Studia Patristica - Papers Presented at the Eighteenth International Conference on Patristic Studies Held in Oxford 2019: Ambrose of Milan's Misericordia (10) (Studia Patristica, 113) 9789042947603, 9789042947610, 9042947608

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STUDIA PATRISTICA VOL. CXIII

Papers presented at the Eighteenth International Conference on Patristic Studies held in Oxford 2019 Edited by MARKUS VINZENT Volume 10:

Ambrose of Milan’s Misericordia Edited by ETHAN GANNAWAY and ROBERT L. GRANT

PEETERS LEUVEN – PARIS – BRISTOL, CT

2021

STUDIA PATRISTICA VOL. CXIII

STUDIA PATRISTICA Editor: Markus VINZENT, King’s College London, UK and Max Weber Centre, University of Erfurt, Germany

Board of Directors (2019): Carol HARRISON, Lady Margaret Professor of Divinity, Faculty of Theology and Religion, University of Oxford, UK Mark EDWARDS, Professor of Early Christian Studies, Faculty of Theology and Religion, University of Oxford, UK Neil MCLYNN, University Lecturer in Later Roman History, Faculty of Classics, University of Oxford, UK Philip BOOTH, A.G. Leventis Associate Professor in Eastern Christianity, Faculty of Theology and Religion, University of Oxford, UK Sophie LUNN-ROCKLIFFE, Lecturer in Patristics, Faculty of Divinity, University of Cambridge, UK Morwenna LUDLOW, Professor, Theology and Religion, University of Exeter, UK Ioannis PAPADOGIANNAKIS, Senior Lecturer in Patristics, Department of Theology and Religious Studies, King’s College London, UK Markus VINZENT, Professor of the History of Theology, Department of Theology and Religious Studies, King’s College London, UK Josef LÖSSL, Professor of Historical Theology and Intellectual History, School of History, Archaeology and Religion, Cardiff University, UK Lewis AYRES, Professor of Catholic and Historical Theology, Department of Theology and Religion, Durham University, UK John BEHR, Regius Chair in Humanity, The School of Divinity, History, Philosophy & Art History, University of Aberdeen, UK Anthony DUPONT, Research Professor in Christian Antiquity, Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies, KU Leuven, Belgium Patricia CINER (as president of AIEP), Professor, Universidad de San Juan-Universidad Católica de Cuyo, Argentina Clayton JEFFORD (as president of NAPS), Professor of Scripture, Seminary and School of Theology, Saint Meinrad, IN, USA

STUDIA PATRISTICA VOL. CXIII

Papers presented at the Eighteenth International Conference on Patristic Studies held in Oxford 2019 Edited by MARKUS VINZENT Volume 10:

Ambrose of Milan’s Misericordia Edited by ETHAN GANNAWAY and ROBERT L. GRANT

PEETERS LEUVEN – PARIS – BRISTOL, CT

2021

© Peeters Publishers — Louvain — Belgium 2021 All rights reserved, including the right to translate or to reproduce this book or parts thereof in any form. D/2021/0602/147 ISBN: 978-90-429-4760-3 eISBN: 978-90-429-4761-0 A catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. Printed in Belgium by Peeters, Leuven

Table of Contents

Ethan GANNAWAY – Robert L. GRANT Introduction .........................................................................................

1

Paola Francesca MORETTI Misericordia: Some Remarks on the Word and its Pagan History ...

9

Natalia A. KULKOVA Misericordia and Human Dignity in St Ambrose’s Works De officiis and Expositio euangelii secundum Lucam ..........................................

29

Marcela ANDOKOVÁ Quae est iustitia nisi misericordia? The Relationship between Mercy and Justice in St Ambrose’s Thinking ................................................

39

Metha HOKKE Misericordia in Ambrose’s Virginity Treatises and De viduis ..........

53

Brian P. DUNKLE Sin, Mercy, and David’s Felix Culpa .................................................

69

David VOPŘADA Dives misericordiae dives est deo. What Makes the Christian Rich According to Ambrose of Milan .........................................................

79

Ethan GANNAWAY Seeing the Poor in Ambrose of Milan ................................................ 103 Robert L. GRANT Inclusive or Exclusive? The Moral Dimensions of Ambrose’s Misericordia ................................................................................................ 119

Abbreviations AA.SS AAWG.PH AB AC ACL ACO ACW AHDLMA AJAH AJP AKK AKPAW ALMA ALW AnalBoll ANCL ANF ANRW AnSt AnThA APOT AR ARW ASS AThANT Aug AugSt AW AZ BA BAC BASOR BDAG BEHE BETL BGL BHG BHL

see ASS. Abhandlungen der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen Philologisch-historische Klasse, Göttingen. Analecta Bollandiana, Brussels. Antike und Christentum, ed. F.J. Dölger, Münster. Antiquité classique, Louvain. Acta conciliorum oecumenicorum, ed. E. Schwartz, Berlin. Ancient Christian Writers, ed. J. Quasten and J.C. Plumpe, Westminster (Md.)/London. Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du moyen âge, Paris. American Journal of Ancient History, Cambridge, Mass. American Journal of Philology, Baltimore. Archiv für katholisches Kirchenrecht, Mainz. Abhandlungen der königlichen Preußischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Berlin. Archivum Latinitatis Medii Aevi (Bulletin du Cange), Paris/Brussels. Archiv für Liturgiewissenschaft, Regensburg. Analecta Bollandiana, Brussels. Ante-Nicene Christian Library, Edinburgh. Ante-Nicene Fathers, Buffalo/New York. Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt, ed H. Temporini et al., Berlin. Anatolian Studies, London. Année théologique augustinienne, Paris. Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament in English, ed. R.E. Charles, Oxford. Archivum Romanicum, Florence. Archiv für Religionswissenschaft, Berlin/Leipzig. Acta Sanctorum, ed. the Bollandists, Brussels. Abhandlungen zur Theologie des Alten und Neuen Testaments, Zürich. Augustinianum, Rome. Augustinian Studies, Villanova (USA). Athanasius Werke, ed. H.-G. Opitz et al., Berlin. Archäologische Zeitung, Berlin. Bibliothèque augustinienne, Paris. Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos, Madrid. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research, New Haven, Conn. A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature, 3rd edn F.W. Danker, Chicago. Bibliothèque de l’École des Hautes Études, Paris. Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium, Louvain. Benediktinisches Geistesleben, St. Ottilien. Bibliotheca Hagiographica Graeca, Brussels. Bibliotheca Hagiographica Latina Antiquae et Mediae Aetatis, Brussels.

VIII BHO BHTh BJ BJRULM BKV BKV2 BKV3 BLE BoJ BS BSL BWAT Byz BZ BZNW CAr CBQ CChr.CM CChr.SA CChr.SG CChr.SL CH CIL CP(h) CPG CPL CQ CR CSCO

CSEL CSHB CTh CUF CW DAC

Abbreviations

Bibliotheca Hagiographica Orientalis, Brussels. Beiträge zur historischen Theologie, Tübingen. Bursians Jahresbericht über die Fortschritte der klassischen Altertumswissenschaft, Leipzig. Bulletin of the John Rylands Library, Manchester. Bibliothek der Kirchenväter, ed. F.X. Reithmayr and V. Thalhofer, Kempten. Bibliothek der Kirchenväter, ed. O. Bardenhewer, Th. Schermann, and C. Weyman, Kempten/Munich. Bibliothek der Kirchenväter. Zweite Reihe, ed. O. Bardenhewer, J. Zellinger, and J. Martin, Munich. Bulletin de littérature ecclésiastique, Toulouse. Bonner Jahrbücher, Bonn. Bibliotheca sacra, London. Bolletino di studi latini, Naples. Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten Testament, Leipzig/Stuttgart. Byzantion, Leuven. Byzantinische Zeitschrift, Leipzig. Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft, Berlin. Cahiers Archéologique, Paris. Catholic Biblical Quarterly, Washington. Corpus Christianorum, Continuatio Mediaevalis, Turnhout/Paris. Corpus Christianorum, Series Apocryphorum, Turnhout/Paris. Corpus Christianorum, Series Graeca, Turnhout/Paris. Corpus Christianorum, Series Latina, Turnhout/Paris. Church History, Chicago. Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum, Berlin. Classical Philology, Chicago. Clavis Patrum Graecorum, ed. M. Geerard, vols. I-VI, Turnhout. Clavis Patrum Latinorum (SE 3), ed. E. Dekkers and A. Gaar, Turnhout. Classical Quarterly, London/Oxford. The Classical Review, London/Oxford. Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium, Louvain. Aeth = Scriptores Aethiopici Ar = Scriptores Arabici Arm = Scriptores Armeniaci Copt = Scriptores Coptici Iber = Scriptores Iberici Syr = Scriptores Syri Subs = Subsidia Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum, Vienna. Corpus Scriptorum Historiae Byzantinae, Bonn. Collectanea Theologica, Lvov. Collection des Universités de France publiée sous le patronage de l’Association Guillaume Budé, Paris. Catholic World, New York. Dictionary of the Apostolic Church, ed. J. Hastings, Edinburgh.

Abbreviations

DACL DAL DB DBS DCB DHGE Did DOP DOS DR DS DSp DTC EA ECatt ECQ EE EECh EKK EH EO EtByz ETL EWNT ExpT FC FGH FKDG FRL FS FThSt FTS FZThPh GCS GDV GLNT GNO GRBS

IX

see DAL Dictionnaire d’archéologie chrétienne et de liturgie, ed. F. Cabrol, H. Leclercq, Paris. Dictionnaire de la Bible, Paris. Dictionnaire de la Bible, Supplément, Paris. Dictionary of Christian Biography, Literature, Sects, and Doctrines, ed. W. Smith and H. Wace, 4 vols, London. Dictionnaire d’histoire et de géographie ecclésiastique, ed. A. Baudrillart, Paris. Didaskalia, Lisbon. Dumbarton Oaks Papers, Cambridge, Mass., subsequently Washington, D.C. Dumbarton Oaks Studies, Cambridge, Mass., subsequently Washington, D.C. Downside Review, Stratton on the Fosse, Bath. H.J. Denzinger and A. Schönmetzer, ed., Enchiridion Symbolorum, Barcelona/Freiburg i.B./Rome. Dictionnaire de Spiritualité, ed. M. Viller, S.J., and others, Paris. Dictionnaire de théologie catholique, ed. A. Vacant, E. Mangenot, and E. Amann, Paris. Études augustiniennes, Paris. Enciclopedia Cattolica, Rome. Eastern Churches Quarterly, Ramsgate. Estudios eclesiasticos, Madrid. Encyclopedia of the Early Church, ed. A. Di Berardino, Cambridge. Evangelisch-Katholischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament, Neukirchen. Enchiridion Fontium Historiae Ecclesiasticae Antiquae, ed. Ueding-Kirch, 6th ed., Barcelona. Échos d’Orient, Paris. Études Byzantines, Paris. Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses, Louvain. Exegetisches Wörterbuch zum NT, ed. H.R. Balz et al., Stuttgart. The Expository Times, Edinburgh. The Fathers of the Church, New York. Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, Berlin. Forschungen zur Kirchen- und Dogmengeschichte, Göttingen. Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments, Göttingen. Festschrift. Freiburger theologische Studien, Freiburg i.B. Frankfurter theologische Studien, Frankfurt a.M. Freiburger Zeitschrift für Theologie und Philosophie, Freiburg/Switzerland. Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller, Leipzig/Berlin. Geschichtsschreiber der deutschen Vorzeit, Stuttgart. Grande Lessico del Nuovo Testamento, Genoa. Gregorii Nysseni Opera, Leiden. Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies, Cambridge, Mass.

X GWV HbNT HDR HJG HKG HNT HO HSCP HTR HTS HZ ICC ILCV ILS J(b)AC JBL JdI JECS JEH JJS JLH JPTh JQR JRS JSJ JSOR JTS KAV KeTh KJ(b) LCL LNPF L(O)F LSJ LThK LXX MA MAMA Mansi MBTh

Abbreviations

Geschichte in Wissenschaft und Unterricht, Offenburg. Handbuch zum Neuen Testament. Tübingen. Harvard Dissertations in Religion, Missoula. Historisches Jahrbuch der Görresgesellschaft, successively Munich, Cologne and Munich/Freiburg i.B. Handbuch der Kirchengeschichte, Tübingen. Handbuch zum Neuen Testament, Tübingen. Handbuch der Orientalistik, Leiden. Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, Cambridge, Mass. Harvard Theological Review, Cambridge, Mass. Harvard Theological Studies, Cambridge, Mass. Historische Zeitschrift, Munich/Berlin. The International Critical Commentary of the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments, Edinburgh. Inscriptiones Latinae Christianae Veteres, ed. E. Diehl, Berlin. Inscriptiones Latinae Selectae, ed. H. Dessau, Berlin. Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum, Münster. Journal of Biblical Literature, Philadelphia, Pa., then various places. Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Berlin. Journal of Early Christian Studies, Baltimore. The Journal of Ecclesiastical History, London. Journal of Jewish Studies, London. Jahrbuch für Liturgik und Hymnologie, Kassel. Jahrbücher für protestantische Theologie, Leipzig/Freiburg i.B. Jewish Quarterly Review, Philadelphia. Journal of Roman Studies, London. Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Period, Leiden. Journal of the Society of Oriental Research, Chicago. Journal of Theological Studies, Oxford. Kommentar zu den apostolischen Vätern, Göttingen. Kerk en Theologie, ’s Gravenhage. Kirchliches Jahrbuch für die evangelische Kirche in Deutschland, Gütersloh. The Loeb Classical Library, London/Cambridge, Mass. A Select Library of Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, ed. P. Schaff and H. Wace, Buffalo/New York. Library of Fathers of the Holy Catholic Church, Oxford. H.G. Liddell and R. Scott, A Greek-English Lexicon, new (9th) edn H.S. Jones, Oxford. Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche, Freiburg i.B. Septuagint. Moyen-Âge, Brussels. Monumenta Asiae Minoris Antiqua, London. J.D. Mansi, Sacrorum conciliorum nova et amplissima collectio, Florence, 1759-1798. Reprint and continuation: Paris/Leipzig, 1901-1927. Münsterische Beiträge zur Theologie, Münster.

Abbreviations

MCom MGH ML MPG MSR MThZ Mus NA28 NGWG NH(M)S NIV NKJV NovTest NPNF NRSV NRTh NTA NT.S NTS NTTSD OBO OCA OCP OECS OLA OLP Or OrChr OrSyr PG PGL PL PLRE PLS PO PRE PS PTA PThR PTS PW QLP QuLi RAC RACh

XI

Miscelanea Comillas, Comillas/Santander. Monumenta germaniae historica. Hanover/Berlin. Mediaevalia Lovaniensia, Louvain. See PG. Mélanges de science religieuse, Lille. Münchener theologische Zeitschrift, Munich. Le Muséon, Louvain. Nestle-Aland, Novum Testamentum Graece, 28th edition, Stuttgart. Nachrichten der Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen. Nag Hammadi (and Manichaean) Studies, Leiden. New International Version. New King James Version. Novum Testamentum, Leiden. See LNPF. New Revised Standard Version. Nouvelle Revue Théologique, Tournai/Louvain/Paris. Neutestamentliche Abhandlungen, Münster. Novum Testamentum Supplements, Leiden. New Testament Studies, Cambridge/Washington. New Testament Tools, Studies and Documents, Leiden/Boston. Orbis biblicus et orientalis, Freiburg, Switz., then Louvain. Orientalia Christiana Analecta, Rome. Orientalia Christiana Periodica, Rome. Oxford Early Christian Studies, Oxford. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta, Louvain. Orientalia Lovaniensia Periodica, Louvain. Orientalia. Commentarii editi a Pontificio Instituto Biblico, Rome. Oriens Christianus, Leipzig, then Wiesbaden. L’Orient Syrien, Paris. Migne, Patrologia, series graeca. A Patristic Greek Lexicon, ed. G.L. Lampe, Oxford. Migne, Patrologia, series latina. The Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire, ed. A.H.M. Jones et al., Cambridge. Migne, Patrologia, series latina. Supplementum ed. A. Hamman. Patrologia Orientalis, Paris. Paulys Realenzyklopädie der classischen Alterthumswissenschaft, Stuttgart. Patrologia Syriaca, Paris. Papyrologische Texte und Abhandlungen, Bonn. Princeton Theological Review, Princeton. Patristische Texte und Studien, Berlin. Paulys Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft, ed. G. Wissowa, Stuttgart. Questions liturgiques et paroissiales, Louvain. Questions liturgiques, Louvain. Rivista di Archeologia Cristiana, Rome. Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum, Stuttgart.

XII RAM RAug RBen RB(ibl) RE

Abbreviations

Revue d’ascétique et de mystique, Paris. Recherches Augustiniennes, Paris. Revue Bénédictine, Maredsous. Revue biblique, Paris. Realencyklopädie für protestantische Theologie und Kirche, founded by J.J. Herzog, 3e ed. A. Hauck, Leipzig. REA(ug) Revue des études Augustiniennes, Paris. REB Revue des études byzantines, Paris. RED Rerum ecclesiasticarum documenta, Rome. RÉL Revue des études latines, Paris. REG Revue des études grecques, Paris. RevSR Revue des sciences religieuses, Strasbourg. RevThom Revue thomiste, Toulouse. RFIC Rivista di filologia e d’istruzione classica, Turin. RGG Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart, ed. Gunkel-Zscharnack, Tübingen RHE Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, Louvain. RhMus Rheinisches Museum für Philologie, Bonn. RHR Revue de l’histoire des religions, Paris. RHT Revue d’Histoire des Textes, Paris. RMAL Revue du Moyen-Âge Latin, Paris. ROC Revue de l’Orient chrétien, Paris. RPh Revue de philologie, Paris. RQ Römische Quartalschrift, Freiburg i.B. RQH Revue des questions historiques, Paris. RSLR Rivista di storia e letteratura religiosa, Florence. RSPT, RSPh Revue des sciences philosophiques et théologiques, Paris. RSR Recherches de science religieuse, Paris. RTAM Recherches de théologie ancienne et médiévale, Louvain. RthL Revue théologique de Louvain, Louvain. RTM Rivista di teologia morale, Bologna. Sal Salesianum, Roma. SBA Schweizerische Beiträge zur Altertumswissenschaft, Basel. SBS Stuttgarter Bibelstudien, Stuttgart. ScEc Sciences ecclésiastiques, Bruges. SCh, SC Sources chrétiennes, Paris. SD Studies and Documents, ed. K. Lake and S. Lake. London/Philadelphia. SE Sacris Erudiri, Bruges. SDHI Studia et documenta historiae et iuris, Roma. SH Subsidia Hagiographica, Brussels. SHA Scriptores Historiae Augustae. SJMS Speculum. Journal of Mediaeval Studies, Cambridge, Mass. SM Studien und Mitteilungen zur Geschichte des Benediktinerordens und seiner Zweige, Munich. SO Symbolae Osloenses, Oslo. SP Studia Patristica, successively Berlin, Kalamazoo, Leuven. SPM Stromata Patristica et Mediaevalia, ed. C. Mohrmann and J. Quasten, Utrecht.

Abbreviations

SQ SQAW SSL StudMed SVigChr SVF TDNT TE ThGl ThJ ThLZ ThPh ThQ ThR ThWAT ThWNT ThZ TLG TP TRE TS TThZ TU USQR VC VetChr VT WBC WUNT WZKM YUP ZAC ZAM ZAW ZDPV ZKG ZKTh ZNW ZRG ZThK

XIII

Sammlung ausgewählter Quellenschriften zur Kirchen- und Dogmengeschichte, Tübingen. Schriften und Quellen der Alten Welt, Berlin. Spicilegium Sacrum Lovaniense, Louvain. Studi Medievali, Turin. Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae, Leiden. Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta, ed. J. von Arnim, Leipzig. Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, Grand Rapids, Mich. Teologia espiritual, Valencia. Theologie und Glaube, Paderborn. Theologische Jahrbücher, Leipzig. Theologische Literaturzeitung, Leipzig. Theologie und Philosophie, Freiburg i.B. Theologische Quartalschrift, Tübingen. Theologische Rundschau, Tübingen. Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Alten Testament, Stuttgart. Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament, Stuttgart. Theologische Zeitschrift, Basel. Thesaurus Linguae Graecae. Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association, Lancaster, Pa. Theologische Realenzyklopädie, Berlin. Theological Studies, New York and various places; now Washington, DC. Trierer theologische Zeitschrift, Trier. Texte und Untersuchungen, Leipzig/Berlin. Union Seminary Quarterly Review, New York. Vigiliae Christianae, Amsterdam. Vetera Christianorum, Bari (Italy). Vetus Testamentum, Leiden. Word Biblical Commentary, Waco. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, Tübingen. Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes, Vienna. Yale University Press, New Haven. Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum, Berlin. Zeitschrift für Aszese und Mystik, Innsbruck, then Würzburg. Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft, Giessen, then Berlin. Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins, Leipzig. Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte, Gotha, then Stuttgart. Zeitschrift für katholische Theologie, Vienna. Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche, Giessen, then Berlin. Zeitschrift für Rechtsgeschichte, Weimar. Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche, Tübingen.

Introduction Ethan GANNAWAY, St Ambrose University, Davenport, IA, USA Robert L. GRANT, St Ambrose University, Davenport, IA, USA

In this collection of essays, the concept of misericordia will be shown to have multiple English translations, which tend to fall into one or another of two broad categories. As something like ‘mercy’, it is a divine attribute, a grace of God that entails forgiveness and salvation. As more like human ‘kindness’, it is an ethical virtue that requires a response to the needs of the poor. Taken together, there could scarcely be a more important word in the lexicon of Christian thought.1 Ambrose seems to have thought so himself, since he employs this word 496 times across the breadth of his diverse works, which include exegetical and ethical treatises, funerary orations, letters (with a range of recipients), and hymns. Surprisingly, recent English-language sources have frequently omitted Ambrose or marginalized his use and practice of misericordia. In the burgeoning literature that grapples with ancient Christianity’s treatment of wealth and poverty, Ambrose can be almost entirely absent from the discussion. Thus, for example, in one collection of essays on Christianity and poverty, Ambrose is mentioned only once, as an illustration ‘explaining his sale of the church’s sacred vessels to ransom members of his congregation…’2 In another instance, Richard Finn offers only a few pages to Ambrose merely to show how his De Nabuthae historia is derived from the almsgiving homilies of Basil.3 Even Peter Brown glaringly omits Ambrose in a recent treatment of wealth in the ancient Church, despite citing typical Ambrosian ethical and spiritual dimensions of almsgiving, namely that it consists of both an ‘expiatory action’ and ‘acts of mercy to the faceless poor…’4

1 For example, in the Roman Missal used for Catholic worship, the word appears eleven times in the course of the weekly Sunday ritual. This count does not include the prayers, prefaces, and Scriptural passages which all change week to week. 2 A. Edward Siecienski, ‘Gilding the Lily: A Patristic Defense of Liturgical Splendor’, in Susan R. Holman (ed.), Wealth and Poverty in Early Church and Society (Grand Rapids, 2008), 211-20, 214. 3 Richard Finn, Almsgiving in the Later Roman Empire: Christian Promotion and Practice 313450 (Oxford, 2006), 238-44. 4 Peter Brown, The Ransom of the Soul: Afterlife and Wealth in Early Western Christianity (Cambridge, London, 2015), 44.

Studia Patristica CXIII, 1-8. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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E. GANNAWAY – R.L. GRANT

In his earlier monumental work on wealth and poverty in late antiquity, however, Brown dedicates two chapters to Ambrose.5 In his evaluation of Ambrose’s misericordia to the poor, he uses both a Biblical-theological and a socio-economic hermeneutic. As a consequence, Brown seems to reach two conclusions at odds with one another. On the one hand, he argues that Ambrose is using non-Classical, Biblical demands for justice for, and protection of, the poor, envisioning a broader ‘human solidarity’ that ‘did not see almsgiving as a de haut en bas gesture [toward the poor] ... but a gracious repayment to their fellow humans of an ancient debt’.6 The poor are seen as ‘fellow members of the Christian populus’ and even as ‘brothers’, rather than as ‘beggars’, and so Ambrose creates ‘a Christian community sheathed in the aura of inviolable cohesion’.7 Yet, Brown sees this outcome largely from a socio-economic lens. He claims that ‘outreach to the poor was not a central issue for Ambrose’, and his attention to the destitute is ‘a very Roman issue: cohesion, based on a primal sense of solidarity’.8 To achieve this cohesion, Ambrose participated in ‘pauperizing the poor’, defining them by their poverty, and so helping to create a ‘binary vision’ of late Roman society as ‘divided irrevocably between rich and poor’.9 Through this lens, therefore, almsgiving is no longer ‘the ultimate, non-reciprocated gift’, but rather made the impoverished into clients in a Christian ‘advocacy revolution’. Ultimately, this effort to incorporate these forgotten persons was as if ‘to claim society as a whole, in the name of Christ’ empowering a ‘culture of criticism’ of the state.10 One might be left to question whether Ambrose’s understanding of misericordia for the poor derives more from Ambrose’s Biblical faith or from his Roman identity, which encouraged him to use the poor to create a unified Catholic community that could stand up to the Imperial Court. It is difficult to reconcile these two arguments. That Ambrose was, at one and the same time, both an elite Roman, ‘bathed in the aura of a senatorial governorship’ and ‘the first aristocratic bishop of the Latin West’ is not merely a biographical fact.11 He cannot be properly interpreted without examining his reliance on the tradition of Classical Rome, his resourcing of Biblical texts, his ethical commitment to justice, and his eschatological conviction that salvation can be merited by good works. His understanding of misericordia is shaped by those same influences. In fact, our contributors 5 Peter Brown, ‘Ambrose and His People’ (chap. 7) and ‘“Avarice, the Root of All Evil:” Ambrose and Northern Italy’ (chap. 8), in Through the Eye of the Needle: Wealth, the Fall of Rome, and the Making of Christianity in the West, 350-550 AD (Princeton, Oxford, 2012), 120-34, 135-47. 6 P. Brown, Eye of the Needle (2012), 130, 133. 7 Ibid. 79, 128, 146-7. 8 Ibid. 129. 9 Ibid. 77-8. 10 Ibid. 129, 144. 11 Ibid. 122-3.

Introduction

3

demonstrate how he fused his upbringing in the (elite) ethos of Rome with his chosen commitment to Christian faith, insisting that the one informed the other. In the aggregate, the essays in this volume not only display this fusion, but also expose something of the limits, the inconsistencies, and the practical choices that, for better or worse, characterize Ambrose’s response to his world. Any study of Ambrose in general must consider at the outset his commitment to his traditional, elite Roman education and status and to his Nicene Christian episcopal and pastoral duties. These aspects blend rather obviously in his ethical works, such as his De officiis and more subtly, perhaps, in his exegetical works, such as his Hexameron.12 Ambrose’s biographers have tended to emphasize one side or the other. Neil McLynn’s Ambrose cares for the poor as a traditional Roman elite might have done, gathering crowd support like other imperial operators engaged in a risky struggle for political power and influence.13 Cesare Pasini, in deliberate contrast, emphasizes Ambrose’s sincere devotion to humanity based on his Biblical and Nicaean faith and his pastoral devotion to the Church.14 Both perspectives provide important perspectives; neither one is the whole picture. More specific studies have elucidated Ambrose’s heavy reliance on both Classical and Judeo-Christian traditions. Santo Mazzarino points out Ambrose’s admiration of Roman culture and his ‘forma cristiana del potere consacrato’, derived in part from his understanding of imperial Roman power.15 Yet he concludes that ‘Ambrogio contribuì decisamente alla vittoria della ‘legge divina’ sul diritto romano’.16 In Mazzarino’s view, although Ambrose unavoidably engaged his traditional Romanness, he subjected Roman culture to Christian. Applying his evaluation to the topic of this volume, misericordia would seem to exemplify the precedence of the Christian over the Roman perspective. In delving into the topic of private property, Rita Lizzi Testa explicitly evokes the notion of misericordia deriving from both Classical sources (such as Cicero, Cato, and Seneca) and Biblical. She explains that Ambrose ‘intrecciava la classiche memorie dell’età dell’oro con la speranza cristiana del Paradiso ... Il tramite era la misericordia, officium perfectum’. In other words, these traditions 12 See Marcia Colish, The Stoic Tradition from Antiquity to the Early Middle Ages, Vol. 2, Stoicism in Christian Latin Thought through the Sixth Century (Leiden, New York, Kobenhavn, Cologne, 1990), 48-70, esp. 52. 13 Neil McLynn, Ambrose of Milan: Church and Court in a Christian Capital (Berkeley, 1994), 187-203, esp. 202-3. 14 Cesare Pasini, Ambrose of Milan: Deeds and Thought of a Bishop, trans. Robert Grant (New York, 2013), 45. 15 Santo Mazzarino, Storia Sociale del Vescovo Ambrogio (Rome, 1989), 72. 16 Ibid. 73-4. Indeed, see ibid. 84, where Mazzarino’s reading of Paulinus’ biography makes Ambrose into a fourth-century miracle worker (taumaturgo) who makes God’s power manifest through prodigies (cratofania).

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are interwoven in Ambrose’s misericordia.17 Lizzi Testa therefore posits that even studies smaller in scope must account for Ambrose’s interlace of Classical and Biblical sources and his self awareness as both a Christian and a Roman. In the end, this duality, however blended, reflexive, or fraught (an ongoing terminological debate), defines Ambrose’s thoughts, literary and epigraphic works, and actions. Ambrose’s level of engagement of each tradition continues to shift depending on both the work of Ambrose under consideration and the goals and methods of the modern reader. Not every contributor, therefore, arrives at a similar estimation of Ambrose’s balance of Roman and Christian identities, thus nuancing the conversation. The first three papers (Moretti, Kulkova, and Andoková) concentrate on the linguistic complexities of misericordia. Paola Moretti’s essay establishes the Classical roots of the term misericordia, using both literary sources and a fascinating array of inscriptions. Beginning with the instability of the concept according to Aristotle, she turns to examine its Roman linguistic heritage in philosophical works like those of Cicero and also, interestingly, in inscriptions and medical texts. These sources demonstrate the positive and negative connotations of the term. Ultimately, Moretti finds that the positive understanding of misericordia in non-Christian sources provided the basis for the Christian notion. Like Moretti, Natalia Kulkova sees a certain continuity between the Classical and Christian. She argues that Ambrose readily embraced both Classical and Christian sources. Indeed, ‘all the best intentions of the Roman culture – rhetoric, laws, Stoic ethics – Ambrose thought to exist in accordance with the law of nature which was created by God’. Ultimately she seeks to explain how misericordia is nestled into, and must be defined within, a dense construct of Roman-Christian virtues. What, for example, is its connection to Roman humanitas? How is it interpreted through Christ’s injunction to love one’s neighbor? Does it apply only to the innocent or to one’s own people? Marcela Andoková recognizes a certain Ambrosian connection between Cicero’s media officia and the perfecta officia of Scripture and its Judaic roots. She seeks to locate misericordia within the constellation of Hebrew virtues such as SaDiK, righteousness or justice, and HeSeD, a kind of mercy. Ambrose appeals to this Biblical construct, which causes him to reconsider what Cicero intends by misericordia: is it generosity or justice owed to the poor? Andoková illustrates Ambrose’s broader transformation of the Classical tradition by re-interpreting it through a Biblical lens, arguing that Ambrose creates a ‘collocation [of] justice/misericordia…’ which, she asserts, ‘is quite unique within the context of patristic literature in the late fourth century’.

17 Rita Lizzi Testa, ‘“Praesul et possessor”: Ambrogio e la proprietà privata’, in Ambrogio e la Questione Sociale, ed. Raffaele Passarella = Studia Ambrosiana 10 (2017), 24.

Introduction

5

Ambrose’s broader corpus presents many opportunities for philosophical and theological debate. Ambrose takes up the theme in every dimension of his writings and works, from exegetical and doctrinal treatises to his ethical formulations to his hymnody. He practices it in his justice-based philanthropy, his organization of the ecclesial community, and his role as counselor to emperors. Extensive modern studies have addressed Ambrose’s ethics, his asceticism, and his virtue theory, pulling on the Greco-Roman philosophical threads and examining their subtle interweaving with Judeo-Christian theology. Such work enlightens how Ambrose conceived of one’s relationship with others, with oneself, and with the Trinity (and each aspect of it). Misericordia is so pervasive a concept in Ambrose’s works that Ambrose seems to encourage us to see in this heavily laden term the essence of his theology and the motivating drive of his actions. Yet there is little focus on his concept of misericordia. More frequent are references to terms Ambrose related to the ideal of misericordia, such as charity for the poor. Marcia Colish’s treatment of Ambrose’s patriarch treatises, for example, includes the notation that Ambrose’s Isaac, acting on the virtue of charity, must ‘leave their nuptial chamber and go out to minister to those he can assist’.18 J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, in his book length comparison of Ambrose and Chrysostom, refers to both charity and repentance in the writings of Ambrose. First, he notes that Ambrose’s support for the poor is ‘not entirely absent’ from his writings and adds that although Ambrose was motivated by his religious conviction, it is also probable that his ‘charitable payments did indeed help to win him the enormous support which enabled him to defy the court’.19 Later, without using the term misericordia, he likens Ambrose’s care of the needy to the Ciceronian virtues of beneficia and liberalitas, if again for political gain.20 Moreover, when reviewing the duties of a bishop as stated by Ambrose (and John Chrysostom), including the care of others and penance, Liebeschuetz misses an opportunity to explore the connection between them.21 Between Colish and Liebeschuetz, we begin to see some evidence that Ambrose’s care for the needy is both a moral imperative and a virtue, even if potentially motivated by political aims. J. Warren Smith, to cite just one more example, focuses his attention not on the works of mercy carried out by the Church for the poor but on God’s salvific mercy for those who receive the grace of baptism. The ethical or social dimension of humans helping other humans is completely subsumed, if not eclipsed, by grace to the degree that any kindness shown to another is really a manifestation of God’s grace and ‘the obligation of repaying the debt to grace through 18

Marcia Colish, Ambrose’s Patriarchs: Ethics for the Common Man (Notre Dame, 2005), 83. J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, Ambrose & John Chrysostom: Clerics between Desert and Empire (Oxford, 2011), 74, 76. 20 Ibid. 79-80. 21 Ibid. 255-7. 19

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a life of virtue and service to others is itself dependent upon more grace’.22 This sola gratia approach provides an alternative or at least a juxtaposition to Brown’s emphasis on caring for the poor. It should be noted that whether discussing an ethical responsibility for the poor or God’s graciousness, the specific concept of misericordia is largely, if not entirely missing. Shifting then from a linguistic study that is also interested in philosophical terms and virtues, the second triad of studies in this volume (Hokke, Dunkle, Vopřada) examines misericordia as an abstract notion in specific works as a theological and philosophical ideal. The first two papers, emphasizing Biblical sources, navigate between divine grace and human virtue; that is, between spiritual and ethical duties. Metha Hokke recognizes that in his treatises on virginity and widows, Ambrose argues that those parents who object to their daughter’s holy vows demonstrate a lack of trust in God’s mercy. In contrast, the vowed woman, ‘appropriated’ by God, serves as witness to that misericordia. Deftly shifting from divine grace to human virtue, Hokke’s careful reading shows how the vowed widow, for example, also models God’s misericordia through her trust and charity. These women, then, offer God’s own hospitality, mercy, and generosity to the poor. In her interpretation, Hokke explains what Ambrose meant by saying that religious women’s ministry to the poor ‘rectifies the imperfection of Justice caused by the fall’. Brian Dunkle puts even more emphasis on the pastoral theology dimension of the term. Specifically, he argues that Ambrose’s sermon, upon which his Apologia pro David was based, was less a political exculpation of Theodosius after the Callinicum affair and Thessaloniki debacle than a pastoral model for all Christians to understand God’s misericordia. Ambrose’s exegesis of Psalm 50 repeats the same point. Dunkle unpacks both of these texts to guide us through three stages of God’s mercy. Using David as a sort of prototype, Dunkle argues that the king’s sin is a demonstration of the ‘common frailty of human nature’. His repentance is exemplary for us and serves to move God to misericordia. David’s reparation for his wrong, through tears and good works, are meritorious for his salvation. David Vopřada continues the strategy of appealing to Ambrose’s Biblical, exegetical, sourcing of misericordia, especially focusing on his Expositio Psalmi CXVIII, De Nabuthae historia, and De sacramentis. He, more pointedly than others, examines misericordia as a peculiarly Christian virtue. Vopřada begins by applying this virtue to the realm of economics. Misericordia, as mercy for the poor, is contrasted with greed, the vice of the rich. Vopřada demonstrates how Ambrose alters the common perception that wealth derives from economics, demonstrating that instead it comes from virtue. Like Kulkova, Vopřada places misericordia amidst other virtues (in this case, justice, simplicity, and wisdom), 22 J. Warren Smith, Christian Grace and Pagan Virtue: The Theological Foundation of Ambrose’s Ethics (Oxford, 2011), 121.

Introduction

7

but above all this concept is bound to the virtue of faith. Faith-infused misericordia demands that empathy and almsgiving be practiced. Like all virtues, the practice of misericordia makes us better. Furthermore, as Dunkle pointed out, it is also redemptive. Ultimately, Christian misericordia is an imitation of God’s mercy for us and, after all, we are all called to serve the Common Good. The final two examinations of misericordia take different approaches. Ethan Gannaway’s study complements the examinations of the sources and interpretations of misericordia, exploring how Ambrose’s actions met his exhortations. Gannaway identifies unexamined links between Classical literature and Ambrose’s writings, such as between Valerius Maximus’s Cornelia and Ambrose’s Lawrence, both of whom put more value in human beings than wealth. Then, with a unique perspective, Gannaway addresses Ambrose’s construction of the Basilica Apostolorum (now San Nazaro) as something like a brick-faced exemplum and aphorism offered to the community. The construction of this basilica, regarding its methods and location particularly, complements the moral of Lawrence’s episode, which together signal Ambrose’s sincere effort to make the poor visible and valued community members. Robert Grant concludes this study of misericordia first by reiterating that the concept, for Ambrose, is both a divine and human attribute. As God’s mercy, it is unmerited but freely given for the salvation of the one to whom it is offered. As ethical kindness, it is a virtue oriented to the service of the Common Good, available to anyone and meritorious for their salvation. Each of the other contributors has emphasized one or another of these summative points with careful analysis of Ambrose’s works. Considering these studies, Grant proposes that Ambrose’s words and acts be critiqued against the bishop’s own standard: do they adhere to his understanding of misericordia? In the end, it may be that Ambrose, suffering cultural blindspots that disallowed him to envision a more sweeping application of Biblical grace and Roman virtue, was not entirely consistent. Grant then wonders if Ambrose’s misericordia endures as a worthy model for the contemporary world. We, of course, are no less constrained in our own ways but, endowed with his grand insight, perhaps we can be inspired to do better. Misericordia is essential to understanding the self-awareness of Ambrose’s church in Milan and the Church of the late Roman Empire (as, indeed, it still is today). By emphasizing one or another of the various dimensions of the term misericordia, our contributors each add a layer of understanding to how Ambrose understood not only misericordia but also himself, the Church, the late ancient world, the purpose and meaning of life, and his worldview in general. While any one of the essays certainly stands on its own merits, their arrangement permits one to understand how one layer relates to those adjacent. Thus, as noted, the first three papers address the linguistic lineage of misericordia in Ambrose’s works, the second three papers its philosophical/theological applications, and the final two its practice and reception. Of course, this stratigraphy

E. GANNAWAY – R.L. GRANT

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is artificially arranged. Hopefully one will recognize the potential for a more dynamic integration of arguments and sourcework presented in these papers. For example, one might note subthemes of repentance, justice, economics, and salvation, to name a few. One might also recognize a perhaps anticipated interest in the common person on the streets of late antique Milan and beyond. In short, Ambrose’s interpretation of misericordia in its late antique context requires more serious attention, such as is offered by the contributors to this piece. When addressed in the past, misericordia was limited by sociological and theological methodologies, for example, and reduced to a somewhat subsidiary role in Ambrose’s pastoral efforts. Ambrose, while neither the originator of the theology of misericordia nor its sole champion, is nonetheless vital to understand its development as a Roman and Christian, and inexorably Roman Christian, term. The international contributions to this effort, belonging to a variety of disciplines and approaches, have made misericordia a full and multifaceted theological ideal and ethical virtue. This ample and manifold assembly serves as an entrée into navigating the nuanced thinking of this complex man. In the end, these essays examine Ambrose’s own arguments in support of his claim that ‘the precept of mercy is intended for all. It is the universal precept’.23

23

Ambrose, Expos. Luc. 2.77 (CChr.SL 14, 64). See Ide Ní Riain (trans.), Commentary of Saint Ambrose on the Gospel of Luke (Dublin, 2001), 56. See David Vopřada’s article in this volume, p. 91.

