-242), de nuevo la efusión lírica del orador demanda el concurso de la poesía y de nuevo es la cita poética (adaptada posiblemente de Theoc. 11, 20) el procedimiento empleado. También se acompaña de un interesante discurso metaliterario. La cláusula explicativa γάρ glosa el contexto de origen de la cita, pero ahora, frente a la

                                                             30

En Sapph. fr. 105a V. la novia ya era expresamente comparada con el γλυκύμαλον y en Sapph. fr. 105c V. se la compara también con la flor del jacinto. Por su parte, en Catulo 61 contamos igualmente con la presencia de estos símiles: la novia, Junia, es allí sucesivamente comparada con el mirto (vv. 21-5), el jacinto (vv. 91-5), la manzanilla o la amapola (vv. 191 ss.). No obstante, Cuffari (1983, 61-3) sopesa si en realidad se puede establecer una dependencia directa de Safo más allá del mero compendio. La tratadística retórica sobre el λόγος ἐπιθαλάμιος se hizo también eco de este tipo de símiles; véase Men. Rh. 404, 8 donde esta misma comparación de la novia con la manzana se propone como modelo de ἔπαινος τοῦ κάλλους. 31 A Himerio le gusta entablar este tipo de correspondencias entre “el hombre de armas” (casi siempre encarnado por Aquiles) y “el hombre de letras” (aquí representado por el alumno Severo), esto es, entre acciones y palabras, como mejor medio de elogiar la actividad oratoria: cf. Or. 21, 2-6 (también dirigida a Severo, quien es nuevamente parangonado con Aquiles). En Or. 44, 16 s. se equipara en términos más generales la exhibición (ἐπίδειξις) de la armoniosa voz del orador con la de un cuerpo robusto (en alusión a Odiseo). 32 Men. Rh. 404, 5-8 establece el siguiente paralelismo entre símiles vegetales: la novia es como un olivo (ἐλαία) y el novio como una palmera (φοῖνιξ); o él se parece a una rosa (ῥόδον) y ella a una manzana (μῆλον); pero en Himerio al símil vegetal de la novia no le corresponde en paralelo otro símil vegetal del novio (piénsese, por ejemplo, en el sarmiento lozano de vid con el que se compara al novio en Sapph. fr. 115 V.).

                                                             33

La yuxtaposición en el pasaje de todas estas citas, adaptadas ya de Safo (fr. 108 V. ὦ κάλα, ὦ χαρίεσσα κόρα), de Anacreonte (fr. 12, 2-4 P. καὶ Νύμφαι κυανώπιδες / πορφυρῆ τ’ Ἀφροδίτη / συμπαίζουσιν; fr. 72, 5 P. νῦν δὲ λειμῶνάς τε βόσκεαι κοῦφά τε σκιρτῶσα παίζεις) o de Teócrito (18, 38 ὦ καλά, ὦ χαρίεσσα κόρα; 11, 20 λευκοτέρα πακτᾶς ποτιδεῖν) no debe ser analizada negativamente en términos de amalgama o contaminación, porque en realidad no responde tanto a una borrosa y confusa relación jerárquica entre las fuentes como a su filiación a una tupida red de motivos epitalámicos tradicionales, a la cual dan por igual expresión poética. Por ello entendemos que es estéril la larga discusión sobre si nuestro sofista está imitando a Safo directamente o no: sobre la misma, véase Cuffari (1983, 51-5), con abundantes referencias bibliográficas.

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con la de la palmera délica del santuario de Apolo.35 El anhelado homerismo de Himerio entra, como es habitual en la poética tardoantigua, en la ζήλωσις, en la rivalidad directa con el propio modelo: el orador no emplazaría a la novia de Severo junto al altar de Apolo sino en los dorados bosques de Afrodita. Tampoco su condición de ποιητικός habría impedido el vituperio de los poetas que impropiamente sitúan a las Musas en Beocia y no en Atenas. Por voluntad del “poeta” Himerio un amplio catálogo de seres sobrenaturales (musas, nereidas, ninfas, dríades, sátiros, Pan, Dioniso y su séquito, incluso la misma Afrodita) habría abandonado sus sedes habituales y acudido al tálamo nupcial. El segundo período condicional tiene mayor interés por cuanto contiene la paráfrasis prosística de un canto nupcial (llamado sucesivamente ᾠδή y μέλος) compuesto por el propio orador que, desde el punto de vista técnico de la inserción del verso en la prosa, ocupa un lugar intermedio entre los procedimientos de integración total o parcial (κόλλησις, παρῳδία) en el cuerpo del discurso y aquellos otros en los que un texto poético aparece “de forma separada” (ἐκ διαστάσεως),36 citado, como las leyes o los decretos en los discursos, con total independencia del texto prosístico citante con el que no llega a formar unidad. En su aparato de referencias Colonna (1951, 86) anota que este μέλος debe de ser una cita casi literal de un poema de Safo perdido;37 sin embargo, es necesario no analizar el fenómeno al modo decimonónico desde los estrechos presupuestos de la Quellensforschung. Este μέλος himeriano responde, en definitiva, a uno de esos ποιήματα que Menandro el Rétor denomina κατευναστικά (“de lecho”) en su tratamiento de los discursos de lecho nupcial (paralelamente llamados κατευναστικοὶ  λόγοι).38 Por consiguiente, Himerio nos está ofreciendo una muy sui generis paráfrasis prosística de un ποίημα que, por su tópico contenido, la preceptiva retórica en cierto modo ya ha codificado como modelo posible para el κατευναστικὸς λόγος. Es el seguimiento de una plantilla, antes que de un precedente poético concreto, lo que aquí tenemos y lo más llamativo reside en su tratamiento como “pieza aparte” del cuerpo del discurso, con marcadores metalingüísticos tan evidentes como el adjetivo τοιόνδε calificando a μέλος, y su cuidada estilización en cuanto a los procedimientos

mención expresa de Safo de casos precedentes, Himerio se muestra calculadamente impreciso y no identifica al poeta. Es una cita encontrada “en algún sitio… en las obras de esos [poetas]” (Or. 9, 244; πού... παρ’ ἐκείνοις). Tampoco lo hace con el innominado pastor (sabemos que es el cíclope Polifemo por la mención expresa de su enamoramiento de la nereida Galatea). Puede incluso que tal vaguedad con respecto a Teócrito sea debida a que el orador en realidad tenga en mente no su Idilio XI sino una de sus posibles fuentes, el célebre ditirambo El cíclope o Galatea del poeta del s. IV a. C. Filóxeno de Citera.34 Hasta este momento la poeticidad del epitalamio himeriano ha descansado en la evocación constante del venerable modelo sáfico (acompañado puntualmente de otros textos poéticos complementarios) y la recurrencia a la citación poética como vehículo eficaz para dar esa γλυκύτης que, en cuestión de estilo, es demandado a todo discurso epitalámico. No obstante, a partir de Or. 9, 248 el esquema condicional de deseo irrealizable se enfatizará ya sin la presencia de esas παραπλοκαί de versos ajenos hasta llegar en Or. 9, 263 a la inserción de un μέλος del cual el propio orador confiesa ser autor: ἀλλʹ εἰ γὰρ ἐγὼ ποιητικός τις ἦν τὴν φύσιν,  ὥστε  ἀφεῖναι  κατὰ  τῆς  νύμφης  γλῶτταν  αὐτόνομον,  καὶ  αὐτὸς  τὸ  κάλλος  τῆς  κόρης  εἶπον  καθώσπερ  Ὅμηρος.  […]  εἰ  δὲ  καὶ  ᾠδῆς ἐδέησεν, ἔδωκα ἂν καὶ μέλος τοιόνδε·  «Νύμφα  ῥοδέων  ἐρώτων  βρύουσα,  νύμφα  Παφίης ἄγαλμα κάλλιστον, ἴθι πρὸς εὐνήν,  ἴθι  πρὸς  λέχος,  μείλιχα  παίζουσα,  γλυκεῖα  νυμφίῳ·  Ἕσπερος  ἑκοῦσάν  σʹ  ἄγει,  ἀργυρόθρονον ζυγίαν Ἥραν θαυμάζουσαν. Pero si tuviera una naturaleza poética como para dejar que por su cuenta mi lengua hablara de la novia, yo mismo habría pregonado la belleza de la muchacha como un Homero. […] Y si hubiera necesidad de cantar, añadiría también una canción como la que sigue: “Novia de rosáceos amores rebosante, novia la más bella gala de la Pafia, ve al lecho, ve a la cama, tú, la de dulces juegos, la dulce para el novio: Héspero te trae por tu voluntad, a ti que reverencias a la matrimonial Hera de argénteo trono” (Or. 9, 248-50; 262-6).

                                                            

35 Wernsdorff (1790, 362) no entiende, por ejemplo, el nivel metapoético ensayado aquí por Himerio y piensa que la mención de Homero en el pasaje es sospechosa, ya que el motivo se prestaría al colorido de un poeta amatorio o cómico antes que heroico. 36 Hermog. Id. 2, 338. 37 Sigue en ello a Bergk (1882), que recoge este testimonio himeriano como fr. 133 de Safo. Por su parte, Rizzo (1898, 561 s.) ve igualmente indudable que son versos ‘sáficos’ y aporta las “ricostruzioni metriche”, por él tachadas de “insigni”, de Westphal y Mähly, con restitución del lesbio presuntamente originario. En realidad, todas estas tentativas, producto típico de la mentalidad filológica decimonónica, son deudoras de Wernsdorff (1790, 364), quien ya expresaba su pesar por no haberse conservado el epitalamio sáfico que subyace en el μέλος de Himerio. 38 Estos poemas son traídos a colación por el rétor por ser una fuente inagotable de inspiración para este tipo epidíctico de discurso nupcial, ya que se desarrollan “por medio de exhortar e incitar a ir al tálamo” (405, 19: διὰ τοῦ παρορμᾶν ἐπὶ τὸν θάλαμον καὶ προτρέπειν) y comparten con él la función de ser “una incitación a consumar la unión” (405, 23: προτροπὴ πρὸς τὴν συμπλοκήν).

En el primer período condicional Himerio expresa su deseo (como tantas veces irrealizable) de tener el ingenium propio de los poetas para así gozar de sus licencias a la hora de hacer el encomio de la novia. En tal caso sería sorprendentemente un alter Homerus y no una nueva Safo, a pesar del contexto epitalámico preciso; pero el orador recupera “a la alejandrina” al Homero erótico de Od. 6, 162, al poeta que por boca de Odiseo parangona la extraordinaria belleza de la joven Nausícaa

                                                             34

Cuffari (1983, 97-9) revaloriza esta vieja hipótesis de Wernsdorff (1790, 361), también seguida por Colonna (1951, 85), sobre la base de que no hay una exacta correspondencia en la forma de expresión ni en la métrica, ya que no se trata de una secuencia dactílica, como sería esperable de los hexámetros teocriteos, sino yámbica.

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rítmicos.39 A estos efectos el pasaje podría analizarse del siguiente modo:

uno de doncellas y otro de donceles, que en contextos epitalámicos ya nos es suficientemente conocida por ejemplos catulianos: “pero ¿dónde están mis coros de doncellas?, ¿dónde los de donceles?” (Or. 9, 267).41 El orador, adoptando la pose del maestro de ceremonias, tradicional por lo demás en la hímnica coral griega, da una serie de instrucciones concretas a los coros: “que alguien sujete una tea grande; que algún otro se ponga a tocar; que el canto se adueñe de todo” (Or. 9, 267-9).42

[A] Νύμφα  ῥοδέων  ἐρώτων  βρύουσα, (11 sílabas [2+6+3] / 4 palabras / óo, óoo [1-PPr]40) νύμφα  Παφίης  ἄγαλμα  κάλλιστον, (11 sílabas [2+3+6] / 4 palabras / óoo, óoo [2-PrPr]) [B] ἴθι πρὸς εὐνήν, (5 sílabas [2+3] / 3 palabras / óo, ooó [2-PO])

2) El plano de la prosa oratoria, que ahora cede su lugar al canto coral: “mi elocuencia os deja lo que queda” (9, 267 s. ὑμῖν  τῶν  λοιπῶν  παραχωροῦσιν  οἱ  λόγοι). Está representado por el ego loquens que, alejado de las doncellas y los donceles que forman los coros, procederá a entonar junto al tálamo la tradicional προσευχή conclusiva: “de pie junto al propio tálamo haré súplicas a Fortuna, a Eros y a los dioses natalicios: a Eros, que hasta el fin dispare sus flechas; a Fortuna, que dé larga vida; a los dioses natalicios, que den el procrear hijos legítimos, para que unamos un día a la cratera de bodas libaciones por nacimientos” (Or. 9, 273-7).43 Una mera comparación con Theoc. 18, 50-3, que contiene como aquí una triple plegaria (en este caso, dirigida a Leto, Cipris y Zeus) en contexto epitalámico, puede ilustrar el registro sumamente convencional de este tipo de cierre.

ἴθι πρὸς λέχος, (5 sílabas [2+3] / 3 palabras / óo, oóo [2-PP]) [C] μείλιχα  παίζουσα, (6 sílabas [3+3] / 2 palabras / óoo, óoo [2-PrPr]) γλυκεῖα νυμφίῳ· (6 sílabas [3+3] / 2 palabras / óo, oóo [2-PP]) [D] Ἕσπερος  ἑκοῦσάν  σʹ  ἄγει, (8 sílabas [3+3+2] / 4 palabras / óo, óo [1-PP]) ἀργυρόθρονον  ζυγίαν  Ἥραν  θαυμάζουσαν (14 sílabas [10+4] / 4 palabras, óo, oóoo [2-PPr])

Como puede comprobarse, este pasaje está construido sobre la base del paralelismo binario. [A] y [B] comprenden sendos ἰσόκωλα cuya estructura bimembre está regida tanto por el isosilabismo como por el mismo número de palabras. La anáfora de νύμφα en [A] o de ἴθι en [B] ayuda a reforzar la semejanza estructural. El ἰσόκωλον de [C] mantiene la igualdad en la longitud silábica y en el número de palabras, pero innova al romper la anáfora en sentido estricto y crear en su lugar un cierto juego semántico con la ubicación de los términos sinonímicos μείλιχα (aquí adverbializado) y γλυκεῖα. Por último, [D] es el único δίκωλον no basado en el isosilabismo; sin embargo, entre sus dos miembros hallamos una geminación de predicaciones referentes a la novia similar a los casos anteriores (al ἑκοῦσαν del primer miembro le corresponde el θαυμάζουσαν del segundo). Desde el punto de vista del estilo son, pues, obvios los esfuerzos de Himerio por remedar en su prosa mediante el buen manejo de la figura de la isocolía el artificio de los versos del presunto μέλος. Y en esta búsqueda de simetrías la recurrencia al isosilabismo entre miembros evoca en cierta manera uno de los resortes característicos de la versificación eolia. La dimensión “metapoética” del prosista Himerio resulta aquí innegable.