Misericordia: Some Remarks on the Word and its Pagan History Paola Francesca MORETTI, Università degli Studi di Milano, Italy

ABSTRACT In this article I present a short survey of the Latin word misericordia as featuring in non-Christian texts, mostly pertaining to the informal linguistic register. In these texts misericordia is always endowed with a positive meaning of ‘helpful attitude towards one who suffers’: both literary texts (mostly when reflecting the cottidianus sermo) and non-literary ones (such as inscriptions) bear witness to this. Moreover, this positive misericordia also features in the portraits of the ideal physician we are presented with in Roman medical treatises by Celsus and Scribonius Largus. I would suggest that, besides the Scriptures, even the definitely good misericordia occurring in non-Christian texts throughout the ages is a major help for the Christians to cope with the philosophical tradition of a somewhat unsafe misericordia, in order to assert misericordia as an absolute value both for human beings and for God. Deus meus, misericordia mea (Ps. 58:18) ὁ θεός μου τὸ ἔλεός μου (Ps. 58:18, LXX)

The Latin word misericordia apparently reaches its positive semantic climax in the Scriptures, when used as one of the names of biblical God, as shown by Psalm 58:18 (quoted in Aug. conf. III 2, a passage to which I shall return). Indeed, misericordia (Greek ἔλεος) refers to a concept that is all but uncontroversial, and undergoes complex vicissitudes throughout the centuries, since archaic times to the age of Augustine. In what follows, I will dwell on some aspects of the history of this word, in order to show how the semantics of Christian misericordia is rooted also in the non-distinctively-Christian Latin Umgangssprache. As a matter of fact, scholars that focus mainly on the intellectual (mostly philosophical) history of the term emphasize – and perhaps overestimate – the discontinuity between pagan and Christian misericordia;1 yet, I will make the point that some continuity 1 See e.g. Andrea Cavallini, ‘Da passione a virtù: la misericordia tra Aristotele, Cicerone e Agostino’, Gregorianum 98 (2017), 525-43. On the Latin term, see among others: Hélène Pétré, ‘Misericordia. Histoire du mot et de l’idée du paganisme au christianisme’, REL 12 (1934), 37689; Jutta Schöggl, Misericordia. Bedeutung und Umfeld dieses Wortes und der Wortfamilie in der antiken lateinischen Literatur (Graz, 2002), focusing also on related words, such as miseria, miserari/-eri, miser, miseratio, etc. (regrettably, in Schöggl’s work non-literary texts are totally

Studia Patristica CXIII, 9-27. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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should also be pointed out in that the Christian word inherits the entirely positive overtones which, since the beginning, are associated with it in everyday Latin language. I. From Aristotle to Augustine: the ‘instability’ of rhetorical-philosophical misericordia In a famous passage of the Contra Adimantum (11), Augustine comments upon the use of the word misericordia. He takes his cue from the Manichaean Adimantus’ pointing out the contradiction between God described as zelans (‘jealous’) in the Old Testament (Exod. 20:5, 34:14) and as iustus (‘just’) in the New Testament (John 17:25). Augustine explains that God’s zelum is different from human zelum, in that the latter is in a proper sense (proprie) a perturbatio, an ‘emotion’ – a definition that echoes the Stoic teachings –, usually aroused in a man owing to his wife’s adultery; however, a blessed, omnipotent and just husband would be able as such to chastise his wife’s fault with all ease and without committing any injustice: a behavior that in human words we could call zelum, although this meaning is far removed from the proper one (non proprie, translate tamen et recte). Then, in order to justify this kind of zelum being attributed to God translate, Augustine adduces an example from Cicero, who is not blamed for using words non proprie when he mentions misericordia among Caesar’s virtues as a synonym of clementia: ‘Nulla de v i r t u t i b u s tuis, nec admirabilior, nec gratior m i s e r i c o r d i a est’ (‘None of your virtues is more admirable or welcome than pity’2) (Lig. 12.37). As a matter of fact, misericordia – as its etymology shows – can hardly be defined as a virtue, because it implies heart’s suffering: Et tamen ex eo appellatam misericordiam dicunt, quod m i s e r u m c o r f a c i a t d o l e n t i s a l i e n a m i s e r i a . Numquid ergo virtus miserum cor facit? (‘They say that misericordia is so called in that it makes miserum the cor of the one suffering from others’ sufferings. But how can we assert that a virtue makes the cor miserum?’). However, in so doing, Cicero should not be reproached, as he takes advantage of the semantic proximity between misericordia and clementia3: Quid ergo calumniosis Tullius responderet, nisi m i s e r i c o r d i a e n o m i n e c l e m e n t i a m se appellare voluisse? Quoniam recte solemus loqui, non solum verba propria, sed etiam vicina usurpantes. neglected); furthermore, ThlL, VIII, 1124.4-1128.64 (s.v. misericordia) and 1128.65-1130.73 (s.v. misericors). On the broader idea of ‘pity/mercy’, see Wilhelm Schwer, ‘Barmherzigkeit’, in RAC I (Stuttgart, 1950), 1200-7. 2 Translations are mine, unless otherwise stated. 3 See also below, n. 13.

Misericordia: Some Remarks on the Word and its Pagan History

11

‘What should Cicero respond to his critics, other than that he wanted to call clemency by the name of pity? Because it is correct for us to use both proper words and neighboring ones.’

In Augustine’s view, Cicero’s example authorizes the semantic shift human words undergo when God is spoken of: in that they are not fitting for God, when used about Him, they necessarily allow a certain degree of approximation. This is true not only for zelum but also for misericordia. Should the Manichaeans raise an objection and negent esse misericordem Deum, ne m i s e r u m c o r h a b e r e intelligatur (‘say that God is not misericors, lest we mean that God has a miserum cor’), they should realize that p o t e s t e s s e i n D e o m i s e r i c o r d i a s i n e c o r d i s m i s e r i a (‘there can be misericordia in God without a miserum cor’). In sum, Augustine holds that misericordia applies both to human beings (according to its literal sense), and to God (as a neighboring word, in that God definitely is sine cordis miseria), whereas the Manichaeans’ prospected objection against God’s misericordia – God cannot be said to have a suffering heart – somewhat echoes the Stoics’ rejection of misericordia as unworthy of the sapiens (not to say of God), because it is a perturbatio, an emotion, not a virtue. An emphasis on misericordia is found again in the opening of the 3rd book of Augustine’s Confessions (III 2.2-3.5)4. Augustine evokes his own sinful taste for theatre, when he was a young student of rhetoric in Carthage. The spectator – he observes – loves suffering, when attending performances, and the more affected he is by his own passions, the more he suffers from those elicited by theatrical performances. However, a difference exists between the two: cum ipse patitur, miseria, c u m a l i i s c o m p a t i t u r , m i s e r i c o r d i a d i c i s o l e t (‘when he himself suffers, it is called misery; when he feels compassion for others, it is called mercy’, trans. H. Chadwick). But Augustine also pinpoints that sharing the sufferings of theatrical characters only purportedly is misericordia, as it implies the spectator’s delight in sharing not only joy, but also grief: tunc in theatris congaudebam amantibus, cum sese fruebantur per flagitia, quamvis haec imaginarie gererent in ludo spectaculi, cum autem sese amittebant, q u a s i m i s e r i c o r s contristabar; et utrumque delectabat tamen. ‘But at that time at the theatres I shared the joy of lovers when they wickedly found delight in each other, even though their actions in the spectacle on the stage were imaginary; when, moreover, they lost each other, I shared their sadness by a feeling of compassion.’

On the contrary, true misericordia does not take delight in others’ suffering; who is truly misericors would prefer not to have somebody to take pity on: Nunc vero magis misereor gaudentem in flagitio quam velut dura perpessum detrimento perniciosae voluptatis et amissione miserae felicitatis. H a e c c e r t e v e r i o r 4 On this passage, see at least Dana Lacourse Munteanu, ‘Qualis tandem misericordia in rebus fictis?: Aesthetic and Ordinary Emotion’, Helios 36 (2009), 117-47, 122-3.

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m i s e r i c o r d i a , s e d n o n i n e a d e l e c t a t d o l o r. Nam etsi approbatur officio caritatis qui dolet miserum, mallet tamen utique non esse quod doleret, qui germanitus misericors est. ‘Today I have more pity for a person who rejoices in wickedness than for a person who has the feeling of having suffered hard knocks by being deprived of a pernicious pleasure or having lost a source of miserable felicity. This is surely a more authentic compassion; for the sorrow contains no element of pleasure. Even if we approve of a person who, from a sense of duty in charity, is sorry for a wretch, yet he who manifests fraternal compassion would prefer that there be no cause for sorrow.’

From these passages an inherent ambiguity seems to surface, as misericordia is not praised unreservedly. On the one hand, in that it is a suffering which makes one’s cor miserum, it is listed among emotions (perturbationes) and admittedly it does not fit the definition of virtus as a stable, morally good attitude: however, Augustine maintains that it can rightly be used to define both human and divine virtue, although translate (Cicero about Caesar, the Scriptures about God). On the other hand, misericordia is a word liable to misunderstanding: not any shared passion deserves this name, and true misericordia is the pity towards the sinner who enjoys his sinful life, and towards the person who suffers because he has (either willingly or unwillingly) lost a sinful and false happiness: therefore, for misericordia to be true, a value judgement by the one pitying about the pitied is needed. In order to account for this ambiguity, we should take a step back, and turn to the Greek and Roman rhetorical and philosophical history of the idea of misericordia/ἔλεος, a history which Augustine is himself aware of. Aristotle’s Rhetoric can be held as the starting point of the history of the idea of Greek ἔλεος, the word to which Latin misericordia corresponds.5 Aristotle, when speaking of the role played in the court-room by emotions, says: ‘T h e e m o t i o n s a r e a l l t h o s e a f f e c t i o n s w h i c h c a u s e m e n t o c h a n g e t h e i r o p i n i o n i n r e g a r d t o t h e i r j u d g e m e n t, and are accompanied by pleasure and pain (῎Εστι δὲ τὰ πάθη, δι᾽ὅσα μεταβάλλοντες διαφέρουσι πρὸς τὰς κρίσεις, οἷς ἕπεται λύπη καὶ ἡδονή); such are anger, pity (ἔλεος), fear, and all similar emotions and their contraries.’ (Arist., rhet. II.1.8 = 1378a19-21; trans. J.H. Freese). ‘Let pity (ἔλεος) then be a kind of pain (λύπη τις) excited by the sight of evil, deadly or painful, which befalls one who does not deserve it; an evil which one might expect 5 The word dates from before Aristotle, but it is he who presents the first – and most influential – reflection on this idea, in particular in his Rhetoric. A huge importance is given to Aristotle’s definition of pity by David Konstan, in his seminal book Pity Transformed (London, 2001), esp. 128-36; see also Maurizio Marin, ‘La “debolezza” della compassione secondo Aristotele e gli Stoici’, Salesianum 64 (2002), 203-19, 208-15. On Greek terms corresponding to Latin misericordia, see at least Bruno Zucchelli, ‘Sulla formazione di misericors / misericordia’, Paideia 60 (2005), 371-81, 371-2.

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Misericordia: Some Remarks on the Word and its Pagan History

to come upon himself or one of his friends, and when it seems near.’ (ibid. 1385b.13-6).

II

8.2 =

Reading Aristotle, we can perhaps grasp the reason accounting for what David Konstan calls the ‘instability’ lying ‘at the heart of the concept’ of pity. As he puts it: Aristotle’s cognitive analysis of the emotions [among them, pity] … subverts the radical distinction between reason and passion, but at the same time o p e n s u p a s p a c e for another contrast between an authentic evaluative emotion and a d e c e p t i v e t y p e that omits the necessary element of judgment or assessment. (Konstan, Pity Transformed [2001], 94).

In the case of pity, the ‘authentic evaluative emotion’ refers to the judgement concerning the merit of the person whom we take pity on.6 True pity is elicited by people who do not deserve what they are suffering (it is noteworthy that pagan pity, differently from a Christian one, is addressed only towards the innocent), whereas a ‘deceptive type’ of pity could lead to mildness even toward people who are suffering deservedly: a kind of pity which, as is easily seen, can be very dangerous, especially in a court-room. Furthermore, the Latin word misericordia in Augustine’s times is laden with the – sometimes negative – overtones deriving from its rhetorical-philosophical history.7 Firstly, in the wake of Aristotle, misericordia is dealt with in Cicero’s rhetorical works.8 In the De inventione the loci misericordiae are exemplified, that is, the arguments which the orator can exploit, along with evidence, in order to move the audience and to stir pity towards his (purportedly innocent) defendant: pity is aroused cum i n a l i e n o m a l o suam infirmitatem considerabit (‘while they consider their own weakness in the contemplation of the misfortunes of another’, trans. C.D. Yonge) (inv. I 55.106; see also I 55.106-9). Likewise, in the De oratore, misericordia features among the emotions the orator should elicit in jurors, when it is appropriate to do so: amor odium iracundia, invidia misericordia, spes laetitia, timor molestia (‘love, hatred, anger, envy, pity, hope, joy, fear, anxiety’, trans. J.S. Watson) (de or. II 51.205): 6 Likewise, the Stoics will state a distinction between ‘an initial emotional arousal’ and a ‘second movement of the soul’, which ‘is voluntary and means a conscious act, through which people assent to an impression’ (D. Lacourse Munteanu, ‘Qualis tandem…?’ [2009], 126-8; Margaret Graver, Stoicism and Emotion [Chicago, London, 2007], 87-108). E.g., Seneca distinguishes proper adfectus, ‘passions’, from reactions (προπάθειαι) aroused by theatrical or musical performances, by art, and by viewing others feeling pain or joy: motus … animorum moveri nolentium nec adfectus sed principia proludentia adfectibus (‘All these are emotions of minds which are loath to be moved, and are not passions, but rudiments which may grow into passions’) (ira II 2.6). 7 See H. Pétré, ‘Misericordia’ (1934); J. Schöggl, Misericordia (2002); A. Cavallini, ‘Da passione a virtù’ (2017). 8 On rhetorical misericordia, see J. Schöggl, Misericordia (2002), 87-90; Valentina Chinnici, ‘Passioni retoriche a confronto: invidia vs misericordia’, Paideia 62 (2007), 227-41.

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Iam m i s e r i c o r d i a movetur, si is, qui audit, adduci potest ut illa, quae de altero deplorentur, ad suas res revocet, quas aut tulerit acerbas aut timeat, ut intuens alium crebro ad se ipsum revertatur; et cum singuli casus humanarum m i s e r i a r u m graviter accipiuntur, si dicuntur dolenter, tum adflicta et prostrata virtus maxime luctuosa est (ibid. II 52.211). ‘Pity is excited, if he who hears can be induced to apply to his own circumstances those unhappy particulars which are lamented in the case of others, particulars which they have either suffered or fear to suffer; and while he looks at another, to glance frequently at himself. Thus, as all the circumstances incident to human suffering are heard with concern, if they are pathetically represented, so virtue in affliction and humiliation is the most sorrowful of all objects of contemplation.’

Both passages are apparently indebted to Aristotle, according to whom the one pitying suffers from others’ unjust suffering, mostly when he is lead to believe that such suffering could happen to himself as well. Anyway, appeal to the jurors’ emotions can serve the orator’s purpose, and its exploitation is thus recommended by Cicero. Secondly, in the field of philosophy a negative evaluation of misericordia shows up, mostly upheld by the Stoics, who, although indebted to Aristotle’s definition of pity, reverse Aristotle’s favorable – or at least neutral – view of it (and of passions9). Cicero’s texts may be of help in clarifying the point. A definition of misericordia as an aegritudo is found in a passage where passions are listed and dealt with in detail (Tusc. IV 8.15-10.24): misericordia est aegritudo e x m i s e r i a a l t e r i u s iniuria laborantis (nemo enim parricidae aut proditoris supplicio misericordia commovetur) (‘Pity is a grief at the misery of another who suffers wrongfully; for no one is moved by pity at the punishment of a parricide or of a betrayer of his country’, trans. C.D. Yonge) (Tusc. IV 8.18)10. The ‘evaluative’ element is pointed out, which makes a pitied person worthy of misericordia: one deserves pity only if he suffers iniuria, as nobody would take pity seeing a parricide or traitor being executed. Nonetheless, misericordia remains openly and absolutely condemned, and this condemnation is explicitly indicated as belonging to the Stoic doctrines: etenim si sapiens in aegritudinem incidere posset, posset etiam in misericordiam, posset in invidentiam … Atqui, quem ad modum misericordia aegritudo est ex alterius rebus adversis, sic invidentia aegritudo est ex alterius rebus secundis. In quem igitur cadit 9

As pointedly expressed by Sen., epist. 116.1: Utrum satius sit modicos habere adfectus an nullos, saepe quesitum est: nostri illos expellunt, Peripatetici temperant (‘The question has often been raised whether it is better to have moderate emotions, or none at all. Philosophers of our school reject the emotions; the Peripatetics keep them in check’; trans. R. Gummere). Cf. J. Schöggl, Misericordia (2002), 81-4; M. Marin, ‘La “debolezza”’ (2002), 215-9; M. Graver, Stoicism (2007), 35-60. 10 A definition that ‘matches verbatim with that given in Aristotle’s Rhetoric, as does the remark inserted at this point in Cicero’s list, that “no one is moved to pity by the punishment of a parricide”’ (M. Graver, Stoicism [2007], 57); this definition also resonates with that given by Andronicus of Rhodes, a Stoic thinker contemporary to Cicero, in his list of kinds of λύπη (SVF III, fr. 414.15).

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misereri, in eundem etiam invidere; n o n c a d i t a u t e m i n v i d e r e i n s a p i e n t e m : e r g o n e m i s e r e r i q u i d e m . Quodsi aegre ferre sapiens soleret, misereri etiam soleret. Abest ergo a sapiente aegritudo (Tusc. III 9.20-10.21). ‘could a wise man be subject to grief, he might also be liable to pity, or even might be open to a disposition towards envy … And as pity is an uneasiness which arises from the misfortunes of another, so envy is an uneasiness that proceeds from the good success of another: therefore, whoever is capable of pity is capable of envy. But a wise man is incapable of envy, and consequently incapable of pity. But were a wise man used to grieve, to pity also would be familiar to him; therefore, to grieve is a feeling which cannot affect a wise man.’

As can be expected, the Stoic dogma on despicable misericordia is also found in Seneca’s De clementia, addressed to Nero. There misericordia is stated to be a vitium of clementia, unworthy of the sapiens, just like crudelitas is a vitium of severitas:11 Ad rem pertinet quaerere hoc loco, quid sit misericordia; p l e r i q u e e n i m u t v i r t u t e m e a m l a u d a n t e t b o n u m h o m i n e m v o c a n t m i s e r i c o r d e m. Et haec vitium animi est. Utraque [scil. crudelitas and misericordia] circa severitatem circaque clementiam posita sunt, quae vitare debemus; per speciem enim severitatis in crudelitatem incidimus, per speciem clementiae in misericordiam. In hoc leviore periculo erratur, sed par error est a vero recedentium. Ergo quemadmodum religio deos colit, superstitio violat, ita clementiam mansuetudinemque omnes boni viri praestabunt, misericordiam autem vitabunt; est enim vitium pusilli animi ad speciem alienorum malorum succidentis. Itaque pessimo cuique familiarissima est; anus et mulierculae sunt, quae lacrimis nocentissimorum moventur, quae, si liceret, carcerem effringerent. M i s e r i c o r d i a n o n c a u s a m , s e d f o r t u n a m s p e c t a t; clementia rationi accedit. … Misericordia est aegritudo animi ob alienarum miseriarum speciem aut tristitia ex alienis malis contracta, quae accidere inmerentibus credit; aegritudo autem in sapientem virum non cadit; serena eius mens est, nec quicquam incidere potest, quod illam obducat (clem. II 4-5). ‘At this point it is useful to inquire into what pity is; for many praise it as a virtue, and say that a good man is full of pity. This also is a disease of the mind. Both of these [scil. pity and cruelty] stand close to mercy and to strictness, and both ought to be avoided, lest under the name of strictness we be led into cruelty, and under the name of mercy into pity. It is less dangerous to make the latter mistake, but both lead us equally far away from the truth. Just as the gods are worshipped by religion, but are dishonored by superstition, so all good men will show mercy and mildness, but will avoid pity, which is a vice incident to weak minds which cannot endure the sight of another’s sufferings. It is, therefore, most commonly found in the worst people; there are old women and girls who are affected by the tears of the greatest criminals, and who, if they could, would let them out of prison. Pity considers a man’s misfortunes and does not consider to what they are due: mercy is combined with reason … Pity is a disorder of the mind caused by the sight of other men’s miseries, or it is a sadness caused by the evils with which it believes others to be undeservedly afflicted: but the 11

J. Schöggl, Misericordia (2002), 101-6.

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wise man cannot be affected by any disorder: his mind is calm, and nothing can possibly happen to ruffle it.’ (trans. A. Stewart).

Misericordia is definitely condemned as a perturbatio, to which a pusillus animus – such as that of old people and women – is inclined; it is linked to a value judgement concerning the pitied, but the reader is warned against the possibility of a deceitful evaluation, if fortuna is considered (the ‘unjust’ situation as one can grasp it) rather than causa (things as they are). Its virtuous form is clementia, which is said to be nearer to ratio. Seneca, who is addressing the princeps as prospective sapiens, aims at establishing a clear-cut distinction between clementia and misericordia, in order to have him endorse the former and rebuke the latter. However, the opening remark (plerique … vocant) reminds us of the fact that the Stoic condemnation of misericordia, although all-pervasive in the intellectual tradition and known also to Christian thinkers,12 does represent neither the only nor the most prominent view of it throughout Latin antiquity: as a matter of fact, confusion between misericordia and clementia seems to be prominent in ordinary language.13 II. Ordinary language: misericordia as a value Let us take our cue from a passage where Lactantius defends misericordia against the Stoic Zeno, its great censurer: Zeno Stoicorum magister, qui virtutem laudat, m i s e r i c o r d i a m, quae summa est virtus, tamquam morbum animi amputandum iudicavit: quae et Deo cara est et hominibus necessaria. Quis est enim qui aliquo in malo constitutus nolit esse m i s e r a b i l i s ac non desideret auxilia succurrentium? Qui ad opem ferendam n o n n i s i m i s e r i c o r d i a e a d f e c t u excitantur. Hanc ille licet humanitatem, licet pietatem vocet, non rem, sed nomen inmutat. Hic est adfectus qui soli homini datus est, ut inbecillitatem nostram mutuis adiumentis levaremus: quem qui tollit, ad vitam nos redigit beluarum (Lact., epit. 33.6-914). ‘Zeno, the master of the Stoics, who praises virtue, judged that pity, which is a very great virtue, should be cut away, as though it were a disease of the mind, whereas it is at the same time dear to God and necessary for men. For who is there who, when placed in any evil, would be unwilling to be pitied, and would not desire the assistance of those 12

Cf. e.g. Lact., epit. 33 (quoted below), and id., div. inst. III 23. See D. Konstan, Pity Transformed (2001), 97-104, who examines the – not entire – overlapping between the two terms up to the time of Seneca. Most interestingly, Konstan points out the existence of a ‘syntax of pity versus clemency’ that betrays the first being perceived as an emotion, the second as a ‘virtue’: the first, ephemeral, is elicited/aroused in somebody and possibly diverts his behavior; the second is exhibited or exercised. See also id., ‘Clemency as a Virtue’, CPh 100 (2005), 337-46. 14 Zeno’s sentence quoted by Lactantius corresponds to SVF I, fr. 213; on Zeno’s doctrine of passions, see ibid. frr. 205-15. 13

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who might succour them, which is not called forth so as to render aid, except by the feeling of pity? Although he calls this humanity and piety, he does not change the matter itself, only the name. This is the affection which has been given to man alone, that by mutual assistance we might alleviate our weakness; and he who removes this affection reduces us to the life of the beasts.’ (trans. M.F. McDonald).

Here misericordia is acknowledged as an indisputable value, precious in God’s eyes and mandatory for human beings, unless they want to turn back to the condition of animals.15 As a matter of fact, between the 3rd and the 5th century AD misericors/misericordia conspicuously increase in frequency: in the texts included in the ‘Brepolis – Online Databases’, about 430 occurrences of misericordia, along with 40 occurrences of misericors, are recorded from Plautus to the 2nd century AD, whereas in the three following centuries misericordia occurs over 7450 times and misericors about 470 times. Not surprisingly this ‘explosion’ almost exclusively concerns Christian writers;16 moreover, in most cases the two words are not mentioned in polemical contexts, such as those we have seen so far, but are endowed with a totally positive meaning, referring both to man and to God.17 In my view, this is not an absolute innovation: rather, Christian misericordia, which definitely is to be acknowledged as a totally new concept, as a word inherits and carries forward the positive overtones of misericordia which are prominent in pre-Christian ordinary language. II.1. Etymology and linguistic register Misericordia is an abstract noun formed by means of the quite common suffix -ia from the adjective misericors (like iners > inertia, miser > miseria). In the ancients’ view, it evokes a heart that has pity for other people’s sufferings, as shown by Augustine in the passage quoted above: ex eo appellatam misericordiam dicunt, quod miserum cor faciat dolentis aliena miseria misericordia. This etymology is repeatedly evoked by Augustine (see e.g. mor. eccl. 27.53) and is not found in any other grammarian except for Isidorus, who depends on Augustine18. 15

On the role misericordia played in the history of mankind as founding/grounding community and social life among human beings, see div. inst. III 23. 16 E.g., no occurrence is found in Claudianus, only two in Ammianus. 17 On the concept, see W. Schwer, ‘Barmherzigkeit’ (1950), 1204-7; the Christian meanings of the Latin word are listed in the lemma misericordia of the ThlL, esp. VIII, 1125.37-67 (= charitable act), 1125.68-1126.11 (= humanitas and gratia in human terms), 1126.18-54 (= divine mercy); moreover, we should not forget that misericordia can refer metonymically also to God himself (1126.55-62). 18 Isid., etym. X.164. See Robert Maltby, A Lexicon of Ancient Latin Etymologies (Leeds, 1991) and Claudio Marangoni, Supplementum etymologicum latinum, 1 (Trieste, [2007]), s.vv. misericors, misericordia.

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In linguistic terms, misericors can be described as an exocentric possessive compound (bahuvrīhi),19 that is, it is formed by two members – miser(i) (‘A’) + cor(s) (‘B’)20 –, and it refers to a third element ‘C’, other than ‘A’/‘B’, which is said to possess ‘B’ determined by ‘A’: misericors is a person (‘C’) who possesses a cor (‘B’), that is miser or that miseretur (‘A’). Scholars do not agree on the interpretation of the first member of the noun, whether it is nominal or verbal. Zucchelli21 states miser(i)- as equivalent to verbal miserens, based also on the evidence that the adjective miser never refers to a ‘pitying’ person or heart;22 Zucchelli compares misericors to other compounds for which the interpretation of the first member as verbal might be suggested, such as the rare and poetic sonipes (‘having pedes that are sonantes’, commonly referred to horses), that does not belong at all to the colloquial linguistic register.23 However, I would suggest that the interpretation of the first member as nominal is perhaps more plausible: as Augustine states, the first member is easily explained as deriving from the adjective miser, referred to a cor which turns out to be miser, ‘suffering’, as it suffers together with somebody else.24 This would tie in with another fact: compounds formed by a first verbal member are quite rare in Latin, if not entirely absent,25 whereas the widespread use of misericors/misericordia from the archaic times leads to the conclusion that the two nouns pertain to colloquial/vulgar Latin, and as such are likely to result from a common type of word formation. Moreover, we should keep in mind that there are also other quite widespread compounds featuring -cor(s) as a second member: just think of concors, discors, socors, vecors, formed through prefixation, and the related abstract nouns (whereas other terms, such as duricordia ‘the condition of being hard-hearted’, mundicors 19 On this kind of compounds in Latin, see at least Françoise Bader, La formation des composés nominaux du latin (Paris, 1962), §§ 133-58; Renato Oniga, I composti nominali latini. Una morfologia generativa (Bologna, 1988), 116-30. 20 The ‘i’ in miser(i)- results from a common adjustment rule of Latin compounds, when the second member begins with a consonant (R. Oniga, I composti [1988], 69-74); the ‘s’ in cor(s) distinguishes the theme in -d- from a possible theme in -r- (like memor > memoris) (R. Oniga, I composti [1988], 127). 21 B. Zucchelli, ‘Sulla formazione di misericors / misericordia’ (2005), 373-80. 22 As stated by Pierre Salat, ‘L’adjectif miser, ses synonymes et ses antonymes chez Plaute et chez Térence’, REL 45 (1967), 252-75. Miser has a passive meaning (‘the one who is pitied, who deserves pity’), whereas an active meaning (‘the one who pities’) in not attested: see also ThlL VIII, 1099.72-1108.56, s.v. miser. 23 There are plenty of compounds formed with -pes, owing also to the parallel with/influence of Greek nouns in -πους: agilipes, celeripes, levipes, loripes, properipes, tardipes, tremipes (remipes?), vagipes etc. Most of these compounds are quite rare; for some of them textual evidence is not ascertained; most importantly, none of them pertains to colloquial language. The same is true for other comparable adjectival forms, like agipennis/vagipennis or horricomis. 24 This view is reasserted in F. Bader, La formation (1962), § 135, and Oniga, I composti (1988), 127. 25 F. Bader, La formation (1962), 8 and §§ 154-8; R. Oniga, I composti (1988), 135-8, 162.

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‘pure-hearted’, pravicordius ‘evil-hearted’, torticordius ‘perverse in heart’, are hardly comparable with misericors/misericordia, in that they are late, scanty and extemporary formations, typically Christian, and influenced by the language of the Greek Scriptures, perhaps by misericors/misericordia themselves). II.2. Misericordia in the literates’ sermo cottidianus If we consider the history of the word, a golden thread can be acknowledged: besides the ‘theoretical’ depreciation of misericordia, a general, I dare say ‘practical’ appreciation of misericordia – being paired to humanitas, clementia, mansuetudo, lenitas and the like – is largely prominent, from the times of Plautus on. This results also in the seemingly contradictory attitudes we can point out, for instance, in Cicero and Seneca, who are in this respect remarkable for their inconsistency in the treatment of the two words. As pointed out by Jutta Schöggl, in Cicero’s letters, that admittedly reflect sermo cottidianus, ‘es zeigt sich also…, daß der misericordia im praktischen Leben, losgelöst von der Philosophie, große Bedeutung zukam und daß sie eine hohe Stellenwert hatte und offensichtlich eine sehr positive Beurteilung durch Cicero erfuhr.’26

The same contradiction is found in Seneca’s works, where – other than in the 2nd book of the De clementia – misericordia mostly turns up to be treated as a synonym for virtues or valuable attitudes such as clementia.27 In this respect, most significant are the words Seneca puts in Nero’s mouth in the opening section of the 1st book of De clementia, where misericordia stands next to clementia: Severitatem abditam, at c l e m e n t i a m in procinctu habeo; sic me custodio, tamquam legibus, quas ex situ ac tenebris in lucem evocavi, rationem redditurus sim. Alterius aetate prima motus sum, alterius ultima; alium dignitati donavi, alium humilitati; quotiens nullam inveneram m i s e r i c o r d i a e causam, mihi peperci (clem. I prol. 4). ‘I keep harshness concealed, but I have clemency always at hand: I watch myself as carefully as though I had to give an account of my actions to those laws which I have brought out of darkness and neglect into the light of day. I have been moved to compassion by the youth of one culprit, and the age of another: I have spared one man because of his great place, another on account of his insignificance: when I could find no reason for showing mercy, I have had mercy upon myself.’

As Jutta Schöggl puts it, in Nero’s speech ‘um die Sichtweise der misericordia handelt, wie sie im herkömmlichen Sprachgebrauch üblich war’ (J. Schöggl, Misericordia [2002], 106). Whatever explanation might be given in order to 26 27

J. Schöggl, Misericordia (2002), 88. See ibid. 106-11.

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account for the contradiction between the different meanings of misericordia in the two books of Seneca’s De clementia,28, it is remarkable that Seneca, throughout his works, most of the time refers to misericordia ‘im landläufigen, unstoischen Sinn’.29 All in all, we should keep in mind that there is a more common, ‘un-Stoic’, positive meaning of misericors/misericordia, belonging to – and resulting from – daily life and experience, which surfaces whenever a text reflects ordinary language. Here follow some further examples. II.3. Non-literary testimonies As rightly pointed out by Wilhelm Schwer, the prominence of ‘positive’ misericordia in the Umgangssprache – in the word as it is most commonly perceived and hence used – is shown by non-literary (pagan) texts.30 Schwer quotes the funerary inscription of C. Atilius Euhodus, a seller of pearls (margaritarius) from the via Appia in Rome,31 dating from republican times, where the dead man is referred to as misericors: Hospes resiste et hoc ad grumum ad laeuam aspice, / ubei continentur ossa hominis boni m i s e r i c o r d i s amantis pauperis (CLE 74.1-2). ‘O host, stop and look at this hillock on the left / where the bones are kept of a man who was good, merciful, loving of the poor.’

The juxtaposition with bonus and amans pauperis lets the meaning of misericors be understood as unambiguously positive. The eques Publius Fannius, who died in Ervenik (Dalmatia), before 42 AD,32 addresses the misericors passer-by, inviting him to weep for him: Rumore sancto33 Ilyrici iaceo in solo. / Infunde lacrumas quisquis es [mihi] m i s e r i c o r s… (CLE 82.7-8). ‘Endowed with good fame, I lie in the earth of Illyricum. / Pour tears, whoever you are, being merciful…’

In one of the Vindolanda tablets (dating from 104-120 AD), from Chesterholm, we find a petition: the writer, perhaps a trader coming from the continent 28 See Joachim Dingel, ‘Misericordia Neronis. Zur Einheit von Senecas De clementia’, RhM 132 (1989), 166-75; J. Schöggl, Misericordia (2002), 106-11; and mostly Guillaume Flamerie de Lachapelle, ‘Trois traits négatifs de la ‘misericordia’ dans le second livre du ‘De clementia’ de Sénèque’, LEC 74 (2006), 309-18. 29 J. Dingel, ‘Misericordia Neronis’ (1989), 172. Further passages are listed in J. Schöggl, Misericordia (2002), 109-10; see also 114-6. 30 W. Schwer, ‘Barmherzigkeit’ (1950), 1204. 31 CIL VI, 9545 = CLE 74, Franz Bücheler (ed.), Carmina Latina Epigraphica (Lipsiae, 1895), 38-9. 32 CIL III 6416 = CLE 82, F. Bücheler, Carmina Latina Epigraphica (1895), 42-3. 33 Scil. rumore secundo, as suggested by Bücheler.

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(trasmarinus) complains about mistreatment and beating (by a centurion?), and beseeches the addressee’s maiestas and misericordia (‘mercifulness’), in order not to be punished unjustly. An appeal to maiestas leads one to think that he is writing to some high official, perhaps to the provincial governor:34 tuam maies- | [t]atem imploro ne patiaris me | [i]nnocentem virgis cas[t]igatum | esse … t u ] a m m i s e r i c o r d [ i a ] m | i m p l o r o ne patiaris me | hominem trasmarinum | et innocentem de cuius f[ide | inquiras virgis cruent[at]u[m | esse ac si aliquid sceler[i]s | commississem (Tab.Vind. 344.4-7,13-9). ‘I beseech your majesty that you do not suffer that I am chastised by rods as I am innocent… I beseech your pity that you do not suffer that I, who come from overseas and am innocent, whose honesty you can examine, am wounded by rods as if I had committed some crime.’

As a matter of fact, references to pity, either in private or public appeals to officials, emperors and (pagan) gods seem to increase in number from the 2nd century AD: perhaps – as David Konstan suggests – this results from pity starting to be ‘seen as a virtue or benign emotion in pagan intellectual and court circles of the time’, and bears witness to a ‘currency of pity’ which would be later enhanced also by the spread of Christian belief.35 Then we have a curse tablet, found in a temple of Mercury on West Hill, Uley, Gloucestershire (dating from the 2nd-3rd century AD).36 The writer prays for justice to be done to him against a person who has defrauded him: A: tibi commendo … qui mihi fraudem fecit de denar(ii)s ills quos [mih]i debebat B: seminudi edentuli tremuli podagrici s i n e c u i u s q u e h o m i n i s m i s { s } e r i c o r d i a in fanum et thesaurum poten{ten}tiss[imi] dei. A: ‘I commend to you … the person who has defrauded me of the money he owed to me.’ B: ‘half-naked, toothless, trembling, gouty and beyond human pity in the temple and in the treasure of the most powerful god.’

Even more interesting is another inscription, from Samnium (3rd century AD).37 It is a quite moving document: two parents, C. Murranus and Decria Melusa, mourn the untimely death of all their children and wish that their grandson, Thiasus, left to them after his father’s immature death, will survive them and take care of their tomb. The text is quite relevant to our investigation, in that it is rich in words related to miser/misericordia. I record it here in its totality: 34 See the commentary by Alan Bowman and David Thomas, Vindolanda: the Latin Writing Tablets (London, 1983), online at: http://vindolanda.csad.ox.ac.uk/TVII-344. 35 D. Konstan, Pity Transformed (2001), 113-9. 36 Roger S.O. Tomlin, in Anne Woodward and Peter Leach (eds), The Uley Shrines. Excavation of a Ritual Complex on West Hill, Uley, Gloucestershire: 1977-1979 (London, 1993), 130, nr. 78; Amina Kropp, Defixiones. Ein aktuelles Corpus lateinischer Fluchtafeln (Speyer, 2008), nr. 3.22/34. 37 AE 1989, nr. 247.

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C[- - - M]urranus et Decri[a] | Se[- - - S]ecundae l(iberta) Melusa sibi et [suis]. | Sal[ve v]iator qui istac iter facis, | salvo tuo corpore consiste et lege; | [5] iniquitate Orchi, qui perperavit saecula, | quod debuerant facere filii patri et | matri, fecerunt m i s e r i { s } pater et mater | fili(i)s dulcissimis suis, quoniam non | potuerunt exsorare deos ut [- - -] | [10] suis, neque ipsi retinere potuerunt, neque | etiam restituere. Hoc quod [p]o[t]u[erunt]: | nomina suorum restituerunt ad superos | Primigeni, Severi, Pudentis, Casti, Lucillae et | Potestatis, et m i s e r i s derelictis [a fi]li(i)s, | [15] quoniam sperabant se citius [- - -] suos, | vivis nomina eodem adiecerunt, dum | malo fati nati et iniqua fortuna | qui non potuerunt antecedere suos | neque etiam persequi tam cito quam | [20] ipsi cupiunt.

At nunc m i s e r i { s } d e s e r t i { s } | a natis nostris, rogamus deos superos | atque inferos, ut liceat nepotulum | nostrum Thiasum, qui est nobis derelictus | ex Pudente filio inmaturus qua[lis] scintilla | [25] quae de igne exierit, memoria nostrorum, | exsuperet nos: vivat, valeat, sint illi quae | ipse expetet. Et nunc te rogamus, nepotule | noster p e r t u o r u m m a i o r u m m i s e r i c o r | d i a m , ut tu pietati servias et hoc sephul|[30]crum tuorum tutaris. Et | si qui te roga(ve)rit qui hoc comporta(ve)rit | dicito: ‘Avus meus Murranus; nam ipsa | m i s e r i a docet etiam barbaros scribere | m i s e r i c o r d i a s’. Et nunc rogo vos omn|[35]es natos nascentesque, ut si quid la

sus | me praeterit hominem barbarum natu | Pannunium, multis ulceris et malis | perturbatum, ignoscatis rogo. At nu[nc] | inprecamus deos ut si quis hoc sephulcr[um] | [40] aut hunc titulum laeserit in[tulerit, (sit) illi38] | fortuna mala, et quod mer[itu]m sit, [hunc] | titulumque quicumque legerit, aut lege[ntem] | ausculta(ve)rit, allevet illos for[-tuna] 38

Fort. illis.

‘Gaius Murranus and Decria Se… Melusa, freedwoman of Secunda, for themselves and theirs. Greetings to you, wayfarer who are passing by. May you be sound in body: stop and read! [5] Owing to the injustice of Orcus, who brought ruin to generations, w r e t c h e d father and mother had to do for their sweetest children what had been the children’s duty towards father and mother, for they could not persuade the gods to (?) [10] them, nor could they retain them, nor bring them back. This is what they could do: they gave back to the gods the names of their Primigenius, Severus, Pudens, Castus, Lucilla, and Potestas. Being w r e t c h e d as they have been abandoned by their children, [15] because they had hoped to (die?) sooner (than?) them, they added their names in the same place while still alive, as they were born under ill fate and unjust fortune, they, who could neither leave before their children nor follow them themselves as quickly [20] as they desire. But now, we, w r e t c h e d, abandoned by our children, ask the gods above and below to permit our little grandson, Thiasus, who has been left to us by our son Pudens – who died immaturely – like a spark [25] jumping from a fire, memory of ours, to survive us: may he live, be safe, have whatever he desires. And now we ask you, our little grandson that, t a k i n g p i t y o n y o u r a n c e s t o r s, you serve filial duty and you look after [30] the tomb of yours. And, if someone asks you whom the tomb shelters, say: My grandfather Murranus, f o r misery teaches even barbarians to write compassionate words. And now I ask you [35] all, already born in the past or being born now, that, if some mistake escaped me, a barbarian man, Pannonian by birth, hurt by many a wound and evil, to forgive me. Now, let us implore the gods that, if anyone damages, violates this tomb or [40] this inscription, ill fate and whatever else is deserved may fall on them; but whoever reads this inscription or listens to someone reading it, may a more

Misericordia: Some Remarks on the Word and its Pagan History

| superior, et valeant semper [in aeterno39] | [45] quicumque in hoc titulo scrip[ta legerit]40 | quietis: ‘Sit vobis terra levis’; et [- - -] | desperatum qui superant [- - -] | tempore obito, sit [- - -].