Ambos planos, el poético-coral y el prosístico, crean estas dos líneas paralelas justo cuando se ha abandonado definitivamente esa sintaxis del deseo irrealizable de que el orador llegue a ser poeta, omnipresente a lo largo de todo el discurso, y se disocia de los λόγοι de la prosa oratoria el elemento músico-poético propio del μέλος o de la ᾠδή, que en primer grado se relega a una perfomance coral ajena al propio discurso. Prueba de esta quiebra final de la imagen nuclear de la oratoria como poesía es la enunciación oblicua de la triple προσευχή, que en cuanto a la forma de expresión responde a uno de los mecanismos más habituales de la paráfrasis en prosa de un texto poético (en este caso, de uno de carácter hímnico). La diferencia con los finales hímnicos de la Or. 64, una breve λαλιά de exhortación improvisada en el marco de la escuela, o de la Or. 65, un discurso disuasorio contra unos alumnos que oían los discursos con indolencia, es fácilmente apreciable. La Or. 64 es en realidad una formulación, novedosa por lo elogiosa, de la “charla” como género informal y menor frente a la oratoria destinada al marco más formal de una ἐπίδειξις oficial. A

                                                             41

Con el epílogo (9, 267-77) el discurso epitalámico vuelve al hic et nunc de la celebración nupcial. Ahora explícitamente se distinguen dos planos:

Catulo 62 pertenece, por ejemplo, a este tipo “agonal” en el que se enfrentan dos coros sexualmente diferenciados en un contexto nupcial. Idéntica división por sexo en los coros epitalámicos aparece en la definición que de epitalamio nos da Proclo en Chr. 62. 42 Se corresponde con lo descrito en Men. Rh. 409, 8-14. Allí se recomienda a quien componga un κατευναστικὸς λόγος dirigirse a los oyentes instándoles a jugar alrededor del lecho, con coronas de rosas y violetas, a encender antorchas, a danzar y entonar el himeneo mientras los novios celebran los ritos de iniciación. 43 Estilísticamente esta triple προσευχή se resuelve con un τρίκωλον muy similar al contenido en 9, 232-42. Sobre estas εὐχαί en la conclusión de un discurso nupcial véanse Men. Rh. 404, 28-9 (περὶ ἐπιθαλαμίου) y 411, 18-21 (περὶ κατευναστικοῦ).

1) El plano de la poesía coral, con una morfología de canto antifonal compuesta por dos semicoros enfrentados,

                                                            

39 Una excelente introducción al ritmo de la prosa himeriana puede encontrarse en Völker (2003, 73-8). 40 Para la notación de la métrica acentual en las cláusulas de Himerio seguimos la tipología empleada por Völker (2003, 75-7).

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José Guillermo Montes Cala - La frontera entre la prosa y el verso en la sofística del Bajo Imperio concédenos celebrar de nuevo sacrificios por la victoria contra los bárbaros, como en la vez anterior (Or. 65, 26-33).

partir del relato inicial sobre el templo de Apolo en la isla de Delos, reducido en sus dimensiones pero rico en elocuencia y leyendas, Himerio aplica la vieja doctrina del πρέπον a su situación y, por principio de analogía, traslada las enseñanzas del mundo religioso al profano de la escuela de retórica: el modesto recinto escolar es, igual que el pequeño templo de Delos, un lugar tan honroso y adecuado para la práctica de la elocuencia como los grandes teatros. Por ello la charla finaliza con un epílogo abiertamente hímnico dirigido a Apolo y las Musas:

Destaca de nuevo, en el plano metaliterario, la aparición de la cláusula γάρ alusiva a la ποίησις, con la cual se apunta a la procedencia poética de epíclesis como el unicum χρυσοπτέρυγε y, sobre todo, εὐπατέρεια y φιλόγελως;45 en el estilístico, la presencia de un pronunciado estilo comático a base de breves y reiteradas vocationes. Himerio en este discurso explota muy bien, al modo de como antes ya hiciera Elio Aristides,46 el fuerte contraste de tono creado en la sucesión de μονῳδία, expresión primera de lamento y compadecimiento, y παλινῳδία, expresión contraria de alegría. Así, al motivo monódico inicial de Agamenón condoliéndose de su desgraciado ejército, trasunto de las lamentaciones del propio Himerio por sus alumnos, le sucederá, como palinodia, el gozoso himno a la Victoria.

ἀλλʹ  ὦ  Μούσειε  Ἄπολλον  —χαίρεις  γὰρ  οἶμαι καὶ σὺ ποιητῶν ὕμνοις καλούμενος—,  ὦ Μουσῶν Ἑλικωνίδων χορός, μήποτε ἡμᾶς  λόγους ποιοῦντας προλείπητε, ἀλλὰ κἂν ἐν  μικροῖς  θεάτροις  κἂν  ἐν  μεγάλοις  χορεύωμεν,  πανταχοῦ  τὴν  μουσικὴν  συνεργάζεσθε. ¡Vamos, oh Apolo de las Musas —pues, creo, te alegras también tú de ser invocado en los himnos de poetas—, oh coro de las Musas heliconíadas, jamás nos abandonéis cuando hagamos discursos, sino que, ya dancemos en teatros pequeños, ya en grandes, en todas partes asistid a nuestro musical arte! (Or. 64, 49-53)

Soy prosista, no poeta Cumple ahora analizar en el corpus himeriano el tratamiento de otra fórmula programática muy relacionada con la anterior: el esquema mixto recusatioexcusatio. Aparece este esquema siempre que el orador manifiesta, desde un cierto complejo de inferioridad si lo miramos desde una perspectiva psicológica, su admiración por la poesía, pero se excusa por no componerla, ya que reconoce que no tiene cualidades naturales para ello.47 En este caso no hay expresión de deseo irrealizable sino rechazo atenuado. Para mejor percibir las singularidades de este nuevo procedimiento debemos comenzar, por contraste, con algunos ejemplos que parten de esa nivelación inicial entre prosa y verso expresable con la comparación “tanto el orador como el poeta”.

En esta ocasión no contamos con ningún otro marcador metalingüístico introductorio del texto presuntamente poético a excepción de la cláusula explicativa γάρ en oración parentética. Este procedimiento es usual en Himerio y ya lo hemos comentado a propósito de la Or. 9.44 La imagen de la oratoria como μουσική cobra, no obstante, gran vitalidad en el cierre de esta pieza debido a su carácter de protréptico. El epílogo hímnico a la Victoria de la Or. 65 sí es en cambio introducido por marcadores metalingüísticos y es además definido como una παλινῳδία:

La Or. 47 es un προσφωνητικὸς  λόγος o “discurso de salutación” al procónsul Basilio que hace de la cita de un pasaje anacreonteo la ἀφορμή o “punto de arranque” de toda la composición:

παλινῳδίαν  ἡ  τύχη  πρὸς  ἡμᾶς  ἐπαγγέλλεται. φέρε οὖν τοὺς στυγνοτέρους  ἀφέντες  τῶν  λόγων,  τὴν  θεῶν  νίκην  ὑμνήσωμεν,  καὶ  παρεῖναι  τῷδε  καθικετεύσωμεν· Νίκη χρυσοπτέρυγε, Νίκη  Διὸς  τοῦ  μεγάλου  παῖ,  εὐπατέρεια  καὶ  φιλόγελως  —τούτοις  γὰρ  σὲ  τοῖς  ὀνόμασιν  ἀγάλλει  ἡ  ποίησις—  ,  ἵλεως  εἴης  καὶ  δοίης  θῦσαι  πάλιν  κατὰ  βαρβάρων  ὥσπερ  καὶ  πρόσθεν τὰ νικητήρια.

«Χαῖρε  φίλον  φάος  χαρίεντι  μειδιῶν  προσώπῳ»·  μέλος  γάρ  τι  λαβὼν  ἐκ  τῆς 

                                                            

45 Véase Cuffari (1983, 94 s.), para la citación aquí de los dos últimos versos de El misántropo de Menandro (vv. 968 s.). 46 La sucesión de la Or. 18 K. (Monodia por Esmirna) y Or. 20 K. (Palinodia por Esmirna) de Elio Aristides es paradigmática para ilustrar las posibilidades de esta técnica de contraste: tras los lamentos por la destrucción de Esmirna a causa de un devastador seísmo, Aristides entonará luego un canto de gozo por la ciudad renacida, tomando precisamente al poeta Estesícoro como modelo. También ha seguido Himerio el ejemplo de la Or. 31 K. de Aristides (la monodia por el discípulo Eteoneo) para componer ὥσπερ ἐν τραγῳδίᾳ su sentida monodia por su hijo Rufino (Or. 8): véase, al respecto, Völker (2003, 152, nota 104), Penella (2007, 22). 47 Es, por lo demás, una fórmula ya encontrada desde antiguo entre los poetas de géneros menores (de la poesía erótica, la bucólica, la epigramática, etc.) que así atenúan su rechazo a componer poesía de tono más elevado. Sobre el origen de este esquema mixto en Virgilio, véase D’Anna (1988).

Una palinodia la fortuna de nosotros demanda. Ea, así pues, desterremos las palabras demasiado funestas, ensalcemos en himnos la victoria de los dioses y roguemos nos asistan en este discurso. Oh, Victoria de doradas alas, hija del gran Zeus, de noble padre y amante de la risa, —pues con tales apelativos te ensalza la poesía— sé propicia y

                                                            

44 Aquí alude de forma inequívoca a la capacidad conferida al himno en prosa de “traducir” un himno poético y muestras ilustres de la Segunda Sofística son, por ejemplo, Aristid. 37, 29 K. (final hímnico a la diosa Atena) o 38, 22-4 K. (final hímnico con μακαρισμός a los Asclepíadas).

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retórica para ser abordada tanto en prosa como en verso.48 Esta solidaridad entre λόγος e ὕμνος en el terreno del propémptico es recogida en cierta forma por Himerio. A ella sirve el símil deificante de comparar a Flaviano con Alejandro, el hijo de Zeus: a su partida hacia el Asia el auleta Timoteo le compuso unos μέλη de despedida; de igual manera Himerio compondrá a Flaviano, quien como el gran Alejandro también debe cruzar de Europa a Asia, un λόγος προπεμπτικός. En esta pieza prosa y verso no son, pues, términos excluyentes sino complementarios, de ahí la referencia conjunta a poetas y prosistas, pero ello no significa que nuestro orador se sienta capacitado para componer un ὕμνος προπεμπτικός en verso con ocasión de la partida del “dios” Flaviano. El desarrollo de este motivo programático a lo largo de los excerpta de la Or. 12 lo pone bien de manifiesto. En Or. 12, 53 el orador valora el μῦθος poético sobre los cimerios, un pueblo situado tan a occidente que nunca ve el sol, desde la perspectiva del prosista atento a la verdad de cuanto se dice: Homero, en Od. 11, 14-9, por temor a ser acusado de falsedad ha velado este mito con expresiones ambiguas; sin embargo, en este caso concreto ningún poeta sería tildado de mentiroso si quisiera verse desprovisto del sol tras la partida de Flaviano. La correspondencia de la prosa oratoria no es, por tanto, con cualquier tipo de poesía, sino con aquel que sirve escrupulosamente a la verdad. Una nueva reflexión sobre la relación entre el prosista y el poeta en el marco de este προπεμπτήριος acontece unas líneas después: “en efecto, en este momento del discurso sería propio de un poeta haber entretejido una corona de rosas y traer desde el Helicón a las Musas…” (Or. 12, 99-101). Este pasaje es sin duda deudor de los mismos planteamientos teóricos de la preceptiva retórica en torno a la elección posible de la prosa o el verso como expresión de un propémptico. Esta dualidad se hace todavía más explícita con la disyunción formulada por Himerio al acometer el lugar común de elogiar los ἔργα de Flaviano: “¿qué poeta o componedor de discursos podría entonces prestar una voz digna de sus cumplidos trabajos?” (Or. 12, 109).49 La comparación de igualdad “tanto el prosista como el poeta” no quiere decir que el prosista se sienta dotado para la poesía. Un pasaje posterior alberga la confesión manifiesta de esta incapacidad del prosista para devenir poeta: “pues ahora que quiero invocar al viento poéticamente, pero no puedo emitir una voz poética, quiero dirigirme al viento de acuerdo con la musa de Ceos…” (Or. 12,141-3). Invocar al viento para que guíe favorable la travesía de aquel que parte es un topos del

λύρας,  εἰς  τὴν  σὴν  ἐπιδημίαν  προσᾴσομαι,  ἡδέως  μὲν  ἂν  πείσας  καὶ  αὐτοὺς  τοὺς  λόγους λύραν μοι γενέσθαι καὶ ποίησιν, ἵνα  τι  κατὰ  σοῦ  νεανιεύσωμαι,  ὁποῖον  Σιμωνίδης  ἢ  Πίνδαρος  κατὰ  Διονύσου  καὶ  Ἀπόλλωνος·  ἐπεὶ  δὲ  ἀγέρωχοί  τε  ὄντες  καὶ  ὑψαύχενες  ἄφετοί  τε  καὶ  ἔξω  μέτρων  ἀθύρουσιν,  ὀλίγα  παρακαλέσας  τὴν  ποίησιν δοῦναί μοί τι μέλος Τήιον —ταύτην  γὰρ  φιλῶ  τὴν  μοῦσαν—,  ἐκ  τῶν  ἀποθέτων  τῶν  Ἀνακρέοντος  τοῦτόν  σοι  φέρων  τὸν  ὕμνον  ἔρχομαι,  καί  τι  καὶ  αὐτὸς  προσθεὶς  τῷ ᾄσματι· «Ὦ φάος Ἑλλήνων καὶ τῶν ὅσοι  Παλλάδος ἱερὸν δάπεδον Μουσάων τʹ ἄλση  νεμόμεθα».  “Salve, luz querida, que sonríes con grácil semblante”. Pues tomando una canción de la lira, te cantaré a tu llegada, dulcemente convencido de que mi elocuencia podría llegar a ser lira y poesía, para decir de ti algo lleno de juvenil ímpetu, como Simónides o Píndaro hicieron con Dioniso y Apolo. Pero, ya que es soberbia, mantiene la cabeza muy alta y retoza libremente y sin medir versos, he llamado un poco en auxilio a la poesía para que me dé una canción de Teos —pues amo esa musa—, y vengo a traerte este himno de entre los escogidos de Anacreonte, a cuyo canto he añadido algo de mi propia cosecha: “Oh, luz de los griegos y de cuantos pastamos en la sagrada llanura de Palas y en los bosques de las Musas” (Or. 47, 1-14).

El uso de la citación poética no difiere aquí mucho del ya observado en la Or. 9: la poeticidad se resuelve también con la cita literal de un texto poético (Anacr. PMG, 380) y su posterior adaptación al contexto oratorio del momento; sin embargo, esta conversión ideal de la elocuencia (λόγοι) en poesía lírica (λύρα  καὶ  ποίησις), proyectada con el buen propósito de llenar de ímpetu juvenil (νεανιεύεσθαι) esta salutación a Basilio, tropieza con el escollo insalvable de una prosa arrogante. Sus λόγοι no sólo son en lo formal oratio soluta, opuesta a la medida del verso, sino también comparten en su carácter todos los rasgos negativos de la ὕβρις consustancial a la νεότης y por ello se resisten a ser transformados en ποίησις. La doblez de sentido del predicado verbal νεανιεύεσθαι es aquí bien calculada. Ante esta situación el prosista se conformará con someter a ligeras variaciones un texto poético preexistente, el de Anacreonte, con tal de poder gozar de cierta licentia poetica para comparar a su laudandus con una deidad: las referencias a Dioniso y Apolo como objeto de los νεανιεύματα de los poetas Simónides y Píndaro establecen una evidente ecuación con Basilio.

                                                             48

Men. Rh. 336, 5 aborda el “himno de despedida” (προπεμπτικὸς ὕμνος), una clase tenida por poco frecuente y que se pronuncia con ocasión de la partida, supuesta o real, de un dios (los ejemplos propuestos son Apolo partiendo de Delos o Mileto, Ártemis partiendo de Élide para visitar Argos); Men. Rh. 395-9 analiza la “charla de despedida” (προπεμπτικὴ λαλιά) como modelo para la prosa. Hay, pues, una tensión en la tratadística retórica antigua entre verso y prosa en la variedad del propémptico. 49 En la Or. 41, ofrecida a su llegada a la corte de Juliano en Constantinopla, tenemos una formulación muy similar de esta nivelación entre prosa y verso. Ante las excelencias de aquella ciudad, “¿qué poeta o componedor de discursos no la ensalzaría verosímilmente en himnos?” (Or. 41, 43). Igualmente, el vecino Bósforo es visto “como objeto de contienda de toda poesía y de toda elocuencia” (Or. 41, 49).

La imagen del orador como poeta igualmente informa toda la Or. 12, un λόγος  προπεμπτήριος dirigido al procónsul Flaviano. Estamos ante un tipo de situación, la de la despedida, especialmente apta según la tratadística

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propémptico que cuenta con sobrados ejemplos poéticos (Cairns 1972, 121, nota 28). Ante su incapacidad para la invención poética, Himerio recurrirá al mismo procedimiento que en la Or. 47 y se expresará ποιητικῶς tomando como base la citación parafrástica de un poema de Simónides.50 Esta paráfrasis adquiere así, en el plano metaliterario, la función de atenuar la falta de vena poética en el prosista.

variadas formas humanas y aspectos y traen en medio de ciudades y gentes” (Or. 38, 13-6).55 A partir de la comparación del comitente (Cervonio) con la divinidad (Apolo), reconstruye nuestro sofista el lugar común de la inspiración divina de la oratoria, ya antes abordado durante la Segunda Sofística por Elio Aristides;56 pero, aun sintiéndose un orador “inspirado” por los dicta del “dios” Cervonio, marcará cierta distancia con los poetas:

En la Or. 27, compuesta a sus alumnos desde la patria, a una serie inicial de exempla de poetas (Anacreonte, Alceo, Simónides, Baquílides y Estesícoro) que ensalzaron a sus respectivas patrias con sus versos, Himerio contrapone otra serie de exempla, esta vez de insignes prosistas y oradores (Licurgo, Sócrates, Esopo, Platón, Pitágoras). Introduce esta última serie con la clásica y recurrente imagen del carro de la poesía, del que acabó por descender la pedestre prosa:51 “amigos, ¿qué vamos a hacer por la ciudad que nos dio a luz? Pero, puesto que no nos dejamos llevar por fogosos carros ni las cosas de poetas nos incumben, vamos, con hombres y discursos fortifiquemos la ciudad…” (Or. 27, 33-6). La correlación ἄνδρες  καὶ  λόγοι, hombres y elocuencia, marca una nítida frontera entre la dimensión estrictamente humana y ética de la prosa oratoria y las veleidades míticas de la poesía.52

ἐπειδὴ  οὖν,  [ὡς  ἐγὼ  πείθομαι  ποιητικός  τις  |  οὐκ  ὤν,  φίλος  δὲ  θείου  ποιητῶν  χοροῦ,  ταύτῃ καὶ ὅδε φανεὶς κελεύει μὲν ἡμᾶς [τὴν  πρόσθεν  σιγὴν  ἀτιμάσαντας  |  καὶ  τὰς  ἐν  σκότει  τῶν  λόγων  καθείρξεις,  δημοσιεύειν  τε αὐτοὺς καὶ  παράγειν εἰς μέσον [Ἕλλησι  —μέλλουσι  δὲ  οἱ  λόγοι  ὥσπερ  |  θείῳ  τινὶ  πεισθέντες  νεύματι  Μουσῶν  σταδίοις  ἐναποδύεσθαι—,  ὥσπερ  [τι  μέλος  προνόμιον  πρὸ  τῆς  ἀγωνίας  αὐτῆς  |  Ἀττικὸν ὑμῖν ἀποτείνω διήγημα.

Si hemos de creer a lo expresado en su encabezamiento, la Or. 38 fue la primera λαλιά que Himerio pronunció a petición del procónsul Cervonio en el pretorio de Atenas. Con su aparición en la ciudad, que reviste todas las características de las epifanías divinas,53 el procónsul ha despertado la μουσική en Atenas: “Mira, noble (Cervonio), ahora el arte de las Musas se despierta junto con esta tu nueva ciudad…” (Or. 38, 2). Y ese despertar viene acompañado de una cita poética adaptada κατὰ  παρῳδίαν: “p or vo lun tad tu ya , ya lo dijo uno de los poetas que a la lira han cantado, guardaba el fruto de su esfuerzo para ti, para exhibirlo en su lozanía y en la estación adecuada” (Or. 38, 5-7).54 Obedeciendo al mandato del nuevo dios advenido, Himerio se dispone a reanudar sus actividades oratorias: “Vamos, así pues, muchachos, ya que nos da luz este hombre, como uno de esos dioses que a menudo los poetas transforman en

                                                            

50 De este texto simonídeo también nos da cumplida noticia en el discurso de salutación a Basilio (Or. 47, 120 s.). Véase, para los pormenores, Cuffari (1983, 82). 51 Una lista de fuentes antiguas cronológicamente ordenada se encuentra en Norden (1986 [1898], 42, nota 38). 52 Esta dimensión ético-política de la prosa oratoria también es observable en Or. 68, 18-21, donde taxativamente se proclama que la salvación de la ciudad (Himerio está hablando de Atenas) está en mantener siempre vivo el fuego de la oratoria. 53 El λόγος sobre la relación de Apolo con la isla de Delos expuesto en 38, 7-13 sustenta una σύγκρισις implícita. Cervonio representa para Atenas lo mismo que Apolo para Delos: con sus divinas epifanías ambos lugares conocerán el máximo esplendor. 54 ἕ κ α τ ι δ ὲ σ ο ῦ , ἔφη τις ἤδη τῶν πρὸς λύραν ᾀσάντων, ἐπὶ [σοὶ τὴν ὠδῖνα τηρήσασα, | ἵνα δὴ τελεσφόρον αὐτὴν ἐπιδείξῃ καὶ ὥριον. Cuffari (1983, 92) la trata como citación anónima frente a Teuber (1882, 29) o Colonna (1951, 154), que identifican a este innominado cantor lírico con Píndaro (Ol. 14, 20: σεῦ ἕκατι). Como expresión lírica (sea esta de origen pindárico o no) su integración sintáctica en el texto prosístico citante acarrea la habitual pérdida de rasgos dialectales.

Así pues, como yo estoy convencido de no tener cualidad alguna de poeta, pero sí de ser amigo del divino coro de los poetas, una vez que este hombre ha aparecido aquí y nos ordena no pagar tributo al silencio de antes o al confinamiento de la elocuencia en la oscuridad, sino hacerla pública y ponerla en medio para los griegos —y la elocuencia, como si obedeciera a una divina señal, está a punto de desnudarse para correr en el estadio de las Musas—, os haré un relato ático a modo de una canción prenómica cantada antes de la propia contienda (Or. 38, 19-26).

La mixtura recusatio-excusatio está servida junto al motivo de la inspiración divina. Él no se cree un poeta sino, todo lo más, un amigo de los poetas; pero la oratoria realmente inspirada nada tiene que envidiar a la poesía, como lo deja ver la metáfora deportiva sobre la desnudez de su elocuencia, muy adecuada para correr en el estadio de las Musas. Por eso pasará a referir un ejercicio retórico, un extenso Ἀττικὸν  διήγημα (Or. 38, 26-65), precisamente sobre la antigua y venerable sofística ateniense (Gorgias, Pródico, Hipias) y la verdadera elocuencia de Sócrates, quien fuera señalado por Apolo délfico como el hombre de su tiempo portador de una sabiduría recta (ὀρθὴ  σοφία), no espuria y fraudulenta (νόθος  καὶ  κίβδηλος  σοφία).57 El Sócrates del relato

                                                            

55 Himerio (38, 16) citará literalmente a seguido, el hexámetro completo de Od. 17, 487, relativo a la epifanía de Palas Atena, y dará noticia de las epifanías de Dioniso en Anacreonte y Eurípides. 56 En efecto, en Contra Platón, en defensa de la retórica (Or. 2 B.) o, especialmente, en Sobre una observación de paso (Or. 28, 114-7 K.) y los Discursos Sagrados (Or. 47-52 K.) Aristides llega al extremo de afirmar que, durante la ejecución de una pieza oratoria, el orador es poseído por la divinidad, al igual que lo son los sacerdotes de Cibeles o las bacantes. Por eso, el discurso verdaderamente inspirado es αὐτόματος, un objeto que se mueve por la fuerza de su propia inercia. Esta oratoria proviene del corazón de Zeus y es infalible y el orador, como un iniciado, entra en comunión directa con la divinidad: la oratoria se convierte así en una especie de experiencia mística. En realidad, Aristides está elaborando para sus fines el triángulo tradicional “posesión (poética)-profecía-verdad (incomprendida)”. 57 Esta revelación del oráculo de Apolo dio ánimos a Sócrates para comenzar a hacer pública su oratoria. A partir de entonces muchos

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire φίλη  θεοῖς  κεφαλή,  προσῇσται  |  τὰ  νῦν,  εἰ  δὲ  νεύοι  τὴν  χάριν  ὁ]  Δήλιος,  καὶ  τέλειον  ἐκτίσω τὸ χρέος.

ático, bajo la tutela y sanción del dios Apolo, es obvio trasunto del propio Himerio y añade además una nueva dimensión a la manida comparación de la oratoria con la poesía lírica. Este διήγημα de exaltación de la elocuencia socrática se propone como un sustituto genuinamente prosístico de aquella canción, la “prenómica”, que se ejecuta inmediatamente antes de un certamen poético. Así la falta de aliento poético se ve justamente compensada por el desarrollo paralelo de un típico προγύμνασμα retórico. No obstante, esta renuncia inicial a dar barniz poético a la prosa oratoria será abandonada tras la elaboración de este relato. El panegirista Himerio se pregunta entonces cómo podrá ensalzar al divinizado procónsul y halla como mejor respuesta la composición de una pieza lírica, que él mismo denonima “peán” (παιᾶν) o “canción breve” (βραχὺ  μέλος), en honor de Cervonio-Apolo, en tanto que se da tiempo para contestar como se merece su llegada, es decir, “con los ritos completos” de un panegírico extenso y de acuerdo con los cánones retóricos: “así ahora querré cantarle un peán o canción breve que he compuesto como si fuera en honor de un dios y otra vez, si la divinidad lo concede, pagaré el débito de gratitud con los ritos completos” (Or. 38, 6972). La diferencia ahora con la elaboración del anterior διήγημα es clara, puesto que, a renglón seguido, encontramos una secuencia con las marcas estilísticas habituales para la inserción de presuntos textos poéticos en la prosa himeriana:

¡Oh, tú, ojo de Dike y Temis!, ¡oh, profeta de las Musas y Hermes!, ¡oh, la más hermosa criatura de Atena misma, a quien bellamente dedicas tus trofeos! Ni Píndaro mismo ni ese siciliota a quien el poeta lírico de Beocia dio el título de enderezador de la ciudad se molestarían por el hecho de que te diéramos el mismo título. Gracias a ti, esta ciudad es joven de nuevo y despierta tras mucho tiempo de postración. Después de derramar lágrimas y lamentos, comienza a festejar y a danzar, como si la tierra hiciera poco que la hubiera liberado. Las ninfas náyades, como un atrevido poeta diría, han dejado sus bosques y juegan por las calles áticas. Todo brilla y está florido como en un primaveral prado. Grupos de jóvenes que antes estaban imprudentemente saltando, ahora están tranquilamente pastando, ahora están tranquilamente encerrados en sus rediles, como si la lira de un Orfeo o de un Anfión se hubiera tocado. Ahora toda sirena se mueve por ti, todo bárbito y toda lira resuenan por ti, pueblos y ciudades cantan tus hazañas. Ahora el barco sagrado zarpa rumbo a Delos, llevando al dios un coro ático, como el que Teseo formó según cuentan en honor de Apolo después de Creta. Sea su himno coral que este hombre gobierne a los griegos el mayor tiempo posible. Esto es lo que por ahora para ti cantamos, persona querida a los dioses. Y si el delio me hace la merced, pagaré con creces mi deuda de gratitud (Or. 38, 72-95).

ὦ  Δίκης  ὄμμα  καὶ  Θέμιδος·  ὦ  Μουσῶν  καὶ  Ἑρμοῦ  προφῆτα·  ὦ  |  καὶ  αὐτῆς  Ἀθηνᾶς  θρέμμα] τὸ κάλλιστον, ᾗ καὶ αὐτὸς ἐκτίνεις  τὰ  τροφεῖα  καλῶς·  σὲ  μὲν  καὶ  ὀρθόπολιν  ὀνομάζειν οὐδʹ ἂν αὐτὸς | ἡμῖν νεμεσήσειε  Πίνδαρος,]  οὐδʹ  ἂν  ὁ  Σικελιώτης  ἐκεῖνος,  ᾧ  τοῦτο  τὸ  ὄνομα  ἐχαρίσατο  ὁ  λυρῳδὸς  ὁ  Βοιώτιος. διὰ σὲ πολλὰ μὲν | ἥδε καταδῦσα  πά]λιν  ἀνηβᾷ  τε  καὶ  ἐγείρεται,  δάκρυά  τε  ἀφεῖσα  καὶ  θρήνους,  κωμάζειν  τε  καὶ  χορεύειν  ἄρχεται,  ὥσπερ  |  ἄρτι  τῆς  γῆς  ἀνείσης  αὐ]τήν·  νύμφαι  δὲ  Ναΐδες  —  ποιητὴς  ἄν  τις  εἶπεν  εὔτολμος  —  ἄλση  καταλιποῦσαι  δρόμοις  Ἀττικοῖς  |  ἐναθύρουσι,  καὶ πάντα  μὲν]  ὥσπερ  ἐν  ἠρινῷ  λειμῶνι  λάμπει  καὶ  τέθηλεν·  ἀγέλαι  δὲ  νέων,  σκιρτῶσαι  πρόσθεν  ἀτάσθαλα,  |  νῦν  ὥσπερ  τινὸς  Ὀρφέως]  ἢ  Ἀμφίονος  κινηθείσης  κιθάρας  ἥσυχα  μὲν  νέμονται,  ἥσυχα δὲ καὶ σηκοῖς ἐναυλίζονται. νῦν δὲ |  πᾶσα μὲν ἐπὶ σοὶ κινεῖται] Σειρήν, πᾶσα δὲ   βάρβιτός τε καὶ λύρα φθέγγεται, δῆμοι  δὲ  ᾄδουσι  καὶ  πόλεις  τὰ  σά.  νῦν  |  ἄπεισι  θεωρὶς  ὁλκ]ὰς  εἰς  Δῆλον,  Ἀττικὸν  ἄγουσα  τῷ  θεῷ  χορὸν  καὶ  οἷον  καὶ  Θησέα  λόγος  στῆσαι  μετὰ  Κρήτην  Ἀπόλλωνι·  |  ὁ  δὲ  δὴ  ὕμνος  ἔστω  τῷ]  χορῷ,  τόνδε  ἄρχειν  ἐπὶ  πλεῖστον Ἑλλήνων. ταυτί σοι παρʹ ἡμῶν, ὦ 

Esta “composición poética” se resuelve así en un tono menor a la espera del fruto de la oratoria inspirada. En el nivel estilístico la búsqueda del paralelismo es también muy acentuada. Hallamos, en primer lugar, un ἰσόκωλον formado por las dos primeras vocationes: [A] ὦ  Δίκης  ὄμμα  καὶ  Θέμιδος· (9 sílabas / 5 palabras / óo, oóoo [2-PPr]) ὦ Μουσῶν καὶ Ἑρμοῦ προφῆτα· (9 sílabas / 5 palabras / ó, oóo [1-OP])

A este le sigue paralelamente otro de similar factura y con interesantes huellas de ritmo acentual: [B] ὦ  καὶ  αὐτῆς  Ἀθηνᾶς  θρέμμα  τὸ  κάλλιστον, (13 sílabas / 7 palabras / óo, oóoo [2-PPr]) ᾗ  καὶ  αὐτὸς  ἐκτίνεις  τὰ  τροφεῖα  καλῶς· (13 sílabas / 7 palabras / óo, oó [2-PO])

                                                                                                 jóvenes prefirieron seguir sus enseñanzas, despertándose la envidia en el resto de sofistas.