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desirable fate comfort them and may they flourish forever: and whoever will read the words of peace written in this inscription, may he say: ‘may earth be light on you’ [the rest is too fragmentary to be translated].41

The adjective miser (‘wretched’) could refer either to the parents or to the dead children:42 indeed, emendation of miseri/miseris suggested by editors at ll. 5 and 20 (advisable also at l. 14?) seems to be required by the lack of a straightforward syntactic structure.43 More conspicuous is the use of misericordia. In the appeal addressed to Thiasus, his taking care of the tomb is beseeched as a sign of ‘pity’, ‘compassionate affection’, towards his ancestors (per tuorum maiorum misericordiam). Then, even more interestingly, misericordia features in Thiasus’ response to the wayfarer, where ‘suffering’ (miseria) is said to teach even barbarians – Murranus is Pannonian – scribere misericordias, ‘to write pities, i.e. compassionate words’. This is an odd expression, that I would interpret as referred to the very words of the inscription, by means of which Murranus and his wife express pity towards their dead offspring.44 What is striking here is the plural misericordiae, which seems to be entirely unknown to pagans, and quite rare also among Christians (it usually occurs from Tertullian on, always in contexts influenced by the biblical text), even because the singular was recommended by grammarians.45 II.4. The misericors physician Hélène Petré observes that Christian misericordia is essentially shaped by the Scriptures, where it is attributed both to God/Christ and to human beings who imitate God. In her view, God’s misericordia, consisting in taking pity of 39

Fort. aeternum. Scil. verba. 41 This English translation is a modified version of the one published by P. Krunschwitz (https://thepetrifiedmuse.blog/2015/01/23/coping-with-the-death-of-a-child/). 42 Even if it perhaps rather suits the latter, see Isid., etym. X 173: Miser proprie [dicitur] eo quod omnem felicitatem amiserit. Secundum autem Ciceronem proprie mortuus, qui in Tusculanis [in book I, De toleranda morte] miseros mortuos vocat, propter quod iam amiserunt vitam (‘Miser is the person who has lost his happiness. In Cicero’s view, according to its proper meaning, it means “dead”: Cicero calls miseri the dead, as they have lost their lives’). 43 On the text’s language, deserving further investigation, I will dwell elsewhere. 44 It is rendered as ‘sorrow itself teaches barbarians to write down laments’ by David Noy, Foreign Families in Roman Italy, in Beryl Rawson (ed.), A Companion to Families in the Greek and Roman Worlds (Malden, Oxford, Chichester, 2011), 145-60, 147. 45 Cf. e.g. Charisius, ars, p. 32, who mentions misericordia ἔλεος among the singularia tantum verba indicating invisible things (feelings). As might be expected, the plural misericordiae features as a synonym for ‘charitable works, giving of alms’ or ‘alms’ (ThlL VIII 1125.51-63); moreover, following the Scriptures, it may also mean ‘compassion’ (ibid. 1124.78) or ‘pity’, both human and divine (ibid. 1126.7-11 and 1126.44-54 respectively). 40

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a wrongdoer and forgiving him, would be rooted in the technical rhetorical tradition: ‘la parenté du sens religieux de misericordia avec l’emploi que fasait de ce mot la langue de la rhétorique’ would be made clear also by analogies between the ritual of Christian penitence and some traits of pagan rhetorical miseratio (i.e., the appeal to the jurors’ misericordia).46 This is certainly right, but I would like to draw attention to another image that likewise might have influenced the Christian use of the word: that of a physician taking care of his patient. Besides the example of the good physician often featuring in Latin literary texts (as a comparison or as a metaphor47), I would point at occurrences of misericors/misericordia in technical medical texts, as misericordia belongs to the ideal physician’s portrait we are presented with in medical treatises,48 and in most cases has the positive meaning of ‘merciful helpfulness’ which is proper to it in colloquial language: after all, humanitas alike features in medical texts according to the meaning it is endowed with in the common linguistic use, namely as corresponding to Greek φιλανθρωπία.49 Misericordia is evoked in the doctor’s portraits sketched out by Celsus and Scribonius Largus.50 In Celsus’ De medicina, misericordia is mentioned twice. In the preface to book I, in the long passage where the opinions of dogmatists and empiricists are contrasted with one another (§§ 13-26 and 27-44), Celsus takes his stand against the dogmatists, who maintain that medicine, investigating not only ‘(1) the so-called evident causes (such as heat and cold considered as causes), but also (2) hidden or obscure ones, as well as (3) natural actions (such as breathing and digestion, in other words, physiology) and, finally, (4) internal anatomy’, should practice vivisection.51 Celsus, while stating the 46

H. Pétré, ‘Misericordia’ (1934), 379-82, 382. Some relevant passages are quoted by Sergio Sconocchia et al., ‘Ars et professio medici. Teoria e testi’, in Donatella Lippi and Sergio Sconocchia (eds), ‘Ars et professio medici’: ‘humanitas’, ‘misericordia’, ‘amicitia’ nella medicina di ieri e di oggi (Bologna, 2003), 39-179, 112-25. 48 Jackie Pigeaud, ‘Les fondements philosophiques de l’éthique médicale: le cas de Rome’, in Hellmut Flashar and Jacques Jouanna (eds), Médecine et morale dans l’Antiquité: dix exposés suivis de discussions (Genève, Vandœuvres, 1997), 255-96, 257-67; S. Sconocchia, ‘Ars et professio medici’ (2003), 44-5. 49 And not to παιδεῖα, which is its more philosophical meaning (see the discussion on Latin humanitas in Gell. XIII 17). Jackie Pigeaud interestingly observes that in medical language humanitas, φιλανθρωπία, misericordia are not ‘concepts philosophiques’, but rather ‘comportements et usages des médecins’ (‘Les fondements philosophiques’ [1997], 261-2, 264). It is not surprising that elements pertaining to the Umgangssprache feature in (technical) medical language: see at least Sergio Sconocchia, ‘La lingua medica latina come lingua speciale’, in Vincenzo Orioles (ed.), Dal ‘paradigma’ alla parola. Riflessioni sul metalinguaggio della lingusitica (Roma, 2001), 177-205, 190. 50 I will not touch on Pliny the Elder, who mostly depends on the Catonian tradition of hostility towards Greek medicine. 51 On dogmatists vs. empiricists, see G.E.R. Lloyd, The Revolutions of Wisdom: Studies in the Claims and Practice of Ancient Greek Science (Berkeley, 1987), 158-67, 159; Philippe Mudry, La préface du De medicina de Celse. Texte, traduction et commentaire (Rome, 1982), 81-205. 47

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uselessness of such a practice, remarks that sometimes chance gives a doctor the opportunity of inspecting a – dead – human body (for instance, a gladiator, or a man assaulted by robbers), so that the doctor can learn per misericordiam what the dogmatists learn through horrible cruelty: idque p e r m i s e r i c o r d i a m discere, quod alii d i r a c r u d e l i t a t e cognorint (‘he learns in the course of a work of mercy, what others would come to know by means of dire cruelty’, trans. W.G. Spencer) (Cels. I prooem. 43).52 Most importantly, the empiricists ‘are said to accept only the first [scil. kind of investigation], that into evident causes, alone. The other three are not just superfluous but impossible’, as ‘the doctor’s task is to treat individual cases and for this purpose he must be guided by the manifest symptoms of the patient alone’:53 accordingly, attention to a single patient should be paid, and the ideal doctor is the medicus amicus: Ideoque, quum par scientia sit, utiliorem tamen m e d i c u m esse a m i c u m, quam extraneum (‘and consequently, presuming their state to be equal, it is more useful to have in the practitioner a friend rather than a stranger’) (Cels., I prooem. 73).54 As remarked by scholars, this is the only occurrence of the theme of medicus amicus throughout Greek and Roman medicine. In Mudry’s view,55 friendship in this context does not correspond exactly to Hippocrates’ φιλανθρωπία – namely, that humanitas thanks to which physicians love not only their art but also their patients; rather, in Celsus’ praise of medicus amicus, two traditions merge: first, as mentioned above, he argues against the dogmatists, and restates that medicine is based on the observation of single patients; second, he seems to draw on the Roman traditional and Catonian image of the physician as a pater familias, an image which is widespread in the Roman world (Cato, Pliny the Elder). In sum, a doctor is hoped for by Celsus, who shall be Greek in his knowledge and skill, but is definitely Roman in his ‘human’ attitude. Elsewhere Celsus describes the ideal surgeon as misericors, so as to be willing to heal his patient, although not being moved by his sufferings or moans. This surgeon – I must admit – somewhat resembles a Stoic sapiens: Esse autem chirurgus debet … animo intrepidus, m i s e r i c o r s s i c , u t s a n a r i v e l i t e u m , q u e m a c c e p i t, non ut clamore eius motus vel magis, quam res desiderat, properet, vel minus, quam necesse est, secet; sed perinde faciat omnia, ac si nullus ex vagitibus alterius affectus oriatur (Cels., VII praef. 4).56 52

See P. Mudry, La préface (1982), 137-8. G.E.R. Lloyd, The Revolutions of Wisdom (1987), 160. 54 See P. Mudry, La préface (1982), 199-200. 55 P. Mudry, ‘Medicus amicus’, Gesnerus 37 (1980), 17-20. See also S. Sconocchia, ‘Ars et professio medici’ (2003), 169-70. 56 Cf. S. Sconocchia, ‘Ars et professio medici’ (2003), 92-5. See also SVF III, fr. 451, a warning against ‘merciful’ – i.e. weak – doctors and judges, attributed to Chrysippus. Celsus’ remark reminds the reader of the Stoic sapiens, who can be helpful to others without participating in their sufferings: an sine misericordia liberales esse non possumus? non enim suscipere ipsi aegritudines propter 53

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‘Now a surgeon should be … with … spirit undaunted; filled with pity, so that he wishes to cure his patient, yet is not moved by his cries, to go too fast, or cut less than is necessary; but he does everything just as if the cries of pain cause him no emotion.’

Then, misericordia is mentioned twice in the preface of Scribonius Largus’ Compositiones, the first Latin medical text that explicitly quotes Hippocrates’ oath. In the first passage, Scribonius endorses the use of medicamenta – his book being a collection of medical recipes –, blaming those who rebuke φαρμακευτική (the branch of medicine taking advantage of drugs), owing either to ignorance or to envy. As a matter of fact, envy is a malum unworthy of physicians, whose professio requires misericordia and humanitas: in quibus nisi p l e n u s m i s e r i c o r d i a e e t h u m a n i t a t i s a n i m u s est s e c u n d u m i p s i u s p r o f e s s i o n i s v o l u n t a t e m, hominibus diisque omnibus invisi debent esse (epist. praef. 3). ‘physicians, if they are not full of mercifulness and humanity, in accordance with the spirit/very aim of their art, must be hated by men and gods alike.’

Then, Scribonius mentions Hippocrates, who, by means of his oath, teaches humanitas to prospective doctors: Scientia enim sanandi … est m e d i c i n a . Q u a e n i s i o m n i p a r t e s u a p l e n e excubat in auxilia laborantium, non praestat quam pollicetur homin i b u s m i s e r i c o r d i a m (epist. praef. 5). ‘Indeed, medicine is the art of healing. If it is not totally concerned with bringing help to those who suffer, it does not give to human beings the pity that it promises to them.’

A ‘conception miséricordieuse de la profession médicale’ is proposed:57 misericordia, described as a pity which makes any effort to help the sick, is significantly presented as medicine’s main aim, polliceri being here a technical term, ‘to profess as a scope’.58

alios debemus, sed alios, si possumus, levare aegritudine (‘Is it because you cannot be liberal without pity? We should not take sorrows on ourselves upon another’s account; but we ought to relieve others of their grief if we can’) (Cic., Tusc. IV 26.56). 57 P. Mudry, ‘Éthique et médecine à Rome: la préface de Scribonius Largus ou l’affirmation d’une singularité’, in H. Flashar and J. Jouanna (eds), Médecine et morale (1997), 297-322, 322. Cf. also Jean-Marie André, ‘Du serment hippocratique à la déontologie de la médecine romaine’, REL 83 (2005), 140-53; Ianto T. Jocks, The ‘Compositiones Medicamentorum’ of Scribonius Largus (diss., Glasgow, 2013), 28-30. 58 Like promittit in Cels. I praef. 1: Ut alimenta sanis corporibus agricultura, sic sanitatem aegris medicina promittit (‘Just as agriculture promises nourishment to healthy bodies, so does the art of medicine promise health to the sick’): see P. Mudry, La préface (1982), 51.

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III. Conclusion There is no doubt that the Christians, in asserting misericordia as an absolute value, both for human beings and for God, have to cope with the pagan philosophical tradition of a somewhat unsafe misericordia. However, I would suggest that, besides the Scriptures, what influences to the utmost degree their use of this term is Umgangssprache, in which misericordia always preserves the positive meaning of ‘helpful attitude towards one who suffers’: both literary texts (mostly when reflecting the cottidianus sermo) and non-literary ones (such as inscriptions) bear witness to this. Even the doctors’ misericordia, which is hinted at as an ideal feature in medical Latin treatises, stems from Umgangssprache (rather than from the language of philosophers) and becomes perhaps one of the paradigms of God’s healing misericordia, which makes the human being whole anew.

Misericordia and Human Dignity in St Ambrose’s Works De officiis and Expositio euangelii secundum Lucam Natalia A. KULKOVA, St Tikhon Orthodox University for Humanities, Moscow, Russia

ABSTRACT St Ambrose developed and christianized the ethical teaching of Cicero in his homonymous treatise De officiis, which was written as an answer to St Jerome’s invectives in his Libellus de uirginitate seruanda (= Epist. 22 ad Eustochium). In the Libellus Cicero was shown as a contradictory figure, but Ambrose believed that many ideas of the Holy Scripture had been borrowed by the pagan authors and he wished to demonstrate continuity of the divine revelation and to preserve the best of the Roman culture. Expositio euangelii secundum Lucam develops some issues of the Ambrosian treatise On duties.

Marcus Tullius Cicero had written his famous treatise De officiis one year before he was murdered on December 7, 43 BC. It became his last testament to his son Marcus teaching him the major Roman duties, how to choose between the evil and the good and follow honor and virtue. The treatise has quite a global impact, saying about a citizen and his role in a state, role of the state, and ethics as an organizing element in the life of a person or in the life of the world.1 The importance of Cicero’s work was emphasized when almost four hundred years later St Ambrose of Milan, a leading figure in the church and state political life, undertook his work in his homonymous treatise De officiis. The Ambrosian treatise De officiis was being written in the 80s of IVth century. Let’s consider the circumstances of the creation of the work. There are many assumptions why Ambrose launched his writing on duties. To make a long list short I agree that he wished to pack his Christian ideas into a more convenient form but why Cicero? Why he didn’t use other author’s work as a literary model? Why he wished to have an example from the ancient literature at all? 1 Cicero’s De officiis was among the earliest printed books. At least we have the editions of 1465 by Ulrich Zell in Cologne and of 1466 by Fust and Schöffer in Mainz. We can’t leave out the inscription from the copy of the Zell’s edition, which is now kept at the Bodleian library in Oxford, it says about the owner of the book: ‘M M Sykes This book was bought by me at Francfort July the 4th 1819 of Mr. Horn and is one of the rarest of all Cicero’s pieces. There are not 3 libraries in England that possess a copy of it’.

Studia Patristica CXIII, 29-37. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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I think Ambrose’s choice of the Ciceronian treatise was predetermined mainly by the polemics initiated by St Jerome and expressed in his Libellus de uirginitate seruanda (= Epist. 22 ad Eustochium) in 384 AD. Jerome used the Roman orator as an embodiment of the pagan culture in his Libellus as Cicero was quite popular among the Christian Roman elite. In 382 Jerome returned to Rome from the East, where he lived a solitary life as a hermit in a Syrian desert, he had already tried his hand in Hebrew studies, and the Roman bishop Damasus I asked his scholarly opinion about biblical textual issues. Jerome preached in the noblemen’s houses and became quite a popular figure in Rome – among his fans we find ladies from the richest Roman families (Paula with her daughters, Marcella, Fabiola just to name few). Jerome was entrusted with editing the Latin translation of the Gospels and the Psalms; he even became a personal secretary for Damasus, and some people thought him to become his successor (Jerome himself hoped for that high ecclesiastical rank). His Libellus de uirginitate seruanda had to serve as a manifesto of the continence and celibacy, where he proclaimed his strict views on the marriages and marital state. The most striking episode of the Libellus was Jerome’s dream. While recommending Eustochium not to read secular authors Jerome tells the dream he saw when he fell dangerously ill: he was taken to the throne of the Judge who claimed: ‘You are Ciceronian not Christian!’2 And Jerome with tears admitted his guilty interest in the secular literature. He even was flogged, and promised not to read pagan authors! Apparently for Jerome the figure of Cicero became a symbol of condemnation of his past, his education, and the Roman culture. While advising Eustochium on the ecclesiastical authors who had written on the continence and celibacy Jerome made not very laudatory references to the work of Ambrose De uirginibus3 (377). Several years later Jerome was more blatant about the Ambrosian treatise De Spiritu Sancto (381) in the preface to his translation of Dydimus’ De Spiritu Sancto (387 AD) – with unjustified criticism and malice.4 Jerome was an influencer of his time, and his opinions 2

Hieronymus Stridonensis, Ep. 22.30. Lege … Ambrosii nostri quae nuper ad sororem scripsit opuscula, in quibus tanto se fudit eloquio, ut, quidquid ad laudem virginum pertinet, exquisierit, ordinarit, expresserit (Ep. 22.22.3). Neil Adkin in his article ‘Ambrose and Jerome: The Opening Shot’, Mnemosyne 46 (1993), 36476, noted and explained the hostile nuances in the mention of Ambrose’s work while developing some ideas he had expressed in his article ‘Some notes on the dream of Saint Jerome’, Philologus 128 (1984), 119-26. About the sources of De uirginibus cf. Yves-Marie Duval, ‘L’originalité du De virginibus dans le mouvement ascétique occidental: Ambroise, Cyprien, Athanase’, in id. (ed.), Ambroise de Milan. XVIe centenaire de son election épiscopale. Dix études (Paris, 1974), 29-53. 4 Pierre Nautin, ‘L’activité littéraire de Jérôme de 387 à 392’, Revue de Théologie et de Philosophie 115 (1983), 253-73. In De viris illustribus, 124 Jerome wrote about St Ambrose in such words: Ambrosius, Mediolanensis episcopus, usque in praesentem diem scribit, de quo, quia superest, meum iudicium subtraham, ne in alterutram partem aut adulatio in me reprehendatuar ut veritas. 3

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widely circulated, so nobody was surprised that Jerome’s first attack on Ambrose in the Libellus didn’t go without notice. In his letter to Nepotianus (epist. 57, around 393) Jerome wrote that his Libellus was crushed with stones even though he hadn’t insulted or named anybody!5 Well, everybody seemed to understand him quite clearly! St Ambrose was well aware of the personal criticism from Jerome and in the beginning of his treatise On duties we find expressions which are very unusual for his neutral style of writing. After a short prologue addressed to his clerics Ambrose begins with the words: ‘Many is the person I have seen fall into sin by speaking, but scarcely ever have I seen anyone do so by staying silent’ (off. 1,5).6 He proceeds: ‘The reason is this: it is far harder to know how to stay silent than it is to know how to speak. I realize that most people speak simply because they have no idea how to be silent. It is a rare thing for anyone to keep silent, even when there is nothing to be gained by speaking. It is a wise person indeed who knows how to keep silent’ (1,5). Then he explains: But we need to beware also of the kind of enemy who can be seen – and here I mean anyone who winds us up, anyone who incites us, anyone who annoys us, or anyone who spreads before our eyes the sort of things which tempt us to self-indulgence or lust. As soon as someone insults us, or irritates us, or provokes us to violence, or invites us to get involved in a fight, it is then especially that we need to exercise silence, and it is then especially that we should feel no shame about behaving as though we were dumb. For the person who provokes us and does us an injury is a sinner, and his great desire is that we should become like him. (1,17)

Ambrose portrays his enemy’s reaction: ‘If you do keep silent, if you do pretend not to hear, he will probably say something like this: “Why are you silent? Speak, if you dare! Ah, no, you don’t dare, you’re dumb: I’ve knocked you speechless”’ (1,18). His portrait is very vivid: So if you keep silent, he explodes all the more: he thinks he has been beaten and mocked and belittled and laughed at. If you reply, he imagines that he has got the better of you, because he has found someone just like himself. If you keep silent, people will say: “That man was insulting, but this man just despised him”. If you return the abuse, they will say: “They were both trading insults. The one is as guilty as the other: neither of them can be absolved”. All the man wants, then, is to provoke me to speak and behave as he does himself. (1,18)

5 In 401 AD Rufinus of Aquileia pointed at St Jerome as an infamous denigrator of the reverend bishop (Apol. adv. Hier. 2,25-8). 6 In the first sections his treatise (off. 1,5-22) we can vividly feel the indignation of Ambrose against some unnamed opponent. All the English translations are taken from the edition: Ambrose, De officiis, ed. Ivor J. Davidson (Oxford, 2002).

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It’s highly likely that the bishop’s words in off. 1,233 (‘I am weak, but if someone does me an injustice, the chances are I shall not forgive him for it, even though I am too weak to retaliate effectively’) testify not only his teaching on ethics but speak about his personal attitude to his unnamed critic. Ambrose defends his writings against Jerome’s invective but most of all Ambrose denied Jerome’s attitude towards Roman culture and moral. I don’t wish to leave aside well-known hypotheses why Ambrose choses Cicero’s De officiis as his model text,7 but I think it’s quite possible that Ambrose created his text on duties because he wished to show inconsistencies and rashness of Jerome’s declaration expressed in the Libellus, where the figure of Cicero was interpreted as an opposition to the celestial Judge, as an enemy who had to be condemned and rejected. The idea of perception and transformation of the intellectual heritage of the Antiquity into the Christian writings – which was formulated by Christian Gnilka as chrêsis8 – was implemented in the works by Ambrose for he considered that Greek and Roman authors had learned from the Jewish authors of the Holy Scripture9 and were in some way the transmitters of the divine truth. Thus in the writings of Ambrose Cicero becomes a symbol of pagan culture implemented into the Christian paradigm. Ambrose chose Cicero and his treatise as a model because paganism of the Roman orator didn’t become an obstacle for the bishop – according to Ambrose the wisdom of God had been shining through the prophets onto the pagan philosophers who borrowed their ideas from the Scriptures. Ambrose didn’t cut the human history and culture into two parts, the pagan one and the Christian one, for him even the animals and the earth itself existed according to the divine plan of the Creator. He considered God to be the only source of human wisdom, and the sound ideas in the philosophical books Ambrose reckoned to be derived from the prophetic books of the ancient Jews.10 It means that all the best inventions of the Roman culture – rhetoric, law, Stoic ethics – Ambrose thought to exist in accordance with the law of nature which was created by God.11 Underlining his regard for Cicero Ambrose coined for him a title after the expression from the first Pauline Epistle to Timothy (1Tim. 2:5), where Paul called himself doctor gentium. Ambrose had a good reason to call Cicero saecularium doctor (that’s in De virginibus 3,25) while giving ascetic advice from 7 Ivor J. Davidson listed them in his profound Introduction in: Ambrose, De officiis, ed. I.J. Davidson (Oxford, 2002), 6-20. 8 Christian Gnilka, Chrêsis. Die Methode der Kirchenväter im Umgang mit der antiken Kultur. Chrêsis I: Der Begriff des rechten Gebrauchs, 2. erw. Aufl. (Basel, 2012). 9 E.g. Ambrose, Ep. 55,1. 10 There are many references in his treatise De Abraham (2,5,23,37 etc.) to the quotations or ideas taken by ancient Greek philosophers from the Scriptures. 11 At the same time, we find Ambrose’s sarcastic references to philosophical schools and authors, even to Plato, though the bishop called him princeps philosophorum (Abr. 1,2) and pater philosophiae (Abr. 2,37).

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Cicero: Nemo enim, ut dixit quidam saecularium doctor, saltat sobrius, nisi insanit (‘As a secular teacher says, a sober man doesn’t dance, unless he is mad’).12 The researchers mostly speak about the differences between two works De officiis13 but I would like to concentrate on the subjects similar to both works. Let’s search the first book as a sample. We see that both authors tried to answer the question what is essential for the human life, and while one looked at philosophical ethics, the other founded his moral views on the belief in God, while one provided examples from the Roman history, the other cited passages and stories from the Old and New Testaments (though sometimes Ambrose reused the Ciceronian examples).14 Both authors refered to the Greek sources and spoke about perfectum officium, in Greek κατόρθωμα, katorthoma (Cic. 1,8; off. 1,36-7).15 For Ambrose officium seems to exchange for uirtus (off. 1,115-6) as he speaks about Jacob, Joseph, Job, and David and their uirtutes principales. For Cicero officia are mainly connected with the communal appearances of a human being (Cic. 1,20) as well as the honourable inner feelings and impulses (Cic. 1,7,13,15,18 etc.). For both of them the first place in the human nature belongs to sapientia or prudentia (Cic. 1,15; off. 1,115,117); search for truth and its cognition (cognitio, cognitio ueri, inuestigatio ueri, omnique in re quid sit ueri uidere et tueri decet, uerum inuestigare; Cic. 1,18-19,94; off. 1,115,118,123,125)16 are connected with the wisdom (sapientia or prudentia), though for Ambrose there is the divine Wisdom (off. 1,224),17 and he considers that the authors of the Scriptures were the first to define prudentia (off. 1,118). For Ambrose prudentia is considered to be a source of the duties though ‘the justice cannot exist without prudence … similarly, prudence cannot exist without justice, since piety towards God is the beginning of understanding (pietas enim in deum initium intellectus)’ (off. 1,126), and further Ambrose gives the quotation from other Ciceronian treatise (De natura deorum 1,116): ‘Pietas fundamentum uirtutum omnium’. For Ambrose the word pietas already has its new, Christian meaning, and he considers the words to be borrowed by the wise man of this world (Cicero) from 12 Cf. Cicero, Pro Murena 6,13. We find quotations from Cicero in other works by Ambrose, e.g., De Spiritu Sancto 2,154: Vnde quidam interrogatus, quid amicus esset, ‘alter’, inquit, ‘ego’, cf. Cicero, De amicitia 21,80. In fact Ambrose took a lot of material from De amicitia into his treatise on duties, cf. off. 3,129-38. 13 Mark D. Jordan, ‘Cicero, Ambrose, and Aquinas “On Duties” or the limits of genre in morals’, Journal of Religious Ethics 33 (2005), 485-502. See also Jed W. Atkins, ‘The Officia of St. Ambrose’s De officiis’, Journal of Early Christian Studies 19 (2011), 49-77. 14 Cf. Paola Francesca Moretti, ‘Competing’ exempla in Ambrose’s De officiis’, SP 85 (2017), 95-106. 15 The references to Cicero’s De officiis I will abbreviate as Cic. 16 Ambrose follows Cicero almost word for word (Cic. 1,18: ne incognita pro cognitis habeamus hisque temere assentiamur; off. 1,123: Non hic incognita pro cognitis habebat hisque temere adsentiebatur). 17 Cf. Prov. 9:1-11.

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the Scriptures’ authors. Cicero’s praise to iustitia (iustitia, in qua uirtutis splendor est maximus, Cic. 1,20) echoes in the Ambrosian sentence: Iustitiae pietas est: prima in deum, secunda in patriam, tertia in parentes, item in omnes (off. 1,127). It’s interesting that the Christian writer follows the Roman one (Cic. 1,160) in his scale of the duties, though understandably for Cicero there are gods instead of God. Ambrose shares the same opinions with Cicero on many subjects: disdain for trade and approval of farming (Cic. 1,151; off. 1,184-5), the importance of the appearance while walking and speaking (Cic. 1,131-3; off. 1,71-4, 84, 104), the rules of modesty, uerecundia, calling nature magistra uerecundiae (Cic. 1,126-9; off. 1,77-9). What is more important for the history of Christian ethics Ambrose offers rather similar rules how to deal with inner impulses (motus animorum, Cic. 1,101-2,132,141; Ambrose continually returns to the subject, cf. off. 1,98-9,1056,228-31), which he, as Cicero does, divides into two groups – intellectual impulses and emotional ones (motus … cogitationum et appetitus, off. 1,98).18 Both authors counsel to obey to reason, ratio, though Cicero urges to direct intellectual impulses towards good deeds, and Ambrose thinks that ‘the thought of good things comes naturally to our mind’ (Cic. 1,132; off. 1,98, tr. Davidson). Here I can’t miss mentioning the passages from the work of Ambrose dealing with anger, iracundia (off. 1,13-4,90-3): ‘Anger must be avoided, or, if it cannot be prevented, it must be kept within proper limits’ (off. 1,91, tr. Davidson). He discusses the subject with regards to the speach (off. 1,99) and repeats the advices of Cicero (Cic. 1,136-7).19 Cicero writes about the meaning of the word hostis (Cic. 1,37), and Ambrose repeats it though instead of quote from the laws of XII Tables he gives an example from the First book of Samuel (off. 1,141). Ambrose makes use of the fact that some Latin words acquired new, Christian meaning, e.g., fides. Cicero says: ‘Fundamentum autem est iustitiae fides, id est dictorum conventorumque constantia et veritas’ (Cic. 1,23). Ambrose agrees with his predecessor and repeats: ‘Fundamentum ergo est iustitiae fides, iustorum enim corda meditantur fidem’ (off. 1,142) but Cicero speaks about trust between people, and Ambrose means faith, trust between God and people. Some Ciceronian ideas from the first book Ambrose inserted in other part of his treatise. Cicero briefly reflects upon private ownership of land in the first book justifying it (Cic. 1,20-1), for Ambrose it was already a major disputable issue. Ambrose in his capacity of a bishop was a great political figure of his times, and 18 The notion of motus cogitationum et appetitus became quite popular in the ascetic literature but to speak about it in respect to the Ambrosian works is out of the limits of my article. 19 Cf. off. 1,13-4 where Ambrose advises to his unnamed opponent to ‘keep a door over’ his mouth not letting anger show in evil words and quotes from the Scriptures, Ps. 140:3 and Ps. 4:5. Ambrose speaks in some length about impulses in off. 1,228-32, and again mentions his adversary in off. 1,233-5.

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his thoughts on the matter takes some passages in the first and third books (off. 1,38, 132; 3,38-42)20. He even enters into some argument with Cicero, but while quoting Stoics’ideas Ambrose claims they borrowed from the Scriptures!21 Ambrose made a loan from Cicero but he repaid with great interest, he inserted new themes, he explained so called eternal issues from a new perspective, he made a foundation for a new Christian ethics deeply grounded in the philosophy and at the same time exalted into the heavens. The word dignitas which was very popular with Cicero (he uses it in his work De officiis quite a few times) doesn’t find its way into the Ambrosian treatise. I think it happened because it lost its meaning as an ethical term of self-esteem and began denoting nobility ranks.22 Instead of dignitas Ambrose used old good Latin decus or decorum which were also Ciceronian favorites and widely used in his work. Sometimes Ambrose uses the term honestas (off. 1,222)23 which is in some way a substitute of the word dignitas as it covers some aspects of the human virtue. Cicero refers the idea of decorum (πρέπον) in the middle of the first book (Cic. 1,93-8), he connects all the great human qualities with it. Ambrose introduces decorum in the beginning and he alludes to the Scriptures confirming that decorum ‘is accorded a place of prime importance’ (off. 1,30, tr. Davidson), then from Psalms (Ps. 64:2) and St Paul (Tit. 2:1; Hebr. 2:10) he quotes sentences which contain the word decet in one form or another. Later in his treatise Ambrose returns to the discussion of the words decet, decus, decorum (in off. 1,219-25); he quotes the words from Cicero’s work (Cic. 1,94), this time without indication of the source. For Ambrose every virture is connected with decorum, it’s like a health part of every good deed. Ambrose took from Cicero the four uirtutes cardinales24 and he developed Christian biblical ethics on the basis of Platonic and Stoic philosophies.25 First 20 In the third book the harsh words of the bishop against the private property on the harvest may be explained by the hunger(s) from the poor crop, cf. Davidson, p. 833-6. 21 Cf. off. 1,133. 22 Cf. exp. Luc. 4,28: Docemur hic inanis ambitionis flabra despicere, quod omnis dignitas saecularis diabolicae subiaceat potestati, ad usum fragilis et inanis ad fructum. Sed quomodo hic dat diabolus potestatem et alibi legis quia omnis potestas a deo est? 23 See also off. 2,3: Honestatis igitur est uel misericordiam facere uel ieiunium deferre in abscondito ut mercedem uidearis a solo deo tuo quaerere, non etiam ab hominibus. In the second book of his treatise Ambrose quotes more examples of the commendable deeds (off. 2,6-8). 24 The Stoic tetrads included sapientia or prudentia, iustitia, fortitudo, temperantia. St Ambrose used to describe them as a quadriga of horses, he considered them necessary for the Christian way of life and coined the term uirtutes cardinales (exc. fr. 1,57; sacr. 3,9). The thorough and detailed research by M. Becker on this subject almost closed the theme, cf. Maria Becker, Die Kardinaltugenden bei Cicero und Ambrosius De officiis (Basel, 1994). See also Carl Joachim Classen, ‘Der platonisch-stoische Kanon der Kardinaltugenden bei Philon, Clemens Alexandrinus und Origenes’, in A.M. Ritter (ed.), Kerygma und Logos: Festschrift Carl Andresen (Göttingen, 1979), 68-88. 25 J. Warren Smith already fights a notion that Ambrose unconditionally accepted Plotinian ideas, and asserts a synthesis of the best of two worlds, J. Warren Smith, Christian Grace and Pagan Virtue: The Theological Foundation of Ambrose’s Ethics (Oxford, New York, 2011).

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time Ambrose mentioned the four cardinal virtues in his first funeral homily, on the death of his brother (exc. fr. 1,377). It was the first time when Ambrose chose Cicero as his literary predecessor and his work as an example – in his homilies Ambrose probably followed a lost work Consolatio by Cicero.26 Ambrose showed the four cardinal virtues from biblical examples, enriching Christian culture and the Latin language,27 as well as the ecclesiastical doctrine on the vices (the reverse side of the teaching on the cardinal virtues). ‘Humana condicio’ or ‘humanitas’, according to the coinage of Cicero, has a new development in the writings of Ambrose. He leans both on Cicero and the Bible in his ethics. In De officiis Ambrose says, a person has to become perfect as God the Creator, it’s human duty. It is via misericordia people become perfect while imitating their heavenly Father (off. 1,38). Misericordia is an integral part of the human soul, you share your possession with a beggar and he gives you salvation (off. 1,38-9). He gives you more than you give to him. It’s not you that give cloths to a beggar, you put on a dress of justice. In off. 1,118 Ambrose continues: ‘A person who is wise and just, has the entire world for his riches (according to Parables 17:6). A person, who is just, regards common goods as his own, and his own goods as common’, because ‘nature generously supplies everything for everyone in common. God ordained everything to be produced to provide food for everyone in common; his plan was that the earth would be, as it were, the common possession of us all’ (off. 1,132). We find the attitude of Ambrose towards the community of goods very unusual! He repeats his thoughts in the Commentary on the Gospel of St Luke (exp. Luc. 7,124).28 The birds ‘who do no harvesting receive their share of food’, they don’t have any need because they don’t appropriate common property. So it befits the people to live according to nature because nature is a mirror of the God’s creating power (cf. off. 1,223-4). How do these two notions dignitas and misericordia converge in Ambrose’s works? The first thing a human being needs is faith (off. 1,253), and faith is love, and the law says (according to the Old and New Testament Leu. 19:18; Deut. 6:5; Matt. 22:37, 38; Mk. 12:29, 31; Lk. 10:27): ‘You shall love your Lord, and you shall love your neighbour.’ 26

Luigi Alfonsi, ‘Ambrogio «Ciceronianus»’, Vigiliae Christianae 20 (1966), 83-5. J.T. Muckle, ‘The «De Officiis ministrorum» of Saint Ambrose. An Example of the Process of the Christianization of the Latin Language’, Medieval Studies 1 (1939), 63-80. 28 Exp. Luc. 7,124: Considerate inquit uolatilia caeli. Magnum sane et aptum quod fide sequamur exemplum. Nam si uolatilibus caeli, quibus nullum exercitium cultionis, nullus de messium fecunditate prouentus est, indeficientem tamen prouidentia diuina largitur alimoniam, uerum est causam inopiae nostrae auaritiam uideri. Etenim illis idcirco inelaborati pabuli usus exuberat, quod fructus sibi conmunem ad escam datos speciali quodam nesciunt uindicare dominatu, nos conmunia amisimus, dum propria uindicamus; nam nec proprium quicquam est, ubi perpetuum nihil est, nec certa copia, ubi incertus euentus. Cur enim diuitias tuas aestimes, cum tibi deus etiam uictum cum ceteris animantibus uoluerit esse conmunem? Aues caeli speciale sibi nihil uindicant et ideo pabulis indigere nesciunt, quia non norunt aliis inuidere. 27

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Ambrose teaches: ‘When you have paid your dues to your Creator, then you can contribute your share of good works to being kind and to helping your fellow – men, and bring your resources to bear on their needs’ (off. 1,253). Your charitable deeds have the eternal life, they follow you into the eternal life (off. 2,7) because bonum est honestum (cf. off. 1,191). Ambrose looks for an argument in etymology, a very popular tool! A human being (homo) as well as humanitas takes its name after the earth (humus). The earth doesn’t take anything but generously gives. According to Ambrose, humanitas, an essential part of a human soul, means ministry and helping humans. ‘This is undoubtedly the law of nature, which binds us to all humanity: we must show respect to one another, since we are all part of one body. And we must never think of taking anything away from our neighbour, for it is an infringement of nature’s law if we even fail to give him assistance’ (off. 3,19). In the Commentary on Luc Ambrose explains, who our neighbor is: first of all Christ is our Neighbour, and we have to love Him and His followers because they imitate Him and are compassionate to the poor because of their mutual human condition29. Misericordia/mercy is in accordance with nature as it is in every nature to help the beings of the same nature.

29 Exp. Luc. 7,84: Ergo quoniam nemo magis proximus quam qui uulnera nostra curauit, diligamus eum quasi dominum, diligamus et quasi proximum; nihil enim tam proximum quam caput membris. Diligamus etiam eum qui imitator est Christi, diligamus eum qui inopiae alterius corporis unitate conpatitur. Non enim cognatio facit proximum, sed misericordia, quia misericordia secundum naturam; nihil enim tam secundum naturam quam iuuare consortem naturae.

Quae est iustitia nisi misericordia? The Relationship between Mercy and Justice in St Ambrose’s Thinking Marcela ANDOKOVÁ, Comenius University, Bratislava, Slovakia

ABSTRACT In his Commentary on Luke’s Gospel Saint Ambrose states that God’s justice is his mercy. Although these two divine characteristics seem to contradict each other at first sight, in reality it is not like this since God’s mercy brings the fulfilment of true justice. Therefore, the aim of this article is to examine biblical and, eventually, non-biblical sources of Ambrose’s use of the terms iustitia and misericordia, as presented in his exegetical works, particularly in his Expositio euangelii secundum Lucam, as well as in De officiis. In order to achieve this goal, I will explore different contexts in which Ambrose uses these two terms together when speaking about social justice, necessity of charitable works, care for the poor, etc. At the same time, I will try to demonstrate to which extent the bishop of Milan transforms or christianises the classical notion of the cardinal virtue of iustitia and, consequently, endows it with the new meaning based on its Old Testament usage. What is justice or righteousness, if not mercy? As we read: ‘He has opened His hand, He has given to the poor; His justice endures for ever’ (Ps. 111:9)1

This citation taken from Ambrose’s Commentary on Luke’s Gospel is the point of departure of the present article. Here the bishop of Milan places together the terms iustitia and misericordia in order to persuade his contemporaries of the necessity to perform charitable works directed towards the poor and needy. Where does he draw his inspiration for such a concept? In fact, it is evident that Ambrose was deeply rooted in both Graeco-Roman and biblical cultures and they served him as the grounds for his own religious and social * The present article has been prepared within the project VEGA (National Grant Agency) No. 1/0801/20. I would like to express my thanks to Jozef Tiňo for his precious remarks and comments regarding the Hebrew Bible and its background. 1 Cited in Ambrose, Expositio euangelii secundum Lucam II.90, CChr.SL 14, ed. M. Adriaen (Turnhout, 1957), 72; English translation I.M. NiRiain and B. Phil, in Commentary of Saint Ambrose on the Gospel according to Saint Luke (Dublin, 2001), 62.