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Estos recursos de estilo son los mismos empleados para el μέλος de Or. 9, 262-6 y tienen, como allí con su cuidado ritmo, el cometido de crear la ilusión en el auditorio de estar oyendo un texto realmente lírico. No obstante, el βραχὺ  μέλος de ahora es de estructura algo más compleja. Rompiendo el estrecho paralelismo de la secuencia anterior, el período siguiente responde a una de esas clásicas glosas himerianas sobre la poesía: la

José Guillermo Montes Cala - La frontera entre la prosa y el verso en la sofística del Bajo Imperio

antigua lírica revive en la circunstancia presente haciendo que el epíteto ὀρθόπολις58 cuadre ahora también a Cervonio. Ni el poeta beocio Píndaro ni su comitente Terón de Agrigento se enojarán por el préstamo, pues el procónsul ha logrado que Atenas rejuvenezca y despierte, destierre lágrimas y trenos, organice el κῶμος y la danza. Estilísticamente, pueden delimitarse dos κῶλα complejos, ambos introducidos por el pronombre personal de segunda persona en caso oblicuo (σὲ μὲν... ǀ διὰ  σὲ...): el primero es más suelto en cuanto al ritmo, debido lógicamente a su carácter de nota exegética aparte; el segundo, en cambio, presenta una mayor regularidad con predominio de los miembros de once sílabas. Luego, la composición se expande en una minuciosa descripción de los benéficos efectos que para la ciudad de Atenas ha tenido la venida del procónsul, donde podemos aislar como rasgos caracterizadores el uso sintáctico de la parataxis y la asíndesis (νύμφαι  δὲ  Ναΐδες... ǀ ἀγέλαι δὲ νέων... ǀ νῦν δὲ... ǀ νῦν...), el fuerte contraste conceptual entre el triste y oscuro pasado (πρόσθεν) y el esplendoroso y festivo presente (νῦν) o la cuidada disposición de δίκωλα de longitud creciente (e.g. ἥσυχα  μὲν  νέμονται,  ἥσυχα  δὲ  καὶ  σηκοῖς  ἐναυλίζονται,…    πᾶσα  μὲν  ἐπὶ  σοὶ  κινεῖται]  Σειρήν,  πᾶσα δὲ  βάρβιτός τε καὶ λύρα φθέγγεται,…).

En la Or. 46, de nuevo un encomio a Basilio, vuelve a aparecer este mismo esquema de recusación atenuada. Conforme al topos encomiástico de la deificación del laudandus, Basilio es comparado con los dioses inspiradores del canto: con Apolo Musegeta, a quien Himerio describe recurriendo a los modelos poéticos de Safo y Píndaro; con Dioniso, al que denomina con la epíclesis  Βακχιώταν59 presumiblemente tomada de Simónides. Son todos ellos modelos venerables porque todos ellos responden a la categoría del poeta poseído por las Musas. El procónsul, como dios rector de las actividades músico-poéticas o asimiladas (entre estas está desde luego la oratoria desde la perspectiva de nuestro sofista), desea oír la elocuencia de Himerio y el orador obedecerá sus órdenes y entonará el siguiente μέλος:

de una divina cabeza!, ¡oh, vástago de un padre consular!, ¡Oh, tú que has recibido el cetro de la virtud paterna, no inferior al que Homero entrega al rey de los aqueos, objeto que trae de arriba, de Zeus, a Agamenón! Tú eres, pienso, un astro de la tarde, de todos los astros el más bello: así reza precisamente el canto de Safo a Héspero (Or. 46, 68-75).

Estilísticamente esta “canción” añade poco nuevo a lo ya encontrado en la Or. 9 o la Or. 38. En este caso encontramos un τρίκωλον de longitud creciente (7+9+13 sílabas) que contiene paralelamente tres vocationes dirigidas al procónsul. También hacen presencia las reflexiones metapoéticas, sobre Homero y el cetro de Agamenón o sobre Safo y su poética caracterización de Héspero, al hilo del desarrollo del ejercicio de la σύγκρισις, que recuerdan la exégesis anterior sobre el unicum pindárico ὀρθόπολις  en la Or. 38. No obstante, el Pap.Osl.inv. 1478 nos da el siguiente texto para el final del discurso: ποιητοῦ  δʹ  ἦν  ἄρα  καὶ  Φήμῃ  δοῦναι  πτερὰ  καὶ  πέμψαι  ταύτην  ἐπὶ  τὴν  ἑσπέραν  μετάρσιον δόξης ἄγγελον τῷ πατρὶ τῆς σῆς  καὶ  τῶν  ὅσα  ἐπὶ  σοὶ  Ἕλληνες  φθέγγονται,  καὶ  στῆσαι  μὲν  κύκνων  ἀμφὶ  τὴν  Φήμην  χορόν, σὲ δὲ ποιῆσαι τὴν ᾠδὴν τοῖς ὄρνισιν.  ἀλλὰ  ταῦτα  μὲν  πο[ιη]ταῖς...  ἐμὸν  νόμον  προσᾴδω  τε  νῦν  καὶ  αὖθις  ἴσως  προσᾴσομαι.  Propio de un poeta sería dar alas a la Fama y enviarla a occidente como mensajera aérea de tu renombre, hasta tu padre, y de cuanto de ti proclaman los griegos, y organizar un coro de cisnes en torno a la Fama y componerte la canción con los pájaros. Pero eso a los poetas … yo canto mi propia regla ahora y tal vez la cantaré de nuevo (Or. 46, 90-5). ἐμὸν  νόμον es lo que se lee en el papiro frente al ἑὸν νόμον de R o a la conjetura πεζὸν νόμον de Dübner, que

por cierto es la que edita Colonna (1951, 189). Gracias al papiro de Oslo también puede restituirse en el texto con ciertas garantías el dativo πο[ιη]ταῖς al comienzo de la lacuna establecida por Dübner (1849, xvii) en su annotatio critica al pasaje. Este suplemento es de importancia para el esclarecimiento del esquema de recusación de la poesía aquí empleado por Himerio: el prosista (representado por el pronombre personal de primera persona) se diferenciaría así del colectivo de los poetas. Mientras estos poetas inmortalizan con su canto el nombre de sus comitentes (un topos de muy rancia tradición), el orador tan sólo puede encomiar al procónsul Basilio con su propia regla, a saber, con su prosa panegírica.

ἀλλὰ  καὶ  χορεύουσιν  ἤδη  καὶ  σοί  τι  καὶ  μέλος  διʹ  ἐμοῦ  προσᾴδουσιν.  ὦ  θείας  κεφαλῆς  παῖ·  ὦ  πατρὸς  ὑπάτου  βλάστημα·  ὦ  σκῆπτρον  ἀρετῆς  πατρῴας  δεξάμενε,  οὐ  μεῖον  ἤδη,  ἢ  οἷον  δίδωσιν  Ὅμηρος  τῷ  τῶν  Ἀχαιῶν  βασιλεῖ,  ἐκ  Διὸς  ἄνωθεν  τὸ  σχῆμα  φέρων  εἰς  Ἀγαμέμνονα. ἀστὴρ οἶμαι σύ τις  ἑσπέριος,  ἀστέρων  πάντων  ὁ  κάλλιστος·  Σαπφοῦς τοῦτο δὴ τὸ  Ἕσπερον ᾆσμα.  Mas también danza ya y en tu honor canta (sc. la elocuencia), a través de mí, una canción. ¡Oh, hijo

                                                            

58 Un unicum que Píndaro (Ol. 2, 7) emplea al hablar de Terón de Agrigento (Cuffari 1983, 87 s.). 59 Esta lectura de P.Osl.inv. 1478 puede ser la genuina en 46, 47 frente al Βακειώτην de R. El papiro de Oslo ofrece, en concreto, para la Or. 46 una serie de lecturas alternativas a R y A, testigos aquí de la transmisión medieval junto con los Excerpta Neapolitana. Véase Eitrem/Amudsen (1956, 23-30) y Colonna (1961, 33-6).

Un esquema similar al de la Or. 46 también se observa en la Or. 48, 3-16, donde el procónsul de Grecia Hermógenes incita a Himerio a “disparar” las flechas de su elocuencia, del mismo modo que Odiseo incitó a

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The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire

Filoctetes a “disparar” de nuevo su arco en Troya.60 Dentro de las habituales coordenadas del orador como poeta lírico, Himerio se siente impelido a lanzar contra los Amores la misma amenaza que Anacreonte profería contra ellos cada vez que no se veía correspondido en su amor por el efebo amado: “ahora me faltaban las canciones de Teos, ahora me faltaba la lira de Anacreonte, la que, cuando aquél era menospreciado por el amado, sabía ponerla a trabajar incluso contra los propios Amores. Diría contra ellos palabras suyas: soberbios e insensatos, que no sabéis contra quiénes disparar vuestros dardos” (Or. 48, 35-40).61 Se constata aquí, a través de la citación de Anacreonte, la misma expresión de deseo tantas veces ya comentada. El orador querría apoyarse en la licentia de los poetas para hacer su particular ψόγος de los Ἀττικοὶ  Ἔρωτες que han sido incapaces de retener a Hermógenes en Atenas durante el invierno; sin embargo, de inmediato toma conciencia una vez más de la inferioridad del prosista frente al poeta:

El “tropo” que Himerio siente como suyo deriva, por tanto, de la técnica, no del ingenio, y desde luego no sólo se circunscribe al terreno específico del vituperio. Este tratamiento estrictamente “técnico” de la oratoria también aflora en otros momentos de la Or. 48. El ejemplo más palpable quizá lo tengamos en la citación compendiaria de un Peán a Apolo de Alceo (Or. 48, 105-31). Su contenido “encaja” a la perfección con la situación presente: igual que Apolo acabó por presentarse ante los delfios que suspiraban por su venida, abandonando el país de los hiperbóreos, así también el procónsul Hermógenes (reiteradamente llamado en el discurso con el epíteto apolíneo Musegeta) ha dejado por fin su sede de Corinto y ha atendido a la llamada de los atenienses. No obstante, aun cuando se trata de un λόγος de origen poético, Himerio confesará no sentirse un poeta cualificado y recurrirá por ello no al registro de la mélica lesbia sino a la prosificación mediante el usual ejercicio de la paráfrasis:

ἀλλʹ  ἐνταῦθα  γενόμενος  μακαρίζω  τὴν  ποίησιν,  εἰ  τοσοῦτον  ἔξεστιν,  ὥστε  κατʹ  Ἐρώτων  αὐτῶν  μέγα  καὶ  φοβερὸν  ἀνατείνασθαι·  ἐγὼ  δέ  —ἀδικοῦσα  γάρ  με  τῶν λόγων ἡ τέχνη οὐ λύραν ἐδίδαξεν οὐδὲ  βάρβιτον,  ἀλλὰ  τὰ  πεζὰ  ταῦτα  χορεύειν  ταῖς Μούσαις— ἐκεῖνα μὲν ποιηταῖς ἀφήσω  μαίνεσθαι·  ἐγὼ  δὲ  τὸν  ἐμαυτοῦ  τρόπον  τῷ  Μουσηγέτῃ μέμψομαι. 

ἐθέλω  δὲ  ὑμῖν  καὶ  Ἀλκαίου  τινὰ  λόγον  εἰπεῖν,  ὃν  ἐκεῖνος  ᾖσεν  ἐν  μέλεσι  παιᾶνα  γράφων Ἀπόλλωνι. ἐρῶ δὲ ὑμῖν οὐ κατὰ τὰ  μέλη  τὰ  Λέσβια,  ἐπεὶ  μηδὲ  ποιητικός  τις  ἐγώ, ἀλλὰ τὸ μέτρον αὐτὸ λύσας εἰς λόγον  τῆς λύρας.   Ahora también quiero contaros un cierto relato de Alceo, uno que cantó en versos líricos escribiendo un peán en honor de Apolo. No os lo referiré en versos lesbios, ya que ni siquiera tengo cualidades de poeta, sino deshaciendo el verso de la poesía lírica en prosa (Or. 48, 105-9).

Pero habiéndome visto en tal situación felicito a la poesía, si tanto puede como para sostener una grande y terrible amenaza contra los propios Amores. En cuanto a mí, —pues el arte de la retórica es conmigo injusto y no me ha enseñado a tocar la lira ni el bárbito, sino a ejecutar este prosaico baile en honor de las Musas— dejaré a los poetas que enloquezcan con aquellas cosas, que yo a mi manera me quejaré ante el Musegeta (Or. 48, 46-52).

Es este sin duda uno de los pronunciamientos más explícitos de la “inferioridad” del prosista frente al poeta en materia de inspiración y de su sujeción al canon de la ῥητορικὴ  τέχνη. En esta prosificación compendiaria del peán de Alceo también hay lugar a la fina exégesis de la poesía. Como en el caso de Hermógenes, Apolo también llega a Delfos en pleno verano e Himerio señala cómo la poesía de Alceo, de acuerdo con el concepto de la ἁβρότης lesbia, se llena de la molicie veraniega (Or. 48, 122-4). Igualmente se atreve a hacer la exégesis teológica de cierta correspondencia entre la descripción alcaica del Céfiso agitado por las olas y la homérica del voraginoso Enipeo, pues en su inspiración poética Alceo y Homero aciertan a transmitir cómo hasta el agua es capaz de percibir la visita de los dioses (Or. 48, 130 s.).

La oratoria himeriana no posee para su ejecución de los instrumentos musicales adecuados (de ahí la alusión a dos cordófonos, la λύρα y el βάρβιτος, habituales en el acompañamiento del canto lírico) y tiene, en consecuencia, que bailar en honor de las Musas con el solo bagaje de su “pedestre” prosa. El inalcanzable furor de la divina inspiración será dejado a los atrevidos poetas, como hiciera en el anterior pasaje de la Or. 46, y el orador se resignará a elaborar un ψόγος ante el Musegeta según las directrices indicadas por la retórica como τέχνη. Estamos, en cierta manera, ante una dicotomía ars (prosa oratoria) / ingenium (poesía) muy parecida a la comentada a propósito de la προθεωρία de la Or. 9.

Pero Himerio no se detiene en este registro “técnico” de la prosa oratoria. El encomio a Hermógenes finaliza, en un evidente caso de fluctuación estilística, con una repentina sublimación de la oratoria: “Ea, pues, dame alas de ahora en adelante, elocuencia, y abandona la región inferior y de ahora en adelante gana para ti el cielo” (Or. 48, 380). No son, ciertamente, las alas de Ícaro las demandadas, porque las alas de la elocuencia “las han creado las Musas en los huertos de la Memoria y las han alimentado las Horas y las Gracias, regándolas en las fuentes de la verdad” (Or. 48, 387-9). En otras palabras, esta elocuencia alada comparte idéntico grado de

                                                             60

Este discurso oficial de bienvenida a Hermógenes es el más extenso de los conservados de Himerio. Sobre los procedimientos retóricos en él desplegados, véase Kennedy (1983, 143-7). 61 Esta presunta citación (ὑ β ρ ι σ τ α ὶ κ α ὶ ἀ τ ά σ θ α λ ο ι , κ α ὶ ο ὐ κ ε ἰ δ ό τ ε ς ἐ φ ' ο ὓ ς τ ὰ β έ λ η κ υ κ λ ώ σ ε σ θ ε ) es, no obstante, considerada parafrástica por Cuffari (1983, 77-80).

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sublimidad con la inspiración poética, pero en su caso con la exclusiva finalidad de servir a la ἀλήθεια. De este modo los λόγοι himerianos se verán sancionados por las mismas deidades que inspiran las actividades músicopoéticas. En consecuencia con esta doctrina, en el cierre de la Or. 48 asistimos al maridaje de la oratoria con la poesía en los términos precisos de inspiración y entusiasmo:

no de cualquier contenido, sino tan solo de aquellos que transmitan la verdad. Se podrá ahora, desde esta sólida base, recusar sin ambages la poesía por faltar a esa verdad.

καλῶ  δὲ  πρῶτον  εἰς  εὐχὴν  τὰς  ἐμὰς  θεὰς  τὰς Μούσας. ὦ Διὸς παῖδες, ἴτε, ἴτε Μοῦσαι  χρυσοπτέρυγοι  —ἔπεισι  γάρ  μοι  καὶ  ποιητικὸν  εἰς  ὑμᾶς  ἀναφθέγξασθαι—,  εἴτε  καθʹ  Ἑλικῶνα  καὶ  Πιερίαν  ἅμα  Ἀπόλλωνι  τὸν  χορὸν  ἐξελίττετε,  γλυκύ  τι  καὶ  θεῖον  μέλος  ἐπηχοῦσαι  τῇ  φόρμιγγι,  εἴτε  περὶ  Δελφοὺς καὶ Κασταλίαν ὁμοῦ νύμφαις ἐκεῖ  Κασταλίσιν ἀθύρετε, ἢ κατὰ τοὺς Ἀττικοὺς  λειμῶνας  ἱπτάμεναι  στεφάνους  τῷ  Μουσηγέτῃ  συμπλέκετε·  ἔλθετε  εὐχῆς  ἐπήκοοι ταύτης, ἣν ὑπὲρ Ἑλλήνων εὔχομαι,  καὶ  τόνδε  τὸν  ἄνδρα  δοίητε  ἐπὶ  πλεῖστον  τὰς  τῶν  νέων  εὐθύνειν  ἀγέλας,  ἵνα  καὶ  δευτέρου  καὶ  τρίτου  κρατῆρος  οἱ  λόγοι  τούτῳ σπείσωσιν. 

El cambio de orientación hacia una consideración teórica más positiva de la actividad del prosista frente a la del poeta puede ya apreciarse en la Or. 74, un protréptico sobre la constancia en el entrenamiento retórico que también hace uso de la citación poética como ἀφορμή o “punto de arranque” de la composición: “La práctica, de cierto, la tarea favorece: estas palabras son de un poeta amante de la gloria; sin embargo, para no sólo obedecer en esto a los poetas, sino que, si además de él algún otro discurso nos lo exhorta, traigámoslo a la memoria y mostrémoslo” (Or. 74, 2-5). Con respecto a los casos paralelos de la Or. 47 o la Or. 12, la novedad de la Or. 74 reside en la igualación de la indiscutible auctoritas poetarum, expresada a través de la γνώμη de Hesíodo (Op. 412), con el valor protréptico de la propia prosa oratoria (λόγος), aquí desarrollada mediante un típico ejercicio retórico, el διήγημα sobre el duro ensayo del desconocido auleta Timagénidas o, según enmienda de Colonna (1951, 247), del célebre tebano Antigénidas en una competición durante los juegos píticos.

Mejor ser prosista que poeta

Y, en primer lugar, quiero convocar a mis diosas, las Musas, a una plegaria. Oh hijas de Zeus, venid, venid, Musas de doradas alas —pues se me ocurre también dirigirme a vosotras poéticamente—, ya por el Helicón y Pieria junto con Apolo bailéis en coro, tocando una dulce y divina melodía a la forminge, ya en torno a Delfos y Castalia juguéis con las castalias ninfas de allí, o por los prados áticos volando coronas trencéis para el Musegeta. Acudid prestando oídos a esta plegaria, que en favor de los griegos pronuncio, y a este varón concededle guiar con rectitud los rebaños de jóvenes el mayor tiempo posible, para que mi elocuencia haga en su honor libaciones de una segunda y tercera cratera (Or. 48, 403-14).

Como vemos, el orador acaba su largo encomio a Hermógenes con una εὐχή a las Musas que recuerda los epílogos hímnicos de la Or. 64 o la Or. 65. Esta plegaria conclusiva se articula según los cánones de un κλητικὸς  ὕμνος: fórmulas invocatorias con uerba mouiendi (ἴτε en anadiplosis, ἔλθετε), epítetos de cuño poético (las Musas son χρυσοπτέρυγοι, como la Victoria invocada en Or. 65, 29) o disyunciones enumerativas de los distintos lugares de culto de las deidades invocadas (εἴτε  καθʹ  Ἑλικῶνα  καὶ  Πιερίαν…, εἴτε  περὶ  Δελφοὺς  καὶ  Κασταλίαν…, ἢ  κατὰ τοὺς Ἀττικοὺς λειμῶνας…). Con este himno invocatorio Himerio viene a demostrarnos en la práctica que prosistas y poetas pueden por igual alcanzar la sublimidad y rivalizar desde ella en la tarea de componer un himno. Desde esta perspectiva, el nuevo concepto de oratoria sublime neutraliza la habitual confrontación “prosa / verso” de la tecnología retórica, de la ars pedestre frente al alado ingenium. La prosa “ingeniosa” de Himerio aspira a ser expresión adecuada

En realidad, a este apartado pertenecen todos aquellos casos donde se establece una σύγκρισις entre el verso y la prosa acompañada de ὑπεροχή (“sobrepujamiento”), de un declarado afán de rivalizar y superar con la prosa oratoria a los propios modelos poéticos. Es aquí donde surge con más fuerza el precedente de la escuela isocrática. El discurso de bienvenida a Febo (Or. 33), un alumno sin duda distinguido por ser hijo del procónsul Alejandro (Barnes 1987, 216), introduce una implícita comparación entre la actualidad y el prestigioso pasado de la Atenas de tiempos de Isócrates.62 A los ojos de sus contemporáneos la ῥητορική isocrática se convirtió en arte de la exactitud y por esa razón todos los prohombres del momento competían por enviar a sus hijos a formarse en su escuela. Himerio se ve, pues, como un nuevo Isócrates con cuya prosa oratoria es capaz de vencer a la propia poesía. En otro discurso de encomio a Flaviano (Or. 43) se dirige a su laudandus consciente de que está usando una prosa superior a la propia poesía: “y, en cuanto a ti, la lengua que a todas las Musas y a todas las trompetas vence, la que compone himnos en prosa, jamás dejará que olvido con el tiempo se muestre insolente con tus hazañas” (Or. 43, 11-3). El λόγος panegírico vence así a la σάλπιγξ de Píndaro. También con clara expresión de orgullo nuestro sofista acude a modelos extraídos de la prosa no oratoria. Heródoto y Jenofonte son los ejemplos

                                                            

62 Himerio recibiendo en su escuela al joven Febo con un λόγος continúa la práctica de Isócrates, el sofista de todos conocido “porque por su causa la lengua de los sofistas despreció la de los poetas y abrazó su propia ley” (Or. 33, 6) y “tras purificar la retórica, que estaba hinchada con una extraña dicción por culpa de su ancestral extravío, la trajo al camino correcto, al ritmo y al orden” (Or. 33, 20-2).

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destacados. En la Or. 41, 10-2 el Heródoto panegirista es denominado como “la Musa de Caria”, esto es, como el autor de una prosa “que casi supera incluso a la poesía.” En la Or. 44, 50-2 será el Jenofonte de la Ciropedia el prosista ahora propuesto como modelo superior en dulzura a la miel de las “abejas” de la poesía.

por lo demás en total sintonía con la mejor tradición sofística:65 οὐ  γὰρ  οἷα  περὶ  αὐτοῦ  λέγειν  ἐν  Ἰλιάδι  τετόλμηκεν  Ὅμηρος,  τοιαῦτα  καὶ  Αἴσωπος  μυθολογεῖ  κατὰ  τοῦ  Ἀπόλλωνος.  Ὅμηρος  μὲν  γὰρ  δημαγωγεῖν  ἐθέλων  τὸ  θέατρον,  πολλάκις  καὶ  θεῶν  καταψεύδεται·  διόπερ  ἔγωγε  τοιούτους  εἶναι  ἑκὼν  οὐ  πείσομαι,  ἀλλά  μοι  συγγνώμην  ἔχειν  Ὁμηρίδας  αἰτήσομαι,  εἰ  τοιαῦτα  περὶ  θεῶν  καὶ  αὐτὸς    δήπου  προσίεμαι.  ποῦ  γὰρ  ἂν  ἔγωγε  ταῦτα  πιστεύσαιμι,  ὅτι  θεὸς  ὢν  Ἀπόλλων  καὶ  μουσηγέτης,  ἀεὶ  θυμοῦται  τοσοῦτον,  ὁπόσον Ὅμηρος  βούλεται,  ἢ  εἰς  νύκτα  ἀμείβει  τὰ  πρόσωπα,  ἢ  διὰ  τοῦτο  βελῶν  ἅπτεται,  ἵνα  ὑπήκοον  πλήξῃ  καὶ  Ἕλληνα;  ταῦτα  μὲν  οὖν  παραιτησώμεθα  Ὁμηρίδας  καὶ  εἴ  τις  ἄλλος  ποιητὴς  τοιοῦτος  ᾖ  κατὰ  θεῶν  εὐχερῶς  ἐθέλων  ψεύδεσθαι,  Αἰσώπῳ  δὲ μᾶλλον πιστεύσωμεν.

Pero el ejemplo sin duda más excepcional en la oratoria himeriana lo constituye la Or. 66, un discurso disuasorio improvisado ante unos díscolos estudiantes de su escuela, donde el uso calibrado de los ejercicios retóricos contrapuestos de “refutación” (ἀνασκευή) y “confirmación” (κατασκευή) revela la superioridad conceptual de la prosa sobre el verso. Himerio bellamente nos recuerda como μῦθος una fábula esópica (Fab. Aesop. 432 Perry) en su comienzo: Πάλιν μύθῳ πρὸς τὸν παρόντα χρησόμεθα·  πάλιν  ἐλθεῖν  μοι  συνέριθον  παρακαλέσω  τὸν  Αἴσωπον.  λόγον  δὲ  ὑμῖν  οὐ  Λιβυκόν  τινα, ἢ Αἰγύπτιον, ἀλλʹ ἐκ μέσων τῶν πάνυ  Φρυγῶν,  ὅπου  καὶ  τὸ  πρῶτον  ὁ  μῦθος  ἐγένετο,  ἐν  αὐτοῖς  εὑρὼν  τοῖς  Αἰσωπείοις  ἀθύρμασιν,  ἐθέλω  καὶ  πρὸς  ὑμᾶς  διηγήσασθαι.

Pues Esopo no cuenta acerca de Apolo lo mismo que Homero se ha atrevido a decir de él en la Ilíada. Pues Homero, queriendo congraciarse con su auditorio, muchas veces también miente sobre los dioses. Precisamente por eso yo no me voy a creer que sean así, sino que a los Homéridas pediré que tengan indulgencia conmigo, si acepto tales asertos sobre los dioses. Pues ¿cómo podría creer que Apolo, que es dios y conductor de las Musas, siempre está tan enojado, como Homero pretende, o que a la noche muda su aspecto, o que toma sus dardos por esta razón, para disparar incluso al griego obediente? Rechacemos, así pues, aceptar tales asertos de los Homéridas y de cualquier otro poeta que desee tan resueltamente mentir sobre los dioses, y mejor confiemos en Esopo (Or. 66, 20-33).

De nuevo usaré del mito en comparación con el presente. De nuevo convocaré a Esopo para que venga en mi ayuda. Una fábula, no líbica ni egipcia, sino del centro de Frigia sin duda, de allí donde surgió por vez primera la fábula, que para vosotros encontré entre los propios juguetes de Esopo, quiero también relataros (Or. 66, 3-8).

Para entender este arranque de la Or. 66 conviene tener en mente el entusiasta elogio que Focio hiciera del uso himeriano de los παραδείγματα histórico-mitológicos πρὸς  ὁμοιότητα, esto es, “para comparar” la situación presente con el pasado mítico.63 En la fábula esópica recreada aparece el dios Apolo afinando su instrumento “porque en esencia no es nada más que lira y palabra” (Or. 66, 9). Así pues, ante su μέλος acudieron cierta vez como de costumbre las Musas para iniciar la danza. En esta ocasión se unieron también ciertas ninfas Dríades y Hamadríades torpemente siguiendo el compás de la música de Apolo y provocando con su ἀμουσία la irritación del dios (Or. 66, 8-20). Este episodio da ocasión a la primera y tajante afirmación himeriana de que Apolo no acudió, pese a su enfado, al castigo físico de las torpes Dríades, refutando con ello la imagen tradicionalmente violenta del dios dada por la poesía de Homero.64 Esta ἀνασκευή de la teología homérica está

En el tratamiento de la materia teológica Himerio capta, pues, una nítida distinción entre el μῦθος περὶ θεῶν de la prosa (el esópico) y el μῦθος περὶ θεῶν de la poesía (el homérico). Con todo, esta recusatio de la teología homérica está en principio atenuada por la excusatio: ante su censura del poeta por excelencia pide nuestro sofista indulgencia a sus vástagos, los Homéridas, para poco después decantarse abiertamente por la fábula esópica, por estar siempre atenta al registro sapiencial aun en el uso del mito y, sobre todo, por no pecar de arrogancia en el tratamiento de las cuestiones teológicas (Or. 66, 33-7). Por ello Esopo da una explicación más sabia y acorde con los principios de la ética musical: “hace que Apolo cambie la afinación de su lira pasando de una melodía blanda a otra más enérgica, percutiendo las cuerdas no con los dedos sino con el plectro” (Or. 66, 38-40). Aun así, en la formulación de esta ἀνασκευή no dejamos de

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Phot. Bibl. cod. 165, 106-9. Como señala Greco (1993, 398), este recurso, que está en la práctica sofística desde el s. IV a. C., fue objeto de severas restricciones en las escuelas de retórica a partir de la época imperial. 64 Aquí, como en Or. 54, 14-21, la exaltación de la δύναμις σοφρωνιστική de la μουσική se acompaña de un rechazo frontal del castigo físico en el ámbito de la escuela: cf., sobre estas prácticas, Walden (1909, 324).