Studia Patristica CXIII, 39-52. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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concepts regarding charity and help to the impoverished. In the eyes of ancient Romans, iustitia as one of the cardinal virtues was viewed as the most important and extensive virtue. However, it was not usually treated together with the term misericordia.2 On the other hand, the Sacred Scriptures present God to us as infinite mercy and as perfect justice. But how can we reconcile the two concepts? In general, we can say that mercy and justice are values most people adhere to. According to some justice is supreme, according to others it is mercy which prevails.3 Although they appear to be contradicting each other, in reality they go hand in hand as it is manifested in the Old Testament. So in this regard they should be treated as equal partners. Ambrose’s exegetical work is focused on the interpretation of the Old Testament and out of his twenty biblical commentaries preserved until today only one and, at the same time, the most extensive one, is dedicated to the New Testament. The final redaction of his Commentary on Luke’s Gospel is dated back ca. to 3904 and it undoubtedly reveals Ambrose’s deep knowledge of the Bible. Although it deals with a New Testament book, on many occasions the bishop of Milan elucidates obscure passages or important concepts by means of Old Testament references, which is also true in case of the introductory citation of this article. That is why I will concentrate here, first and foremost, on some key biblical concepts of the Old Testament which might have stood at the source of Ambrose’s inspiration in his identification of justice as mercy. Moreover, I will try to show in which aspects his ideas keep pace with the classical understanding of the cardinal virtues and where he diverts from them in order to establish and promote a Christian notion of these two virtues. Iustitia and misericordia in Ambrose’s works In connection with the above-mentioned citation from the Commentary on Luke’s Gospel we have observed in this work four different contexts where both the terms iustitia and misericordia are used with regard to Christian charity and generosity being in contrast to avarice. Here they occur either together or in close vicinity:5 2 For more information about the meaning of misericordia in pre-Christian Graeco-Roman culture see Paola F. Moretti, ʻMisericordia: Some Remarks on the Word and its Pagan Historyʼ, in this volume, p. 9-27. 3 For more detail about the presentation of God as mercy or justice in the New Testament, see Peter W. Macky, ʻThe Metaphors of God’s Mercy and Justice in the New Testament: How Are They Related?ʼ, Proceedings of the Eastern Great Lakes and Midwest Biblical Societies 9 (1989), 232. 4 See Giuseppe Visonà (ed.), Chronologia Ambrosiana – Bibliografia Ambrosiana (Milano, 2004), 95-6. 5 Ambrose, Exp. euang. sec. Lucam II 90, V 57, V 62, VIII 49, CChr.SL 14, 72, 154-5, 156-7, 315-6.

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II 90

Quae est iustitia nisi misericordia? D i s p e r s i t e n i m , d e d i t p a u p e r i b u s : i u s t i t i a e i u s m a n e t i n a e t e r n u m. V 57 Post hos beati inquit misericordes; iustitiam enim sequitur misericordia. Unde dictum est: D i s p e r s i t e n i m , d e d i t p a u p e r i b u s : i u s t i t i a e i u s m a n e t i n a e t e r n u m. V 62 Ergo temperantia cordis habet animique munditiam, iustitia misericordiam, pacem prudentia, mansuetudinem fortitudo. VIII 49 Alter est ille praestabilior, qui humilitatem diligit, sapientiam quaerit, misericordiam non omittit, bonus scilicet seminator; d i s p e r s i t e n i m , d e d i t p a u p e r i b u s , i u s t i t i a e i u s m a n e t i n a e t e r n u m.

In three instances (II 90, V 57 and VIII 49), Ambrose’s statement is followed by Psalm 111:9a: ‘He scattered, he gave to the needy, his righteousness endures forever and ever’, which seems to give a specific clue to his understanding of justice as mercy. Although the fourth occurrence (V 62) seems to treat the topic from another perspective, i.e. from the viewpoint of classical cardinal virtues, it is, however, still connected with the biblical notion of justice since in a passage that follows shortly after this one, we read: Beati qui esuriunt et sitiunt; qui enim esurit esurienti conpatitur, conpatiendo largitur, largiendo fit iustus, quia i u s t i t i a e i u s m a n e t i n a e t e r n u m.6 ‘Blessed are those who hunger and thirst’ (Matt. 5:6). Those who are hungry themselves feel sorry for others who are hungry. Because they feel pity for them, they give to them. In giving to them, they become just because: ‘His justice remains for ever’. (Ps. 111:9)

Even though Ambrose adds immediately that this is also true in spiritual things, nevertheless, it is evident that in his view the person becomes just when giving away to others from what he has himself. So justice is apparently connected with generosity and mercy towards others as expressed by Ps. 111:9 which occurs some 13 times throughout Ambrose’s works dating back ca. from the years 379 to 395 AD.7 Another example of the kind is provided by the following citation from Ambrose’s Commentary on Psalm CXVIII: M i s e r i c o r d i a q u i d e m i u s t i t i a e p o r t i o e s t, ut si uelis donare pauperibus, haec misericordia iustitia est secundum illud: ‘d i s p e r s i t , d e d i t p a u p e r i b u s , i u s t i t i a e i u s m a n e t i n a e t e r n u m’ (Ps. 111:9), deinde quia conformis tuus iniustum est ut non adiuuetur a socio, cum praesertim dominus deus noster terram hanc possessionem omnium hominum uoluerit esse communem et fructus omnium ministrare; sed auaritia possessionum iura distribuit: iustum est igitur ut, si tibi aliquid priuatum uindicas, quod generi humano, immo omnibus animantibus in commune conlatum est, saltem 6

Ambrose, Exp. euang. sec. Lucam V 65, CChr.SL 14, 157; English translation 138. De excessu fratris Satyri I 60 (1×); Exp. psalmi CXVIII 8.22.163 (1×); Exp. euangelii sec. Lucam II 90(2), V 57, V 65, VIII 49 (5×); De Nabuthae 7.36 (1×); De officiis I 25.118, II 2.6(2) (3×); Explanatio psalmorum XII 37.24.3 (1×); De obitu Theodosii 26 (1×). 7

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aliquid inde pauperibus aspergas, ut, quibus iuris tui consortium debes, his alimenta non deneges.8

Here it becomes clear that for Ambrose the fruits of the earth should be put at the service of all humankind and, consequently, all should take part in them. That is why the obligation of the richer ones is to share their wealth with the needy. Such men can be called just in the biblical sense as declared by Ps. 111:9. Therefore, in my attempt to clarify Ambrose’s understanding of this aspect of biblical justice I will start precisely by analysing the meaning of this Psalm.

The meaning of justice in Ps. 111:9 It is a wisdom Psalm that describes the way how man can become blessed: He scattered, he gave to the needy, his r i g h t e o u s n e s s endures forever and ever, his horn will be exalted in honor. Dispersit dedit pauperibus i u s t i t i a eius manet in saeculum saeculi cornu eius exaltabitur in gloria. ἐσκόρπισεν ἔδωκεν τοῖς πένησιν ἡ δ ι κ α ι ο σ ύ ν η αὐτοῦ μένει εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα τοῦ αἰῶνος τὸ κέρας αὐτοῦ ὑψωθήσεται ἐν δόξῃ.

In line with the traditional theme of distributive and retributive justice9 it is emphasised that moral choice made in harmony with God’s plan is the condition for the attainment of blessedness (see Ps. 32:12, 64:5, 93:12). Furthermore, in Ps. 111:4 three characteristics of a blessed man are mentioned, out of which the first two imitate God’s character described in the previous Psalm:10 ‘He is merciful and compassionate and righteous’ (Ps. 111:4; see 110:4) God is the guarantor of the order in the world and protects the just. In verse 9, the activity of the just is, subsequently, described by three images that altogether express his beneficence and, at the same time, the duration of this state. This beneficence is expressed by the verbs ‘he scattered, he gave to the needy’. The first verb is rendered into Greek by σκορπίζω that means to scatter, disperse or sow the seeds. The last possible translation (to sow) reminds us of the activity of a 8

Ambrose, Exp. Ps. CXVIII 8.22, CSEL 62, ed. M. Petschenig (Wien, 1913), 163. A similar topic is treated also in Ps. 1 where the ways of the good and ungodly is described, as well as the reward for the former and the punishment for the latter. See Sigmund Mowinckel, The Psalms in Israel’s Worship, vol. II (New York, 1962), 112. 10 While Ps. 111 refers to man and describes the way of his attaining blessedness, Ps. 110 is a hymn of praise to Yahweh for his great works in nature and in history. In verse 3 justice defines God’s work. It is not therefore an independent value but a quality which guarantees the keeping of an established order in God’s work. The words in Ps. 110:3b (‘his righteousness endures forever and ever’) thus refer to God whereas in Ps. 111:9a they point to a man. See also Psalms III (101150), Mitchell Dahood (trans., intro. and notes), Anchor Bible (New York, 1970), 127. 9

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sower and, thus, emphasises extraordinary generosity of the one who gives to those in need. The distribution of one’s goods (Prov. 11:24) and generosity towards the needy are perceived as virtues of man who fears God (see verses 4b-5a). In conformity with the traditional teaching of wisdom literature one can also observe the link between man’s deeds (see verse 9a) and his/her destiny (see verse 9b), as well as the difference between the godly and the wicked (see verse 10). The fact that Ambrose’s usage of this biblical verse is in line with the aforementioned interpretation can be also manifested in the last example from his Commentary on Luke’s Gospel VIII 49 indicated in the previous section where the just man is called bonus seminator (i.e., the good sower) who distributes from his own riches to the poor. By doing so, he imitates the goodness of the Lord who is the source of all man’s blessing. So according to this Psalm, the imitation of God is not only a task for an individual but also for all humankind to become his image.11 However, Psalm 111 is not an attempt to solve the apparent injustice in the world by putting off the problem for the future, it is rather a positive way how to express the consequences of benediction which will persist even in the future. Justice (ṣedeq) and mercy (ḥesed) in the OT The two main biblical terms for justice or righteousness are ṣedeq and ṣedāqāh. They refer both to divine and human justice, as well as to ‘the works of justice’ (see e.g. Ex. 9:27; Prov. 10:25; Ps. 17:21-5).12 These terms are concerned with the normal order within the society and are less associated with personal virtues, and as such they are primarily the concern of the king and judge. The concept of ṣedeq has a parallel in the Egyptian word maat that expresses the order established by god and subsequently implemented into the world in which the terms truth and justice are also comprised. Similarly to ṣedeq, the concept of maat is connected with royal ideology. For instance, in Ps. 88:15 justice (ṣedeq) holds the throne of the Lord, i.e. keeps his royal position in a similar way as in Egypt where maat was the foundation of the throne of the pharaohs. The task of every king was then to keep this divine order.13 Unlike the Egyptian pharaohs, the biblical God does not need to render an account to the divine order being himself the origin of it.14 11

See Raymond C. Van Leeuwen, ‘Form Criticism, Wisdom, and Psalms 111-112’, in M.A. Sweeney and E. Ben Zvi (eds), Changing Face of Form Criticism for the Twenty-first Century (Grand Rapids, 2003), 77. 12 On the topic see e.g. G. Johannes Botterweck, Helmer Ringgren and Heinz-Josef Fabry (eds), Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament (TDOT), vol. XII (Cambridge, 2003), 239-63. 13 See Marvin E. Tate, ‘Psalms 51-100’, in Word Biblical Commentary (Dallas, 1990), 422. 14 See Jozef Tiňo, ‘Commentary on Psalm 89’, in B. Hroboň, Komentáre k Starému zákonu: Žalmy 76-100 (Commentaries on the Old Testament: Psalms 76-100) (Trnava, 2018), 401.

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Many scholars today understand the notion of ṣedeq as a synonym to deliverance and underscore its character as a positive salvific activity. In addition, Von Rad emphasises that ṣedeq should be understood rather as a gift than as punishment.15 Godʼs beneficent and saving intervention is thus more an expression of his righteousness than its opposite, and the notion of chastising divine righteousness can be viewed at most as a secondary effect directed against those who would hinder such divine intervention.16 In the OT, the term ṣedeq often appears together with other related terms, such as judgment (mišpāṭ), mercy (ḥesed), truth (’emet), peace (šālôm), etc. The Hebrew term for righteousness (ṣedeq) is often paired with mišpāṭ that means judgment. This collocation is quite frequent and the relationship between the two terms is well manifested by such texts as Ps. 88:15 or 93:15 where the psalmist expresses the hope that the ʻjustice turns into judgmentʼ. While the Hebrew term mišpāṭ has the meaning of a legal decision or a lawsuit, ṣedeq characterises it as right and good. Moreover, in several places ṣedeq is related with ḥesed17 (Ps. 84:11; see 88:15; Hos. 2:21) as can be seen in the following example: Mercy and truth met; righteousness and peace kissed. (Ps. 84:11) Misericordia et ueritas obuiauerunt sibi : iustitia et pax osculatae sunt. ἔ λ ε ο ς καὶ ἀ λ ή θ ε ι α συνήντησαν δ ι κ α ι ο σ ύ ν η καὶ ε ἰ ρ ή ν η κατεφίλησαν.

In several places of the Bible, all four substantives from verse 11 appear together. Modern exegetes usually interpret them as personified divine attributes that accompany the coming of God and his salvation into the world.18 The words of the Psalm, however, raise the question whether also here all these attributes refer to God. Since the relationship between God and Israel presents the context of the whole Psalm, we might suppose that the first expressions of the two pairs (mercy and justice) are attributes of the Lord, whereas the two other terms (truth and peace) are the characteristics describing the country and its inhabitants.19 Justice can be then interpreted as deliverance and salvation coming from the Lord. Consequently, righteous action results in social stability and ultimately in peace: ‘And the works of righteousness will be peace’ (Isa. 32:17; Hos. 10:12). 15

See Gerhard von Rad, Old Testament Theology, vol. I (1962-1965), 377. See TDOT, vol. XII, 243-4. 17 See Katharine D. Sakenfeld, The Meaning of Hesed in the Hebrew Bible: A New Inquiry, HSM 17 (1978), note 93. 18 Ps. 39:11-2; see e.g. Psalms II (51-100), Mitchell Dahood (trans., intro. and notes), Anchor Bible (New York, 1968), 289; M.E. Tate, ‘Psalms 51-100’ (1990), 371. 19 Such interpretation becomes more evident when we put this verse in connection with the following verse 12: ‘Truth sprouted from the ground, and righteousness peered down from the sky’. See John Goldingay, Psalms, vol. 2: Psalms 42-89, Baker Commentary on the Old Testament Wisdom and Psalms (Grand Rapids, 2007), 612-3. 16

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While ṣedeq together with ḥesed emphasise generosity, šālôm expresses harmony. In fact, God is both the origin and guarantor of all righteousness. On the other hand, the man can be just or righteous only in and through God (see Isa. 45:25). From several texts of the Old Testament it results that God’s ḥesed and ṣedāqāh are beneficent (see e.g. Ps. 32:5, 35:11; Hos. 10:12) and thus should be pursued (Prov. 21:21). These terms are used both with reference to God (Ps. 144:17) and to people (Ps. 37:25-6; Isa. 57:1). This dynamics of ṣedāqāh can already be illustrated in Deut. 6:25 where it is connected with performing all God’s commandments: ‘If we are watchful to perform all these commandments before the Lord our God, as he has commanded us, there will also be mercy for us.’ Here Pietersma renders the Hebrew term ṣedāqāh, translated into Greek as ἐλεημοσύνη and into Latin as misericors by the expression ‘mercy’, whereas the English Standard Version of the Bible has ‘righteousness’ in this place. In fact, both the meanings are interconnected and express the same reality of God’s mercy in relation to his justice, and as such, should be also imitated by men. A similar example is provided by Ps. 32:5 where we read: He loves m e r c y20 (ṣedāqāh) and j u s t i c e (mišpāṭ); the earth is full of the mercy of the Lord. diligit m i s e r i c o r d i a m et i u d i c i u m misericordia Domini plena est terra. ἀγαπᾷ ἐ λ ε η μ ο σ ύ ν η ν καὶ κ ρ ί σ ι ν τοῦ ἐλέους κυρίου πλήρης ἡ γῆ.

In this verse we can observe that although the Greek translators of LXX did not generally hesitate to translate Hebrew terms literally, in this context they found it problematic to render ṣedāqāh as an expression of salvific and beneficent righteousness by the term δικαιοσύνη, which was usually not used in Hellenistic Greek with such a meaning. While the stem ṣdq as a relational term describes the relationship between two parties, the Greek δικαιοσύνη as one of the four cardinal virtues expresses a human habitus.21 Therefore, in some passages the Greek translators render Hebrew ṣedeq / ṣedāqāh by other Greek terms. For example, when the text focuses on blessing and righteousness that the innocent person will receive from God, the LXX uses the term ἐλεημοσύνη, i.e. kindly disposition, compassion, or an act of charity, referring both to God (Ps. 102:6) and to humans (Sir. 29:8),22 instead of δικαιοσύνη (see e.g. Ps. 23:5, 102:6). In this context, the acts of charity are usually associated with the poor and oppressed who can legitimately claim their right to be ‘justified’. Then ṣedeq can also mean ‘deliver’ or ‘help’ (see e.g. Ps. 81:3).23 20 Here again, the New Standard Version of the Bible has the term righteousness rendering ṣedāqāh as in Deut. 6:25. 21 See TDOT, vol. XII, 262. 22 See Takamitsu Muraoka, A Greek-English Lexicon of the Septuagint (Leuven, 2009), 223. 23 See TDOT, vol XII, 250.

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Conveying this meaning, the Greek ἐλεημοσύνη is translated into Latin by the calque elemosyna which appears only some 19 times in the OT of the Vulgate, precisely in the Books of Tobit, Sirach and Daniel. Otherwise, it is usually translated by misericordia or iustitia. So when Ambrose cites the three above-mentioned books in Latin, he most probably uses the same word as the old Latin versions did. This can also elucidate the fact that throughout his writings the expression elemosyna is used only very sparsely as the following example shows: ʻElemosyna enim morte liberat, patientia uero perfectae est caritatis.ʼ24

Ṣedāqāh as charity in the Rabbinic literature In the Bible, ‘justice’ is so consistently paired with ‘mercy’ or ‘grace’ (see Ps. 102:17) that by Talmudic times and even later the term ṣedāqāh has come to mean almost exclusively ‘charity’ or ‘works of love’.25 Throughout the literature, such values as truth, trust, integrity, peace and redemption are usually associated with justice as its components or products (Hos. 12:7). Therefore, we may say that in the notion of justice the entire spectrum of ethical values is comprised.26 In some biblical passages, the understanding of ṣedāqāh as alms may have exercised some influence. The word ṣedāqāh literally means ‘righteousness’ or ‘justice’, so by their choice of the term the Rabbis reveal their attitude towards the subject. Indeed, they do not see charity as a favour to the poor but rather as something to which they have a right, whereas for the giver it is an obligation. In this regard, the Rabbis teach: ‘The poor man does more for the master of the house [in accepting alms] than the latter does for him [by giving him the charity]’27 for he gives the householder the opportunity to perform a miṣwah (commandment). In fact, this attitude stems from the awareness that all men’s possessions belong to God and that poverty and riches are both in His hand. In the teaching of Rabbinic Judaism, the world rests upon three pillars: Torah, charity and prayer (Avot 1:2). Giving alms does not impoverish the person but not giving it equals to idolatry. In this view, charity is understood 24

Ambrose, Exp. euang. sec. Lucam V 60, CChr.SL 14, 155; see Tob. 12:9: quoniam elemosyna a morte liberat et ipsa est quae purgat peccata et faciet invenire vitam aeternam. With regard to elemosyna the same biblical verse is also cited in Ambrose’s Expositio psalmi CXVIII, CSEL 62, 176. 25 See TDOT, G. Johannes Botterweck and Helmer Ringgren (eds), vol. V (Cambridge, 1986), 44-63. 26 See ‘justice’, in Encyclopaedia Judaica, vol. 10 (Jerusalem, 1972), 476. 27 Leviticus Rabbah 34.8, in Midrash Rabbah (London, 1983), 435.

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as an act of devotion and as a complement to prayer or religious service. As such, the wise gives charity just before praying: ʻBut as for me, I shall appear to your face in r i g h t e o u s n e s s (ṣedeq / δικαιοσύνῃ / iustitia)ʼ (Ps. 16:15). So according to this verse, one becomes just by giving alms, which consequently allows him to bring his offerings to the Lord. In another text we read: ʻTo d o r i g h t and to b e t r u t h f u l is more pleasing with God than blood of sacrificesʼ (Prov. 21:3). Here the Latin translation has misericordia et iudicium, which suggests that in this respect the two concepts of mercy and justice are intertwined. Since ṣedāqāh is considered a biblical commandment, the Rabbis found necessary to define it in detail: e.g., who is obligated to give, who is eligible to receive, or how much should be given and in which manner, etc.28 In addition, a similar idea is also reflected in Ambroseʼs Commentary on Lukeʼs Gospel where the bishop of Milan states that in sharing oneʼs means with others the higher contribution is made by the poor who accept charity than by those who give it: Vae uobis diuitibus, qui habetis consolationem uestram! Licet in pecuniariis copiis multa sint lenocinia delictorum, pleraque tamen sunt etiam incentiua uirtutum. quamquam uirtus subsidia non requirat et conmendatior sit conlatio pauperis quam diuitis liberalitas, tamen non eos qui habeant diuitias, sed eos qui uti his nesciant sententiae caelestis auctoritate condemnat.29 ‘Alas for you who are rich, for you have your consolation’ (Lk. 6:24). While agreeing that very rich people have many temptations to evil, one can also find – in the possession of wealth – an invitation to virtue. Undoubtedly virtue does not need the resources of the rich, and the contribution made by the poor is more worthy of praise than the liberality of the rich. At the same time, the people whom the Lord here condemns by His divine sentence are not those who have money, but those who do not know how to employ their money.

With most probability Ambrose was aware of this biblical concept of ṣedeq and ṣedāqāh, no matter whether it was his own intuition based on the profound reading of the Bible, or whether he could learn about this dimension of biblical justice from the Rabbis or, eventually, from other Christian or even non-Christian authors,30 the works of whom could have transmitted this knowledge to him. In any case, when he is dealing with Christian charity in his later works, he usually associates it with the biblical concept of mercy and justice.

28 See ‘Charity’, in Jacob Neusner, Alan J. Avery-Peck and William Scott Green (eds), Encyclopaedia of Judaism (New York, 1999), 336. 29 Ambrose, Exp. euang. sec. Lucam V.69, CChr.SL 14, 158; English translation 139. 30 Especially such authors as Origen or Philo of Alexandria could have had significant influence on Ambrose’s thinking in relation to the biblical concept of justice and mercy. But in this state of research we cannot provide sufficient evidence for it.

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Misericordia et iustitia in Ambrose’s De officiis In Book I of his De officiis Ambrose introduces the category of media officia, i.e. middle or ordinary31 duties which provide everyday people with the opportunities to act honorably. Here, instead of promoting the Stoic idea that the good is an ideal unattainable by most people,32 the bishop of Milan adopts Cicero’s division of duty into the perfect and the easier to reach the middle.33 However, he does not satisfy himself with treating merely classical authors, such as Pythagoras,34 but searches for the origins of this concept in the Scriptures: Officium autem omne aut medium aut perfectum est, quod aeque Scripturarum auctoritate probare possumus.35 Every duty is either ‘middle’ or ‘perfect’. We can prove this just as readily from the authority of the Scriptures.

Middle duties, thus, refer to the fulfilment of the commandments (see Matt. 19:17-9) whereas the perfect ones are related to our care for the needs of others as it is written in the Gospel: ‘If you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven’ (Matt. 19:21). Although Ambrose does not mention explicitly Cicero or any other ancient philosopher in this paragraph, his inclusion of the expression aeque (i.e., equally) suggests that his readers would be probably thinking of a non-biblical proof for such a concept.36 Even though we can find support for these ideas in the classical authors, it is apparent that Ambrose’s aim is to persuade his readers that the primary source of our inspiration in pursuing the duties and the life of virtue is first of all the Holy Scripture. In fact, it teaches us that we can become perfect by imitating our perfect Father by doing the works of mercy.37 So God as the giver of the world order is the only source of our perfection and to preserve this order our works of mercy directed towards the needy38 reflect 31 The Latin expression media officia was rendered into English as ‘ordinary duties’ in De officiis I 11.36. 32 See Ivor Davidson, ‘Introduction’, in Ambrose, De officiis (Oxford, 2001), 1-112. 33 See Cicero, De officiis I 3.8, ed. C. Atzert (Leipzig, 1963), 4: Nam et medium quoddam officium dicitur et perfectum. 34 See Ambrose, De officiis I 10.31, CChr.SL 15, ed. M. Testard (Turnhout, 2000), 110. 35 Ambrose, De officiis I 11.36, CChr.SL 15, 112; English translation I.J. Davidson (Oxford, 2002), 136. 36 See Lydia Herndon, A True Philosopher of Christ: Ambrose of Milan’s Reworking of Cicero’s De Officiis (Hartford, 2018), 47-8. 37 See Ambrose, De officiis I 11.38, CChr.SL 15, 113: Bona etiam misericordia quae et ipsa perfectos facit quia imitatur perfectum Patrem. 38 Ambrose, De officiis I 11.38, CChr.SL 15, 113: Nihil tam commendat christianam animam quam misericordia, primum in pauperes ut communes iudices partus naturae quae omnibus ad usum generat fructus terrarum, ut quod habes largiaris pauperi et consortem et conformem tuum adiuues.

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misericordia of the Lord. Here the Christian vision of mercy and the Stoic belief in the commonality of humanity are put together.39 In his De officiis Cicero repeats the Stoic commonplace regarding the need for all people to help each other. In his treatment of the virtue of justice he tries to find a balance between self-interest and service to others. In his view, man should first search for his own good and then help country and friends as much as possible while having nature as his guide. At the same time common goods (communes utilitates) should be put at everyone’s disposal for the prosperity of the human society.40 In doing this a certain kind of generosity in sharing one’s goods is necessary.41 On the other hand, Ambrose pays much more attention than Cicero to the discussion on the responsibilities that people have towards one another. He argues, that if iustitia is defined in terms of total service to others, then on the other side of the spectrum lies avaritia which works precisely in the opposite direction.42 In this regard Ambrose says: Ad summam nouimus quod pecuniae contemptus iustitiae forma sit, et ideo auaritiam declinare debemus et omni studio intendere ne quid faciamus unquam aduersus iustitiam sed in omnibus gestis et operibus custodiamus eam.43 All in all, we know that contempt for money is an essential expression of justice, and so we ought to avoid greed and make every effort to ensure that we never do anything that is contrary to justice, but seek to preserve it in all our actions and all our works.

Ambrose as a bishop is very sensitive to the needs of his community and is clearly aware of the fact that many wealthy landowners live at the expense of the poor. Therefore, he promotes the idea that if one wants to become perfect, he/she should imitate God in doing justice to others.44 Or, as Herndon states: ‘By advocating for mercy primum in pauperes, Ambrose puts forward a Christian construction of right action.’45 On the other hand, he realises that beneficence and help to the needy should not turn into an act of injustice. That is why he encourages his clergy to whom De officiis is dedicated to apply certain modus

39 For more information on the interfaces between Ambrose’s thinking and ancient philosophy, see e.g. Goulven Madec, Saint Ambroise et la philosophie (Paris, 1974). 40 See Louis J. Swift, ‘Iustitia and Ius Privatum: Ambrose on Private Property’, The American Journal of Philology 100 (1979), 176-87, 180. 41 See Ambrose, De officiis I 16.51, CChr.SL 15, 18. 42 See L.J. Swift, ‘Iustitia and Ius Privatum: Ambrose on Private Property’ (1979), 181-3. 43 Ambrose, De officiis II 27.133, CChr.SL 15, 69; English translation 343. 44 In this regard, we cannot completely agree with Peter Brown’s statement that ‘it was Christian bishops who invented the poor’, Peter Brown, Poverty and Leadership in the Later Roman Empire (Hanover, 2002), 8. This concept is, first and foremost, biblical and the late antique bishops could draw inspiration in articulating their teaching regarding the poor and needy directly from the Old Testament. However, it is true that this concept was foreign to the pre-Christian Roman society. 45 L. Herndon, A True Philosopher of Christ (2018), 48.

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and sobrietas in distributing the goods in order that they are given non pro iactantia sed pro iustitia.46 Moreover, as I have shown earlier in this article, this right action is closely connected with the biblical concept of God’s justice that we should imitate. The fact that these two words misericordia and iustitia are in this regard interchangeable can also be seen in Ambrose’s De officiis where he uses them in similar contexts when dealing with the Christian duty to care for the impoverished who live among them: Hoc maximum incentiuum misericordiae ut compatiamur alienis calamitatibus, necessitates aliorum, quantum possumus, iuuemus, et plus interdum quam possumus. […] Sane si in sua aliquis deriuat emolumenta, crimen est; sin uero p a u p e r i b u s e r o g a t , c a p t i u u m r e d i m i t , misericordia est.47

Ad haec plus ille tibi confert cum sit debitor salutis: si n u d u m u e s t i a s , t e i p s u m induis iustitiam; si peregrinum sub tectum inducas tuum, si susc i p i a s e g e n t e m , ille tibi acquirit sanctorum amicitias et aeterna tabernacula.48

The greatest encouragement to show mercy comes from sharing in others’ misfortunes and endeavouring to bring help to our neighbours when they are going through times of need, helping as much as we can, and sometimes more than we can. […] Naturally, if someone siphons off profits for his own gain, it is a crime; but if he spends them on the poor and ransoms a prisoner, it is an act of mercy.

In return for your help, he confers more upon you than you do upon him, for he owes you his salvation. If you clothe the naked, you put a robe of righteousness on yourself. If you take a stranger under your roof, or if you help somebody in need, such a person brings you the friendship of the saints and the tabernacles that are eternal.

In this context, the terms misericordia and iustitia take on a similar meaning and both refer to the works of Christian charity. Here we can observe an apparent shift from the philosophical tradition presented by Cicero in his De officiis to the christianized modification of this cardinal virtue based, to the utmost degree, on biblical literature. The fact that Ambrose wishes to transform the Roman cardinal virtue of justice into Christian one, can be also demonstrated in the following quotation from his De officiis I where he points out how the lives of our forefathers testify to the practice of these virtues far before they were defined by ancient philosophers.49 46

Ambrose, De officiis II 16.76, CChr.SL 15, 124. For more information on the topic see Giuseppe Pipitone, ‘Il dono e i poveri. La trattazione de beneficiis nel de officiis ministrorum di Ambrogio’, Sacris Erudiri 50 (2011), 133-83, in particular 153. 47 Ambrose, De officiis II 28.136 and 142, CChr.SL 15, 146 and 148-9; English translation 343 and 347. 48 Ambrose, De officiis I 11.39, CChr.SL 15, 14; English translation 139. 49 In his study Swift observes that for instance Seneca as a Stoic philosopher does not define man’s condition in terms of a particular virtue. In fact, he says nothing about iustitia as the

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Primi igitur nostri definierunt prudentiam in ueri consistere cognitione – quis enim illorum ante Abraham, Dauid, Salomonem? – deinde iustitiam spectare ad societatem generis humani; denique Dauid ait: ‘Dispersit, dedit pauperibus, iustitia eius manet in aeternum’; iustus miseretur, iustus commodat.50 So then, our people were the first to specify that prudence consists in the knowledge of the truth. Which of the philosophers lived before Abraham or David or Solomon? They also insisted that justice has to do with looking after the fellowship of the human race. This is what David tells us when he says: ‘He has distributed, he has given to the poor; his righteousness’ – or his justice – ‘endures for ever’.

From all these remarks it results that for the bishop of Milan j u s t i c e becomes a synonym to m e r c y whenever he reflects upon the necessity to imitate God’s love towards humanity by performing charity. Justice begins at the moment when people start thinking about what they owe to others; therefore it always presupposes love and mercy.51 Conclusion As we have seen, the biblical justice is different from the classical philosophic view of this concept. In the latter, iustitia is generally treated in terms of ‘distributive’ and ‘retributive’. Although these characteristics are also comprised in the biblical notion of justice, nonetheless, the Hebrew terms ṣedeq and ṣedāqāh convey a primarily different meaning. They are related to the order that God establishes in the world for the enhancement of human life and society. Justice is then not contrasted with love and mercy, but is rather correlated with it. That is why in several places of the OT it is paired with God’s mercy and is, as the primary concern of king and judge, directed to the help of those in need. Based on the meaning of these biblical words, Ambrose defines justice completely in terms of service to others, which can be seen in several places of his works, especially in his Commentary on Luke’s Gospel and On duties which have been the main focus of this paper. In such contexts, justice is not a weighing of alternatives but rather a full commitment of an individual and his/her resources to the needs of the whole community. This aspect of iustitia in relation to misericordia is very prominent in Ambrose’s thinking and in his description of these two virtues it is hard to distinguish justice from Christian charity. In fact, the examples from Ambrose’s works analysed in this paper show that here the foundation of altruism, nor does he describe what happened to that virtue as a consequence of avarice. See L.J. Swift, ‘Iustitia and Ius Privatum: Ambrose on Private Property’ (1979), 184. 50 Ambrose, De officiis I 25.118, CChr.SL 15, 42-3; English translation 185-7. 51 See Donald DeMarco, The heart of virtue. Lessons from life and literature illustrating the beauty and value of moral character (San Francisco, 1996).

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bishop of Milan connects two basic virtues together, i.e. the Roman cardinal virtue of justice and the biblical notion of misericordia in order to speak of Christian charity which should be directed towards the impoverished. The virtue of justice is, thus, transposed from secular to Christian contexts. Although Cicero also encourages his contemporaries to share their goods with those who are in need, Ambrose goes even further and understands it in accordance with the biblical notion of ṣedeq / ṣedāqāh as a duty since a just man performs the works of mercy by which he fulfils the commandments. The analysis of the biblical terms ṣedeq and ṣedāqāh in connection with Ambrose’s concept of justice and mercy has shown that in promoting Christian charity and the obligation to help the impoverished he draws inspiration, first and foremost, in the Old Testament or, eventually, also in the Rabbinic literature. Although in his De officiis he uses Ciceronian language, at least to a certain degree, his ideas are deeply rooted in biblical literature. However, at this stage of the research we are unable to say with certainty what precisely stood at the origin of his understanding of justice as mercy. Three hypotheses are brought to the fore in conection with it: either Ambrose’s reflection upon the two virtues is based on his own intuition and profound reading of the Bible, or the notion of Hebrew ṣedeq / ṣedāqāh had been transmitted to him through the Rabbis living in his surroundings, or, eventually, through other (non-)Christian texts of his predecessors who could treat this topic in a similar way. The only thing that is clear is that Ambrose’s understanding of justice as mercy goes beyond the classical culture and the collocation iustitia / misericordia from his Commentary on Luke’s Gospel is quite unique within the context of the patristic literature of the late fourth century.

Misericordia in Ambrose’s Virginity Treatises and De viduis Metha HOKKE, Tilburg University, The Netherlands

ABSTRACT In Ambrose’s exhortation to virginity in De virginibus and De virginitate, misericordia refers to God’s merciful salvation of the suffering righteous human being. Virginity and fides (trust in God) are more important virtues than misericordia for the life of the virgin who remains with her birth family. In Ambrose’s dissuasion from remarriage aimed at widows in De viduis however, misericordia is a pivotal virtue referring to the practice of charity. Ambrose loosens the widow from her dependence on family in order to locate her in the midst of the ecclesiastical community as a provider and receiver of charity. In De viduis a first step has been made to legitimize, that the charitable distribution should be extended to the anonymous deprived masses. In this article, ample attention is given to the economic terms Ambrose uses to qualify the quid pro quo principle behind the triad relationship of Christian misericordia involving the Christian, God and the fellow human being. Ambrose’s use of misericordia can be explained against the background of faith and justice: having faith in God’s justice, and mercy, virtuous actions will eventually be rewarded.

Introduction Aristotle’s analysis of how an orator could evoke the emotion of eleos in his audience (Rhetorica 2.8) is still relevant for human nature today with regard to the following two aspects. Firstly, one feels more pain at the sight of someone’s adversity (eleos) when this misfortune might befall oneself or one’s nearest and dearest. The more the person pitied resembles oneself, the more commiseration one has. Secondly, pity is aroused when the agony suffered is undeserved. This correspondence between merits and one’s condition refers to justice. Van der Horst characterizes the Greco-Roman classical attitude towards the poor as at best indifferent. At worst, one’s poverty was considered to be one’s own fault. A Greco-Roman benefactor was driven by feelings of compassion towards family and friends, desire for acquiring public honour or the expectation of reciprocity. The gods did not love the poor.1 In the Old Testament God appears as a protector 1 Pieter W. van der Horst, ‘Organized Charity in the Ancient World: Pagan, Jewish, Christian’, in Yair Furstenberg (ed.), Jewish and Christian Communal Identities in the Roman

Studia Patristica CXIII, 53-68. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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and rescuer of the poor and caring for one’s poor fellow human being is considered as a duty and a virtue. Christian charity would be rooted in the postbiblical Jewish conception of justice (tsedaqah) as charity: giving is the rich’s duty, receiving the poor’s right.2 Van der Horst does not grasp that here a new reciprocal exchange has come into existence between the giving JudeoChristian benefactor, God and the receiving fellow human being.3 Anderson elaborates on this charity relationship in Tobit and Ben Sira (second century BCE).4 He provides an etymological development from the Greek term eleos to the Latin elemosina for almsgiving.5 Ambrose’s use of misericordia is only partly equivalent with elemosina. Pétré’s following observations, made more than eighty years ago, are valuable to this article. Cicero might have translated eleos by misericordia, it is within Christianity that this classical emotion of compassion was taken from its rhetorical or philosophical context to refer to Christian action.6 Pétré differentiated between divine and human misericordia, a distinction which turned out to be fundamental for the study of Ambrose’s use of misericordia in his virginity treatises. God’s misericordia towards the human being refers to his leniency, his forgiveness. Human misericordia has become an activity too: charity to one’s destitute fellow human being.7 Pétré’s approach differs from the Ambrosian treatises studied in firstly its starting point of a penitent human being and secondly human misericordia as derived from God’s.8 Anderson rejects this model of ‘Deuteronomic retribution theology’ for his analysis of charity.9 Ambrose’s view of human beings in the treatises studied bears more resemblance to Anderson’s wronged righteous than to Pétré’s penitent human being. The main focus of this article will be on how God and the human being interact within the range of misericordia in Ambrose’s virginity treatises. Does World, Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity 94 (Leiden, 2016), 116-33, 116-9; 120, 132 (indifferent). 2 Ibid. 120-2. 3 Ibid. 127: ‘That the Jewish ethos of non-reciprocity was shared by Jesus and his followers is clear from several passages in the New Testament’. Luke 14:12-4 is adduced, though here a heavenly reward is promised to those who do charity towards the disadvantaged they are not acquainted with. 4 Gary A. Anderson, Charity: The Place of the Poor in the Biblical Tradition (New Haven, 2013), 18. Anderson’s book systemized my earlier observations. I thank Brian Dunkle for drawing my attention to this book. 5 G.A. Anderson, Charity (2013), 42: Greek word eleemosune for almsgiving in Greek texts of Jewish and Christian origin is based on eleos (mercy), with its Latin equivalent elemosina. 6 Hélène Pétré, ‘Misericordia: histoire du mot et de l’idée du paganisme au christianisme’, Revue des Études latines 12 (1934), 376-89, 376-8, 387-8. 7 H. Pétré, ‘Misericordia’ (1934), 380 (God), 382 (human being), 388 (both). 8 H. Pétré, ‘Misericordia’ (1934), 379: Exod. 34:6; Luke 6:36; Matt. 5:7 are not used in Ambrose’s virginity treatises; ibid. 380: ‘Le thème de la miséricorde divine y est étroitement associé à celui de la pénitence chrétienne’. 9 G.A. Anderson, Charity (2013), 83, 108.

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the meaning of misericordia in De viduis (Vid.) (378) differ from that in the virginity treatises in the strict sense: De virginibus (Virg.) (377), De virginitate (Vrgt.) (around 380); De institutione virginis (Inst.) (393) and Exhortatio virginitatis (Exh.) (394)?10 If so, why would this be when for Ambrose widows and virgins both belong to groups in need of protection,11 and his exhortation to both groups to abstain from marriage resembles? Is the human being able to influence God’s misericordia? Does the human being gain from misericordia to his or her fellow human being? How are faith and justice related to misericordia? God’s misericordia will be the topic of the first part of this article. In the first section of this part (1.a), Ambrose’s interpretation of God’s misericordia in the parent – child relationship expressed in Old Testament narrative will be considered in the context of the bishop’s opposition to his exhortation of virginity and his rejection of the parents’ marrying off their consecrated virgin daughter. The text discussed is Vrgt. 1.1-5.25.12 The second section of part 1 (1.b) will be concerned with the working of God’s misericordia with regard to an individual virginal martyr in Virg. 2.4.22-2.5.38. The second part of the article will discuss the inter-human charity in De viduis. Here, misericordia is mentioned more frequently than in any other virginity treatise.13 In order to prevent widows from remarriage, Ambrose creates a selfdefinition for the widow as an independent person based on heroic mainly Old Testament widows. This perception by widows does not preclude their taking actively part in social relations and having societal functions. The widow is the centre of misericordia both as recipient and provider of charity. The third and last part of the article contains reflections on the background of Ambrose’s treatment of misericordia with regard to justice and fides (faith, trust). Basically, the human being’s expectation to be rewarded for a virtuous life depends on his or her trust in God’s justice.14 This quid pro quo thinking dominates the virginity treatises, especially Vid. But, God transcends the human sense of justice.