                                                            

65 Piénsese, sin salirse del marco de la Segunda Sofística, en la ἀνασκευή de todas las patrañas de Homero sobre la guerra de Troya que Dión de Prusa ya desarrolla en su Discurso troyano (Or. 11) o en la parecida refutación de la veracidad de lo contado por Homero y los restantes poetas que Elio Aristides hace en su Discurso egipcio (Or. 36, 104-13 K).

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observar cierta paradoja, porque la idea de que la “temperancia” (σοφρωσύνη) puede recobrarse con la μουσική remonta al mismísimo Homero, quien ya en Il.1,603 s. afirmara que fueron la lira de Apolo y el canto coral de las Musas el medio utilizado por los dioses para reconciliarse tras la disputa habida por la suerte de Aquiles,66 e Himerio parece comulgar con esta doctrina cuando la ejemplifica aquí y allá con la base argumental de un rico anecdotario extraído de las vidas de poetas o músicos.

aconsejándoles que abandonen sus parajes y se trasladen al Citerón, el monte que, más afín a los registros trágicos, mejor convendría a su disonante canto.68 No obstante, en un plano metaliterario, nuestro orador marca con decisión la frontera que aquí separa el proceder del fabulista del propio de los poetas, porque este παράδοξον del monte parlante no sirve a una de tantas mixtificaciones con las que la poesía gusta de entretener, sino a la expresión simbólica de una verdad sobre los estragos causados por la no observancia del debido decorum. Este discurso del Helicón, extraído de la fábula esópica, actúa entonces como adecuado espejo en donde poder mirarse el propio protréptico de Himerio para amonestar a esos alumnos revoltosos y restablecer al fin la paz escolar. El motivo del monte parlante da ocasión además a reafirmar la credibilidad de la fábula esópica en correspondencia con el prestigioso motivo de la consagración poética de Hesíodo, también acaecida en las faldas del Helicón, en virtud de la cual el rudo pastor fue tocado por las Musas para enseñar la verdad de las cosas divinas. En definitiva, en la Or. 66 asistimos a la ὑπεροχή de la fábula esópica sobre otros mitos poéticos por tener un fuerte carácter alegórico y supeditar en todo momento el uso de la ficción al descubrimiento de la verdad. Si la prodigiosa consagración poética del pastor Hesíodo en el Helicón sanciona su Teogonía como verdad revelada, el monte prodigiosamente dotado de λόγος de Esopo también corrobora, desde la ajustada perspectiva de la alegoría, la ἀλήθεια de las enseñanzas contenidas en esta muestra de “prosa oratoria” del insigne fabulista.

El sofista está también interesado en identificar a Esopo con ese λογοποιός o “prosista” capaz de servirse de un λόγος en apariencia falso, pero que en realidad es una representación de la verdad.67 Y en ello radica su esencial diferencia con la poesía, aun cuando en ese λόγος ψευδής puedan atisbarse ciertos rasgos calificables de ποιητικά por su audacia: καὶ  συναγανακτεῖ μὲν αὐτῷ πρὸς Νυμφῶν  ἀδικουμένῳ  κατʹ  Αἴσωπον  ὄρη  καὶ  νάπαι  καὶ  ποταμοὶ  καὶ  ὄρνιθες,  ἤδη  δὲ  καὶ  ὁ  Ἑλικὼν αὐτὸς ὑπὸ τοῦ πάθους μεταβληθεὶς  εἰς  ἄνθρωπον,  φωνήν  τε  ἀφίησι  καὶ  κατὰ  Νυμφῶν ῥήτωρ γίνεται. καὶ μὴ τολμηρὸν τὸ  τοῦ  μύθου  νομίζωμεν·  οὐ  γὰρ  δήπου  αὐτὸς  μὲν  ὁ  Ἑλικὼν  ἐκ  ποιμένων  οἶδε  ποιητὰς  ἐργάζεσθαι  —καὶ  τοῦτο  πάντως  Ἡσιόδῳ  πιστεύομεν—,  ἡμᾶς  δὲ  τῷ  Φρυγὶ  νεμεσᾶν  ἄξιον, ὅτι λαλοῦν ὄρος τι μεμίμηται.  Según Esopo a Apolo, ultrajado por las ninfas, acompañan en su irritación montes, cañadas, ríos y pájaros. Hasta el propio Helicón, por el dolor transformado en hombre, ya emite una voz y se hace rétor contra las ninfas. Y no consideremos audaz este recurso de la fábula. Pues, sin duda, el propio Helicón sabe hacer poetas de pastores —y completamente creemos a Hesíodo en ello—, pero es digno que nos enojemos con el frigio porque ha representado a un monte hablando (Or. 66, 40-8).

Conclusión

La fábula esópica recurre también a una cierta συμπάθεια de la naturaleza que nos recuerda muy de cerca los ejemplos de “falacia patética” tan frecuentes en poesía. Entre las particularidades de la poesía (τὰ ἴδια ποιήσεως) frente a la prosa en el ámbito del pensamiento Hermógenes (Id. 2, 391) destacaba, junto a las μυθικαὶ  ἔννοιαι y demás τερατολογούμενα, los παράδοξα basados en metamorfosis. Sin duda un tratadista como Hermógenes al enumerar todos estos contenidos específicos perseguía identificar lo poético con la ficción inverosímil. Este atrevimiento es también observable en Esopo cuando obra el prodigio de transformar el monte Helicón en un ser humano y hacer que, como un consumado orador, pronuncie un discurso ante las ninfas

Himerio recompone, como hemos podido comprobar, la analogía entre oratoria y μουσική en un sentido más profundo del que habitualmente se reconoce y sobre la base del fuerte componente ético-pedagógico tradicionalmente asignado al arte de las Musas. Su elocuencia también aspira a contribuir, igual que la antigua μουσική, a la vida virtuosa, pues como ella se constituirá en una “terapia para la mente” (Or. 15, 11-4: ἡ  θεραπεία τοῦ νοῦ) en paralelo con la gimnástica, que es terapia para el cuerpo. La omnipresente epíclesis Μουσηγέτης desvela las claves de la metáfora sobre la que pende todo el discurso metaliterario del sofista. Himerio la emplea, como hemos visto, en dos situaciones. En contexto político el Musegeta acostumbra a designar al alto dignatario de turno que con su armónico gobierno trae la paz y sosiego a la ciudad igualándose con ello al dios Apolo.69 Es sin embargo en el contexto escolar donde la epíclesis adquiere una relevancia inusitada. El profesor de retórica se compara entonces

                                                             68

Himerio reproducirá literalmente su discurso en Or. 66, 50-66. Or. 62, 49-54 (probablemente aquí el gobernador es Estrategio Musonio, según Barnes, 1987, 220), Or. 32, 15 (el prefecto Anatolio), Or. 46, 43 y 47, 75 (el procónsul Basilio), Or. 48 passim (el procónsul Hermógenes). En el Discurso a Roma de Elio Aristides se reconocen ya los precedentes de este uso: a las órdenes del emperador, corifeo director que armoniza todo el Imperio, la tierra habitada canta al unísono con mayor perfección que un coro (Or. 26, 39 K).

                                                            

69

66 En la refutación de Himerio hay, por tanto, un sorprendente descarte de posiciones eruditas como la expresada, entre otros, por Ateneo (15, 627 F). 67 Según Téon (Prog. 72, 28) el μῦθος o fabula como ejercicio preparatorio es λόγος ψευδὴς εἰκονίζων ἀλήθειαν (“una composición falsa que simboliza una verdad”).

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con el centauro Quirón, quien con los tañidos de su lira educó a héroes como Peleo o Aquiles (Or. 23, 47; Or. 26, 22; Or. 34, 16-8; Or. 46, 75-81), o por el contrario, vitupera a aquellos ἀγελάρχαι que, en lugar de guiar su rebaño con la música, lo hacen a fuerza de golpes: διὸ  δὴ  καὶ  ἀγελάρχαις  ἐκείνοις  μέμφομαι,  ὅσοι  τὰς  ἑαυτῶν  ἀφέντες  ἀγέλας  μέλει  ποιμαίνειν  καὶ  σύριγγι,  πληγὴν  ἀπειλοῦσι  καὶ  μάστιγας.  τῆς  δὲ  ἡμετέρας  ἀγέλης  καὶ  τῶν  θρεμμάτων  τῶν  ἐμῶν  —  μὴ  γάρ  ποτε  σκυθρωπάζων  ἐγὼ  θεασαίμην  τὸ  ποίμνιον  —  λόγος  ἡγείσθω  πρὸς  Μουσῶν  λειμῶνας  καὶ  νάματα,  ἀντὶ  δὲ  πληγῆς  ἀπηνοῦς  τὰ  ᾄσματα,  ἵνα  τὸν  ἐπʹ  ἀλλήλοις  ἐκ  τούτων  πόθον ἐκτρέφοντες μουσικῇ τε καὶ ἁρμονίᾳ  τὴν ἀρχὴν ταύτην εὐθύνωμεν.  Por ello precisamente repruebo a aquellos guías de rebaños que, dejando de pastorear sus rebaños con el canto y la siringe, los amenazan con golpes y látigo. Que conduzcan a mi rebaño y a mis criaturas a los prados y fuentes de las Musas — pues que nunca mire yo a mi grey con mal humor— la oratoria y las canciones en lugar de los duros golpes, para que, nutriendo de esta forma un mutuo amor, con musical arte y armonía enderezcamos este gobierno (Or. 54, 14-21).

El símil del pastor que conduce su ganado con los acordes de su siringa es prueba del poder agógico de la μουσική. Una vez más se igualan aquí λόγος y ᾄσμα en su misión educadora, pero ello no significa que nuestro orador no sea a la vez plenamente consciente de que está tan sólo fabricando una analogía y, en realidad, su ᾄσμα es tan deudor de la dicción pedestre como aquel invocado por Juliano en su Misopogon. La sintaxis del deseo irrealizable, el empleo de los esquemas atenuados de la recusatio o, incluso, la esporádica y orgullosa proclama de la superioridad de la prosa sobre el verso deben entenderse, en el plano de la reflexión metatextual, como formulaciones complementarias de un mismo principio: la imposibilidad, más allá del alarde de los juegos metafóricos, de rescatar un sistema de παιδεία en tantos aspectos ya irremisiblemente periclitado.

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clasicismo alemán de Winckelmann, Schlegel y compañía. Y, más allá, hay otros renacimientos anteriores. Los varios renacimientos bizantinos de los siglo IX y XII, los últimos poetas paganos de los siglos IV y V, y, el caso que queremos tratar en esta contribución, los siglos II y III y la llamada Segunda Sofística, que no es sino una vuelta al concepto de lo clásico, de la Atenas inmortal, con un barniz de actualidad, que sirve para obrar una importante transformación: la integración del mundo griego en el Imperio romano, que comienza en la época de los Antoninos. Se trata de un filtro de transmisión que muchas veces pasó inadvertido para la gran crítica al considerar la proyección cultural del legado clásico y que también tiene a su vez influencia en otras etapas del mismo, entre otras en el Humanismo italiano.

Elio Aristides como modelo retórico desde la Antigüedad tardía al Renacimiento / Aelius Aristides as rhetorical model from Late Antiquity to the Renaissance David Hernández de la Fuente Universidad Nacional de Educación a Distancia Abstract In this contribution the author puts forward a methodological reflection on the importance of Late Antiquity for the Recepcion of Ancient Greek Rhetorics in the European tradition. The case study of this paper is the figure and works of Aelius Aristides, perhaps the most important orator of the socalled Second Sophistic. During Late Antiquity, classicising authors were a very relevant part in the transmission of the idea of classical style and of Greek paideia itself. On the one hand, the author deals with the Late antique success of Aristides as a model of Atticism in rhetors such as Libanius. Some attention is paid to the influence of Aristides on this late antique orator of the Theodosian period. On the other hand, the reception of Aristides as rhetorical paradigm is to be seen in the manuscript tradition of his numerous works, which start in the Theodosian Age. Finally, one can find a good example of the Renaissance reception of Aristides in matter of style and paideia in the works of Leonardo Bruni.

La relación de los prerrenacimientos retóricos de la Antigüedad —en la época tardía e imperial— y el Renacimiento italiano de esta generación, tras los impulsos iniciales de las grandes figuras de Petrarca o Bocaccio, se estrecha cuando uno profundiza en las lecturas de los humanistas (Celenza 2001). Se diría que la mezcla entre creación literaria y filología —que encuentra inspiración en la Antigüedad Clásica— cede el paso a la pasión por la retórica y la recreación acaso más barroquista de los modelos establecidos que caracterizan la antigüedad tardía. Así lo notaba ya Jacob Burckhardt (2004, 172 ss), en cuanto al gusto anticuario por la cita y la evocación erudita del pasado en el Humanismo italiano a partir de 1400, o Georg Voigt (1893), que acusaba a esta tendencia imitativa de “no producir nada independiente —hoy diríamos original— que no fuera superado en el siglo siguiente”.

KEYWORDS: Aelius Aristides, Second Sophistic and its influence, Libanius, Late Antique Rhetorics, Leonardo Bruni

Coincidencias ideológicas y estéticas Antigüedad tardía y el Renacimiento

entre

Existe un cierto prejuicio decimonónico en críticas como las anteriormente ejemplificadas sobre la falta de fuerza creadora de estas épocas de repliegue erudito y vista atrás que pueden verse con expresiones equivalentes en los estudiosos del siglo XIX y principios del XX que se ocuparon de los escritores griegos y latinos tardíos, como Aulo Gelio, Polibio, Dión Casio, y muchos otros. Se repiten adjetivos como decadente, baldío, imitador, etc., que a nuestro entender no hacen justicia al espíritu de la época. Así, tomaremos uno de estos ejemplos a veces vituperados, el de Elio Aristides, a modo de estudio de caso, con breves consideraciones sobre su repercusión, notablemente en uno de los hombres claves del Renacimiento florentino, Leonardo Bruni y su círculo de estudiosos del helenismo.

la

Cada vuelta de tuerca sobre el mundo grecorromano, sobre el concepto de lo clásico, nos renueva y nos enriquece. Y el Renacimiento en Italia marca uno de esos momentos de inflexión, en el que se redescubre el mundo clásico, la flota —por jugar con la etimología latina de classicus— de autores antiguos, desde Homero a Platón, que marcan nuestra tradición cultural. Para comprender el mundo contemporáneo y sus manifestaciones culturales, lingüísticas y discursivas es necesario volver la vista atrás a menudo hacia la Antigüedad Clásica. Muy frecuentemente, como señaló W. Jaeger (1985), cualquier transformación cultural de nuestra sociedad a lo largo de la historia moderna y contemporánea ha implicado una reinterpretación del mundo clásico, cuando no ha sido directamente causada por ella.