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Franco Gori (ed.), Sant’Ambrogio: Opere morali 2: Verginità e Vedovanza, Sancti Ambrosii Episcopi Mediolanensis Opera [= SAEMO] 14.1, 14,2 (Milan, 1989). 11 Vrgt. 3.12 (Isa. 1:17; Ps. 67:6); 20.131. Vid. 2.13 (Isa. 1:17; Pss. 145:9; 131:15); 9.57 (Isa. 1:17). 12 The passage 3.14-5.24a will not be taken into consideration here. It is inserted later in our passage because of its association with crying – doubt we will discuss in this article. The inserted section is discussed in Metha Hokke, ‘Community in Transition: Ambrose’s De Virginitate as Testimony of a Hierarchical Reversal between Virgins and Bishop’, in Robert Grant and Ethan Gannaway (eds), Ambrose of Milan: Reconstructing Community in Late Classical Milan (forthcoming). 13 Number of times misericordia: Virg.:4; Vrgt.:3; Inst.:4; Exh.:2  Vid.:11. 14 G.A. Anderson, Charity (2013), 50, 84, 105-6, 110. H. Pétré, ‘Misericordia’ (1934), 386-7: Ambrose links Christian charity to the stoic virtue of justice, e.g. Ambr. In Ps.118 8.22: misericordia quidem iustitiae portio est, ut si velis donare pauperibus, haec misericordia iustitia est…

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1.a) Vrgt. 1.1-5.25: Parents - children At the beginning of Vrgt., Ambrose discusses three Old Testament narratives: Solomon’s judgment (1.1-1.3), and two cases of filicide: Jephthah and his daughter, and Abraham and Isaac (1.4-2.9).15 In the first narrative about Solomon’s judgment, misericordia with regard to the child about to be killed is related to maternal love (maternus affectus). The mother prefers losing the child to a fake mother over its death. Ambrose allegorizes the two mothers who claim motherhood of the one child, as faith and temptation and the event as the discernment of truth from delusion.16 The relationship between human fides and God’s misericordia will be crucial in Ambrose’s comparison of the following two filicide narratives. The problem raised is why God intervened at Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac, providing a vicarious sacrificial lamb, but did not so in the case of Jephthah.17 One explanation is that as we should learn from the biblical examples, so Jephthah should have learned from Abraham’s example that God does not want human sacrifices. He should have trusted in God. Ambrose acknowledges Jephthah’s moral dilemma: either he sins by breaking his promise to God and does not sacrifice his daughter or he disregards God’s aversion to human sacrifices and his daughter’s reluctance to be sacrificed. God would have told Abraham that the relation to Him (religio) is more important than the well-being of one’s children. Yet, ‘children (filii) must be offered to God by parents, but must not be strangulated’.18 Another line of inquiry follows the question whether God is a respecter of persons, that is does he prefer Abraham to Jephthah? Ambrose denies this: God’s judgment is based on merits and virtues. And so, maybe (fortasse), one could conclude from a different outcome, different merits.19 Ambrose focusses on the reactions of the father and the child when they realize that a filicide is about to happen. Jephthah mourns for the forthcoming death of his daughter he has inflicted upon himself by his promise to God. The daughter cries, yet accepts being the victim of her father’s promise out of loyalty to him (pietas). She asks for a delay of the execution. 15

1Kgs. 3:16-28; Judg. 11:31, 34-40; Gen. 22:1-14. Vrgt. 1.1-3. 1.3: fides  temptatio; veritas  mendacium. 17 Vrgt. 2.8. The passage about Jephthah and Abraham: 1.4-3.10. Vrgt. 16.100: woman healed from her hemorrhages by her trust (fides) in Christ (Luke 8:43-8). 18 Vrgt. 2.6-8. 2.7: offerri a parentibus deo debere filios, non debere iugulari. 19 Vrgt. 2.9: Aut fortasse quia non una forma meritorum, ideo non una forma factorum. Ambrose’s argument does not mention the different starting points of the filicide narratives: Jephthah’s quid pro quo relation with God and God testing Abraham. God’s preference (anteferre/ praeferre) for the widow of Zarephath (Luke 4:25-6) is explained as exemplary for provoking virtue (Vid. 1.3-4; 3.14). God also prefers the poor widow who contributed out of her poverty (Luke 21:3-4; Vid. 5.27,29,31; Exh. 14.93). In both cases virtuous behaviour precedes God’s preference. Exh. 1.3: Christ nulli plus dedit, verum utrisque aequali mensura divisit. 16

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Their attitude testifies of doubt about God’s compassion.20 How different is Abraham’s reaction to God’s order to sacrifice his child! He obeys God’s command immediately and little Isaac follows uncrying, without hesitation or delay. While in Vrgt. 1.1 the mother’s love for her child is called misericordia, Abraham’s ignoring his paternal love (parentis affectus) is considered praiseworthy. Ambrose concludes that the more one trusts in God (fides), the more merciful (misericordia) He will be.21 He reproaches his audience for accepting Jephthah’s sacrifice of his daughter, while it opposes a father sacrificing his daughter in perpetual virginity. Apart from an exhortation to this paternal sacrifice, Ambrose addresses fathers of consecrated virgins in order to prevent them from marrying these daughters off into a worldly marriage.22 In order to counter criticism from these both groups, I think Ambrose not only opposes Jephthah’s filicide to Abraham’s, but he also seeks an identification of the Christian fathers with Abraham and Jephthah. Their ‘filicide’ unto virginity, without taking into account the wish of the daughter to be sacrificed,23 is encouraged, as it does not mean strangulation. The sacrifice of a virgin in consecration by her father might be compared to Abraham sacrificing Isaac, while the prohibition of a father’s annulling of the consecration of his daughter in order to marry her off bears an analogy to Jephthah’s obligation to fulfil his vow. Ambrose’s exhortation to virginity in general has become such a divisive issue between him and a considerable part of his community that he expresses his position as if he stands trial.24 The dispersion and defence of virginity, considered as his episcopal duty by Ambrose, is challenged.25 1.b) God - individual In Virg. 2.4.22-2.5.38 Ambrose tells about an exemplary Antiochian virgin who is faced with a choice by her prosecutors: either she rejects Christ or she loses her virginity in a brothel. She chooses the brothel, because losing one’s physical virginity is preferred to losing one’s spiritual virginity or renouncing the initiator of virginity, Christ. Her great example is Judith who put her devotion 20 Vrgt. 2.9: Pater doluit, flevit filia: uterque de dei miseratione dubitavit. Miseratio: Virg. 2.4.30; Vrgt. 2.9 + de dei miseratione ambiguus. The daughter’s pietas: Vrgt. 2.5. See Virg. 1.7.34: (Isaac) victima paternae pietatis. 21 Vrgt. 2.9: Et ideo misericordia largior ubi fides promptior. 22 Vrgt. 3.10-1; 5.26. 23 Vrgt. 2.9b-10. The daughter dedicated to virginity by the father fulfils his promise ‘neither by inherited duty nor by her own will’ (nec hereditario munere nec propria voluntate). But: 5.26: Quibus licet sponsum eligere, non licet deum praeferre? The virgin who wanted to be consecrated against the wish of her family in Virg. 1.11.65 adduces her own argument: her family could never find a husband superior to Christ. 24 Vrgt. 3.12-3; 5.24-5. 25 Vrgt. 3.13b; 5.26.

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to God (religio) before her chastity.26 From the brothel she prays God to prevent her loss of virginity. She reminds God of his misericordia expressed in His rescuing acts in the past, such as leading the Israelites (‘Jews’) through the Red Sea (Exod. 14:21). More relevant is God’s protection of his temple against the contamination of his temple’s gifts by king Jeroboam (1Kgs. 13:4). Now the temple of her virginal body is under threat of sacrilege, God should come to her rescue.27 God’s punishment of the shrivelling of Jeroboam’s right hand after his sinful behaviour is undone by God’s misericordia following Jeroboam’s repentance.28 The virgin’s trust in God results in her being rescued by a Christian soldier.29 Of the virgin and the soldier is said that they were dissimilar in nature, but resembled in how they were rewarded by God’s compassion: both suffer a desired virginal martyr’s death.30 The vicarious sacrifice of the soldier’s life on behalf of the virgin is favourably compared to that of a Pythagorean friend for his friend. Ambrose’s comparison of the Christian act of misericordia with the pagan one gives an indication of the Christian view on this virtue. One of the differences is that the friends knew each other, while the soldier and the virgin did not. While the two Pythagoreans were male, one of the Christian duo was a female virgin, ‘who first had to overcome her gender’. For the Pythagorean friends the virtue of friendship between men was pivotal. The Christians’ motive was God.31 When Ambrose discusses misericordia in Virg. and Vrgt., he refers to God’s mercy to deserving human beneficiaries. The other meaning of misericordia, charity, is incidentally mentioned with respect to virgins. Marcellina shares her poverty with the poor. A virginal community in Bologna dispenses its income to those in need.32 Both the elderly33 virgin Marcellina and the virginal community are atypical for the ideal virgin Ambrose has in mind: young, under parental authority and living at home. In the virginity treatises in the strict sense, misericordia as charity appears for the first time in Inst. A catalogue of virginal virtues in the virginal consecration prayer is concluded with: ‘Loyalty to one’s nearest, charity to the destitute and poor’, a leap from the virgin’s small familiar circle to the large anonymous masses of the disadvantaged.34 Misericordia is 26

Virg. 2.4.24. Virg. 2.4.27. 28 Virg. 2.5.38: God’s indignatio  misericordia. 29 Virg. 2.4.28 : O virgo, fides tua te salvam fecit. 30 Virg. 2.4.30: miles et virgo, … dissimiles inter se natura, sed dei miseratione consimiles. 2.4.33: martyrdom. 31 Virg. 2.5.34-5. (35): Nam illic ambo viri, hic una virgo, quae primo etiam sexum vinceret. Illi amici, isti incogniti … illis studii sui finis amicitiae gratia … illi enim certarunt hominibus, isti deo. 32 Virg. 1.9.54; 1.9.60. Misericordia is not explicitly mentioned here. 33 Virg. 3.4.16: Marcellina is addressed as virgo veterana. 34 Inst. 17.112: pietas … propinquos, circa egenos et inopes misericordia. 27

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mentioned as the virtue indicating the virgin’s being appropriated by Christ.35 The closure by virginity is accompanied by not only an opening of ears and minds, but also hands to the poor.36 The widows, not the virgins, are characterized as the providers and beneficiaries of inter-human misericordia. Part Two: Misericordia as Charity: De viduis In order to prevent widows from remarrying, Ambrose creates an image of the widow as an independent woman with specific, necessary functions for her community. Ambrose undermines the widows’ argument in favour of remarriage, that as the ‘weaker sex’ they could not do without the support of a husband. He adduces the examples of Judith and Deborah, considered widow by him.37 They triumphed over hostile men and rescued their own men by their virtue. Ambrose does not exhort widows to imitate Judith and Deborah in political activism, but provides interpretation in other directions. Judith remained widow all her life and valued her triumph over ‘the sins of her body’ (vitia corporis) as superior to her victory over the enemy army.38 Her ascetic way of life as widow is dedicated to her other husband, Christ.39 Deborah’s achievements have been described so that widows cannot escape the practice of virtue by the argument that they would be the weaker sex, in need of a husband’s support.40 The widow’s strength is not so much her bodily chastity, but the practice of virtue.41 Ambrose downplays the parental duty when he treats the widow’s assimilated community functions in 1Tim. 5:10, and highlights the coinciding duties of provision of hospitality, the ministry of mercy (misericordia) and the reinforcement of generosity (liberalitas).42 Thus, he breaks the widow loose from the traditional family structure and places her in the heart of the ecclesiastical charity system. According to Vrgt .2.7 God would have told Abraham that his 35

Inst. 16.102. Inst. 9.58. 37 Vid. 7.37-42: Judith; 8.43-51: Deborah. 7.37: sexus infirmitas; 9.44: ne mulieres a virtutis officio muliebris sexus infirmitate revocentur; 8.51: ad infirmitatem sexus; see Virg. 2.5.35: virgo … sexum vinceret. 38 Vid. 7.42. See 7.41: temperantia virtus est feminarum. Prov. 16:32. 39 Vid. 7.38: quasi placitura viro … Sed virum alium videbat, cui placere quaerebat (John 1:30). Religio is used twice in 7.38. 40 Vid. 8.44; 8.51. 41 Vid. 2.7: Vidua non abstinentia corporis tantum definitur, sed virtute designatur; 2.11: Nec sola tamen castitas corporis viduae fortitudo est, sed magna et uberrima disciplina virtutis; 4.21: (widow Anna) non minus religionis officio, quam studio castitatis intenta. 4.26: while for a virgin her behaviour could be considered as more important than her physical virginity, for the widow, her behaviour is the only test of her chastity, after she lost the help of proved virginity. 42 Vid. 2.11: 1) pietatis officium 2) hospitalitatis studium et humilitatis obsequium 3) misericordiae ministerium liberalitatisque subsidium. 36

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obligation to God (religio) should be more important than the well-being of one’s children.43 In Vid. the widow of Zarephath is praised for replacing the love for her son (pietas) by her religious duty (religio): during a famine she deprives her son of food in order to give it to the prophet Elijah. Giving away her whole sustenance out of devotion will be more remunerative.44 This brings Ambrose to hospitality, which will be reminded by God, as Ambrose illustrates with the eternal reward for a glass cold water provided during life (Matt. 10:42).45 Ambrose’s discussion of the limits of hospitalitas is very interesting. When Pythagoras claimed that friends should have everything in common, much more so this can be said of family. For Ambrose, humankind is family, because everyone is related (cognati) in being united in a chain (series) of the body.46 We have this world in common. Ambrose substantiates his preference for common ownership of the world (commune) in opposition to its division by means of private property (proprium) with biblical exegesis. Why cannot we be like the birds in the sky, fed by the heavenly Father (Matt. 6:26)? God is said to keep his promise to provide to the poor. This can be called justice, as becomes clear in a similar passage about the collective ownership of the world from Ambrose’s De officiis.47 Why did the idea of taking possession of creation from Gen. 1:29-30 prevail? By assembling property, our need for it increases. A person without property does not need anything. We should heed to the command of hospitality: being guests of this world ourselves, we should provide hospitality to other guests.48 43 Virg. 1.11.66 uses the same opposition from the perspective of the virgin who wants to be consecrated against the will of her family: religio prevails over pietas, love for her father. 1.11.63: a virgin has to overcome her love for her parents (pietas) who resist her becoming a perpetual virgin in order to overcome the world. 44 Vid. 1.3-2.7; 3.14; 5.28: widow of Zarephath (1Kgs. 17:8-16). 1.6: Magnum pietatis officium, sed religionis uberius. … Tam hospitalis, ut totum daret, tam fidelis, ut cito crederet. (See Vrgt. 1.4 ; 2.9 ; 4.17: fides prompta) 5.28: Nulla plus tribuit quam illa quae de filiorum alimentis pavit prophetam. Et ideo quia nulla plus contulit, nulla plus meruit. 2.7: the widow benefits from and is rewarded for her care for her children and parents (1Tim. 5:4). See 15.88: remarriage deprives her children of the widow’s pietatis officia. 45 Vid. 1.4: hospitalitatis apud deum gratiam non perire. 46 Vid. 1.4: … si quis de gentilibus dixit communia omnia amicorum esse debere, quanto magis debent esse communia cognatorum! Cognati enim sumus, qui in unam seriem corporis copulamur. See Virg. 1.7.34: per successionum seriem generis societatem damnat humani; Inst. 3.24: in populis per mulierem successionis humanae series. Pythagoras: F. Gori, SAEMO 14/1 (1989), 249, n. 11. See Virg. 1.4.14: virginity is the only difference between pagans and Christians. Christians and the other human beings breathe the same life-giving air, share the common condition of an earthen body and generate in the same way. 47 Off. 1.28.132: … formam iustitiae … Deus generari iussit omnia ut … terra … foret omnium quaedam communis possessio. Natura igitur ius commune generavit, usurpatio ius fecit privatum. Ambrose explains this as a Stoic idea. 48 Vid. 1.5: Cur … proprium id quod in saeculo est, … cum commune sit saeculum? … cum terra communis sit? … Quibus nihil est proprium, nihil deest … Congregando egemus et congregando vacuamur … ut hospitibus deferamus, quia nos quoque sumus hospites mundi.

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Three exemplary biblical widows are staged to illustrate the intricacy of the reciprocity of the Christian charity system the widow is involved in: the widow donating from her poverty in Luke 21:2-4, Naomi entitled to receiving charity and Peter’s mother-in-law’s incorporation in the Church. The poor widow’s gift in Luke 21 serves as an example of generous misericordia towards the poor the widows are exhorted to follow. Ambrose uses the word collatio for almsgiving instead of elemosina.49 Not the amount given, but the disposition to give determines generosity (liberalitas, largitas). One should not consider how much is given, but what remains to the giver after the giving. In this sense, the poor widow has given more than anyone, because she has given everything she had. The rich has to realize what part of his gift is from his abundance and what part from devotion.50 The moral interpretation of the two coins given by the poor widow is followed by a ‘mystical’ one. These coins represent the poor widow’s sublime gift of charity combined with faith. Every widow should imitate that gift.51 At the day of judgment, the widow will be rewarded for her faith and for her chastity, fortified by her travail. Day and night, she does not defile her erstwhile marital bed, raises her children, and ministers to the poor.52 This passage is ended by a quid pro quo expressed in economic terms53 at the Eucharist. The widow donates from the recompense (merces) of her good work a small offering (stips) into the treasury for the poor, receiving the body of Christ in return. She cannot appear before God devoid of charity, faith and chastity. Her generosity should be exemplary to the youth. ‘This is the pay (merces) which you owe to God that you also gather your recompense (merces) from the progress of the others’. The best pay to God are the gifts of piety.54 49 F. Gori, SAEMO 14/1 (1989), 265, n. 52. Collatio appears four times in Ambrose’s virginity treatises: Vid. 4.21; 5.27-9. Elemosina appears 12 times in Ambrose’s entire oeuvre, never in his virginity treatises. 50 Vid. 5.27-8. 5.27: quam misericordem in pauperes et liberalem esse conveniat. … quia liberalitas non cumulo patrimonii, sed largitatis definitur affectu. … non quantum detur, sed quantum resideat, expenditur. Nemo plus tribuit, quam qui sibi nihil relinquit. (28) rich. See Vrgt. 12.70: Christ’s inexhaustible liberalitas, largitas. Also, the exemplary widow from Exh. is compared to this poor widow and to the Good Samaritan in having sacrificed all her possessions and children to Christ (Exh. 14.93). 51 Vid. 5.29: … quae fidem cum misericordia copulavit. Et tu igitur …; 5.32: Hanc aemulamini, filiae … 14.84: widow as magistra fidei, magistra castitatis; 1.1: magisterium virginitatis viduarum valescit exemplis. 52 Vid. 5.30-1. 53 Merces: Vid. (11 times); Virg. (3); Vrgt. (1); Exh. (7). Praemium: Vid. (9); Virg. (4); Vrgt. (2); Inst. (3); Exh. (3). Subsidium: Vid. (14); Virg. (2); Vrgt. (1); Exh. (1). Stipendium: Vid. (6); Virg. (1); Exh. (3). Sumptus: Vid. (3). Stips: Vid. (1). patronus: Vid. (1). 54 Vid. 5.32: Haec est enim merces quam deo debes, ut de aliarum quoque profectibus mercedem tuam deo conferas. Nulla merces deo melior, quam ea quae habet pietatis munera. In the virginity treatises, gazophylacium (treasury) appears only in Vid. 5.29 (2) and 5.32. G.A. Anderson, Charity (2013), 123-35: charitable deeds are collected in a treasury in heaven. The last two cases mentioned in Vid. combine charity with faith.

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The example of Naomi shows that the quid pro quo principle is also relevant for the beneficiary of charity: she profited from foreign harvests and at old age was provided for by her daughter-in-law Ruth. Ruth’s assistance is interpreted as recompense for Naomi’s education of her. After her husband’s death, Ruth fed impoverished Naomi and comforted her.55 The widow resembles the virgin56 in that her virtues and merits are her offspring. If nearest (proximi) are lacking, outsiders (extranei) must adopt her as a kind of mother. While she could have claimed pay for her teaching from her nearest, she provides the outsiders with the opportunity to benefit from feeding her.57 This would make the widow ‘a mediator or “broker” in exchanges between God and humans’ in a way.58 The widow is comforted and eternally rewarded for her present crying. Thus, she shows her dead husband the love and piety due to him. Her tears are redemptive for the world: they evoke misericordia.59 Peter’s mother-in-law is another example of a widow whose poverty did not have to be alleviated by remarriage, as she can expect help from God and men. The widow’s source of aid is determined by whether she has brought up her sons properly and has chosen good sons-in-law. Peter is portrayed as a spiritual son-in-law. Peter and his brother Andrew intercede with God by their prayer on behalf of Peter’s mother-in-law. Thus she is healed and rewards them by her service to them in return.60 The widow can be assured of the help of interceding nearest (proximi): the apostles and the martyrs. That is, if she has a devotional communion (devotionis societas) with the martyrs and approaches the apostles in her gifts of charity (misericordia). Ambrose embraces the conclusion from the narrative about the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:37): Your nearest is the one who does charity. Act likewise and you will be near to Peter. Proximity is not based on consanguinity, but on affinity in virtue, a spiritual bond. When Peter and Andrew intercede on her behalf, the widow’s carnal desires (cupiditates) will recede. Again, Ambrose demonstrates that Christian misericordia is a triad relationship: the giver, the recipient and God or Christ. While attending to the poor, the widow not only serves Christ, but already takes part in behaviour in heaven, from where Christ’s second coming is still outstanding (Phil. 3:20). When the widow chooses the apostles as sons-in law, 55 Vid. 6.33: subsidium senectutis … quasi stipendium magisterii, mercedem … suae … disciplinae. 56 Other similarities: the widow as figura ecclesiae (2.13), bride of Christ (2.15; 13.81; 7.38), altar (5.30; virgin: Virg. 2.2.18). See 1.1: widow almost of equal virtue as the virgin. 57 Vid. 6.34. 58 Thomas R. Blanton, IV, A Spiritual Economy. Gift Exchange in the Letters of Paul of Tarsus (New Haven, 2017), 115 about Paul. 59 Vid. 6.35-6. The widow’s love for her dead husband is described as caritatis stipendia (pay) et pietatis officia. 60 Vid. 9.53; 10.64,66. Luke 4:38-9; Matt. 8:14-5: Simon’s = Peter’s house; Mark 1:29-31: house of Simon and Andrew. 14.85: the widow as a veteran of the marital chastity becomes a Christian marriage broker.

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patrons (patroni) for her children and nearest, she will never be without assistance.61 The apostles’ intercession extends to humankind, too weighed down by sin to supplicate on its own behalf. Other mediators are the protecting angels and the patron (praesul) martyrs. Because the martyrs have known and overcome the weakness of the body and now are keeping an eye on our actions, they are very suited as go-between.62 Finally, Christ is mentioned as intercessor. As God Christ commands the human being to assist to the poor and widows, as human being He often descends from heaven to assist those in need of Him, the poor and the widows.63 Christ can become near to us, when we believe in his actions described in the gospel. He is said to appropriate the widow’s inner self. A pious widow puts her trust in God by constant prayer, daily mortification of the body and abstinence from pleasure.64 The divine misericordia is especially focussed on the widow, and her determination (voluntas) is indispensable to rise to Christ’s ministry.65 While the prescription of marriage belongs to the domain of the Jewish law, virginity is superior in being advised to the elected, a matter of choice and grace. Grace encourages the elected by devotion to the good and by the promise of rewards.66 This comparison is extended to misericordia. Ambrose distinguishes between the unprofitable servants who did what they had to do, and those who out of free will sold everything they owned in order to follow Christ. The last group expects a reward for their extra effort.67 Faith is owed, charity (misericordia) is rewarded. He who had faith deserves what has been entrusted to him. He who has successfully gathered without pursuing his own interest, has obtained heaven.68 In the last two appearances of misericordia, Ambrose reflects on the leeway of human volition and ability to reach this highest goal. Christ reacts to his disciples’ conclusion that abstinence from marriage is preferred, with that not 61 Vid. 9.54: Proximus est enim qui misericordiam facit. Fac et tu misericordiam et eris Petro proxima. Non sanguinis necessitudo, sed virtutis cognatio proximus facit, … Ministra pauperi, et ministrasti Christo (Matt. 25:40b). … Habetis ergo, viduae, auxilium, si tales vobis generos, posteritatis vestrae patronos, tales proximos eligatis. Matt. 25:40b appears only here in the virginity treatises, while Prov. 19:17 is absent. In both verses, inter-human charity is regarded as charity done to Christ or God. Vid. 10.67: deceased husband’s aid replaced by that from sons-in-law and nearest (proximi). 62 Vid. 9.55. Angelic protection of the virgin: Virg. 1.8.51. 63 Vid. 9.57; 10.60: Quasi deus imperat, quasi homo visitat; 10.62: Christ: pro peccatis nostris advocatum. 64 Vid. 10.61-3; 9.56. 65 Vid. 11.67: esse … in eas divinam misericordiam promptiorem; 10.64. 66 Vid. 12.72: gratia electoribus reservata est … Gratia, ut electos cum studio bonorum tum propositis etiam praemiis provocaret. 67 Vid. 12.74: expected reward: reposita praemia … mercedem fidei atque virtutis bene sibi conscius, meritorumque securus exspectat. Servant: Luke 17:10  selling everything: Matt. 19:18-21; Mark 10:21; Luke 18:22. Reward extra effort: Matt. 19:27-9; 25:15,21-3. 68 Vid. 12.74: Fides … ex debito, misericordia in praemio. Qui bene credidit, ut ei credatur emeruit; qui bene contulit, quoniam suum non quaesivit, quod caeleste est impetravit.

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everyone is able to grasp this. Then he discusses the three states of eunuchs: born, made by men, or voluntary for the kingdom of God (Matt. 19:10-2). The first two categories are excluded from reward (‘coronation’) based on virginity, as these eunuchs would not have to fight to remain virgin. They could however earn a reward based on other virtues: faith, grace, charity (misericordia) and lack of greed.69 With regard to the marital status, Ambrose finds himself supported by God and Paul in his acknowledgment of differences in disposition and ability to bear the more heavy burden of virginity. The higher reward for the heavier burden is meant to stimulate human effort.70 Christ has summoned voluntary undertaking of virginity, Paul has advised it. In the end virginity does not depend on a human decision, but is a gift of divine misericordia.71 Yet, this does not prevent Ambrose from strongly warning the widow against remarriage. Paul, that is God’s Spirit, had dissuaded the widow from remarriage in 1Cor. 7 four times! An equally strong argument is the reward for the perpetual widow, again expressed in economic terms.72 Widowhood should not be considered as a punishment (supplicium), but as a reward (praemium).73

Part Three: Misericordia’s Background: Justice and Faith Christian misericordia arises from a perceived lack of perfection inherent to the postlapsarian human condition and an attempt to rectify this imperfection according to a sense of justice ascribed to God.74 By the use of economic metaphors Ambrose wants to motivate his audience to individual virtuous behaviour. Anderson describes the metaphysical context of this calculating reasoning with regard to charity as a channel to God.75 Phil. 4:15-9 provides an excellent example of how this reciprocity works between Paul and the Philippians. Paul’s acceptance of the material contribution to him by the Philippians is transferred as profit to their spiritual account. Their reward is that Paul’s (‘my’) God will satisfy every need of the givers.76 While Anderson explains charity 69

Vid. 13.75. Vid. 13.78-9. 71 Vid. 13.80. 72 Vid. 14.82. 1Cor. 7:1-8, 26. Quae igitur refugiat sancta fieri corpore et spiritu, cum supra laborem sit praemium, supra usum gratia, supra opus merces? See 2.10: when the husband of a remarried widow dies, her reward for not marrying a third time is less than if she would have abstained from a second marriage. 73 Vid. 14.85. 74 Vid. 1.5: sententiae suae deus arbiter novit servare promissum. 3.17: domini est … perpetuitatem sacramentorum spondere caelestium et non defuturam spiritalis exsultationis gratiam polliceri, largiri munimenta vitae, fidei signacula, dona virtutum. 75 G.A. Anderson, Charity (2013), 160, 7-9. 76 Phil. 4.15: Paul qualifies the relationship as an account of giving and acceptance (Vulg.: in ratione dati and accepti). 4.17: Not that I seek the gift, but I seek the profit that accumulates to 70

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as a loan to God, Ambrose uses this qualification for the virgin’s fides in the virginity treatises in the strict sense. When a virgin loses her inheritance as a consequence of her choice for perpetual virginity, Ambrose promises her a sevenfold reward now and the heavenly kingdom in future (Luke 18:30). ‘Confide your trust in God. You who lend money to a human being, lend money at interest to Christ.’77 The twenty virgins of the virginal community in Bologna are promised a hundredfold reward (Matt. 13:8).78 While in Anderson’s texts, the reward for meritorious behaviour can be deferred to one’s descendants, Ambrose names other beneficiaries from the virgin’s merits. These vary from the spiritually poor fellow human beings (naturae participes) to those economically even less affluent than a poor virgin.79 The virgin’s parents benefit most. Ambrose exhorts them to raise their daughter as a virgin, so that she can buy off (redimo) their sins.80 The reciprocity of the before mentioned sacrifice of the virgin and the soldier in Virg.81 cannot be duplicated in that of Christ and the virgin in Vrgt. Ambrose requests the virginity of his ‘daughter’ as evidence of her faith (probatio fidei). This would be the only reaction to Christ’s vicarious sacrifice on behalf of her. As the virgin cannot literally repay Christ for his sacrifice, the least she can do is being worthy of the price He paid for her.82 Earlier in Vrgt. however, Ambrose not only includes everyone in the daily and limitless grace (‘ointment’) spread by Christ primarily to the virgin, but also emphasizes that it is for free.83

your account (Vulg.: fructum abundantem in ratione vestra) (English translation NRSV). 4.19: my God (reward); 4.20: our God. Anderson does not mention this passage. T.R. Blanton, Spiritual Economy (2017), 22-3, 67-8, 114-5. See Vid. 6.34. 77 G.A. Anderson, Charity (2013), 32, 52 (loan); 33, 49 (treasury in heaven). Virg. 1.11.64: Crede fidem tuam deo. Quae homini pecuniam credis, fenerare Christo. See Prov. 19:17: charity as ‘lending to God’ with a guaranteed repay, not mentioned in Ambrose’s virginity treatises. Sir. 35:13 (sevenfold). 78 Virg. 1.10.60. 79 G.A. Anderson, Charity (2013), 113-22, 174. Spiritual: Virg. 1.8.42; material: 1.9.54; Vid. 5.27. 80 Virg. 1.7.32. 2.2.16: (virgins) non solis sibi debent posse quae non solis vixerunt sibi: haec parentes redimat, haec fratres. See however 2Cor. 12:14b. Note that in Virg. the subject of redimo is a human being (1.7.32; 2.2.16; 2.4.32), in the other virginity treatises it is Christ (Vrgt. 19.126-8; Inst. 1.6; 13.85; Exh. 1.3; 6.41), while the word is absent in Vid. This vicariousness can be expressed by other words: Exh. 4.26: (widow to virgin children): vestra integritas meos solvat errores. 81 Virg. 2.4.29: Serva me, ut ipsa serveris. … Ego pro te hostiam deo redo, tu pro me militem Christo. 82 Vrgt. 19.126b-128. (127:) Sanguinem solvit, sanguinem debes. Ille pro te solvit, tu pro te redde. … non potes sanguinem reddere. (128:) Ergo tu dignam te gere tali pretio… The passage is permeated with economical exchange expressions without any mention of mercy. Redimere (to buy off) is mentioned thrice. 83 Vrgt. 11.66: Fluit hoc unguentum quotidie et numquam deficit. … Accipe vas tuum, virgo, … ut possis hoc unguento repleri. Accipe unguentum … gratis datum, non venditum, ut omnes haberent

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The meritoriousness of virtuous behaviour is based on a conception of justice. Ambrose adduces Eph. 6:8 to argue that the practice of the virtue fides deserves a reward: God will reciprocate whatever good one has done. While here fides is explained as to serve Christ, in the earlier mentioned examples of Jephthah, Abraham and the virgin in the brothel, fides referred to a trust in God or His justice.84 Both fides and iustitia are identified with Christ.85 In Vrgt. Ambrose argues the incompatibility between finding Christ and ‘the market’, that is the world outside the Church. Christ is peace, at the market are quarrels; Christ is justice, at the market is unfairness; Christ is working (operator),86 at the market is vain leisure; Christ is love, at the market is detraction; Christ is faithfulness, at the market are deceit and faithlessness; Christ is in the Church, at the market are idols.87

The Church is indicated as the location where to find Christ by ‘faith and precious deeds’.88 Yet, God’s misericordia is not limited to the Church, Ambrose speculates. While wisdom is monopolized by the Church, the itinerant youth looks for Christ in this world. And maybe (fortasse is used twice in this passage), if constantly pursuing this search, this youth might find Christ in the encounter with Christians in public capacities. After all, Christ is merciful to everyone.89 He even makes himself known to those who did not look for him.90 The widow is said to approach Christ by her misericordia, fides and chastity, gratis. Metha Hokke, ‘Scent as Metaphor for the Bonding of Christ and the Virgin in Ambrose’s De Virginitate 11.60-12.68’, SP 85 (2017), 107-19. 84 Exh. 1.3. Vid. 13.75: fides and misericordia as virtues. 85 Virg. 3.1.2: (Christ) iustitia de patre; Vrgt. 16.99: si gravaris iniquitate, iustitia est. Inst. 8.56; Exh. 9.57: sol iustitiae; Vrgt. 17.108-9: justice as independent virtue in and above this world; 18.115: justice observes everything from an elevated position with the general interest in mind. Vrgt. 19.124: ubi Christus est, hoc est fides; 19.125: fidem Christi; Vrgt. 4.15; Inst. 12.78: fides resurrectionis. Exh. 14.92 (2Tim. 4:8): fidem servavi … reposita est mihi corona iustitiae. Vid. 3.15: (Church): fidem servaret. Vrgt. 8.46: Christus iustitia est … Christus caritas est … Christus fides est … Christus in ecclesia est. 86 See H. Pétré, ‘Misericordia’ (1934), 385: operarius, operans is used as a synonym for misericors. The same association might be applied to operator. 87 Vrgt. 8.46: Christus … pax est, in foro lites; Christus iustitia est, in foro iniquitas; Christus operator est, in foro inane otium, Christus caritas est, in foro obtrectatio; Christus fides est, in foro fraus atque perfidia; Christus in ecclesia est, in foro idola. The Church is held together by hope, faith and love (Virg. 3.5.22; Vrgt. 9.53). 88 Vrgt. 14.87: per fidem actusque pretiosos. 89 Vrgt. 14.88-9. 14.88: omnium misericordem dominum esse. See G.A. Anderson, Charity (2013), 176-7: prayer, almsgiving, and fasting are not a guarantee for delivery. If it works, these virtues are rewarded by God’s gracious decision; if not, this is due to God’s freedom. 90 Exh. 9.57 (Isa. 65:1). This is an a fortiori reasoning: how much the more Christ will make himself known to a searching virgin.

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while the virgin’s virtues which bring her nearer to Christ are her fides, chastity and grace.91 The widow is exhorted to be a self-made woman, the virgin receives her virtues from Christ. These virtues are foremost virginity, with fides at a second position and misericordia down the line.92 Given the important role the quid pro quo principle plays in Ambrose’s virginity treatises, it does not come as a surprise that only once, in his last virginity treatise Exh. Ambrose dwells on God’s grace determining the human fate and that Christ’s justification of the human being is not based on works, but on faith.93 In general, Ambrose’s position in the virginity treatises might be summarized as that starting with trust in God’s justice and mercy, one has to earn salvation by virtuous behaviour. For the widow, the practice of charity is emphasized, for the virgin a faithful life of virginity, withdrawn at home. Conclusion The general conclusion about Ambrose’s use of misericordia is that in the virginity treatises in the strict sense misericordia does not play as pivotal a role as it does in Vid. Virginity and fides are far more important in the treatises aimed at virgins. Whether the performer of misericordia is God or the human being depends on the group primarily addressed: virgins (God) or widows (human being). Virg. and Vrgt. report on God’s mercy as saving a righteous human being from agony, in line with Anderson’s depiction of Tobit. The virgin in the brothel (Virg.) provokes God’s help by reminding Him of His erstwhile salvation. If Jephthah would have remembered God’s rescue of Isaac, he would not have lost faith, and thus could have saved his daughter, Ambrose suggests (Vrgt.). Abraham trusted in God and as a reward Isaac was saved by God’s mercy. The more human fides, the more divine misericordia and in that sense the human being is able to influence God’s mercy. Ambrose portrays the virginal life as living faith in its total dedication to God, withdrawn from the world. The transferral of the virgin’s abundantly accumulated capital of virtues mainly to her family members integrates her and her family in the ecclesiastical community. Ambrose qualifies the widow as the actively public participant in inter-human charity.

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Vid. 5.32: widow donating during the Eucharist: Noli … vacua prodire in conspectum domini dei tui, vacua misericordiae, vacua fidei, vacua castitatis. Inst. 1.3: these virtues are inspired by the Holy Spirit, after Christ has appropriated the virgin. 92 Inst. 13.86: after the virgin has opened up for Christ, she receives virginitas, integritas, fides, misericordia and Christ’s innocentia in not reciprocating evil done (1Pet. 2:23), i.e. no quid pro quo. 93 Exh. 7.43: the exegetical combination of Rom. 3:28; Gal. 2:16; 1Cor. 12:4, 11 rejects the economic terms of the quid pro quo reasoning in the virginity treatises.

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The widow is situated at the heart of the ecclesiastical community as both donor and receiver of charity. Ambrose’s seemingly haphazard sequence in his treatment of the widow’s functions in 1Tim. 5:10 (bringing up children, hospitality, charity) can be explained as a shift from the widow’s dependency on her ‘biological’ family (sons and sons-in-law) to her role in the Church, her spiritual family as it were. The apostles become the widow’s sons-in-law, the martyrs her patrons. In Vid., Ambrose adduces two reasons for universal human misericordia. The first is the conclusion from the narrative about the Good Samaritan, a beneficent outsider: who does charity is your neighbour (Luke 10:37). Secondly, a Christian interpretation of the concept of hospitality from pagan philosophy can be mentioned. We are all akin, as we are all embodied and we share the world. Being guests of this world, extending ‘hospitality’ (that is, distribution of charity) to the destitute is more the beneficiary’s right than the benefactor’s favour. The receiver of charity contributes to the merits of the widow’s subsidizer before God. The widow is also expected to share even from her poverty. Her life of faith, charity and chastity must be exemplary for others. Her teaching is based on her life experience. The others’ development is the widow’s payment to God, for which she will eventually be heavenly rewarded. While faith is owed, charity (and chastity) originate in the widow’s volition and thus deserve remuneration. By misericordia the widow sacrifices her life to Christ’s cause in the public forum related to the Church. The virgin is described as remaining enclosed in her birth family, but some mention is made of the virgin’s misericordia towards the poor in general. In Vid., the widow transcends her family network in her active involvement in the complex reciprocity system of ecclesiastical charity. Ambrose’s arguments as to why the outreach of Christian charity must be extended to the poor outside the Church, universalizes Aristotle’s feeling of compassion from nearest and dearest to humankind and puts it into action.

Sin, Mercy, and David’s Felix Culpa Brian P. DUNKLE, S.J., Boston, MA, USA

ABSTRACT Ambrose’s Apology for the Prophet David to the Emperor Theodosius, which comprises a sermon that minimizes the notorious crimes of the biblical kind and an extended exegesis of Ps. 50(51), has often been interpreted narrowly in light of the bishop’s political involvement with the imperial court. In fact, the two halves of the Apology are best understood as a coherent whole motivated by a theological and pastoral aim. Ambrose presents the life and the prayer of David as a model for understanding God’s mercy as the foundation of the felix culpa, the sin that serves as the condition for conversion and charitable reparation.

Scholars have long speculated on the historical and political subtext for Ambrose’s Apology for the Prophet David to the Emperor Theodosius.1 The sermon, framed as a forensic defense, seems to acquit the king of Israel of both murder and adultery, minimizing David’s notorious crimes in light of his status and achievements. In one of his more effusive efforts at exoneration, Ambrose asks of the king: ‘Are you not amazed that such a man, most of whose life, you judge, must be likened to that of the angels, succumbed only once to sin, even though from his childhood he was surrounded by power, riches, and honors and beset by many temptations?’2 Elsewhere Ambrose seems to celebrate David’s adultery as a figure of the union of Christ with the church of the gentiles.3 If, as Pierre Hadot and others have argued, Ambrose is presenting David as a model for Theodosius after his failures at Callinicum and Thessalonika, his sermon may be an attempt to exculpate the emperor as well:4 the apology of 1

I am very grateful to Paola Moretti for sharing with me her study, ‘Dilexi (Ps. 114.1): David and Emperor Theodosius’, forthcoming; her bibliography is especially abundant. For an introduction to the text see Filippo Lucidi, introduction, translation, and notes, Le due apologie di David, SAEMO 5 (Milan, 1981), 45-8. 2 Ambrose, De apologia David ad Theodosium Augustum, ed. Karl Schenkl, CSEL 32.2 (Vienna, 1897), 1.4, slightly revised by Pierre Hadot, Ambroise de Milan: Apologie de David, SC 239 (Paris, 1977): Non miraris hominem et angelis adaequandum iudicas plurimum uitae suae, immo a pueritia in diuitiis honoribus imperiis demorantem, in multis temptationibus positum semel tantum locum errori dedisse? All translations are from Brian Dunkle, S.J., trans., Treatises on David and Noah (Washington, DC, 2020). 3 Apol. 3.14. 4 P. Hadot, Apologie (1977), 37-43, especially 43: ‘c’est une œuvre politique’; Isabella Vay and Remo Cacitti, ‘Le porte lignee di Sant’Ambrogio’, in Marco Rizzi (ed.), La città e la sua

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David implies an apology for Theodosius.5 Such a reading contributes to the scholarly appraisal of Ambrose the ‘church politician’: in the interests of Empire (and, some suggest, at the cost of authentic Christian witness) the bishop is willing to overlook Theodosius’s faults.6 In light of this collection’s focus on Ambrose’s understanding of misericordia, I want to challenge the common interpretation that emphasizes the political motives behind the Apology by demonstrating that, in fact, Ambrose’s pastoral concern for conversion and reparation – that is, for the fruits of ‘mercy’ – underlie his defense of the biblical king.7 I argue that the political interpretation of the Apology depends, to some extent, on identifying the rhetorical genre of the sermon according to the proposal of Hadot, namely as a concessio. I first show that, while Ambrose indeed employs some generic features of a concessio, his sermon is not bound by conventions. Rather, in a manner characteristic of his broader ethical and theological instruction, Ambrose’s real goal is to present David and David’s ‘Miserere’ (Psalm 50) as exempla, first of human sinfulness and then of the work of divine mercy, for all Christians.8 By showing that David’s sin is both a consequence and an illustration of his humanity, Ambrose can show how his culpa becomes felix, precisely by prompting David’s conversion and repentance and by inspiring David’s virtues, which ‘cover over’ (tegere) the stain of the sin. Moreover, the three themes of the defense of David – confession of the universality of human sinfulness followed by repentance and reparation – are the same themes that frame Ambrose’s

memoria: Milano e la tradizione di sant’Ambrogio (Milan, 1997), 89-97, 94: the Apology is a ‘trattato di teologia politica ambrosiana’. 5 On Ambrose’s use of David, see Ueli Zahnd, ‘Novus David - νέος Δάυιδ: Zur Frage nach byzantinischen Vorläufern eines abendländisches Topos’, Frühmittelalterliche Studien 42 (2008), 71-87, especially 76 and 78. On David in the medieval period, see also Hubert Herkommer, ‘Typus Christi - Typus regis: König David als politische Legitimationsfigur’, in Walter Dietrich and Hubert Herkommer (eds), König David. Biblische Schlüsselfigur und europäische Leitgestalt (Freiburg, 2003), 383-436. 6 On Ambrose the Kirchenpolitiker, see Hans von Campenhausen, Ambrosius von Mailand als Kirchenpolitiker (Berlin, 1929); more recently see Neil McLynn, Ambrose of Milan: Church and Court in a Christian Capital (Berkeley, 1994), 291-360. 7 In addition to the other studies in this collection, for background on Ambrose’s account of misericordia see Luigi Pizzolato, ‘Il posto di Ambrogio di Milano tra i misericordes nostri’, Aevum 91 (2017), 221-40. 8 On Ambrose’s use of exempla in his moral teaching, see J. Warren Smith, Christian Grace and Pagan Virtue: The Theological Foundation of Ambrose’s Ethics (Oxford, 2010), xvi-xviii; Marcia Colish, Ambrose’s Patriarchs: Ethics for the Common Man (Notre Dame, 2005), 18-21; on the background, see Andrew M. Harmon, ‘History and Virtue: Contextualizing Exemplarity in Ambrose’, Journal of Early Christian Studies 25 (2017), 201-29. Throughout this essay I follow Ambrose (and the LXX) in numbering the Psalm; on numbering and its significance for early Christian authors, see Sr. Justina Metzdorf, OSB, ‘Psalm 50(51) in der patristischen Auslegung’, in Dominik Helm, Franz Körndle and Franz Sedlmeier (eds), Miserere mei, Deus: Psalm 51 in Bibel und Liturgie, in Musik und Literatur (Würzburg, 2015), 197-214, 199.

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reading of Psalm 50 in the second half of the Apology.9 Although many scholars, including Hadot himself, maintain that the derivative exegetical portion was produced independently of the original apology, I show that the theological parallels between the two parts demonstrate the thematic unity of the work as well as Ambrose’s unique contribution to the exegesis of the ‘Miserere’. Through the third theme in particular, reparation, Ambrose develops a pastoral approach to reconciliation that does not appear in his sources.10 Hence, while Ambrose may have used the figure of David to instruct and exonerate Theodosius, his broader project was to communicate to a varied and broken congregation the felicity of a culpa when it is followed by repentance and charity. Is the Apology a Concessio? In his Sources Chrétiennes edition Hadot emphasizes the rhetorical structure of the Apology.11 He suggests that Ambrose’s defense of David takes the form of the classical concessio, according to which the defending lawyer ‘concedes’ or grants the charges brought against his client before he presents extenuating factors that exculpate the defendant or at least diminish his guilt.12 Hence, the lawyer argues that a client may have been pressured, or ignorant when he committed the crime. According to Hadot, by this forensic approach Ambrose can show that circumstances lessen the gravity of David’s sins.13 Moreover, the rhetorical nature of the apologetic portion suggests that it was originally delivered orally, independent of the exegesis of Psalm 50 that constitutes the second half of the treatise.14 The heart of the Apology is a plea for clemency on behalf of David (and, by implication, of Theodosius). Hadot supports his case with references to the historical situation surrounding the composition of the Apology.15 As many have noted, in his later writings Ambrose frequently employs the figure of David as a model and representative for Theodosius, especially when, as bishop, he exhorts the emperor to repentance.16 In recounting the episodes in 388, when Ambrose confronted 9

On the threefold scheme of misericordia, suffragatio, and reconciliatio in Ambrose’s account, see L. Pizzolato, ‘Il posto di Ambrogio’ (2017), 237. Ambrose’s exegesis of the Psalms appears in a variety of texts; see Hansjörg Auf der Maur, Das Psalmenverständnis des Ambrosius von Mailand: Beitrag zum Deutungshintergrund der Psalmenverwendung im Gottesdienst der alten Kirche (Leiden, 1977), 23-38 and 313-28. 10 P. Hadot, Apologie (1977), 42-3. 11 Ibid. 7-9. 12 Ibid. 8; see Cicero, De inventione 1.11.15. 13 P. Hadot, Apologie (1977), 9. 14 Ibid. 37. 15 Ibid. 37-8. 16 See Ambrose’s letters: Epistula 74 and Epistulae extra collectionem 1 (especially 24-5) and 11 (especially 7-9), and, implicitly, in De obitu Theodosii; on the links between David and

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the emperor about his handling of the affair in Callinicum, and in 390, when Ambrose rebuked Theodosius for his role in the massacre of citizens at Thessalonica, the bishop alludes to the model of David as a noble king who repents of his actions.17 Ambrose’s use of the figure of David in both cases has prompted readers to interpret the Apology as a direct and specific address to the emperor.18 Given these hortatory aims, Hadot argues that Ambrose’s reliance on many forensic tropes in the early sections of the Apology contributes its rhetorical effect.19 Hadot shows that, both in narrating David’s life and in the exegesis of Psalm 50, Ambrose adopts the classical deprecatio and purgatio, which relativize David’s sin; on the one hand, he pleads for David’s pardon by minimizing his sins, while he attempts to exonerate David by highlighting general inevitability of sin.20 We should also note that the treatise follows the practice of the classical Christian apology in its direct address to the reigning emperor.21 While Hadot is adamant that the Apology ‘is not an exercise in rhetoric’, nevertheless he finds Ambrose framing the Apology according to rhetorical and generic constraints directly related to his instruction of Theodosius.22 When we attend closely to the composition of the entire Apology, however, we meet obstacles to a merely political or forensic interpretation. First, the exculpatory section of the Apology ends, for the most part, quite early, around

Theodosius, see Hartmut Leppin, ‘Ein Bischof redet dem Kaiser ins Gewissen: Ambrosius und Theodosius’, in M. Delgado, V. Leppin and D. Neuhold (eds), Ringen um die Wahrheit: Gewissenskonflikte in der Christentumsgeschichte (Stuttgart, 2011), 83-93, and id., ‘Das alte Testament und der Erfahrungsraum der Christen: Davids Buße in den Apologien des Ambrosius’, in Andreas Pečar and Kai Trampedach (eds), Die Bibel als politisches Argument: Voraussetzungen und Folgen biblizistischer Herrschaftslegitimation in der Vormoderne (Munich, 2007), 119-33; on links to the Apologia David altera, whose authenticity has recently been reestablished, see Giuseppe Visonà, ‘Ambrogio Teodosio Davide: Note sull’Apologia prophetae David e sull’Apologia David altera de sant’Ambrogio’, Annali di Scienze Religiose 2 (1997), 257-99. 17 P. Hadot, Apologie (1977), 37-42; G. Visonà, ‘Ambrogio Teodosio Davide’ (1997), 290, argues for the link to Callinicum rather than to Thessalonica, while F. Lucidi, Le due apologie (1981), 45, favors Thessalonica for the setting. For some background see N. McLynn, Ambrose of Milan (1994), 315-29; also Peter Brown, Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity: Towards a Christian Empire (Madison, 1992), 111-3. 18 See especially H. Herkommer, ‘Typus Christi-Typus Regis’ (2003), 393: ‘Vor dem Hintergrund der Blutschuld des Kaisers und seiner reumütigen Buße erscheint die Apologia David des Mailänder Bischofs als Mahnrede an einen schuldig gewordenen Herrscher und als Aufruf zur Umkehr.’ 19 On Ambrose’s rhetorical training, see Craig Alan Satterlee, Ambrose of Milan’s Method of Mystagogical Preaching (Collegeville, 2001), 36-8. 20 See P. Hadot, Apologie (1977), 8-9, with extensive parallels to Cicero’s De inventione. 21 See Wolfram Kinzig, ‘Der “Sitz im Leben” der Apologie in der Alten Kirche’, ZKG 100 (1990), 298-300. The title’s address to Theodosius appears in the ‘excellent’ manuscript Parisinus latinus 1732, although it may not be original; P. Hadot, Apologie (1977), 37. 22 P. Hadot, Apologie (1977), 9.

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paragraph 9; later Ambrose only rarely offers a classic defense of David.23 Furthermore, as Hadot himself demonstrates, the second half of the Apology draws extensively from exegetical rather than from forensic sources; any suggestions of a deprecatio or purgatio would seem incidental to the project of expounding Psalm 50. Second, Ambrose’s frequent reference to the moral and mystical value of David’s sins and subsequent repentance is foreign to the standard concessio. According to Cicero, the aim of the purgatio is not to justify the crime itself, but rather to defend the intention of the accused.24 In the Apology, by contrast, Ambrose does not want simply to exonerate David, he wants to celebrate him. David’s Happy Fault Ambrose’s Apology is best understood in light of his exemplaristic moral exhortations, especially in his patriarch treatises, rather than any presumed training in forensics.25 In recounting the life and deeds of David, Ambrose presents the king as a model for the felix culpa, the peccatum that can be of profit.26 David’s sin profits first by rendering the king a figure to whom any sinful person can relate. Following Didymus, Ambrose notes of exemplary sinners near the beginning of the sermon: ‘When I read of their failures I recognize them as companions in weakness: when I believe that they are companions, I presume that they should be imitated.’27 The first ‘fruit’ of David’s sin is that it demonstrates the common frailty of human nature. Borrowing extensively from Didymus’s exegesis of Ps. 50, Ambrose begins his defense of David by underscoring the universality of human sinfulness. David’s fall is a consequence of the condition that he shares with Ambrose and his congregation. He asks: ‘Show me someone who does not fall into sin’, before citing the otherwise virtuous Samson and Jephthah as guilty of serious crimes.28 He even identifies himself among the ranks of sinners, prefacing his account of Aaron the priest with the confession: ‘Yet I do not think we should be silent about priests [or bishops; sacerdotibus] lest I appear to try to hide our 23

At, for instance, Apol. 4.15 and 7.40. De inventione 2.31.94: Purgatio est, per quam eius, qui accusatur, non factum ipsum, sed voluntas defenditur. 25 On Ambrose’s use of patriarchs as exempla for the ‘common man’, see M. Colish, Ambrose’s Patriarchs (2005), 19-21. 26 Prodesse peccatum; Apol. 2.7; for parallels, compare De Noe 8.25 and Apologia altera 3.20. 27 Apol. 2.7: ergo dum lapsus eorum lego, consortes etiam illos infirmitatis agnosco: dum credo consortes, imitandos eos esse praesumo. For the text of the source, see P. Hadot, Apologie (1977), 51, citing the collection of Ekkehard Mühlenberg, Psalmenkommentare aus der Katenenüberlieferung 1, Patristische Texte und Studien 15 (Berlin, 1975): Didymus #532. 28 Apol. 4.16; Ambrose includes Paul and Miriam at Apol. 2.8 and 4.17. See also Job 14:4-5, which Ambrose cites in his Psalm exegesis, Apol. 11.56. 24

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own sins.’29 David can serve as an exemplum because his sin demonstrates his participation in humanity’s corrupt state. Having located David’s sin in the context of shared sinfulness, Ambrose can pursue the second theme of his moral exhortation: he calls his audience to marvel at David’s repentance. Although David is like us in his weakness, after the rebuke from the prophet Nathan, he surpasses us in his contrition: ‘How many times has each of us sinned hour by hour, and yet no one of us thinks his sin should be confessed in public?’30 Ambrose also emphasizes the magnitude of David’s repentance as a motive for God’s abundant mercy: ‘Do you notice to what extent he deplored his own sin? Who would be surprised that his sin was forgiven him?’31 By shifting the focus from the sin itself to the repentance, Ambrose shows that he aims not so much to minimize David’s sin, but rather to celebrate his conversion. The third theme of Ambrose’s defense focuses on David’s merits. Again, the bishop’s presentation is not simply exculpatory; it is exemplaristic. Like all good deeds, David’s have the potential to outweigh or overshadow the evil that he committed.32 Ambrose calls his congregation to admire the king’s virtue: ‘Now let us consider the good works by which he could cover over his sin. For even if it is not possible for human fragility to be without sin, one must take care that there not be more sins than works of virtues.’33 According to Ambrose’s sin/merit calculus, vice’s heft can be counterbalanced by weightier virtues. Ambrose’s account of the redemptive role of merit is not forensic but rather scriptural and theological. Drawing on the traditions that understand charity and virtuous deeds as reparation, Ambrose describes the overshadowing of vice by virtue through a peculiar juxtaposition of 1Tim. 5:24, ‘The sins of some are obvious, reaching the place of judgment ahead of them; the sins of others trail behind them’ and 1Pet. 4:8, ‘charity covers a multitude of sins’.34 In his account, virtues can rush ahead of the ‘lagging’ or ‘lighter’ sins. Ambrose finds other examples of this reparation through merit: just as Peter canceled out his sins through weeping, an act of charity, so David gained favor in God’s eyes through his own tears.35

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Apol. 4.17: nec de sacerdotibus arbitror ne nostra uidear dissimulare delicta. Apol. 2.5: unusquisque nostrum per singulas horas quam multa delinquit, et tamen unusquisque de plebe peccatum suum confitendum non putat. 31 Apol. 5.23: aduertis quemadmodum peccatum proprium deplorauerit? Quis igitur ei miretur esse dimissum? On Ambrose’s link between divine mercy and the merits of conversion, see L. Pizzolato, ‘Il posto di Ambrogio’ (2017), 234-6. 32 For introduction to the scriptural and theological background, see Gary Anderson, Charity: The Place of the Poor in the Biblical Tradition (New Haven, 2013), 1-12. 33 Apol. 6.24: nunc consideremus opera eius, quibus potuit tegere peccatum. Etenim quia non potest sine peccato esse humana fragilitas, cauendum ne plura peccata sint quam opera uirtutum. 34 Apol. 6.24. 35 Apol. 6.25. 30

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Moreover, through a sequential recounting of David’s heroic deeds as they appear in 1 and 2Samuel, Ambrose demonstrates that David’s conquests and sufferings both outweigh his sins: from his defeat of Goliath to his endurance of insults from Shimei, David demonstrates both his fortitude and his perseverance. Ambrose concludes his record of David’s heroism: ‘Thus he also earned the remission of his iniquity and he covered it over with charity and he concealed his sins and covered them over with good works.’36 In sum, Ambrose’s ‘defense’ of David develops three basic assumptions that stress David’s exemplarity: first, humanity is sinful by nature, second, David’s repentance is a model, and, third, David’s merits repair his fallen condition. While Ambrose initially expresses these assumptions according to the generic protocols of the classical concessio, he draws much more directly on his own exemplaristic exegesis as well as his biblically inspired theology of merit. The Exegesis of Psalm 50 Attention to these theological themes sheds light on the unity of the two halves of the Apology. In studying the exegesis of Psalm 50 in the second half of the treatise, scholars, especially Hadot, have focused on Ambrose’s extensive borrowings from Origen and Didymus, which are much less frequent in the opening, ‘defensive’ chapters of the Apology.37 For these scholars, the shift in method and sources give further evidence that Ambrose originally composed the exegetical portion apart from the rhetorical defense of David. While Ambrose’s debt Origen and Didymus is obvious, his balance of concern the universality of sin, the need for radical repentance, and the meritorious role of good deeds seem to be his own innovation. To be sure, the commentaries of his sources survive only in fragments, so we cannot be certain about Ambrose’s originality in emphasizing these three points, with his special focus on David’s reparation. Yet the close correspondence between Ambrose’s defense in the first part of the Apology and his exegesis in the second part suggests that he adapted his sources to fit his distinctive ethical and exegetical program. We thus have further motive to interpret the entire treatise as a theological rather than a political text. At various points in his commentary (i.e., Apol. 8.41-85), Ambrose returns to the themes of his defense while observing the sequence of the Psalm.38 The same arguments that he used to exonerate and celebrate David in the ‘forensic portion’ he now relates to the moral sense of the Psalm. Thus, when he reaches 36 Apol. 7.40: ergo et remissionem meruit iniquitatis et texit caritate atque operuit peccata sua et texit operibus bonis. 37 See P. Hadot, Apologie (1977), 49-57, for a collection of parallels. For other patristic treatments of the Psalm, see J. Metzdorf, ‘Psalm 50(51) in der patristichen Auslegung’ (2015), 213-4. 38 On common themes, see P. Hadot, Apologie (1977), 15-6.

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verse 6, ‘That you may be justified’, he turns to treat the sinfulness of humanity. Alluding to Rom. 3:9, he concludes, ‘It is clear that all are under sin’, and for this reason no one is justified in condemning the other, and thus: ‘the one who confesses his sin justifies the Lord’.39 Indeed, Ambrose develops the theme of human sinfulness beyond the brief reference that appears in the defense when he reflects on the Psalm’s reference to ‘conception in iniquity’. In a passage that Augustine will quote in his anti-Pelagian Opus imperfectum against Julian, Ambrose asks: ‘We are conceived in the sins of the parents and we are born in their sins’.40 Thus, in his Psalm exegesis, Ambrose’s invocation of the universality of human sinfulness is entirely distinct from any formal exoneration of David, but rather is an invitation to his congregation to reflect on their own inherited guilt. Second, the exegesis of Ps. 50 focuses on the marvel of repentance. Ambrose shows that by acknowledging his sin David may immediately enjoy God’s mercy: ‘Suddenly the splendor of the truth and the brilliance of spiritual grace shine out for him.’41 As in the first part of the Apology, Ambrose emphasizes both the alacrity and the degree of David’s repentance: ‘Who of us, even if he confesses his sin, does not consider the confession something to be minimized rather than repeated? Who repeats it a second or third time? See in how many verses the great prophet re-proclaims his own sin, how there is no verse that does not contain a confession of his sin.’42 The abundance of David’s penitence in the composition of the Psalm reinforces its function as an exemplar. Finally, Ambrose concludes his exegesis by emphasizing the meritorious role of good deeds. He cites 1Pet. 4:8 again: charity ‘hides a multitude of sins’. He again identifies the apostle Peter’s own reparative repentance as a model for the sinner’s: Peter’s profession of charity, ‘You know I love you’ (Jn. 21), wipes out the fall of the triple denial.43 Indeed, Ambrose interprets the Psalm’s request that God ‘turn your face from my sins’ to mean that David wants the Lord to shift his gaze from his faults to his acts of charity.44 In conclusion, Ambrose maintains: ‘So does perfect virtue destroy iniquity and the remission of sins abolish every sin.’45 For Ambrose, Psalm 50’s references to reparation reflect not only David the author but also David the moral exemplar. 39 Apol. 10.55: iustificat dominum qui peccatum fatetur. Ambrose is borrowing from Didymus (Mühlenberg #539); see P. Hadot, Apologie (1977), 53. 40 Apol. 11.56: concipimur ergo in peccato parentum et in delictis eorum nascimur; compare Job 14:4-5. 41 Apol. 12.58: subito ei splendor ueritatis et candor gratiae spiritalis offulsit. 42 Apol. 9.43: Quis nostrum etiamsi confiteatur delictum suum, non perstringendum potius quam repetendum putet? Quis secundo repetat aut tertio? Vide quot uersibus tantus propheta peccatum suum resonet, quam nullus uersus sine confessione delicti sit. 43 Apol. 9.50. 44 Compare Apol. 13.62: ‘For a sin is either forgiven or wiped out or covered over. It is forgiven through grace, wiped out through the blood of the Cross, and covered through charity.’ 45 Apol. 13.63: sic perfecta uirtus iniquitatem et remissio peccatorum delet omne peccatum.

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Ambrose’s focus on reparation and ‘covering sin’ with merit in turn implies a certain pastoral adaptation of his exegetical sources, which originally addressed educated and, most likely, ascetical audiences.46 Ambrose’s emphasis on the reparative role of charity, which does not appear in Didymus, has a distinct pastoral force.47 Didymus, for instance, in his exegesis of ‘create a clean heart in me’ (Ps. 50:10), identifies the ‘cleaning’ agent simply as ‘good thoughts’, suggesting that purity of heart is a matter of constancy of prayer.48 Ambrose quotes Didymus but then appends the ‘pursuit of virtues’ to the list of cleaners. Whereas Didymus’s injunction would speak especially to the ascetical struggle with vicious distractions, Ambrose’s emphasis on active, public virtues present David’s prayer as a model for a broad and mixed congregation. We find a similar adaptation of an ascetical interpretation in Ambrose’s reading of Ps. 50:10: ‘My bones, once cast down, will rejoice’. For Didymus, the ‘bones’ are ‘teachings and the virtues of the soul’;49 Ambrose extends the allegory to include the Church, wrought from Christ’s ‘bone’ or members (Eph. 5:30), and the ‘people of the churches’.50 Ambrose frequently adapts Didymus’ concerns to a broad and mixed audience. Indeed, Ambrose’s references to the sacraments in the final section of his exegesis further reflect his adaptation of learned commentary to a pastoral setting. In Apol. 12.59 Ambrose offers an extended treatment of Ps. 50:9: ‘Sprinkle me with hyssop, and I will be cleaned; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.’ While his sources offer spiritual and typological interpretations of the cleansing, Ambrose links the verse directly to baptism and to the Eucharist.51 The sacramental references near the end of the sermon underscore the pastoral, even mystagogical, context of the sermon.52 It is clear, then, that Ambrose intends both the life of David and his reading of Psalm 50 to train more than the emperor alone. As he states ‘David handed on for all ages a confession to be sung throughout the world.’53 Ambrose takes 46 On Didymus’s ‘classroom’, see most recently Blossom Stefaniw, Christian Reading: Language, Ethics, and the Order of Things (Berkeley, 2019). 47 See references at Pierre Hadot, ‘Une source de l’Apologia David d’Ambroise: Les commentaires de Didyme et d’Origène sur le psaume 50’, Revue des sciences philosophiques et theólogiques 60 (1976), 205-25, 219. 48 Didymus, Mühlenberg #543 and #544. 49 Didymus, Mühlenberg #542: δόγματα καὶ ψυχῆς δυνάμεις. 50 Apol. 13.60: dicuntur et ossa populi ecclesiarum. 51 Compare Didymus, Mühlenberg #541, and Origen in René Cadiou, Commentaires inédits des psaumes: Études sur les textes d’Origène contenus dans le manuscript Vindobonensis 8 (Paris, 1938), 85. 52 For a recent rereading of one of Ambrose’s later works in light of its mystagogical aims, see David Vopřada, La mistagogia del commento al Salmo 118 di Sant’Ambrogio, Studia Ephemeridis Augustinianum 146 (Rome, 2016). 53 Apol. 11.56: adiunxit confessionem iniquitatis suae et in perpetua saecula toto canendam orbe transmisit.

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both David’s life and his song as a model to be employed and proclaimed by all Christians. Conclusion and Ambrose’s Audience My account of the stages of both the defense and the exegesis contained in Apologia supports two claims about the Apologia. First, it functions as a coherent and well-conceived whole developing theological themes central to Ambrose’s moral and mystical vision. Second, it aims to address a broad congregation and not simply a repentant emperor. First, on the structure of the Apology: as I noted, Hadot maintains that the final version of the Apology comprises a letter to Theodosius, vestiges of a preached sermon, and exegesis on Psalm 50, all of which were rewritten for publication.54 While such a development is possible, it may obscure the themes that unite these elements to one another, as well as to Ambrose’s theology. The second, and related point, pertains to the audience of the Apology. As we have seen, scholars have noted that Ambrose’s self-conscious comparison between the events of David’s career and the life of Theodosius. Yet we should not exaggerate the place of the historical context and the possible political ramifications of the document. Ambrose is emphatic that the lessons of David’s life and his Psalm apply to every Christian, including Ambrose himself. While he stresses the distinctive challenges that David faced on account of his royal position, Ambrose never suggests that David is a distinctively royal exemplar, as the later Fürstenspiegel, or ‘guides for princes’, will do.55 The Apology of David deserves our attention, not simply as an historical relic, but also as a celebration of divine mercy, in the life of David and in the proclamation of the ‘Miserere’ by Ambrose’s congregation.

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P. Hadot, Apologie (1977), 16. It may not be coincidence that Hadot edited the entry for ‘Fürstenspiegel’, RAC 8 (1972), 555-632, shortly before he turned to work on the Apology. 55

Dives misericordiae dives est deo. What Makes the Christian Rich According to Ambrose of Milan David VOPŘADA, Charles University, Prague, Czech Republic

ABSTRACT The article studies the relation between mercy and being truly rich in the works and thought of Ambrose. After showing the historical context of the bishop’s attitudes vis-àvis the social questions of his time, the question of what makes the Christian truly rich is approached. Ambrose is presented not as a mere theorist but as someone who took upon himself the attitude of Christ the Poor. Ambrose shows to his audience that Christianity as their new faith is not a religion of prosperity but that it leads them towards richness before God, which is not visible but stays in the attitudes of the inner man. Among these is mercy, which has a fundament that is theological, as it is based in the acting of the merciful God towards humanity. Mercy is, therefore, a means of following God and becoming similar to him. This is also why mercy and Ambrose’s stance on the right use of wealth cannot be reduced to the historical context and ethics, but has to be considered as an indispensable part of his theological views on God and the divinity of Christ, as proclaimed by the Council of Nicaea.

Introduction ‘He who is rich in mercy, is rich before God’1 – with these words of the heading of this article, the bishop of Milan addresses the rich in his congregation, accusing them of exploitation of the poor and of other kinds of social injustice that plagued the life of the city and of the Church in his times.2 To perceive the significance of ’mercy’ (misericordia) in Ambrose’s works and thought, it is necessary to set the philological and theological consideration of the term in the very concrete social and historical framework of the city of Milan and, more generally, of the Roman Empire, at the end of the fourth 1 Ambr., Nab. 14.60 (CSEL 32.2, 504). For Ambrose’s De Nabuthe and his view of social justice, see, for example, Vincent R. Vasey, The Social Ideas in the Works of St Ambrose (Roma, 1982); Roberta Ricci, In summis divitiis inops: Ambrogio e il ricco infelice (Bologna, 2013). 2 For the social situation in early Church, see esp. Richard Newhauser, The Early History of Greed: The Sin of Avarice in Early Medieval Thought and Literature (Cambridge, 2000); Christel Freu, Les figures du pauvre dans les sources italiennes de l’Antiquité tardive (Paris, 2007); Antoine Hérouard et al., Riches et pauvres dans l’Église ancienne (Paris, 2011).

Studia Patristica CXIII, 79-101. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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century. The following lines, therefore, aim to bring to attention this cultural setting that explains the emphasis put by Ambrose on the concept of mercy as indispensable not only for Christian life and virtue, but also for Ambrose’s understanding of God, his attitude towards humankind, and the significance of the Incarnation and Crucifixion. For Ambrose, it was clear that it would not be enough to remedy the insatiable attitudes of a part of his congregation by simply showing them the negative side of the coin: and that is why he sets before their eyes something that would permit them to change their greediness into a desire for better things. In other words, Ambrose tries to show to the rich that, in a sense, they are not rich, and raises the question in which realities the true patrimony lies. In fact, what makes a person rich? This is a question that is critical for anyone in any age: no one would be joyful from the prospect of being poor and despicable. In the Roman world, wealth was usually the thing that stimulated people to attain their life’s ideal the most. What is more, the land the rich possessed ‘was turned into sufficient money to be turned into privilege and power’. However, that type of life was reserved to about ten per cent of the privileged and ‘most persons lived miserable lives’.3 This is vital to bear in mind while we read or listen to Ambrose’s discourses that address the social injustice of the rich of his city. The bishop chooses sides in favour of the needy, while he protects the poor and sides with the grand majority of his flock against the prosperous minority.4 The theme of wealth is, as is that of mercy, linked to the proper Christian attitude towards others, towards God, and towards one’s property. To discuss the relationship between mercy and the use of wealth, I will start at the right (and even more at the wrong) attitude towards money and property. Then, with Ambrose, I will ask what makes the Christian rich, where mercy is one of the crucial components of the true wealth of a believer. Lastly, the role of this mercy in Ambrose’s idea of Christian life will be presented. In this way, the example of mercy can be presented as a witness to the close relationship of Ambrose’s theology, ethics, and social responsiveness can be brought forward and help to understand in a refreshed way the unity of Ambrose’s theoretical and practical teaching. The wrong and right attitude to wealth Various forms of greed were present in every situation of the life of the people in Northern Italy. Although Milan became the residence of the Emperors in the 360s, it did not bring much prosperity to the community, especially in the countryside. There was a profound demographic and economic crisis; many 3 Peter Brown, Through the Eye of a Needle: Wealth, the Fall of Rome, and the Making of Christianity in the West, 350-550 AD (Princeton, 2012), 8. 4 For Ambrose’s attitude vis-à-vis the poor, see V.R. Vasey, Social Ideas (1982), 218-25.

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fields were laid waste. The deflationary monetary policy of the time brought a general reduction in productivity and such widespread impoverishment that trade returned partially to natural barter.5 However, wealth was being accumulated even more in ever fewer hands of the wealthy in much vaster proportions than in the East of the Roman Empire.6 This chasm that divided the extraordinarily wealthy and the poor might be connected to the introduction of a gold coin (solidus) by Constantine, where the previous rich people accumulated gold, which would become only scarce outside their circles.7 Also, the attitude of these few wealthy people to their money is what Ambrose calls greed: a vice that, through their example, also spread to the lower strata of the society where one’s gain became too often the only concern of people. Ambrose was convinced that greed is ‘an old evil, existing from the most ancient times’. He traced its presence and effects throughout history up to his days and he concluded that ‘greed is a deadly thing’ and that ‘money is seductive’, as ‘it defiles those who have it and affords no help to those who do not’.8 Also, Paulinus of Milan depicts how Ambrose abhorred avarice as the engine of the ambition of the majority of the influential people of the city, especially those placed in a position of authority, and that he considered it ‘the root of all evils’.9 Ambrose was aware that ‘human behaviour had devoted itself to the admiration of riches – so much as that people think someone is not worthy of honour unless he is rich’.10 It is striking that for Ambrose and his circle, no other vice than avarice was seen to be significant enough to qualify as the primary topic of discussion in these writers’ works. Greed, more than any other vice, summed up perfectly for the bishops the common elements of sinful behaviour precipitated by these extreme conditions which were impeding its progress.11 This perception is perfectly reflected at the beginning of Ambrose’s most critical speech dedicated to avarice where he made clear that the ancient troubles with greed had persevered up to his days: Naboth’s story is old, but it repeats itself every day. […] More than one Achab has seen the light of the day but, what is worse, an Achab is born every day and never ever die for

5

Santo Mazzarino, Aspetti sociali del IV secolo. Ricerche di storia tardo-romana (Roma, 1951), 137-8; Lellia Ruggini, Economia e società nell’«Italia annonaria». Rapporti fra agricoltura e commercio dal IV al VI secolo d.C. (Milano, 1961), 99-100. 6 R. Newhauser, Early History (2000), 73. 7 Peter Brown, The Ransom of the Soul: Afterlife and Wealth in Early Western Christianity (Cambridge, MA, 2015), 14-8. 8 Ambr., off. 2.26.130, 132 (CChr.SL 15, 144; tr. Davidson 341): Vetus igitur et antiqua avaritia est quae cum ipsis divinae legis coepit oraculis, immo propter ipsam reprimendam lex delata est. … Feralis igitur avaritia, illecebrosa pecunia, quae habentes contaminat, non habentes non iuvat. Avarice in Ambrose’s thought is studied by V.R. Vasey, Social Ideas (1982), 176-81. 9 Paulin., v. Ambr. 41 (ed. Bastiaensen 108; tr. Lacy 58). 10 Ambr., off. 2.26.129 (CChr.SL 15, 143): Ceterum ita incubaerunt mores hominum admirationi diuitiarum ut nemo nisi diues honore dignus putetur. 11 R. Newhauser, Early History (2000), 74-5.

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this world. … More than one poor Naboth was killed; every day, a Naboth is oppressed, every day a poor man is killed.12

In this sermon, revised in the treatise De Nabuthae, Ambrose attacks the greed of the rich, that is, the wealthy present in his assembly, the prosperous Christians, who exploited the poor farmers who left their fields waste and were forced into exile. Quite persuasively, Ambrose shows that the true poor man is the real rich person, although not the ideal one. Why? A wealthy person is miserably in need because he seeks what belongs to others. In his yearning ‘he does not have the disposition of humility but the ardour of lust’.13 Ambrose describes this posture of the rich as a form of madness, just as it is insane that, on Naboth’s refusal, Achab’s spite prevents him from eating and sleeping. However, Ambrose observes the madness of greed to run even deeper. The rich man does not intend to take possession as much as he means to stop someone else from possessing properties. This frequently happened at the time and was one of the causes of economic disaster in Ambrose’s day. Ambrose lets the rich man say: ‘As I wait for prices to rise, I am losing my habit of being charitable. How many poor lives could I have saved with last year’s grain? Harvest such as that would have made me happier…’14 The rich take more joy in very high prices than in the abundance of goods, sold along with everyone else.15 If Ambrose attacks the rich, we have to take into account that he himself was rich, having been born into a senatorial family and having been accustomed to the life of the Roman nobility and of the high officials of the Empire.16 When he came to Milan and was elected bishop, he brought with himself the entire family wealth and – because both his brother Satyrus and his sister Marcellina were celibate – it was he who disposed of the wealth his family accumulated. This money he endowed to the Church of Milan, using it especially on building Christian cult places in Milan, amongst which is the so-called Basilica ambrosiana. But he also lavished it on the poor of his city.17 He also 12 Ambr., Nab. 1.1 (CSEL 32.2, 469): Nabuthae historia tempore uetus est, usu cottidiana. … Non igitur unus Achab natus est, sed quod peius est cottidie Achab nascitur et numquam moritur huic saeculo. … Non unus Nabuthae pauper occisus est; cottidie Nabuthae sternitur, cottidie pauper occiditur. 13 Nab. 2.8 (CSEL 32.2, 473): Haec quam abiecta, quam uilia! Non habent enim humilitatis affectum, sed cupiditatis incendium. 14 Nab. 7.33 (CSEL 32.2, 485-6): dum incrementa pretiorum aucupor, amisi usum beneficiorum, quantas anni superioris frumento potui animas parperum reseruare? haec me magis delectarent pretia. quae non nummus aestimantur, sed gratia. 15 Nab. 7.35 (CSEL 32.2, 486). 16 Paulin., v. Ambr. 3-4 (ed. Bastaensen 56-60). Recently, Ambrose’s roots have been revisited by Luigi F. Pizzolato, ‘L’enigma del padre di sant’Ambrogio’, Aevum 88 (2014), 137-66. 17 Ambr., ep. 75a = c. Aux. 33; Neil B. McLynn, Ambrose of Milan: Church and Court in a Christian Capital (Berkeley, 1994), 69-71; J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, Ambrose and John Chrysostom: Clerics between Desert and Empire (Oxford, 2011), 158.