Desde lo que Gibbon (2012, 55) llamó la “edad dorada de los Antoninos”, la identidad griega se integra en el Imperio romano de una manera nueva, con figuras como Plutarco, cuyas Vidas Paralelas son buen ejemplo de cómo la cultura griega se universaliza a través de Roma y, a la vez, se compara con ella. Surge en el siglo II un nuevo clasicismo, fuertemente impregnado de aticismo, que prolonga las tendencias del helenismo dinamizadas y aceleradas por el intenso sincretismo cultural y literario del Imperio. Se trata de una etapa que en general, ha sido tachada de decadente en los estudios clásicos de literatura

Pero hay muchos renacimientos, muchas miradas atrás en el tiempo para encontrar referentes sobre los que obrar los cambios, a veces revolucionarios, en la literatura, la estética, la historia de las ideas. Nosotros vemos a los clásicos griegos por el prisma de lo que los italianos del siglo XV pensaron de ellos, pero también a través del

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griega, pero hallamos una enorme belleza en este momento de cambio en el que, realmente, se redefine el concepto y legado literario clásico. Es la llamada Segunda Sofística —según expresión de Filóstrato— el movimiento literario más importante, en el que la retórica obtiene un lugar preeminente en la educación. Como ha estudiado Reardon (1971), destacan dos notas definitorias en la literatura de la época: la imitación y conservación de modelos del pasado y la innovación en géneros nuevos. Es decir, un Renacimiento en toda regla.

Demóstenes o Isócrates, son estudiados como modelo, pero la retórica evoluciona a un plano literario, educativo y casi identitario. En el mundo griego de época romana una de las piezas claves para la comprensión de la cultura que se desarrolla, especialmente en el plano literario, es la educación. El sistema educativo de la época era privado y promovía la enkyklios paideia, la educación integral, con fuerte base retórica, comenzando en la etapa primaria con el grammatistes o el paidagogos, y culminando las más de las veces con el grammatikos entre 14 y 18 años, una posición de gran movilidad geográfica y social. A partir de los 18 años, el estudiante había de acudir a una ciudad con “sede universitaria” para ponerse en manos de un sophistes o un rhetor en Roma, Alejandría, Constantinopla, Atenas, Burdeos, Antioquía, Beirut y otros lugares. Se promovía el viaje educativo, iniciático, cuyas paradas obligadas solían ser Atenas y Roma. En este ambiente se formó una generación muy fecunda en rétores, poetas y literatos, educados en el amor por un helenismo integrado en el Imperio Romano, entre mediados del siglo II y hasta tan tarde como finales del V. El apogeo de todo ello está representado, a todas luces, por el gran rétor de la nueva era, Elio Aristides.

La literatura griega se tiñe de retórica y crítica literaria en la edad imperial. Desde los tratados de preceptiva literaria de Demetrio y Longino, que marcan un momento culminante en la crítica hasta llegar a Anaxímenes de Lámpsaco o Menandro el rétor, en pleno s. III, que establece las reglas de géneros variados, hay oradores oficiales en las ciudades, escuelas de retórica y se retoma la competencia a veces no muy sana con la filosofía que remonta a la época de Isócrates. Brilla con luz propia la crítica literaria, con Dionisio de Halicarnaso, en obras como Sobre la imitación o Sobre la composición literaria, de la que cabe mencionar una excelente traducción al español en la Biblioteca Clásica Gredos. Combina su retórica aticista con la acribía del filólogo, enjuiciando preferentemente a los rétores: escribe Sobre los oradores áticos, pasando revista a Isócrates y Lisias, entre otros y Sobre el estilo admirable de Demóstenes.

Semblanza de Elio Aristides y de su obra retórica Haciendo un resumen de su vida, Elio Aristides nace en el seno de una familia acomodada en la remota provincia de Misia oriental al comienzo del reinado de Adriano (c. 117) en una ciudad relacionada con el emperador (Hadriani, Hadrianuteras o Hadrianea). Su padre, Eudemón, era filósofo y muy pronto le encomendó a los cuidados de dos educadores que le marcarían desde muy pronto y a los que cita a menudo en su obra, Epágato y Zósimo. A los 15 años comenzó su educación propiamente retórica con el grammatikos Alejandro de Cotieo y, posteriormente, con en Pérgamo, con Aristocles, en Esmirna, con Polemón y en Atenas con Herodes Ático, con quien rivalizaría más adelante. Realizó en 141 un viaje largo, de al menos un par de años, a Egipto, que reflejó en obras como el Discurso Egipcio, y otras en las que ora honra a Serapis ora diserta sobre las crecidas del Nilo en medio de un despliegue de erudición retórica. Posteriormente estuvo en Roma, en torno al año 143, para intentar medrar en la capital. Allí se maravilló de la urbe y escribió en su honor su famoso discurso A Roma, algo incomprendido en la época pero que marcaría la posteridad. Aristides estuvo aquejado de una dolencia crónica toda su vida, sobre cuya naturaleza disertó el propio Galeno: unos creen que era epilepsia, la enfermedad sagrada, otros, consunción o condensación de humores adversos. Modernamente hay numerosas teorías al respecto, algunas desagradablemente psicoanalíticas. Había mucho de hipocondría en todo caso. En sus Discursos sagrados Aristides cuenta cómo entró bajo la protección de Asclepio, que no solo lo sanó en su santuario de Pérgamo, del que era asiduo visitante, sino que le dio inspiración retórica para el resto de su vida. Los Discursos sagrados son mezcla de diario espiritual, autobiografía, informe médico, aretalogía, acción de

Todo lo impregna la retórica, basada en los modelos clásicos del orador de asamblea. Pero los nuevos sofistas son más estetas que políticos, virtuosos de la retórica que pueden improvisar sobre temas diversos o fascinar a la audiencia con gestos, periodos ampulosos, gestos medidos y una dicción asombrosa. Esto les hará acreedores de cotas de popularidad impensables, comparables a las modernas estrellas de música popular de hoy día y que permite hablar de los Konzertredner u oradores de concierto: Nicetas de Esmirna, Herodes Áticus, Polemón de Laodicea o Favorino son algunos de ellos, que viajan por todo el mundo antiguo viviendo de sus actuaciones. También Luciano de Samósata se adscribe a este grupo de sofistas, si bien su obra es mucho más rica en matices y perdurable. Tal vez se pueda ejemplificar la figura de este sofista o del intelectual de la segunda sofística, con un nombre propio: Elio Aristides. Sobre Aristides, del siglo II, tenemos gran cantidad de datos que perfilan el retrato de una personalidad definida y apasionante, un sofista estrella, de enorme ego literario, devoto de la divinidad que le inspira, que narra en una especie de diario personal sus opiniones, experiencias, viajes, discursos, amigos, sueños proféticos, etc. Se trata de una figura que ha despertado gran interés crítico y muestra cómo era la vida cultural helénica bajo el imperio romano. Lejos queda la Grecia de aquel otro Aristides, el estratega cuya vida glosó Plutarco, una Grecia fragmentada en multitud de poleis, donde la retórica era instrumento político cotidiano en las deliberaciones de la Asamblea. Los grandes oradores del siglo V y IV a.C., Antifonte,

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gracias a Asclepio y ostentación de vanidad. Los sueños que transmite en sus discursos sagrados revelan que está predestinado a la literatura por la divinidad, que tutela sus movimientos e incluso su salud. Aristides desvela un aspecto sagrado del arte retórico que influirá sobremanera en la posteridad, una divinización de la literatura, y un ego enorme. Su paso por Atenas dejó el famoso discurso Panatenaico, en la tradición isocrática, que renueva sin embargo el género y deviene modelo a seguir. Su larga extensión dio problemas a los comentaristas ya desde época bizantina: no fue escrito seguramente así para ser declamado y parece una redacción para ser leída y transmitida. En su Misia natal y en Esmirna declinó todo tipo de cargos públicos y honores (sacerdote de Asclepio, recaudador de impuestos, prítano...) y lo consiguió gracias a amigos influyentes y poderosos (entre los que había gobernadores e incluso el emperador). Su única relación con la política es el discurso a los rodios sobre la concordia, que vino a solucionar alguna disputa civil (¿deudas por el terremoto de 142?). En el Panegírico a Cícico, que versa sobre rivalidades de ciudades griegas, hay otro buen ejemplo de su arte oratoria relacionada con la historia contemporánea. Al fin se estableció, ya afamado en todo el imperio, en la ciudad de Esmirna. A la muerte de Polemón se convirtió en el sofista oficial de la ciudad, que la socorrió en el terremoto que la destruyó en 177-8, haciendo valer su influencia con Marco Aurelio. Murió poco después, en el año 180, dejando una gran obra a la posteridad, de la que las obras citadas pueden servir de ejemplo.

la literatura referencial, la erudición, la retórica. Es también la época a partir de la cual se desarrolla el auge de los cultos orientales a la par con el cristianismo: la religión tradicional sufre una serie de modificaciones que responden a la búsqueda de una nueva espiritualidad tendente a lo salvífico, que impregna la literatura. El pensamiento filosófico también tiene una deriva mística, y el pragmático estoicismo romano es gradualmente sustituido por el más especulativo neoplatonismo, sin duda la escuela más influyente en las postrimerías de la Antigüedad. La literatura y el arte se impregna de este revolucionario cambio en la historia de las ideas, que Peter Brown ha llamado “el nuevo idioma pagano” o “la nueva sensibilidad estética” de la época. Ha tenido especial fortuna la expresión Antigüedad Tardía para designar esta época de cambio, entre el año 300 y el 600, que determina la manera en la que será transmitido el legado clásico (Brown 1971; Cameron 1993; Ward-Perkins 2005). La antigüedad tardía filtra pues una serie de autores más nuevos, junto a Homero, Hesíodo o Platón, que considera imitables y dignos de pasar a la posteridad. Entre ellos está Aristides, cuya enorme obra conservamos casi entera (ocupa cinco tomos de discursos en la Biblioteca Clásica Gredos). Hay que detenerse pues y considerar los gustos de los varios renacimientos que han fijado el canon clásico, pues por ejemplo hemos perdido casi toda la poesía helenística y una parte enorme de la lírica arcaica, pero en cambio conservamos obras retóricas de autores como éste. Las primeras noticias sobre Aristides se encuentran en la tradición biográfica de época imperial y en los escolios y prolegomena de sus discursos en la tradición manuscrita. Parece que el primer admirador de Aristides conocido fue, no por casualidad, Frínico de Bitinia, un sofista aticista del siglo II que escribió una réplica a Aristides que se ha transmitido gracias al patriarca Focio (Jones 2008) Encontramos en las Vidas de Sofistas de Filóstrato una primera biografía del exitoso y enfermizo rétor griego.

Elio Aristides a través de la Antigüedad tardía: modelo retórico y tradición manuscrita. El caso de Libanio Grande fue la fama y repercusión posterior de Aristides, ya desde bien temprano, como afirma uno de sus biógrafos, J. M. Cortés (1995). Quizá fuera porque sus discursos se adecuaban a las preceptivas de la retórica clásica y del aticismo de la segunda sofística. O precisamente porque fueron modelo de ellas, como se ve en la obra de Menandro Rétor (s. III), y en los posteriores sofistas, como Filóstrato, Himerio o Libanio, que llegan a extender su influencia a los siglos IV y V y a traspasarla a la esfera de la retórica de los padres de la iglesia. Es sabido que el rétor tardoantiguo Libanio, amigo de Juliano el Apóstata, cuya numerosa correspondencia se está traduciendo ahora al español, tuvo como discípulo a varios intelectuales que, como San Juan Crisóstomo, serían de extremada importancia para la evolución de la teología y la literatura cristiana (Cribiore 2007; cf. introducción y notas de González Gálvez 2005).

Filóstrato, como es sabido, complementa en pleno siglo III, cien años después de Aristides, la labor erudita de su casi contemporáneo Diógenes Laercio en cuanto a la recopilación de sabrosas anécdotas de filósofos y oradores —por cierto que hay que saludar la traducción castellana de Diógenes, publicada en Alianza editorial en 2007, la primera desde 1792—; Filóstrato opta por dedicar algunos pasajes centrales a este sofista, como por ejemplo su encuentro con el emperador Marco Aurelio (VS II, 9), entre otras anécdotas y boutades de interés relativo. Aristides tardó tres dias en presentarse ante el Marco Aurelio, de visita en Esmirna. Como dicen F. Gascó y Ramirez de Verger, “incluso ante el emperador tenía que hacerse notar” (Gascó and Ramírez de Verger 1987, intro.). Sobre Filóstrato hemos de recordar, además, la reciente edición de sus retóricas Cartas de amor, en la editorial Gredos (Gallé Cejudo 2010, intro.).

El mundo antiguo cambia después de Aristides a marchas forzadas. Ya intuidos desde el siglo III, sobrevienen grandes cambios en los territorios del Imperio, con una crisis social y económica que va a operar una transformación paulatina e inexorable en el mundo antiguo: también, por supuesto, en la manera en que nos ha sido transmitida la idea de mundo clásico. Se acentúa

Volviendo al éxito de los modelos oratorios aticistas de Aristides, como mediador entre la antigua retórica ateniense y la antigüedad tardía, hay que reparar en que

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autores muy diversos expresaron admiración por su obra, desde el patriarca Atanasio de Alejandría al retórico Menandro. Hay que mencionar, además, los prolegomena a la vida del sofista, que son aglomerados de distintas épocas, entre el siglo IV y el IX, y dan una idea de la popularidad de sus escritos. Su núcleo viene a ser la vida de Aristides que escribió el sofista Sópatro de Apamea (fl. 325), un oscuro neoplatónico discípulo de Jámblico, en el siglo IV que gozó de la amistad personal de Constantino el Grande. Para estas primeras muestras de popularidad en la antigüedad tardía, véanse las ediciones y estudios de Aristides de Lenz (1959; 1964). La enciclopedia bizantina Suda, en pleno siglo X, tiene una entrada sobre el filósofo que recoge dos de sus variantes biográficas. Con algo de maldad, el enciclopedista bizantino dice de él, aludiendo a su conocida grafomanía: “en cuanto a sus discursos, uno no les acaba de encontrar el final”. Pero, como no puede negar su enorme recepción literaria en la antigüedad tardía y en el medievo bizantino, añade: “por otra parte han sido exitosos a causa de aspectos diferentes.”

retórica griega y el arraigado platonismo darán lugar a una escuela teológica de complicadas propuestas y alambicado estilo. Se ha hablado a menudo de Libanio como modelo de aticismo, y no cabe duda de que continúa el rigor de Aristides en cuanto al estilo conservador no solo de las tradiciones paganas, sino de todo cuanto conllevaba la cultura griega (Petit 1955). Sus imitaciones de Demóstenes y la vieja oratoria ateniense contrastan sobremanera con el contexto político y religioso en que se desarrolla su peripecia vital, si uno considera sus cartas y discursos dirigidos a emperadores como Juliano, Constancio o Teodosio. Está pendiente un estudio detallado de la influencia de Elio Aristides en Libanio, pero hay constancia de la admiración que le profesaba el rétor de Antioquía a Aristides. Libanio basa, por ejemplo, su composición sobre su rentrée en Antioquía (Or. I, 8689) en el Discurso Sagrado (V, 30-34) de Aristides (Cribiore 2008). La enfermedad que sufrió Libanio en Constantinopla quizá creó un vínculo intangible de simpatía hacia Aristides, cuya prosa ática en principio fue objeto de envidia y rivalidad para el sofista de Antioquía, y luego, como ha estudiado Cribiore (2008, 273) le sirvió de consolación didáctica y filosófica.

En un volumen dedicado a la época teodosiana, una era de cambios en la historia de las ideas, hay que hacer hincapié en la figura de un rétor como Libanio, que encarna como pocas otras la encrucijada cultural entre la vieja paideia griega y la nueva religión del imperio, como ya viera Jaeger (1985) en la conocida obra que dedicó a este momento. El sofista de Antioquía, nacido en torno a 314, recibió una educación retórica profundamente aticista en Atenas, con los rétores más famosos del momento (Epist. 100; 407; 1181). Destacó en la corte de Oriente como orador en un concurso contra Nicocles pero, en vez de establecerse en Constantinopla, marchó a Nicomedia y luego a su ciudad natal, donde fundó una escuela de retórica. Emperadores de signo tan opuesto como apreciaron la obra y la persona de Libanio Galo, Juliano, Valente o Teodosio. Juliano, el llamado Apóstata, mantuvo con Libanio un intercambio epistolar: para Libanio, como para tantos paganos, este emperador era la última esperanza del retorno de los viejos ideales de la paideia y la religión griega. Pero la muerte de Juliano y la cristianización definitiva del imperio no conllevaron la caída en desgracia de Libanio, que continuó ejerciendo influencia como prestigioso orador en los reinados posteriores, escribiendo encomios y discursos dirigidos a los emperadores, como Valente, sobre asuntos legales y cívicos de varia índole. También Teodosio, llamado el Grande, tuvo gran aprecio al sofista de Antioquía, que se permitió incluso dedicarle una encendida defensa de los templos paganos como ornato cultural y cívico (Or. 30). Teodosio llegó a honrar a Libanio nombrándole prefecto del pretorio. Su vida no estuvo, empero, exenta de polémicas con las escuelas rivales o de desazón por sus problemas con algunos alumnos, como nos refiere él mismo en su abundante epistolario o como se ve en las Vidas de sofistas de Eunapio de Sardes. De su carácter tolerante, en una ciudad cada vez más cristianizada, es buena prueba el hecho de que fue maestro de retórica de padres de la iglesia muy destacados, como el citado San Juan Crisóstomo y San Basilio de Cesarea. En Antioquía, la

Hay otro botón de muestra de la importante recepción de Aristides en la antigüedad tardía y de su papel mediador del clasicismo o aticismo con la posteridad: se trata de su importante tradición manuscrita, que se remonta precisamente, en cuanto a la papirología al menos, a la época teodosiana. Los mayores éxitos literarios del Aristides fueron sin duda los discursos A Roma y Panatenaico, que en su momento supusieron una revolución en el estudio de modelos retóricos y en la temática e ideología conjunta grecorromana: prueba de que fue pronto estudiado como prototipo de oratoria elegido para perdurar es que la tradición de su texto se ve reforzada por tres papiros tempranos, entre el canon de autores clásicos y otros “modernos” que se convirtieron en clásicos. En el Egipto de pleno siglo IV, dos de estos papiros de uso escolar o privado, hallados junto a Homero o los populares Eurípides y Menandro, transmiten fragmentos el texto del Panatenaico: uno de Antinópolis (P. Ant. III 144 del siglo IV) publicado en 1975 y otro de localidad incierta publicado en 1968. La tradición manuscrita del texto de Aristides deriva entera de un arquetipo, como demuestra la identidad de lagunas y corrupciones (Behr ed., pp. LVII). Tuvo fortuna en época bizantina, siendo copiado sin interrupción: estuvo en la biblioteca del patriarca Focio, en un códice que se conserva en Venecia hoy (Marcianus gr. 340). Fue admirado por Máximo Planudes (1260-1330), uno de los primeros vínculos bizantinos con Italia. Planudes, monje, diplomático, poeta y filólogo responsable de la Antología griega, vivió en la época de Miguel VIII Paleólogo y Andrónico II. Planudes apreció a Arístides y ayudó a copiar sus códices, entre otros importantes de autores tardíos, que acabaron en Italia. Su discípulo Teódulo el monje, más conocido como Thomas Magister, de época del emperador Andrónico II

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David Hernández de la Fuente – Elio Aristides como modelo retórico desde la Antigüedad tardía al Renacimiento

imperial, notoriamente de Plutarco de Queronea, Basilio de Cesarea y Elio Aristides, para comenzar su programa filológico y a la vez político de honor a la república florentina. En efecto, y superando la tradición heredada del medioevo de elogios a ciudades, usó por primera vez un modelo griego para su panegírico de Florencia. Pero no miró al mundo clásico, sino a la retórica de época imperial, modelando su Laudatio florentinae urbis sobre el Panatenaico de Arístides (cf. la edición crítica de Baldassarri 2000).

Paleólogo (1282-1328), autor de una obra léxica sobre el aticismo, imitó a Arístides intentando torpemente hacer pasar por suya alguna obra propia. De los manuscritos que transmiten la obra de Aristides, los más importantes fueron a parar a la Italia de los siglos XIII a XV, como acreditan las ediciones modernas de Behr o Lenz: en ellas se atestigua la importancia de Aristides en las bibliotecas del humanismo. Entre ellos hay 3 códices del siglo X (Laurentianus p. cod. 8; un Vaticanus Urbinas gr.; o el ya citado Marcianus gr.340); otros 3 del siglo XI (Laurentianus pl. LX, cod. 8; Vaticanus gr.1298; el Marcianus gr.appendix VIII, cod. 7); 5 del siglo XII (Laurentianus pl. LX, cod. 7; Vaticanus gr. 74; 1297; Marcianus gr. 423; 451) y 4 del XIII-XV (el ms. III C 11 de la biblioteca Angelica de Roma; el Vaticanus Urbinas gr. 123; el Laurentianus pl. LX, cod. 9; el Laur. olim Abbatiae 9).

La Laudatio, compuesta entre 1402 y 1404 por el entonces joven Leonardo Bruni. Nacido en Arezzo hacia 1370, discípulo del canciller Coluccio Salutati en los años 1390, comienza su carrera humanística con este elogio, después del cual llegará a secretario pontificio (Roma 1405). Luego compondrá una célebre Historia de los Florentinos y llegará a canciller en 1427 hasta su muerte en 1444 (Vasoli 1972). La obra supone de un elogio total de la ciudad de Florencia, su belleza y cualidades naturales pero sobre todo de su amor por la libertad, que hace heredero de la Roma republicana. El propio Bruni reconoce su deuda de juventud con el Panatenaico de Aristides, que conoció gracias a Crisoloras, en una carta (VIII, 4) escrita en 1437 al arzobispo de Milán, y que le sirve de guía:

Los mayores difusores de la obra de Aristides, y los que contribuyeron a su fama y a la abundancia de manuscritos en las bibliotecas de los humanistas, fueron los bizantinos que llegaron a Italia para enseñar griego. Entre ellos destaca el célebre Manuel Crisoloras, profesor de una generación entera de humanistas en Italia, que conoció y apreció a Arístides como modelo retórico. Uno de sus alumnos Antonio Corbinelli (Antonio di Tommasso Piero Corbinelli), que fue amigo y compañero de estudios de Guarino Veronese,1 poseyó un importante códice del Panatenaico (Laur. olim Abbatiae 9), del que posteriormente saldría la editio princeps. El códice, como el resto de la colección de mss. griegos de Corbinelli, 65, pasaron a engrosar la biblioteca del monasterio de Santa María dei Benedittini, conocida como Badia Florentina, y de ahí a la Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana. La primera edición de Aristides recogió, como era natural, las obras más célebres del sofista griego, A Roma y Panatenaico, basadas en el códice de Corbinelli, que seguramente estuvo a disposición de otros alumnos de Crisoloras. En 1513, Aldo Manuzio publicaba en Venecia ambos discursos como apéndice a las obras de Isócrates. Algo más tarde, en 1566, vio la luz la edición príncipe de los discursos de Aristides en Florencia, a cargo de Bonino en la imprenta de Filippo Giunta. La traducción latina es más tardía, del año 1604. Doscientos años antes, Leonardo Bruni se hacía eco del Panatenaico en su obra retórica en elogio de Florencia.

Non enim temere neque leviter id opus aggressi sumus, neque vagi aut incerti per semitas nobis incognitas, peregrinantium more, nostro ipsi arbitratu processimus, sed ducem itineris totiusque laudandi progressus certum indubitatum habuimus Aristidem, celebrem apud Graecos oratorem, eloquentissimum hominem, cuius extat oratio pulcherrima De laudibus Athenarum (Mehus 1741).

La transmisión de la obra de Aristides enlaza las generaciones de este humanismo fecundo y retórico con las comunidades bizantinas en Italia. A diferencia de sus antecesores, Petrarca o Coluccio, Bruni forma parte de la primera generación de humanistas que saben griego y acceden al enorme corpus de la literatura griega en su lengua original —célebre es, entre nosotros, su polémica con Alonso de Cartagena sobre cómo debía traducirse a Aristóteles (Morrás 2002). A diferencia de los anteriores, que citan siempre autores con el prestigio del clasicismo, Bruni y su generación toman directamente el testigo del helenismo que favoreció la transmisión tardía y bizantina, que apreció la retórica declamatoria. Sobre esta influencia ha escrito muy acertadamente Giuseppe Cambiano (1998), examinando el tipo de rastro de Aristides en Bruni (Bernard-Pradelle 2000). Y no es, en absoluto, muestra de hueca u ostentosa erudición: la influencia es profunda y meditada. Destaca, por ejemplo, el topos de la generosa ciudad de Atenas como hospicio de exiliados (Pan. 49-74) que enlaza con la tradición florentina (Laud. III); pero la influencia es muy notoria en sus estructuras paralelas. Donde coinciden ambos exordios (Aristides 1-8; Bruni 1-4), la situación de Atenas (A. 8-23) y la de Florencia (B 5-45), el poblamiento de Atenas (A 24-30) y de Florencia (B 45-65), los recursos naturales (A 31-38 y B 35), las guerras atenienses (A 75-321) y las de

La recepción de Elio Aristides en el Renacimiento: el caso de Leonardo Bruni Leonardo Bruni, que sucedería a Coluccio Salutati como canciller de Florencia (1427-1444), representó la perfecta combinación entre hombre de letras y de gobierno. En su primera etapa literaria, bajo la dirección del maestro bizantino Manuel Crisoloras, a comienzos del siglo XV, no dudó en echar mano de la literatura griega de época 1 Pero no publicó nada. Sin embargo, poseyó hasta 65 manuscritos griegos (Baron 1966).

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Florencia (B66-110), todo lo cual resulta en la consabida superioridad de ambas repúblicas (A 336-403 y B 134). Otros alumnos de Crisoloras utilizaron los discursos de Aristides. Cencio dei Rustici (1380-1445), pionero del estudio del griego en Roma y admirador de Plutarco, tradujo su Elogio de Baco en 1416; Niccolo Perotti (1429-1480) versionó a su vez el Lamento por Esmirna de Aristides, siendo amigo de Lorenzo Valla y del cardenal Besarión, traductor de Epicteto, Polibio o Procopio y, por ende, buen ejemplo del tipo de relación con la Antigüedad tardía que tratamos de mostrar en estas páginas. Bruni se separa conscientemente de la tradición latina medieval de obras laudatorias de ciudades (e.g. De magnalibus Mediolani de 1288) y tiende puentes directamente con la antigüedad tardía y Bizancio. No es la de Bruni una traducción ni comentario, sino una recreación literaria, con erudición pero con la plena conciencia del momento actual en que vive. Esto hace de la transmisión un mecanismo que funciona y vuelve el texto clásico a la vida con plena vigencia. La huella de esta influencia es larga en la tradición humanística y llega a Lorenzo Valla, Pier Candido Decembrio y más allá. No es, pues, la retórica clásica la que llega con fuerza al Renacimiento, sino más bien la tardía Un caso de estudio como este pone de manifiesto que más que redescubrimiento de la Antigüedad, como decía Burckhardt (2004), hay una transmisión mediada y condicionada, como vemos en el caso de Aristides. La transmisión al humanismo de la retórica griega, y sobre todo de los modelos heredados de la antigüedad tardía, mediante los profesores bizantinos y sus textos en la Italia de finales del s. XIV ilustra este fenómeno. Y esto es de extrema importancia tanto para los estudios clásicos y humanísticos como para la historia de las ideas.

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Rosa García-Gasco is currently an Instructor of Classical Greek and Latin in the Public System of Secondary Education of the Government of Madrid and an associate researcher in the Department of Greek Philology and Indoeuropean Linguistics at the University Complutense of Madrid, where she has been collaborating since 2004 in several projects. She earned her PhD with her Doctoral Thesis Orpheus and Orphism in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca in 2007. García-Gasco has since then published numerous chapters on Greek religion and myth in collected books, as well as on Greek drama and rhetorics. She is currently working on epics, Dionysus, dramatic literature and performance. Sergio González Sánchez is currently a Ph.D. candidate in the School of Archaeology and Ancient History at the University of Leicester. His research focuses on the creation of ancient and modern myths around RomanBarbarian interactions, their influence on the creation of national identities and the analysis of different traditions of archaeological interpretation. He has published articles on the topic and has participated in archaeological projects in Italy and the UK. He has recently presented papers at different international conferences on Roman archaeology and imperialism. He combines his doctoral activity with the teaching of Latin and Greco-Roman literature at the University of Leicester. David Hernández de la Fuente is Assistant Professor at the Department of Ancient History at Universidad Nacional de Educación a Distancia (Madrid, Spain) and Lecturer at the University of Potsdam (Germany), where he was a Humboldt Fellow (2009-2011). He has published an interpretation on Nonnus’ Dionysiaca (Bakkhos Anax, 2008) stemming from his first PhD dissertation, and numerous articles and reviews on Greek Literature (esp. Nonnus), Philosophy and Religion (Oracles, History of Platonism, etc.). Among his several books, he has edited New Perspectives on Late Antiquity (2011) and authored Vidas de Pitágoras (2011).

GARCÍA-GASCO, GONZÁLEZ SÁNCHEZ & HERNÁNDEZ DE LA FUENTE (Eds)

The Theodosian Age was a controversial and fascinating period in the Late Roman Empire. Religious controversies and barbaric strife distressed the population. However, there was a remarkable blossoming of the arts, as evidenced by the literary and philosophical trends: a paradoxical first Renaissance of the Classical World at a ‘time of anxiety’. The present volume combines diverse interests and methodologies with a single purpose: to give an overall picture of the new trends and perspectives currently used in the research of the epoch of Theodosius the Great and his successors, with special emphasis on the dynamics of places, power, belief and learning, and their mutual interdependencies. This monograph, stemming from the 2010 2nd International Congress on Late Antiquity held in Segovia (Spain), offers a scientific update and a dialogue between several disciplines. The Theodosian Age (AD 379-455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire is structured in two main sections — Ancient History and Archaeology, and Philosophy and Literature — and includes among the contributors some of the most relevant scholars in their fields: P. Barceló, M. V. Escribano, G. Montes Cala, R. Sanz Serrano, N. Christie, etc.

The Theodosian Age (A.D. 379-455) Power, place, belief and learning at the end of the Western Empire Edited by

Rosa García-Gasco Sergio González Sánchez David Hernández de la Fuente

THE THEODOSIAN AGE

B A R

BAR International Series 2493 2013