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did not cease to rescue and liberate captives from the Gothic invasion.18 Although it seems probable that he kept some of it for his private use, these examples of Ambrose’s use of property show that Ambrose knew what it means to be rich and when he speaks about riches, about avarice, or about the concern for the poor, it was for him more than a theory: the right attitudes could be observed in his Christian life and ministry as a bishop. This stance of the bishop can be recognised as a radical decision for Christ the Poor that must have coincided with his episcopal election and especially with his own baptism that preceded it. Paulinus narrates how Ambrose, at the time of his consecration, ‘all the gold and silver he might have had for himself he gave to the Church and to the poor’, ‘so that as a lightly clad and unencumbered soldier he might follow Jesus Christ, who, being rich became poor for our sakes, that through His poverty we might be rich’.19 Now, as this might look as ascetically as it does, this does not indicate that Ambrose did not want to be rich! He did not consider being wealthy as wrong: it was the use of the money and one’s approach to his property that made the difference. Moreover, when Ambrose attacks greed during his discourse on the relationship with God in prayer, he makes sure his audience understand that they cannot pray and approach God if they want to accumulate more earthly profit for themselves. Paulinus develops this remark on Ambrose, commenting on the situation of the clerics and ascetic people who ‘converted’ to Christ and hold him for their only valuable possession: ‘For, to whom there is nothing in this world, to him in truth is Christ the portion, and, despising these paltry things, he will receive much, and in particular shall possess life everlasting’.20 Ambrose was convinced that everyone gains something from the Christian faith, be it the rich and the poor. Even for the people accustomed to the life of ancient society and its religious cults it was not always easy to grasp. The inner man If it is not money that makes one rich, what is it? While trying to show his answer to this question, following both the ancient philosophical and the Christian traditions, represented especially by the Alexandrine authors, Ambrose demonstrates that it is not what is external or outward that is essential but the interiority that hides what is most precious for any person. This can be documented throughout Ambrose’s work; however, it is something that can be found in his De sacramentis as part of the bishop’s teaching on prayer to the 18

Paulin., v. Ambr. 38.4 (ed. Bastiaensen 102). Paulin., v. Ambr. 38.4-5 (ed. Bastiaensen 102; tr. Lacy 56). 20 Paulin., v. Ambr. 41 (ed. Bastiaensen 108; tr. Lacy 58-9): Quia cui nihil in saeculo est, illi vere portio est Christus, et qui contempserit parva multa percipiet, insuper et vitam aeternam possidebit. 19

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neophytes during the Easter week following their baptism. In the text, several components that add to Ambrose’s idea about who is rich and what it has to do with mercy can be found. First, he tries to explain what it means to pray ‘without strife’ (1Tim. 2:8).21 Ambrose presents an example of a ‘trader’ or ‘an avaricious person’ who ‘considers money, another gain, another honour, another desire’, thinking ‘that God can hear him’.22 Ambrose tries to confront the stance of those who would take the commercial attitudes toward their old divinities and bring them as part of their new Christian life. The prayer to God is not there to receive rewards, gains, or further earthly riches; it is necessary to prefer ‘divine to human things’.23 One cannot treat God as a trader would, but what is even more critical, he must not be greedy. After showing the inappropriate attitude toward God in prayer, Ambrose moves on to what is essential. After a short admonition based upon 1Tim. 2:9 where Ambrose addresses women, trying to teach them where their real beauty and grace lies, Ambrose moves to speak on the adornment that lies ‘in prayer from a pure heart, where there is the hidden man of the heart, who is always rich in the sight of God’, culminating in his speech asserting: ‘You have then that, in which you are rich’.24 The inner man, called ‘the hidden man of the heart’, is for Ambrose always rich before God. Ambrose puts in contrast human interiority that is hidden from the sight of others, but visible to God, and the exterior apparition, which is prone to superficial judgement from others and is to be searched by one’s ambitions. This existence of the inner man is developed also in other writings of Ambrose. It is especially in his Letter 10 to Simplicianus, where Ambrose develops his thought on the existence of the ‘man hidden in the heart’ (absconditus cordis homo). Quoting 1Pet. 3:4, Ambrose makes sure to underline the philosophical tone of his treatise, as the inner man, about whom he speaks, is the man who is also ‘wise’: These two, namely, the man of inner life and the rich man, require no use of riches for themselves. He [scil. Apostle Peter] has mentioned very beautifully ‘the inner life of the heart’ because the whole man of wisdom is hidden, just as wisdom herself is unseen but understood. No one before Peter used such an expression in speaking of the man of inner life. The exterior man has many parts in him; the interior man is filled with wisdom, with favours, with beauty.25 21

Sacr. 6.5.19 (CSEL 73, 80): sine … disceptatione. Sacr. 6.5.20 (CSEL 73, 80): Plerumque negotiator venit ad orationem, aut avarus de pecunia cogitat, alter de lucro, alter de honore, alter de cupiditate, et putat, quod eum deus possit audire. 23 Sacr. 6.5.21 (CSEL 73, 81): Et ideo quando oras, divina humanis praeferre te convenit. 24 Sacr. 6.5.21 (CSEL 73, 81; tr. Deferrari 326): Ergo mulier, inquit, non in ornatu capillorum, non in tortis crinibus ornamentum suum habeat, sed oratione ex corde puro, ubi est absconditus cordis homo, qui semper est apud deum locuples. Habes ergo, in quo sis dives. 25 Ep. 10(79).2 (CSEL 82.1, 73; tr. Beyenka 303f.): Duo sunt igitur: et esse hominem in homine et illum esse divitem, qui sibi nullarum divitiarum usum requirat. Pulchre autem ‘cordis 22

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Peter, who brings something new that is particular to the philosophical understanding of human interiority, is an example that incarnates Ambrose’s conviction about the particularity of the Christian perception of the ‘inner man’.26 This idea based upon 1Pet. 3:4 can be traced also in other ascetical writings of Ambrose;27 in the Exhortatio virginitatis, Ambrose goes back to the topic of women’s ornaments as in the De sacramentis to show that it is the embellishments of the inner man that are much more important than the outward beauty and ornaments, asserting that ‘in the woman, we must rather search the ornaments of inner man, because the hidden man of the heart who is poor for the world, is rich before God’.28 Similarly, in De officiis, the value of the inner man is intrinsically linked to the ‘incorruptibility of a quiet and moderate spirit’.29 The inner man respects the order of things and does not trespass to claim the property of others. Again, the topic is based upon 1Pet. 3:4 and again this attitude has to do with the proper use of the means one has at his disposal. This appeal to moderation, has to do with the real situation of the rich and the poor in Ambrose’s society: Moderation is a great thing, then: it is not interested in asserting any rights of its own, it makes no claims for itself, it makes no assumptions, and by one means or another it confines itself entirely within the limits of its own resources; yet is rich in the sight of God – and in his sight no one is rich. Moderation is rich, because it is the portion of God himself.30

The moderation of which Ambrose speaks also in De officiis is, therefore, the means to be ‘poor to the world’. This is not manifested as a mere absence of avarice, but it has to be joined by moral requirements, the decision not to sin, and to handle property, which is good, with a good conscience. In this way, one ‘can be rich before God, so that an incorruptible and modest spirit may be in you’.31 This wealth hidden in the inner man is not completely safe, as the enemy can attack this inner wealth at the moment the human heart is empty: hominem’ dixit, eo quod totus sapientiae sit absconditus sicut ipsa sapientia, quae non videtur, sed intellegitur. Nemo ante Petrum tali expressione usus est, ut diceret ‘cordis hominem’. Exterior enim homo plurima in se membra habet, interior autem cordis homo totus sapientiae est, plenus gratiae, plenus decoris. 26 This tradition is followed by Pierre Courcelle, Connais-toi toi-même; de Socrate à saint Bernard (Paris, 1974), which has already become a classic; for Ambrose, see ibid. 113-25. 27 Inst. virg. 3.18 (SAEMO 14.2, 124). 28 Exh. virg. 10.64 (SAEMO 14.2, 250): magis interioris hominis ornamenta feminis requirenda, quoniam ille absconditus cordis homo, qui est pauper saeculo, ipse est locuples deo. 29 Off. 1. 18. 70 (CChr.SL 15, 26): Ideoque oremus in incorruptione quieti et modesti spiritus qui est ante Deum locuples, ut ait Petrus. 30 Off. 1.18.70 (CChr.SL 15, 26, tr. Davidson 158): Magna igitur modestia quae cum sit etiam sui iuris remissior, nihil sibi usurpans, nihil uindicans et quodam modo intra uires suas contractior, diues est apud Deum apud quem nemo diues. Diues est modestia quia Dei portio est. 31 Exh. virg. 10.65 (SAEMO 14.2, 252): audistis, inquam, in quo possitis apud deum esse locupletes; ut sit in uobis incorruptibilis, inquit, et modestus spiritus.

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Ambrose urges his audience not to be afraid of those who steal gold and silver, as they can take away only something that ‘does not enrich the soul but weighs it down’: in fact, one has the treasures where his heart lies, and so it is not wise to obsess oneself with gold and other earthly riches.32 Pure heart and simplicity In the passage of De sacramentis 6.5.21 studied in the previous paragraph, Ambrose also shows to his neophytes (and possibly also other baptised Christians), and especially to the present women, that true wealth ‘in Christ’ has to do also with a pure heart and simplicity: In Christ are the chastity and purity of your wealth, the faith of the filet, the devotion, the compassion/mercy. These are the treasures of justice, as the Prophet reminded.33

Ambrose connects true wealth with justice, which plays an important role in Ambrose’s perception of mercy as well, as M. Andoková shows in her study in this volume.34 In fact, the correct use of wealth for the benefit of the community – or the practice of mercy – is part of justice and, therefore, this mercy is justice.35 What is more, Ambrose also speaks about faith and devotion: the new faith becomes for the neophytes their treasure that they are meant to keep. It is Christ himself that makes them rich. Their faith is the patrimony of the Father, and the baptised might be a very poor one to the world but rich before God.36 Moreover, there are also chastity and purity that are here to be understood in the context of the precept in 1Pet. 3:4, which is addressed to women.37 Therefore, the first meaning is indeed sexual chastity and purity as a virtue of wives and virgins. On the second level, though, men are not excluded from this view on chastity and purity, as Ambrose speaks before about the ‘prayer from a pure heart, where is the hidden man of the heart’. Purity of this kind cannot be limited to the area of sexuality but rather to the purity of intention and about being straightforward and without side-thoughts. This can be well documented also from other works of Ambrose where he sets as an example the ‘simplicity’ of Christ the Poor. In Explanatio Psalmi 40 he says about Christ: ‘These are the riches of simplicity, and in them Christ’s 32

Iac. 2.5.23 (CSEL 32.2, 45). Sacr. 6.5.21 (CSEL 73, 81): In Christo divitiae tuae pudicitia est et castitas, infulae fides, devotio misericordia. Hi sunt thesauri iustitiae, sicut propheta memoravit. 34 See p. 39-52. 35 Expos. ps. CXVIII 8.22 (CSEL 62, 163); R.V. Vasey, Social Ideas (1982), 158. 36 Exh. uirg. 3.13 (SAEMO 14.2, 210). 37 The apostrophes that address the present women in De Sacramentis are studied in my ‘L’utilizzo della polarità uomo-donna nelle catechesi battesimali di sant’Ambrogio’ (forthcoming). 33

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poverty is most precious’.38 This simplicity has even its sacramental dimension, as Ambrose points out the ‘simplicity’ of the ‘venerable Sacrament’ that is not complicated but requires essential elements in the same way the faith does.39 However, the simplicity is a feature of the human heart that has joined this simplicity of Christ in baptism, so that Ambrose can say: ‘For nothing is more precious than one whose heart is pure and simple.’40 Ambrose very often uses the words in diuitiis simplicitatis, taken from 2Cor. 8:2 that reads: ‘deep poverty has abounded in the riches of their simplicity’.41 He does this also in Explanatio Psalmi 61, where he continues to show the reasons for this value of simplicity: This is why the Apostle says, so beautifully: He has abounded in the riches of his simplicity. Can anything be richer than simplicity? Like a good father of a family it has plenty for itself. It is content with its own purity. It has no wish to gnaw at the possessions of other people, on the contrary, from its own resources it funds others. The innocent believes every word. He is not for ever changing – as is the cunning man – from one fraud or stratagem to another. The crafty man, despite all his cunning, goes in fear of everything. He does not believe even his own thoughts and is always changing his mind. But simplicity knows not fear.42

The simplicity has to do with the purity of intention, of taking reality as it is and taking action without thinking about one’s profit, which implies not having the intention to take for one’s pleasure anything in this world, as Ambrose says in his Commentary on Psalm 118: Yes, what belongs to this world ought to be hated, because when the heart feels secure and is off its guard the pleasures of the flesh appear innocent and attractive, and desire creeps into one.43

Purity of heart, together with justice and mercy, enables one to see the situation of the other, the proper means to help him and to have compassion with him. At the same time, we can also recognise in these words of Ambrose the 38 Expl. ps. 40.5 (CSEL 64, 233): Haec sunt diuitiae simplicitatis, in quibus est Christi pretiosa paupertas. 39 Expl. ps. 40.5 (CSEL 64, 232). 40 Expl. ps. 61.21 (CSEL 64, 391): Nihil enim pretiosius uiro simplici. 41 Iac. 2.9.38; Nab. 14.60; expl. ps. 36.44; 61.21; Expos. ps. CXVIII 12.21; exh. virg. 10. 65; ep. 10.4; 36.16. 42 Expl. ps. 61. 21 (CSEL 64, 391): Vnde apostolus pulchre: ‘abundauit’, inquit, ‘in diuitiis simplicitatis suae’. Quid enim simplicitate ditius, quae sicut bonus pater familias satis sibi abundat et sua puritate contenta non quaerit alienum nec abrodit, sed de se ceteris fundit? ‘Innocens enim credit omni uerbo’ nec se in artes uarias saepe commutat sicut astutia, quae, ut sit cauta, timet omnia nec se consiliis suis credit, uersat suas ipsa sententias; simplicitas autem timere nil nouit. 43 Expos. ps. CXVIII 13.28 (CSEL 62, 298): Odio igitur debent esse quae saeculi sunt, ne securis affectibus et otiosis blanda conciliatricula uoluptatis inrepat inlecebra.

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same traits of the famous doctrine of Augustine on uti and frui, on the way how to use and find pleasure respectively in the realities of this world and in God.44 Ambrose is convinced that all things are positive and good and man can use them, as they represent also an opportunity for virtue. Simultaneously, though, they can be misused and become a danger for him.45 Man must, therefore, use his riches and not be used by them.46 Mercy What has been told so far about the inner man, faith in Christ, devotion, the pure heart and simplicity has much to do with mercy that constitutes the main theme of this paper. As will be shown, all the above-mentioned realities are somehow related to mercy, as they, together, make the Christian believer rich.47 In showing the role of mercy, the passage of Ambrose’s De Nabuthae that inspired the title of this presentation, is crucial. Ambrose, having explained to his audience that the earthly riches do not make anybody rich before God, wishes to make them understand what would make them wealthy: You know not, O man, how to pile up wealth. If you wish to be rich, be poor to this world so that you might be rich to God. The one who is rich in faith is rich to God; the one who is rich in mercy is rich to God; the one who is rich in simplicity is rich to God; the one who is rich in wisdom, the one who is rich in knowledge – they are rich to God. There are those who possess an abundance in poverty and who are in need as far as wealth is concerned.48

To his audience, Ambrose offers a logic that turns their conception of the good of their religion upside down: the religion is not meant to provide them with temporal goods or progress in their career, but it provides them with something they cannot see and which is visible only to God. What is more, the bishop states that their real wealth is faith (in Christ), mercy, simplicity, wisdom, and knowledge. He is also privileging the poor, who might have the impression that they are not in favour, not only in society but also before God and in the Church. In the realm of Christ, though, they are those who become rich and will see those who appear rich impoverished. Ambrose uses three 44 Aug., doct. chr. 1.3.3-1.10.10 (CChr.SL 32, 8-12); Henry Chadwick, ‘Frui–uti’, in AL 2 (2004-10), 70-5. 45 Ambr., expos. Luc. 4.29 (CChr.SL 15, 116). 46 Expos. Luc. 8.84-5 (CChr.SL 15, 330); V.R.Vasey, Social Ideas (1982), 156. 47 V.R. Vasey, Social Ideas (1982), 157-61 presents various facets of social utility of using the wealth for the good of the community. 48 Nab. 14.60 (CSEL 32.2, 505): Nescis, o homo, struere diuitias. Si uis diues esse, esto pauper saeculo, ut sis deo diues. Diues fidei diues est deo, diues misericordiae diues est deo, diues simplicitatis diues est deo, diues sapientiae, diues scientiae diuites deo.

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biblical verses, 2Cor. 8:2, Ps. 34:10, and Prov. 22:7, to show that the roles of the rich and the poor change: The poor abound whose deep poverty has abounded in the riches of their simplicity, and the rich have been in need and have gone hungry. For not in vain does Scripture say: The poor shall be put over the rich, and their own slaves shall lend to their masters, because the rich and those who are masters sow what is useless and evil, from which they do not gather fruit but pluck off thorns. And therefore the rich shall be subject to the poor, and slaves shall lend spiritual things to their masters, just as the rich man asked that the poor Lazarus would lend him a drop of water.49

Although the order of realities might have changed in Christ, all the realities that make one rich – that is, the faith, the simplicity, the mercy, the wisdom, and the knowledge – are something that is the possession of the inner man and is not approachable from the outside, except for the capacity to see spiritually. In listing all these realities in one line, Ambrose makes a parallel between them: to have faith, one acts in a simple way and shows mercy to the poor, for there are the real wisdom and knowledge that is not any more accessible only to the philosophers of this age (who had to be rich in order to enjoy the leisure of their philosophical inquiry) but to anyone who entered the realm of Christ through baptism. To show mercy, then, means to have a sincere heart that does not search for one’s gain; to show mercy means to act with faith and according to it. To be sure, showing mercy means to find and show real wisdom that opens the way to the right knowledge of God in Christ, and, on the other hand, is made possible by the knowledge of Christ who himself has shown these same qualities. Are the rich, then, excluded from the possibility to be merciful and be saved? Wealth is not evil in itself, in fact, the wealth is good. The rich man can therefore be good as well and he can be saved. If they practice, with the simplicity of their heart, the same virtue of misericordia that belongs primarily to God and Christ, they also become instruments of God’s goodness. The relationship of the rich to God is somehow connected to the attitude of mercy and compassion they show to the poor.50 It is showing mercy to the poor that makes one rich. Another prospect of this lavishing one’s mercy upon the poor would be to explore the theme of redemptive almsgiving, as mercy, in the sense of acting 49

Nab. 14.60 (CSEL 32.2, 505): Sunt qui in paupertate abundent et qui in diuitiis egeant. Abundant pauperes, quorum profunda paupertas abundauit in diuitiis simplicitatis suae, diuites autem eguerunt et esurierunt. Neque enim otiose scriptum est: ‘Diuitum pauperes praepositi erunt et proprii serui dominis faenerabunt’, quia diuites et domini superuacua et mala seminant, ex quibus fructum non colligant, sed spinas metant. Et ideo pauperibus diuites erunt subditi et serui dominis spiritalia faenerabunt, quemadmodum diues rogabat, ut sibi stillam aquae pauper Lazarus faeneraret. 50 Nab. 14.60 (CSEL 32.2, 505-6); V.R. Vasey, Social Ideas (1982), 171.

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with compassion, has the power, in accordance with Prov. 15:27, to forgive one’s sins, as Ambrose says: ‘Mercy frees from sin’.51 There is even a connection between showing mercy and lending to God, that is, making up for one’s redemption, storing up treasures in heaven to be reached in the afterlife. This can be documented, for example, with a passage from Ambrose’s correspondence: Mercy is also the ransom of the soul, for the saving of a man’s soul is his riches by which, assuredly, mercy is done, gladdening the poor by this expenditure. Therefore, faith and grace and mercy are the ransom of the soul; these are bought by the full payment of a drachma, that is, a large sum.52

Ambrose documents this in other passages with examples of wealthy Christian landowners who decided to get rid of their property, free their slaves, and distribute their entire wealth to the poor and receive a much more substantial treasure than they had.53 However, the advantages of showing mercy to the poor were not meant to be part only of the future reward, but Ambrose suggests it would be rather wise to act in this way already in the prospect of this earthly life: Besides, this is advantageous in worldly terms as well: a kindness done the poor is more helpful than a kindness done to the rich, for the rich person looks scornfully at kindness and considers it a disgrace to owe anyone a favour. In fact, when anyone does him a kindness, he puts it all down to his own merits: he thinks he has received it because he deserved it, or that it has been given to him simply because the giver imagined he would be repaid more lavishly by someone so rich. So, in the very act of receiving a kindness, the rich believe that the simple fact they have received it proves they have given more than they have received!54

Showing mercy produces gratitude towards the person that shows compassion. Showing compassion to the wealthy and powerful does not make sense, 51

Expos. ps. CXVIII 8.28 (CSEL 62, 167): quia misericordia a peccato liberat. On the proper Christian use of money and on ‘redemptive almsgiving’, see esp. Boniface Ramsey, ‘Almsgiving in the Latin Church: The Late Fourth and Early Fifth Centuries’, Theological Studies 43 (1982), 226-59; Roman Garrison, Redemptive Almsgiving in Early Christianity (Sheffield, 1993); Peter Brown, Poverty and Leadership in the Later Roman Empire (Hanover, NH, 2002); R.D. Finn, Almsgiving in the Later Roman Empire: Christian Promotion and Practice (313-450) (Oxford, 2006); P. Brown, Ransom (2015); id., Treasure in Heaven: The Holy Poor in Early Christianity (Charlottesville, 2016). 52 Ep. 1(7).3 (CSEL 82.1, 4; tr. Deferrari 106): Redemptio enim animae hominis divitiae eius, quibus utique fit misericordia, quae sumptu pauperes iuvat. Fides igitur gratia, misericordia ‘redemptio est animae’, quae drachmae, hoc est integro praetio summae plenioris expenditur. 53 Expos. ps. CXVIII 8.11; 22.11 (CSEL 62, 155-6, 493-4). 54 Off. 2.25.127 (CChr.SL 15, 142; tr. Davidson 338): Ad ipsum quoque saeculi usum collatio beneficii, facta in pauperes magis quam in locupletes, plus iuuat quia diues dedignatur beneficium et pudet eum debitorem esse gratiae. Quin etiam id quod collatum est sibi, meritis suis adrogat quod uelut debitum acceperit uel ideo datum sit eo quod qui dedit reddendum sibi a diuite uberius aestimauerit. Ita in accipiendo beneficio, eo ipso quod acceperint, diuites dedisse magis quam accepisse existimant.

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as they are not used to showing gratitude: it is proper to show mercy, then, to the poor. A particular case of this regards clerics and their ministry that has a beneficial character for those in need, as it is to the clerics that Ambrose addresses his De officiis. It is noteworthy that Ambrose touches on the topic of mercy when reminding his spiritual sons that they should care more for the poor and needy than for those who influence this world. There is no advantage in showing favour to the rich, but clerics should be rather confident that the Lord would repay those who showed their love towards him acting on behalf of the poor.55 Also, he goes on explaining that the call to act with mercy is rooted in the Lord’s command that protects his servants from the ‘greed that sprouts so profusely in the hearts of man’.56 When forming his clergy, Ambrose tries to show that it is in the service of uprooting greed that he wants to focus their hearts on what is of real value. If the rich were not excluded from the command to show mercy to the poor, what about the poor? Should they not be merciful? And how, if they did not dispose of the large sums to lavish on other people? When commenting on John the Baptist’s ministry in his Commentary on the Gospel of Luke, Ambrose elucidates that some of John’s precepts were intended only for some categories of professions, like soldiers or tax collectors. However, showing mercy is not particular to any human profession and it is a requirement imposed upon every human being: But the precept of mercy is intended for all. It is the universal precept. It is required of all professions and all ages. All must practice it. Neither publican nor soldier is exempt, neither the tiller of the soil nor the city-dweller, neither the rich nor the poor. All are warned to give to those who have not. For mercy is the plenitude of virtue. It is the consummate virtue that is recommended to all. We are not to be miserly to others, whether with regard to the clothing or to food. However, even mercy has to preserve a certain measure. We are not to strip ourselves of all we have, but we are to share it with the poor.57

On the one hand, for Ambrose, mercy is the ‘plenitude of virtue’ that is required of all people, but on the other, though, the bishop does not unreasonably demand the acts of mercy when he requires his listeners ‘to preserve a certain measure’. The important thing is to be able to share one’s means with 55

Off. 2.25.126 (CChr.SL 15, 142). Off. 2.25.128 (CChr.SL 15, 143): in pectoribus humanis succidit auaritiam. 57 Expos. Luc. 2.77 (CChr.SL 14, 64; tr. Ní Riain 56): Sed haec et alia officiorum praecepta propria singulorum, misericordia conmunis est usus, ideo conmune praeceptum, omnibus officiis, omnibus aetatibus necessaria et ab omnibus deferenda. non publicanus, non miles excipitur, non agricola uel urbanus, diues et pauper, omnes in conmune admonentur, ut conferant non habenti misericordia enim plenitudo uirtutum est et ideo omnibus est proposita perfectae forma uirtutis nec uestimentis alimentis que suis parcant. Misericordiae tamen ipsius pro possibilitate condicionis humanae mensura seruatur, ut non sibi unusquisque totum eripiat, sed quod habet cum paupere partiatur. 56

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the poor: and this is the kind of mercy that is required of all, even of those who consider themselves poor. The ways to show mercy If Ambrose makes clear that acting mercifully is required of everybody, the question arises of what it means to show mercy and what specifically the attitude is that is required of anyone. In the first place, it represents a personal attitude that does not put trust in one’s riches but solely in the mercy of God. In his Commentary on Psalm 118, Ambrose asks his audience: ‘Do you, who could be a beggar tomorrow, think you are rich? How can you think it, you whose life consists not in abundance but in the mercy of God?’58 Ambrose puts the pride of the rich who deem themselves to be noble in contrast with the attitude of Christ described in Phil. 2:6-11: Christ was rich but he became poor, and as a poor man – not as a rich man – he redeemed you. When people proclaimed aloud that he was God’s son he gave them strict orders to be silent, so that God might be recognised more by his deeds than by his words. And do you say you are famous, you who were fashioned out of clay?59

In De Nabuthae, as an example to illustrate the fact that no one can rely on his wealth, Job is presented as such a person who had an enormous patrimony, but at the end all that was left to him was ‘the fruit of mercy’; and what will you do if you are not able to use your patrimony as well as Job did? If he says this – he who never made a widow weep; who never ate his bread and did not give some to the orphan, whom from his youth up he fostered, fed and raised with the love of a parent; who never despised the naked; who covered the dead; who with the fleece of his sheep warmed the shoulders of the weak, did not oppress the orphan, never delighted in riches, never gloated over the downfall of his enemies: if he who did these things began, from the height of wealth, to be in need; if he kept nothing of his vast possessions but the fruit of mercy alone – then what shall become of you, who know not how to use your possessions, who at the pinnacle of wealth go through days of impoverishment because you give nothing to anyone and come to no one’s help?60 58 Expos. ps. CXVIII 13.28 (CSEL 62, 298; tr. Ní Riain 191): et tu … diuitem te putas, qui cras potes esse mendicus, cum uita tua non in abundantia tua, sed in dei sit misericordia. 59 Expos. ps. CXVIII 13.28 (CSEL 62, 298; tr. Ní Rian 191): Christus cum diues esset, pauper factus est; in paupere, non in diuite te redemit. Confitentibus dei filium imperabat tacere, ut operibus magis quam sermonibus deus agnosceretur; et tu nobilem te dicis, qui es factus e terra? 60 Nab. 13. 57 (CSEL 32.2, 502): Si hoc ille dicit, qui numquam uiduae fecit oculum tabescere, qui numquam solus panem suum manducauit et non orphano tradidit, quem a iuuentute sua nutriuit aluit instituit parentis affectu, qui numquam nudum despexit, qui morientem operuit, qui uelleribus ouium suarum infirmorum calefecit umeros, non oppressit pupillum, numquam diuitiis delectatus est, numquam gratulatus est lapsu inimicorum suorum, si qui fecit haec de summis coepit egere diuitiis, si nihil ex patrimonio tanto nisi solum fructum misericordiae reportauit, quid

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This example of Job is shown to induce his audience to make the decision to show mercy to the poor, most probably to those poor very present to them at the same liturgical assembly at which they participated. That is why Ambrose makes it clear that it is indispensable to show them mercy. Interestingly enough, the right measure, of which Ambrose spoke, appears when he suggests that those who had been rich and noble previously, but later fell into need, provoke the compassion of those who attest it: Mercy is indeed owed to all who are poor, but when calamity has cast certain people from being rich and noble into the greatest extremity of deprivation and want, then there is a deeper and a greater feeling of compassion beating within us.61

The reason for this is that the former rich had become poor and needy, for various reasons, possibly also by being captured by barbarians or pirates. Mercy is not usually shown to the rich and the powerful, but ‘to the poor, the crippled, and those who have fallen from riches into poverty or captivity, or into distress of any other sort’.62 The other two groups to whom Ambrose suggests showing mercy, are the ‘saints’, that is, the servants of God, possibly either male or female, and the poor. The starting point is presented to Ambrose by two gospel parables, that of the steward and that of the rich man, where Ambrose finds an appeal to show mercy to this group of devout people: ‘In the former [scil., parable of the steward], perhaps, we are urged to give freely to the saints, whom the Lord calls friends and to whom he attributes dwellings. Whereas in this parable [scil., of the rich man] we are recommended to give to the poor.’63 Undoubtedly, Ambrose encourages his audience to show mercy to three groups of people: to those who were afflicted by some need or distress, to the ‘saints’, and, generally, to the poor. Critique of the merciless Ambrose is not as much concerned with the rich who used their property well as with those who were merciless, without pity, puffed up by honour, de te futurum est, qui tuo nescis uti patrimonio, qui in summis diuitiis dies sustines mendicitatis, quia nulli largiris, nulli subuenis? 61 Expos. ps. CXVIII 17.4 (CSEL 62, 379; tr. Ní Riain 243): et omnibus quidem misericordia inopibus iure debetur, sed maior quidam, cum ex diuitibus atque nobilibus in ultimum statum atque egestatis necessitatem aliquos aerumna deiecit, miserationis pulsat affectus. 62 Expos. ps. CXVIII 8.28 (CSEL 62, 214, tr. Ní Riain 108): sed egentibus uel debilibus uel his, qui ex diuitiis in paupertatem aut captiuitatem aut necessitatem aliquam deciderunt. Ergo qui eget misericordia peccator est, qui autem peccator non est utique iustus est et non eget misericordia dei. 63 Expos. Lc 8.20 (CChr.SL 14, 305; tr. Ní Riain 276): Licet autem aduertere … incentiuum misericordiae sit, et ibi fortasse sanctis, quos amicos dicit et quibus tabernacula tribuit, Hic uero docet pauperibus conferendum.

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riches, and power. The bishop makes sure to remind them of the limits of their rights and the obligations of their duties.64 But he is also well aware that not showing mercy can be to do with the understanding of God that many people have.65 First, there are those who share the Epicurean and Aristotelian view that ‘the Lord has no concern for man’s actions’ that can struggle with showing mercy.66 Second, there is the opinion of ‘infamous people’ that ‘he does not know what we do in secret’; and third, the reasoning of the same flagitiosi, looking at the fact that the unjust live in luxury and that there are others who are always in depravity and need, that God’s ‘judgement is anything but just’.67 Some questions of these, which would not be limited to late antiquity, may be represented by rhetorical questions Ambrose asks during his homilies: ‘Where is God’s providence? Where is justice? This man here is immensely rich; this other one heaps up estates; that godless one there lives a happy life and enjoys a position of power.’68 Also at other instances, Ambrose shows that he was well aware of these objections of many people vis-à-vis suffering that did not look just and questioned, therefore, both God’s justice and his mercy: For example, should a good person lose a much-loved child, as often happens in this world, or if a fortune is suddenly dispersed, or any other kind of adversity is suffered, the proud then say: Where is God’s justice? Just where is his mercy? Look how this person has been punished, look how much notice was taken of his innocence!69

It has definitely to do with the image of God who is concerned with men, and being concerned with man is, therefore, part of conforming oneself to Christ. Only a Christian, non-philosophical God, and more specifically Christ who despite his divinity emptied himself to become the servant of all, can justify showing mercy to people, in contrast with the majority religious and philosophical views of the era. Mercy as the Opposite and Remedy of Greed In his De officiis, Ambrose proposes possibly the most robust argumentation in favour of acting mercifully and that is looking for the good of many instead 64 Nab. 2.4; 3.11; 6.28-31; 8.38; 12.52 (CSEL 32.2, 471, 473, 483-5, 489, 499); V.R. Vasey, Social Ideas (1982), 171-6 studies this aspect of Ambrose’s ministry. 65 Off. 1.12.40 (CChr.SL 15, 114). 66 Off. 1.12.40; 1.13.47-8 (CChr.SL 15, 114). 67 Off. 1.12.40 (CChr.SL 15, 114). 68 Expos. ps. CXVIII 7.11 (CSEL 62, 133; tr. Ní Riain 88): Vbi est prouidentia dei, ubi iustitia? Superbus iste abundat, adrogans iste locupletatur, impius iste beatus et potens est. 69 Expos. ps. CXVIII 9.17 (CSEL 62, 199; tr. Ní Riain 128): Verbi gratia si filium iustus amittat, quod saeculi usu saepe contingit, si amittat patrimonium uel diuersis adficiatur incommodis rerum uel corporis infirmitatibus, tunc dicunt superbi: ‘ubi est iustitia eius, ubi misericordia? Ecce quia sic multatus est, ecce quia ei innocentia sua nihil prodest!’

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of being selfish: ‘If, therefore, a person wishes to please everyone, he should seek in every situation not to take the course that will bring benefit only to himself but the one that will bring benefit to many, as Paul did.’70 Ambrose addresses his clerics and gives them Paul as an example of their ministry. What he wants from them is quite the opposite of the greed that has been treated earlier in this paper. In other words, from his clerics, their bishop requires they search for the benefit of many, and not only in some peak situations, but rather always, because ‘this is what it means to be conformed in Christ’.71 Also, he goes on to specify what this type of conduct means for the cleric: It means that you do not go after other people’s belongings, and do not take your neighbour’s property so as to have it for yourself. For Christ the Lord, though he was in the form of God, emptied himself, and took the form of man, so that he could enrich that form through the mighty works he would perform in it. Think of it, then you are robbing the one whom Christ has put on! You are stripping the one whom Christ has clothed! This is what you are doing when you attempt to boost your own advantages at your neighbour’s expense.72

The fundament of merciful doing is in the kenosis of Christ and in his mercy towards humankind. Not only should one conform to Christ but also should understand that it is all humanity that Christ took upon himself in the incarnation, in order to unite with every human being. In this way, any action for or against another person becomes an action for or against Christ himself. Showing mercy to the poor means to show mercy to Christ himself, and viceversa. This echoes the discourse of Jesus in Matt. 25:31-46 where he states that whatever has been (or has not been) done to the small ones has (or has not been) done to him. In this sense, Ambrose’s concern is not motivated socially in the first place, but theologically. Next to this theological foundation of merciful acts, Ambrose shows also the anthropological aspect, as showing mercy is part of being human: So the quality called humanitas, ‘humanity’, is the virtue that is specific and natural to man, for it is all about man helping those who share the same nature as himself.73

Ambrose continues with developing the allegory of humankind as a body, similar to the Pauline image of the Church.74 What is essential, though, is the 70 Off. 3.3.15 (CChr.SL 15, 158; tr. Davidson 363): Si quis igitur vult placere omnius, per omnia quaerat non quod sibi utile sed quod multis, dicut quaerebat et Paulus. 71 Off. 3.3.15 (CChr.SL 15, 158; tr. Davidson 363): hoc est enim conformari Christo. 72 Off. 3.3.15 (CChr.SL 15, 158; tr. Davidson 363): alienum non quaerere, nihil alteri detrahere ut acquirat sibi. Christus enim Dominus, cum esset in Dei forma, exinanivit se, ut formam susciperet hominis, quam operum suorum locupletaret virtutibus. Tu ergo spolias quem Christus induit! Tu exuis quem vestivit Christus! Hoc enim agis quando alterius detrimento tua commoda augere expertis. 73 Off. 3.3.16 (CChr.SL 15, 158; tr. Davidson 363): Inde appelata humanitas specialis et domestica virtus hominis, quae consortem adiuvet. 74 Off. 3.13.17 (CChr.SL 15, 158).

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fact that in showing mercy one participates both in human nature and in Christ who is present both in the persons to whom the act of mercy is addressed and in the person that performs the act of mercy and acts with compassion. In this way, showing mercy parallels the same structure as the Christian life that grows both in humanity and in participation in the divine. Even this aspect brings light to the connection between mercy and the Christian being rich. In his De Institutione Virginis, Ambrose makes sure to make clear that it is the similarity to God which makes him rich: ‘What is, then, richer than what is to the image and likeness of God?’75 It is here where the concept of ‘the inner man’, which is created in God’s image and likeness, reappears. It is precisely this inner man that conforms to the image and likeness of Christ: The Lord has been made poor, although he was rich, in order that all buy him and especially those who are needy would be made rich by his poverty.76

Again, the reasoning Ambrose gives is founded theologically in the kenosis of Christ, which is an expression of God’s mercy. In fact, it is part of it, or it is another facet of this mercy. Ambrose develops the idea of merciful God as the source of any mercy shown by human beings while commenting on the parable of the lost sheep in his Commentary on Luke: Christ carries you on his shoulder, having taken on Himself your sins; the Church goes looking for you; the Father welcomes you. As a shepherd He carries you, as a mother He searches you, as a Father he clothes you. In the first place comes mercy, then follows assistance, and thirdly there is reconciliation. Every detail fits perfectly in place: the Redeemer comes to our help, the Church assists us, the Father is reconciled with us. All is the same mercy, all is the same divine work, but grace varies according to the merits of each.77

It is not complicated to notice the identity of the mercy of the Father, that of Christ (the Redeemer), and that of the Church, and also the context of the reconciliation that makes the third stage of the process of this reconciliation, which includes showing mercy and assistance from the part of the Father, Christ and the Church. The Church also is endowed with the mercy of God, which would have consequences for Ambrose’s theology of penance.78 75 Inst. virg. 3.20 (SAEMO 14.2, 124): Quid autem locupletius, quam quod ad imaginem dei est ac similitudinem? 76 Inst. virg. 13.85 (SAEMO 14.2, 170): Ideo pauper factus est dominus, cum diues esset, ut eum omnes emant, et egenos praecipue sua paupertate locupletet. 77 Expos. Lc. 7.208 (CChr.SL 14, 286-7; tr. Ní Riain 258): Christus te suo corpore uehit, qui tua in se peccata suscepit, quaerit ecclesia, recipit pater. Quasi pastor reuehit, quasi mater inquirit, quasi pater uestit. Prima misericordia, secunda suffragatio, tertia reconciliatio. Singula singulis quadrant: redemtor subuenit, ecclesia suffragatur, auctor reconciliatur. Eadem diuini operis misericordia, sed diuersa pro meritis nostris gratia. 78 Ep. 13(31).7 (CSEL 82.1, 104); Allan Fitzgerald, Conversion through Penance in the Italian Church of the Fourth and Fifth Centuries (Lewiston, NY, 1988).

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However, there are also other facets of God’s mercy that are reflected in various institutions revealed throughout the history of salvation. For example, in his De fuga saeculi, Ambrose takes the image of six cities of refuge to show the diverse ways how God shows his mercy towards his people, where these cities stand for knowledge of the Word, consideration of the creation of the world, contemplation of God’s power and majesty, reflection on God’s clemency, and contemplation of God’s law that commands what should and should not be done.79 Because of these, Ambrose reflects on the variety of God’s action for the good of men and says: How great is the abundance of God’s mercy! How great are the riches of his love! He has regard to the desires of each man and the frailties of the human condition, through which we are led unwillingly and reluctantly into guild, and, overcome by enticements, often commit offenses which are not voluntary!80

God’s mercy parallels with his love, and there is a reflection of the abundance or richness of this mercy-love that is the origin of the wealth of man before God. At the same moment, God’s love is not a mere philosophical one, directed to God himself, but it is love open towards the other, and not only in his beauty but to the frailty of the condicio humana that is reluctant, easily tempted, and overcome by temptation. This mercy of God reacts to the disobedience of man and is not offended to show mercy to those who have committed offences towards God. The imitation of the love and mercy of God by baptised Christians is described by Ambrose in his Commentary on Psalm 118 where he connects the topic of mercy with that which makes a Christian rich in his exposition of Eph. 2:4: But God who is rich in mercy, on account of the great love with which he loved us… (Eph. 2:4). You hear, friends, in what you ought to be rich and what are the virtues you ought to have. You hear what virtues you ought to love in God, and to approve in yourself. You hear what kind services of heavenly mercy and love you ought to imitate.81

At the same time, this God who is ‘rich in mercy’ reveals himself in ‘Christ Jesus’ as the one who says Learn that I am humble of heart.82 Humility has to do with mercy, and Ambrose develops the idea, turning to his listener, in this way: 79

Fug. 2.9 (CSEL 32.2, 169). Fug. 2.9 (CSEL 32.2, 169; tr. McHugh 286-7): Quanta abundantia diuinae misericordiae, quantae diuitiae pietatis eius, ut singulorum studia fragilitates que humanae condicionis considerans, quibus et inuiti ac reluctantes ad culpam ducimur et non uoluntaria delicta uicti inlecebris frequenter committimus 81 Expos. ps. CXVIII 20.20 (CSEL 62, 455; tr. Ní Riain 292): ‘Deus autem qui diues est in misericordia propter multam caritatem qua dilexit nos’. Audis in quo debeas, homo, diues esse, quas habere uirtutes: amorem dei in te probare, imitari caritatis caelestis dulcedinem. 82 Expos. ps. CXVIII 20.20 (CSEL 62, 456): Discite a me quia mitis sum et humilis corde. 80

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He tells you to learn so that you may imitate him, so that you may be able to say, ‘Lord, I have heard your voice, Lord I have fulfilled your precept.’ You have said that we were to learn humility from you; we have learnt it not only from your words, but from your actions. I have done what you commanded. See my humility.83

Showing mercy means to show humility as well, and in this way imitate Christ who showed mercy in the same way. As a fact, baptised Christians are rich in God’s grace, as Ambrose explains in his commentary on the Letter to Ephesians in one of his letters to Irenaeus.84 For Christians, Ambrose repeats in his Exhortatio Virginitatis, ‘the Father is full of grace, not of money, wealthy by his ministry, not patrimony’, so that he ‘who has faith as his patrimony, is rich for God, but poor for this world’.85 In his Commentary on Psalm 40, while commenting on v. 2 of this Psalm (‘Happy the one who understands concerning the needy and the poor’), Ambrose makes sure that faith is required both to understand the role of mercy and its importance in the context of the poverty of Christ: In one instance it is a question of faith, in the other it is a question of mercy. Faith comes first, and mercy comes second. When faith is present, mercy is precious. Without faith it is bare; without faith it is unstable. For faith is the firm foundation of all the virtues. Happy, therefore, is the one who understands the poverty of Christ, his utter destitution.86

Christ has become poor, as he has taken upon himself the flesh of humanity, which was poor due to the loss of virtue, as ‘we lost the rich robes of virtue and were put out of Paradise. We were thrown out of our native land and banished into exile’.87 Especially in his suffering during the Passion, Christ suffered in the poverty of the human flesh that he had taken upon himself. Coming to understand the Cross, where Christ decided to understand humanity, one begins to become rich: Have understanding as regards the poverty of Christ, so that you may be rich; understand his weakness and suffering, so that you may become strong and whole; understand his 83 Expos. ps. CXVIII 20.20 (CSEL 62, 456): Non dixit: ‘discite a me quia potens sum’, sed quia humilis corde, ut tu illum imiteris, ut tu ei dicas: domine, audiui uocem tuam, impleui praeceptum tuum. Dixisti ut a te disceremus humilitatem: didicimus non solum sermone tuo, sed etiam actu tuo; feci quod imperasti: ‘uide humilitatem meam’. 84 Ep. 16(76).5 (CSEL 82.1, 116). 85 Exh. virg. 3.13 (SAEMO 14.2, 210): Quid enim aliud iam superest spei? Pater uobis fuit diues gratia, non pecunia; opulentus ministerio, non patrimonio: cuius hereditas fides est, locuples deo, sed egena saeculo. 86 Expl. ps. 40.4 (CSEL 64, 231-2): Ergo alius intellegendus est hic beatus qui intellegit super pauperem. Hic de fide dicit, alibi de misericordia; prior ergo fides, secunda misericordia. Cum fide pretiosa misericordia, sine fide nuda, sine fide instabilis; fides enim uirtutum omnium stabile fundamentum est. Beatus ergo qui intellegit super Christi inopiam et paupertatem. 87 Expl. ps. 40.4 (CSEL 64, 232): uirtutum exuuias pretiosas fraude serpentis amisimus exclusi de paradiso.

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Cross, so that you will never blush for it; understand his wound, so that your wounds may be cured; understand his death so that you may gain eternal life; understand his tomb, so that you may discover the resurrection.88

Ambrose goes on to ask what this poverty is of Christ that makes his believers rich, and he shows the simplicity of the sacrament of the Eucharist where Christ is present and made accessible to those who wish to join him: Let us consider it [scil., the poverty of Christ], let us turn our whole mind to the venerable Sacrament. Can anything be purer, anything simpler? No one is sprinkled with bull’s blood, as is reported with regard to pagan rites; nor is the sinner washed in the gore of goats or rams. For that would not avail to purify him – for though the flesh may be sprinkled, the sin is not washed away. … These are the riches of simplicity, and in them Christ’s poverty is most precious.89

The Eucharist becomes, in this way, a sacramental means to enter Christ’s poverty, to embrace it, and to grow in it, so that it might bear fruits of mercy in the believers’ everyday life. In fact, following Christ’s poverty is the part of Christian lifestyle that Ambrose links to the beatitude of the poor in spirit, that is, of those who have a simple, humble, and pure heart: Excellent, too, is poverty in our mode and way of life, for the Lord declared: Happy the poor in spirit; and we find in the psalms that the Lord will save those who are humble in spirit. We read, too, that there is abundance in slender means, so long as faith is abundant, for the Apostle says: Their deep poverty has overflowed in a wealth of simplicity.90

In this way, showing mercy cannot be considered a virtue without the concrete context of faith in Christ, which means Christ of the Nicene faith, both divine and human: without this faith expressed in the Creed, Ambrose’s reasoning and fundament of the spiritual life of the Christians he proposes would not work. Only in this faith can the consubstantiality of the believer both with the other humans who shared the condicio humana and with Christ who, although rich, has become poor, be understood, embraced, and lived.

88 Expl. ps. 40.4 (CSEL 64, 232): intellege ergo in paupertatem Christi, ut diues sis, intellege in infirmitatem eius, ut accipias sanitatem, intellege in crucem eius, ut non erubescas, intellege in uulnus eius, ut uulnera tua cures, intellege in mortem eius, ut adquiras uitam aeternam, intellege in sepulturam eius, ut inuenias resurrectionem. 89 Expl. ps. 40.5 (CSEL 64, 232-3): Consideremus eam, intendamus in ipsum uenerabile sacramentum. Quid purius potest eo esse atque simplicius? Non taurino quisquam perfunditur sanguine, ut sacra dicuntur habere gentilium, non hircorum atque arietum cruore peccator lauatur … Haec sunt diuitiae simplicitatis, in quibus est Christi pretiosa paupertas. 90 Expl. ps. 40.5 (CSEL 64, 233): Est et in moribus paupertas bona, unde et dominus dixit: ‘beati pauperes spiritu’, et in psalmis inuenimus, quia dominus humiles spiritu saluabit. Est et in collatione tenui paupertas abundans, si abundet fides. Vnde apostolus ait: ‘et profunda paupertas eorum abundauit in diuitiis simplicitatis eorum’.

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Conclusion Ambrose’s teaching on mercy as an attitude of any Christian towards his or her neighbour is, undoubtedly, part of his reaction to the social situation in Northern Italy at the end of the fourth century. Where many sought to be rich and even richer, the bishop of Milan proposed his doctrine on the real wealth before God that counteracts the human disposition towards greed. Where Ambrose’s view of the situation of the rich and the poor, as well as his requirement of mercy from everyone in his congregation, especially from the rich, must have been challenging to take in, his social concern is founded theologically in the core of the Christian faith in the Incarnation and the kenosis of God who is good and shows his mercy towards humankind, making himself poor despite being rich. For the baptised Christian, to show mercy means to participate in this mercy and humility of Christ who showed mercy in the same manner. This is also why faith in the divinity and humanity of Christ is required to understand both the role of mercy and its importance in the context of the poverty of Christ. While coming to understand his salvific work on the Cross, one begins to become really rich before God, and this faith, set in action through mercy, becomes one’s true treasure. This theological fundament of mercy inspired Ambrose himself in his own decision not to keep anything for himself in imitation of Christ the Poor and to endow his Church and his poor by showing largesse through family wealth. This life example of the bishop acting mercifully must have been a living inspiration for the Christian believers of Milan and for his clerics in their own merciful attitude towards others, towards God, but also towards their own property. In this way, they could have understood Christianity not as a religion that brings earthly prosperity but that points towards Christ who is true wealth for anyone who searches for him with his or her inner self with pure heart and simplicity. Faith in Christ, devotion, and acting with justice and mercy together make the believer rich. This is also why no one is excluded from the calling to be merciful and be, in this way, saved. As has been shown, Ambrose’s concern for social questions cannot be studied only in its historical context that forms just the first step in this enquiry. His attitude towards property, the situation of the poor, and the obligations of the rich also have to be studied as a theological topic, for the motivation Ambrose had to show mercy was rooted in God’s merciful work in Christ who, although rich, became poor, so that his poverty could enrich us. This would eventually show how Ambrose’s ethics and doctrine on the virtues can be understood only hand in hand with his theology, following the Nicaean statements on the divinity of Christ and his Incarnation. At the same time, though, the theological doctrine of Ambrose cannot be reduced to a mere theory, as it is indispensable for acting mercifully, as the attitude of mercy can be understood, and, therefore, also followed only by someone who shares Ambrose’s theological foundation, that is,

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the Nicaean faith. And it is in this mercy, based upon the mercy of God in Christ, that makes one truly rich. The example of misericordia, therefore, brings to the awareness of Ambrosian scholars a necessity to bear in mind all the aspects of Ambrose’ thought and action, which require an interdisciplinary approach even in topics that could have been so far studied independently from the other fields. As mercy is not, for Ambrose, only a question of mere practical ethics, or mere theology and biblical exegesis, or mere correspondence with his classical or Christian sources, or only of his social concerns, or only of his responsibility of a bishop to lead his Church and individual believers towards more perfect Christian attitudes, the same also applies for many other concepts and aspects of his doctrine and activity. Hope can be expressed that a closer look at the mercy in Ambrose can also elucidate other perspectives of the research upon the thought and work of this bishop and theologian who achieved remarkable unity in his life and teaching.91

91 This article was supported by the Charles University Research Programme ‘Progres’ Q01 ‘Theology as a Way of Interpreting History, Traditions and Contemporary Society’.

Seeing the Poor in Ambrose of Milan Ethan GANNAWAY, St Ambrose University, Davenport, IA, USA

ABSTRACT Ambrose frequently censured greed and promoted care for the poor. The motives, however, have been and will continue to be contested. Were his words mere platitudinous restatements of classical, biblical, and/or Christian predecessors? More popularly, did he promote care for the less fortunate to garner support so that he might wield more political influence? Or was he sincere? The study of Ambrose’s misericordia in practice is challenged by the lack of clear evidence. Using what is available, primarily Ambrose’s own words, one must concede that Ambrose’s generosity follows a traditional elite Roman practice to acquire the community’s support. Milan’s poor, typical of the poor in general, leave no word on this matter. Following two different approaches to this topic, I seek to locate something of the sincerity of Ambrose’s misericordia. I argue that Ambrose’s actions to popularize and to instill the ethic by employing the martyr Lawrence’s maxim, that the poor are the treasures of the church, and by erecting the Basilica Apostolorum, strategically sited where the poor could gather in the face of imperial wealth, suggest a genuine attempt to serve the impoverished.

Introduction One obstacle to understanding Ambrose’s misericordia, in addition to Ambrose’s own varied use of the term (as seen in this current volume), is the biased nature of the sources. Later Christian biographies, and namely Paulinus’ largely hagiographical account aside, Ambrose’s own published works carefully constructed an image of the author, relying on great intellectual predecessors, both Roman and Christian.1 Ambrose’s misericordia, or ‘mercy to the needy’ following Peter Brown’s definition,2 too easily becomes part of Ambrose’s political and social ambitions. Modern scholarship has tended to follow Neil McLynn’s learned biography of the self-promotional Ambrose. Ambrose’s outreach to the poor for McLynn was a means to a political end, 1 See recently Gerard Nauroy, ‘The Letter Collection of Ambrose of Milan’, in C. Sogno, B.K. Storin, and E.J. Watts (eds), Late Antique Letter Collections: A Critical Introduction and Reference Guide (Berkeley, 2016), 146-60. 2 Peter Brown, Through the Eye of a Needle: Wealth, the Fall of Rome, and the Making of Christianity in the West, 350-550 AD (Princeton, Oxford, 2012), 128.

Studia Patristica CXIII, 103-118. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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a way to garner enough influence to impose his position and authority on Milan, its environs, and at times the Empire.3 The poor are presented as a vague collective for simple definition and as a nebulous pitiable construct to urge the rich to give to the church and to support Ambrose. For example, the hordes of Ambrose’s Christian supporters were used, according to McLynn, as a public display of civic power to defend Ambrose in his confrontation with Valentinian II.4 Assessment of the bishop has softened greatly in recent years.5 J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz acknowledged that such masses, in part gathered through Ambrose’s donatives, provided the bishop with considerable civic potency, yet he conceded that ‘it is never easy to assess the sincerity of the rhetoric’.6 Scholars have shifted more toward sincerity’s camp. Cesare Pasini had earlier produced an Ambrose that was motivated primarily by pastoral concerns.7 Brown, despite ultimately returning to the bishop’s more personal motivations, posited that Ambrose’s misericordia collapsed the boundaries of financial division, leading to a happier life lived in cohesion with others.8 Rita Lizzi Testa summed the problem, explaining that Ambrose was informed by two different traditions, secular governance (dependent on education in rhetoric and philosophy and elite political practices) and ecclesiastical (dependent on Scripture and church proceedings).9 The evidence supports both secular and ecclesial, personal and communal motivations. This article presents new evidence, or at least a different methodological approach to familiar evidence, in order to add a new voice to the discussion and, perhaps, to detect something of Ambrose’s sincerity. To begin, the argument requires a better understanding of Ambrose’s audience, and namely of those more likely to be the ideal objects of misericordia. In addition to Ambrose’s own moving descriptions, the methodological approach employed by Teresa Morgan will help explicate Ambrose’s desire to change the worldview, ethics, and goals of the social ordinary in fourth-century Milan. Morgan’s approach concentrated on the oft repeated maxims, fables, and stories, which demonstrated at times the idiosyncrasies of a region or cultural group but also showed

3 Neil McLynn, Ambrose of Milan: Church and Court in a Christian Capital (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London, 1994), 220-6: Ambrose’s social cohesion is ‘a trick, an illusion’. 4 Ibid. 224. 5 Ibid.; J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, Ambrose and John Chrysostom: Clerics between Desert and Empire (Oxford, 2011); P. Brown, Through the Eye of a Needle (2012); Ritz Lizzi Testa, ‘“Praesul et possessor”: Ambrogio e la proprietà privata’, Studia Ambrosiana 10 (Ambrogio e la Questione Sociale) (2017), 19-60. 6 J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, Ambrose and Chrysostom (2011), 76. 7 Cesare Pasini, Ambrogio di Milano: azione e pensiero di un vescovo (Milano, 1996). 8 P. Brown, Through the Eye of the Needle (2012), 128-34. 9 R. Lizzi Testa, ‘“Praesul et possessor”: Ambrogio e la proprietà privata’ (2017), especially 27-33.

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commonly shared beliefs across the Empire.10 This conclusion will apply to Ambrose’s use of Lawrence’s famous maxim, that the poor are the treasures of the church, found at De officiis 2.28.140 and elsewhere, to promote a quotable, ethical ideal of misericordia.11 After establishing this exemplum and his memorable maxim as an attempt to inculcate this ethic in the audience, the article explores a potential site for an ostentatious display of the ethic in practice: Ambrose’s Basilica Apostolorum. Explanations for the location, design, and timing of this church’s construction have been founded on the image of Ambrose as politician, just as for Ambrose’s acts of misericordia. Built with new considerations of Ambrose’s use of Lawrence, this interpretive structure surrounding the Basilica Apostolorum will receive a renovation. The result of this reinvestment will be insight into Ambrose’s potential acts of misericordia that mirror his words in sincere promotion of it. Perhaps Ambrose commissioned this church to flex and to show his ecclesial muscle, but perhaps Ambrose more likely, or at least additionally, chose this place and this church to serve the poor of Milan and to exemplify the act of misericordia. Lawrence Lawrence figures into the Ambrosian corpus in a broad range of literary contexts. Ambrose mentions him in his letters, funeral orations, and works on virginity.12 He dedicated a hymn to Lawrence, extolling his ‘courage, love for the poor, and perseverance in suffering’.13 Still, his fullest narrative comes from De officiis, albeit in two distinct references. The first, Lawrence’s martyrdom, provides an example of courage.14 Having refused to surrender the Church’s treasure (which is not explained at this point), Lawrence is set upon the gridiron, where he quips: ‘He’s roasted. Turn him and eat’.15 The chronologically earlier episode appears later in De officiis and tells how Lawrence refused to turn over the Church’s treasures. Pointing to the poor gathered around him, he 10

Teresa Morgan, Popular Morality in the Early Roman Empire (Cambridge, 2007). See also Robert Knapp, Invisible Romans (Cambridge, 2011), who seeks to identify the mental state of the ‘invisible poor’. 11 Ivor Davidson (ed.), Ambrose, De officiis, 2 vol. (Oxford, 2001). I follow the translations found in volume 1. 12 See I. Davidson, Ambrose, vol. 2 (2001), 634-5. Although Constantine had erected a church to him over his tomb in Rome, now San Lorenzo fuori le mura over the catacombs of Cyriaca, and Damasus had commissioned an epitaph for him, Lawrence’s first extant passio comes from the latter half of the fifth century. 13 Brian Dunkle, Enchantment and Creed in the Hymns of Ambrose of Milan (Oxford, 2016), 157-9, 229-30 for the hymn Apostolorum supparem (Latin and English translation). 14 Ambrose, De officiis 1.41.205-7. 15 Ibid. 1.41.207. Apostorum Supparem l. 30-1: ‘Turn me over and eat me, if I’m cooked’.

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famously answered the authorities’ demands: ‘These are the treasures of the church’.16 This act exemplified his fortitudo, according to Davidson, and showed his willingness to be martyred, according to Liebeschuetz.17 Lawrence provides quotable, memorable material and an exemplum of proper behavior and Christian virtues. This quote, slightly altered, also appears in Ambrose’s hymn to Lawrence. Although one cannot know how popular known Ambrose’s De officiis was in fourth-century Milan, the hymn would have been performed at Lawrence’s feast day every year.18 In addition, the sentiment not only recurred in other works, including letters and a treatise on widows, but also echoed traditional, non-Christian wisdom statements. The consistency of this message across the literary genres that Ambrose used, as will be shown, demonstrates his commitment to the promotion of misericordia. Ambrose’s goals, however, become muddled when his actions are linked to his conflict with the Arian court and Arians in general.19 Ambrose’s use of church plate to ransom prisoners has been termed a political maneuver, in the ancient and the modern reviews. Ambrose explains his actions, at one point censuring the Arians for questioning his motives.20 McLynn calls this event an opportunity to raise his personal stature more than anything else.21 Brown views the act as part of a larger effort to reduce Arian sympathizers.22 Davidson believes that the church plate was Arian, belonging to the predecessor Auxentius’ episcopate, and that the plate had Arian supporter’s names on it. Ambrose therefore used the captives as an opportunity to remove physical reminders of his Arian predecessor and possibly current Arian opposition. Based on a following passage, Davidson also gives credence to the accusation that Ambrose used the plate to build churches and cemeteries, thus promoting himself with these usurped goods.23 More egregiously, perhaps, such donations may have been given in the hopes that they would aid personal salvation.24 Had that destruction of the plate ruined the donor’s hopes of salvation? Several problems require attention. First, nearly ten years had passed since Adrianople (378 AD). Other subsequent incursions conceivably resulted in the 16

Ibid. 2.28.140-1. Apostorum Supparem l. 24: ‘These are the riches of the church’. I. Davidson, Ambrose, vol. 2 (2001), 793-4; J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, Ambrose and Chrysostom (2011), 80. 18 B. Dunkle, Enchantment and Creed (2016), 143-6. 19 I. Davidson, Ambrose, vol. 2 (2001), 794. 20 Ambrose, De officiis 2.15.70; (citing the Arians) 2.28.136-43. 21 N. McLynn, Ambrose of Milan (1994), 55-6. 22 P. Brown, Through the Eye of the Needle (2012), 129. On this point in the broader hymnal context, see B. Dunkle, Enchantment and Creed (2016), 143-50, 157-60. 23 I. Davidson, Ambrose, vol. 2 (2001), 794-5; Ambrose, De officiis 2.28.142. 24 I. Davidson, Ambrose, vol. 2 (2001), 790-1. 17

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prisoners Ambrose ransomed, thus explaining Ambrose’s reference to Thrace and Illyricum in this context.25 So what exactly is the Arians’ charge? Are they addressing a specific event or just Ambrose’s general practice? The recent clash with Justina and Valentinian II likely caused a resurgence of Arian support, calling on Ambrose to answer for his crimes. Ambrose also may have included the reference to Arians as a rhetorical device, reminding the audience that they are Nicaean, not Arian, to strengthen their sense of unity. Furthermore, as Davidson mused, maybe the defense was part of an earlier address.26 In the end, even if Ambrose still felt threatened by Arian sympathizers concerning his use of church plate, there is no clear evidence what plate Ambrose used. Ambrose merely says that Arians accused him of using Arian donations, neither denying nor confirming those claims.27 The broader textual context of Ambrose’s defense provides an important nuance to understanding Ambrose’s motives. The Arians do not appear in Ambrose’s earlier reference to ransoming the captives. Under a subtheme of generosity to gain support of the masses, Ambrose stresses the virtue of a generosity that does not give too much to the importune, or withholds too much from the impoverished, namely those who cannot supply their daily needs.28 Importantly, some of those in need do not reveal their desperate circumstances out of shame. In fact, one should inform the bishop about those whom he sees struggling or having been cast into poverty, especially when landing there not by profligate giving, but through thievery or a loss of inheritance.29 Ambrose then cites captives, referring to those taken in Illyricum and Thrace as an example.30 He names women, children, parents, and citizens to give these captives some more specific identity, prime examples of individuals in need but unseen. The use of Lawrence, following this line of thought, is not merely to give Ambrose an august predecessor reinterpreted as a champion to defend against Arian complaints.31 If the defensive tenor of Ambrose’s tangent on the ransoming of captives, a tenor discordant with the ethical work at hand, was a remnant of an earlier argument, then the evident misericordia of Lawrence’s episode should be given greater attention. Historical events lend support. In 384 AD, a food shortage hit Rome.32 Symmachus expelled all foreigners not registered 25 On Adrianople and other captives and refugees, see ibid. 740-8, interpreting Ambrose, De officiis 2.15.70-2. 26 I. Davidson, Ambrose, vol. 2 (2001), 791. 27 Ibid. 28 Ambrose, De officiis 2.15.68-9. 29 Ibid. 2.15.69. 30 Ibid. 2.15.70-1. 31 I. Davidson, Ambrose, vol. 2 (2001), 791. 32 J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, Ambrose and Chrysostom (2011), 75-6, proposes that De Nabuthae historia was a response to this event. See Ambrose, De officiis 3.6.37-44.

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as citizens to ensure that only the official plebs could receive their rations.33 The plebs without access to goods was known to revolt, especially if they suspected goods were being stored to await a higher selling price. Symmachus understood this potential well, having witnessed the destruction of his father’s house in 374-5 AD.34 In the instance of 384, importantly, citizens of lower rank, working on the great estates of wealthy landowners, were included among those removed from the city.35 In fact, Ambrose himself noted this food shortage in his De officiis.36 A citizen, removed from his job and his city, treated as a non-citizen, could very well fit Ambrose’s image of the man too ashamed to admit that he had fallen on hard times. Ambrose’s work to remove the wealth gap in Milan (and elsewhere presumably) during the late 380s might very well have been in response to new persons coming into the city, including refugees fleeing the attacks of the Goths in the East and those heading north from Rome. How often immigrants came to Milan, especially once the imperial court settled there, would be interesting to know. Whatever the case, Ambrose’s efforts to give to the needy and to build cohesion were plausibly intended to avoid situations as had just occurred in Rome. The historical context of the De officiis thus shows a heightened need to manage persons in trouble during the time of Ambrose’s writing, and the literary context suggests strongly that Ambrose encouraged his congregation not only to acknowledge misericordia as a virtue but also to put action to the idea. If the Lawrence episode under review is considered not only in the larger context of De officiis, but also in relation to Ambrose’s treatises on avarice, some of Ambrose’s sincere drive to alleviate financial disparity becomes clearer. During this very period in the late 380s, Ambrose wrote his De Nabuthae historia, a censure of excessive wealth and greed in which vignettes strikingly evocative of daily life reveal some real social concerns of the day. Examples, such as the rich man keeping his granaries closed, the farm worker who falls from a roof, or another from a tree attempting to acquire goods for an owner’s banquet, or the one beaten for not pleasing the master, or yet another taken away unable to pay his debt, impressed Brown and no doubt Ambrose’s contemporary audience for their vividness.37 While these references may be rhetorical exempla, Brown appreciates their poignant insightfulness amidst the dramatic coloring.38 33 P. Brown, Through the Eye of the Needle (2012), 137, citing Symmachus, Ep. 2.7.3; Ambrose, De officiis 3.7.45-51. One can imagine too other serious issues in the distribution among the citizens during a crisis, since the city already divided the annona according to rank. 34 P. Brown, Through the Eye of the Needle (2012), 113, citing Symmachus, Ep. 144 and Ammianus Marcellinus, Res Gestae 27.3.3-4. 35 I. Davidson, Ambrose, vol. 2 (2001), 840-6 36 P. Brown, Through the Eye of the Needle (2012), 137-8; Ambrose, De officiis 3.7.45-51. 37 P. Brown, Through the Eye of the Needle (2012), 139, citing De Nabuthae historia 4.18 and 5.20. 38 Ibid. 148-51.

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The reason Ambrose included these stories is also debated. Brown sees less value in the stories as support for an individualized poor than as a way to build a Milanese community, loyal to Ambrose, in the wake of the basilica controversy 385-6 AD.39 Lizzi Testa, however, recently called to question Brown’s interpretation, as well as McLynn’s, that Ambrose’s words belonged to selfpromotional rhetoric.40 If one agrees with the reassessment of the Lawrence quip, as one intended to embed the idea that the poor are to be valued, then Lizzi Testa is correct. Ambrose is attempting to change a common cultural perception of the poor. Elsewhere, Ambrose seeks to correct a common misconception about the poor. Ambrose makes it clear that the poor exist because of human error, not supernatural forces: But perhaps you will say what you are commonly in the habit of saying: ‘We ought not to give to someone whom God has cursed by desiring him to be poor’. But the poor are not cursed, inasmuch as it is written, ‘Blessed are the poor, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven’. … Furthermore, you should not look to what each person deserves. Mercy [misericordia] is not wont to judge on the basis of merit but to meet needs, not to examine as to uprightness but to help the poor. For it is written: ‘Blessed is the one who is understanding concerning the needy and poor person’ (Psalm 41:1). … Delay is dangerous when it touches upon another person’s well-being; it could turn out that, while you hesitate, he will die.41

Ambrose first fashions an audience response to his call to misericordia: if God put the poor in that condition, others should not interfere or, by giving to them, act against God’s will.42 Ambrose seeks to reverse their reasoning. The poor, risking injury, put in stocks, and beaten, are not cursed by God; they are blessed. Ambrose therefore pushes to change the image of the poor. He makes them individuals, humans worthy of attention and mercy because their status is not due simply to bad luck. Ambrose’s De Tobia further forms Ambrose’s image of the poor, although its dating remains nebulous. Ostensibly about Tobias, this work rarely mentions the eponym in its scree against usury. In the last chapters, Ambrose expresses his thoughts about the poor. He warns the rich not to give too much so as to become poor, also noted in De officiis43 – there is no crime in poverty, but there is disgrace in putting oneself in debt.44 One must maintain a balance: neither 39

Ibid. 140-1. R. Lizzi Testa, ‘“Praesul et possessor”: Ambrogio e la proprietà privata’ (2017), 28. 41 Ambrose, De Nabuthae historia 8.40, in Boniface Ramsey (trans.), Ambrose (London, New York, 1997), 130. 42 P. Brown, Through the Eye of the Needle (2012), 136-7. Brown notes that many still believed that the pagan gods would punish cities for harboring Christians. 43 Ambrose, De officiis 2.15.69. 44 Ambrose, De Tobia 20.81. 40

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withhold and keep people in need45 nor give too much and become a debtor;46 each extreme creates a need for misericordia. A traditional Roman, and likely Stoic, practicality is not difficult to locate here.47 Reap the rewards of balance, pay the cost of imbalance. Human error, not some divinity or fate, places humans in poverty. Ambrose teaches the Christian duty to the indigent, in part providing a clearer conception of the poor, and also modeled the act, adhering to the precept, when he donated his own wealth to the Church. Elsewhere, he himself mimics Lawrence’s own words: ‘I have funds (aerarios). The poor of Christ are my funds. I know how to collect this treasure. May they always charge me this crime, that gold is spent on the poor’.48 The best sources for his life (namely his own words and those of his biographer, Paulinus) seem to have drawn too much attention from Ambrose’s more quotidian, and unheralded, acts, directing the audience instead to his more epic feats. Was his reference to and imitation of Lawrence, along with his defense of the ransoming of captives, an opportunity to draw attention to the unseen, unrecognized, undervalued poor, who were part of his daily efforts? Even though Ambrose understood the political advantages, he was nevertheless a generous benefactor, as Liebeschuetz averred.49 The visual of his benefaction, then, set a model. Should not Ambrose’s attacks on avarice be viewed as ethical guides for the daily life of average citizens, especially as a revision of Cicero’s advice? Men like Tobias, Naboth, Lawrence, and Ambrose certainly provided memorable exempla to quote and to mimic. Furthermore, this quip that Ambrose borrowed from Lawrence may itself have had a traditional Roman origin. Valerius Maximus during the reign of Tiberius (16-37 AD) presented a signature moment in the life of the illustrious mother of the Gracchi, Cornelia (195-115 BC).50 In response to an elite Campanian woman showing her luxurious ornamenta, the most beautiful of that day and age, Cornelia pointed to her children, just home from school, declaring haec ornamenta sunt mea, these are my ornaments. Cornelia, the daughter of Scipio Africanus and wife and widow of Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus, became the ideal aristocratic wife of the Roman Republic and of later Roman culture in general. She refused to remarry, instead opting to dedicate her life and resources to her children and their education. The recompense was the famous political efforts of the Gracchus boys, who pushed for wealth reform to support the plebs. Their success was owed to the virtues taught by their mother, more than their birth, according to Plutarch.51 As a further reward, she 45

Ibid. 14.50. Ibid. 23.90: one should not give beyond one’s means. 47 See Marcia L. Colish, Ambrose’s Patriarchs: Ethics for the Common Man (Notre Dame, 2005). 48 Ambrose, Ep. 75A.33. Author’s translation. 49 J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, Ambrose and Chrysostom (2011), 76. 50 Eve D’Ambra, Roman Women (Cambridge, 2007), 143-7. 51 Plutarch, Parallel Lives, ‘Tiberius and Gaius Gracchus’, 7, cited in D’Ambra, Roman Women (2007), 145. 46

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was later honored by a sculpture erected in the Roman forum, on which one of Helena, mother of Constantine, may be modeled.52 Although Ambrose does not mention Cornelia, many echoes of her legend resound in his work De viduis. In this treatise, Ambrose encourages widows to dedicate themselves to others and to God, not to submit to another husband. And good are those stipends of laborious chastity, which the widow pays from her physical effort and daily thought, equally night and day working with unfailing exertion at the duties required for those times and collecting with effort the payment of her profitable vigilance, so that she may protect the inviolate couch of her deceased husband, be able to raise sweet children, and administer to the poor. This one must be preferred to wealthy women; this is she who will not fear Christ’s judgment.53

When Ambrose asserts that all women (virgins, wives, and widows) have an example to imitate,54 one can concede that the audience may have recalled that of Cornelia, only for Ambrose to replace her with a number of other, particularly Old Testament, examples.55 Ambrose followed the surprise in Cornelia’s story, explaining to widows that strength and freedom lie in remaining widows.56 In the example of Naomi, Ambrose promotes the widow who cares for the next generation, here the daughter-in-law, who in turns cares for her.57 Or, more generally and more pointedly, Ambrose presents the unnamed widow that sacrificed all she had for her son.58 Yet, the underlying theme of both Cornelia’s act and of Ambrose’s charge to widows is a censure on misdirected wealth and the freedom that a distribution of that wealth brings. Immediately following Cornelia’s famous quote, Valerius Maximus summarizes his lesson, ‘one has everything who desires nothing’. A censure on luxury, then, punctuates the Cornelia passage and in language similar to what Ambrose himself used. In the same book but in another place, one learned how it is fitting that mercy (misericordia) and generosity towards the poor ought not to be withdrawn with thought of one’s own poverty; generosity is not defined by an accumulation of patrimony, but by the disposition of largess. … In this (example of the poor widow, Luke 21:3), the Lord morally educates everyone, lest someone should hold from offering aid out of shame of poverty; let not the rich flatter themselves because they seem to give more than the poor. Indeed, the coin from a small savings is worth more than a treasure from a great one, because not how much was given but how much remains is considered. No one offers more than the one who keeps nothing for oneself.59

52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59

D’Ambra, Roman Women (2007), 146-7. Ambrose, De viduis 5.31. Author’s translation. Ibid. 3.16. For example, ibid. 3 (widow of Sarepta); 4 (Anna); 6 (Naomi); 7 (Judith); 8 (Deborah). As he establishes at the outset, ibid. 1-2. Ibid. 6.33-4. Ibid. 1.6. Ibid. 5.27.

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The ideal widow, including Cornelia, sacrifices her comfort for the sake of others.60 In a cultural image reversal, it is not shameful to be poor, if rich in virtue. Ambrose’s special emphasis on misericordia is fundamentally the same if broader in scope, as seen in this very work. In administering to the poor, Ambrose writes: ‘Therefore you have, you widows, assistance, if you choose such sons-in-law for yourselves, such patrons for your posterity, such intimate companions’.61 The poor are therefore the widow’s children, who become patrons and friends. Ambrose continues in his efforts to change the perception of the poor. In his handbook for clergy, Ambrose finds Lawrence to be the ready ideal, a model for his own behavior. Ambrose’s De officiis, a useful book of precepts according to Augustine,62 was received as just that, meaning that this episode on Lawrence’s life, set in a defense of Ambrose’s ransoming of captives, was meant to promote a memorable deed and its moral catchphrase, setting an ethical ideal, just as did Valerius Maximus’ Cornelia vignette. The aphorism, evoking a classical precedent, repeated in Ambrose’s hymn (and however many times that hymn was sung), echoed in other places in his literary corpus, and surviving in new narratives elsewhere, such as in Prudentius, signifies the successful effort to imbed the wisdom.63 The poor, captives, and children should be valued for their potential goodness and ability to make a community whole. Wealth for trivial ends is false. As Cornelia’s sons required a dedicated, widowed mother, likewise the needy, who had always depended on the benefactions of the wealthy and who were likely to riot in times of food shortages, required a spiritual father to guide them to virtue. The acts of Cornelia and Lawrence depended on a surprise turn to force the internal (i.e., the narrative’s) viewer and the external audience to focus on these overlooked persons. Cornelia and Lawrence and, by extension, Ambrose, modeled reconceived notions of the poor, calling the audience to notice these unseen persons and invest in them, because the community’s immortal success, let alone peace, depended on them. The Basilica of the Holy Apostles (San Nazaro) A reevaluation of this Lawrence episode in Ambrose is more than a lone literary exercise, merely a tangent to the larger point, that the good Christian gives to the poor. Evidence, if at times contradictory, abounds to demonstrate Ambrose’s literary/verbal commitment to misericordia. If, however, exemplum 60 An interesting contrast with Ambrose’s advice in De Tobia and De officiis not to put oneself in debt. See above, n. 43 and 44. 61 Ambrose, De viduis, 9.54. 62 Augustine, Ep. 82.21, in I. Davidson, Ambrose, vol. 1 (2001), 98. 63 B. Dunkle, Enchanment and Creed (2016), 157-9, 204-10.

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and aphorism in Ambrose’s work followed a traditional Roman practice to teach, to implant, and to enact ethical ideals, in other words to make them commonly repeated and practiced following Morgan’s assertion, then this Lawrence episode and its surprise twist may have a more tangible parallel in need of reconsideration. In other words, does physical evidence exist to show how Ambrose moved from the abstract idea of misericordia, to the prod to practice misericordia, to the actual act of misericordia? After this very exemplum, Ambrose names three proper uses of church finances: aiding the needy (including those in debt and captives), building churches, and providing funeral spaces.64 Before 386 AD and the erection of his Basilica Ambrosiana, Ambrose funded a basilica dedicated to the holy apostles and a future place for elite burials.65 The Basilica Apostolorum, now known as San Nazaro, was erected midway on the east side of an elaborate porticoed section of the Via Romana, 600 × 22m, beginning (or ending) at the city gate.66 Cemeteries and residences occupied this extramural region of the city.67 How exactly the basilica opened onto the portico is unknown, although a porticoed cortile has been hypothesized to bridge the roughly thirty-meter gap between the Via Romana and the entrance.68 The Apostolorum bears the first cruciform plan in the West, likely imitating the Church of the Holy Apostles commissioned by Constantine for Constantinople. In 386 AD, in May and again in November, relics likely brought from Constantinople were placed there.69 The cross is a symbol of triumph over death, first and foremost, especially enhanced by its placement near a cemetery and its use as a funeral church, if particularly for elite burials.70 Modern scholarship has astutely nuanced this symbol based on contemporary historical circumstances, including Ambrose’s conflict with Arians, such as at the council at Aquileia (381 AD); with pagans, namely Symmachus and 64

Ambrose, De officiis 2.28.142. Its date depends on a reference in Ambrose, Ep. 77.1 to his sister Marcellina about the discovery of Gervasius and Protasius, in which he mentions the dedication of a church with relics. Sannazaro follows Carlo Borromeo’s dating to 382 AD. 66 Marco Sannazaro, ‘“Ad modum crucis:” la basilica paleocristiana dei SS. Apostoli e Nazaro’, Studia Ambrosiana 2 (2008), 131-53, 134. Richard Krautheimer, Three Christian Capitals: Topography and Politics (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London, 1983), 74, 80-1. 67 M. Sannazaro, ‘“Ad modum crucis:” la basilica paleocristiana dei SS. Apostoli e Nazaro’ (2008), 133. N. McLynn, Ambrose of Milan (1994), 232, says not at this site but nearby. 68 M. Sannazaro, ‘“Ad modum crucis:” la basilica paleocristiana dei SS. Apostoli e Nazaro’ (2008), 138. The capella Trivulzio occupied this space beginning in the fifteenth century. Access via transepts hypothesized for the reconstruction of the apse area in 395-396. 69 May 9, 386 Andrew, Thomas, John the Evangelist; November 27, Luke, Andrew, John, Euphemia of Chalkedon – same for Aquileia. See R. Krautheimer, Three Christian Capitals (1983), 80; N. McLynn, Ambrose of Milan (1994), 230-1; M. Sannazaro, ‘“Ad modum crucis:” la basilica paleocristiana dei SS. Apostoli e Nazaro’ (2008), 141-2. 70 Perhaps to garner support from the upper classes and court. See N. McLynn, Ambrose of Milan (1994), 233-4. 65

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the Altar of Victory (384 AD);71 and with the Arian court of Justina and Valentinian II (385-6 AD) over the use of the Basilica Portiana.72 The church thus may symbolize (one or all) the victory over death, heretics, pagans, and empire. Conversely, the erection of this church and its acquisition of relics may have been intended to raise the profile of this imperial city. The church as victory symbol was acknowledged only later in the dedicatory inscription, after the discovery and internment of Nazarius’ relics, 395-6 AD.73 That Ambrose would ring the city with churches like Damasus in Rome and commission a church evoking Constantinople’s Holy Apostles, indicates an effort to make Milan a Christian capital city. The Apostolorum’s presence on the Via Romana portico, an imperial project, suggests the same.74 In this way, Ambrose acted as a typical, loyal Roman elite, enhancing the city’s built environment in coordination with the court.75 In support of this interpretive premise, the Ambrosian churches, while sometimes called large, may not have been as impressive in the urban fabric as imagined, and of those churches, the Apostolorum was the smallest.76 Importantly, the imperial complex built by Maximianus (ca. 293-305 AD) was placed near the preexisting forum, but the churches attributed to Ambrose, namely the Ambrosiana, the Apostolorum, and the Virginum (completed by Simplicianus), are outside the city. Furthermore, these churches constitute mere fractions of the size of the imperial complex and other civic structures. The Apostolorum, with a nave ca. 56 × 14.20m, had dimensions to impress but only to a certain degree and from a certain point of view.77 The nave was comparable only to the frigidarium of Maximian’s Herculean Baths, roughly 48 × 18m,78 and the 71 M. Sannazaro, ‘“Ad modum crucis:” la basilica paleocristiana dei SS. Apostoli e Nazaro’ (2008), 131. 72 Ibid. 135-7. 73 Ibid. 132. R. Krautheimer, Three Christian Capitals (1983), 80, notes that Gregory of Nazianzus had just done the same for the Constantinian Basilica Apostolorum. Ibid. 146, n. 2, offers the reconstructed Ambrosian inscription (ILCV 1800). 74 N. McLynn, Ambrose of Milan (1994), 232. 75 See R. Lizzi Testa, ‘“Praesul et possessor”: Ambrogio e la proprietà privata’ (2017), 50-1, on the Constantinian act to exempt clerics and bishops from liturgies. 76 Although the cathedral complex prior to Ambrose was notably larger than the Ambrosian churches and occupied rather broad real estate within the city. Notably it lay in a part of Milan opposite the forum and the imperial complex, which one should assume were the most densely frequented as the loci for quotidian activity such as governance and commerce. For a comparison of these churches in Milan and in the Empire, see Ramsey MacMullen, The Second Church: Popular Christianity A.D. 200-400 (Atlanta, 2009). 77 M. Sannazaro, ‘“Ad modum crucis:” la basilica paleocristiana dei SS. Apostoli e Nazaro’ (2008), 139. 78 Donatella Caprousso, Maria Teresa Donati, Sara Masseroli and Thea Tibiletti (eds), Immagini di Mediolanum: Archeologa e storia di Milano dal V secolo a.C. al V secolo d.C. (Milano, 2007), 176-83.

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central aisle of a large horrea, 65 × 18m.79 The audience hall of the imperial palace is unknown, but perhaps was comparable to the extant example from Trier, measuring 58 × 29m.80 Even wealthy villas would have overshadowed this church, some with dining rooms themselves about half the size, such as that of Desenzano on Lake Garda, its triconch (not including the portico in front of it) near 20 × 15m.81 One might concede that the inside of the church was inspiring, but the structure rivaled only individual parts of grander buildings and complexes. Moreover, as a single building set back from the portico, its size would have been lost in the urban topography, witnessed only from specific vantage points. The urban topography around the basilica may be unknown, but once in the Via Romana portico, approximately 300m from the church, one would not have been able to see it. Finally, the economical building methods of these churches hardly suggested that Ambrose and the Church now rivaled the imperial house, and perhaps not even the wealthiest villas. A disorganized pebble foundation with broken tiles and bricks characterizes Ambrosian churches, as do walls constructed with reused bricks and high mortar layers.82 Thick, short, and more irregular bricks (mattonetti), in places in herringbone arrangements, also were used, contrasting with the careful, regular foundations and brick courses found in other buildings such as Saint Tecla basilica inside Milan’s walls, the San Lorenzo basilica, and even the Via Romana portico itself.83 Unfortunately little is known of the decoration of Ambrose’s churches. For the Apostolorum, simple black and white mosaics covered at least part of the floors.84 The first sure record of marble revetment belongs to the new apse, 395-396 AD, given by Serena, wife of Stilicho.85 No evidence exists that the Apostolorum had the sumptuous decoration of the palace, baths, or villas of fourth-century Milan and its environs or of churches elsewhere such as Aquileia with its elaborate figural mosaics.86 To explain the lack of decoration and unrefined building techniques, scholars typically call upon Ambrose’s urgency to build and his lack of funds.87 Krautheimer posited local methods for Ambrose’s churches, with additional

79

Ibid. 187-90. J.B. Ward Perkins, Roman Imperial Architecture (New Haven, London, 1994 reprint), 443. 81 In fact, the church of Santa Balbina (24 × 15m) in Rome was constructed on the dining room of a large domus there in the fourth century. 82 R. Krautheimer, Three Christian Capitals (1983), 77. 83 See ibid. 88, for a comparison between San Lorenzo’s fine brickwork and Ambrose’s churches. 84 M. Sannazaro, ‘“Ad modum crucis:” la basilica paleocristiana dei SS. Apostoli e Nazaro’ (2008), 146. 85 Ibid. 146; N. McLynn, Ambrose of Milan (1994), 364. 86 Katharine M.D. Dunbabin, Mosaics of the Greek and Roman World (Cambridge, 1999), 71-2. 87 R. Krautheimer, Three Christian Capitals (1983), 88. 80

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considerations of funds, patronage, and time.88 Following this reasoning, scholars have supported their interpretations of this structure as a frantic and poorly funded effort to combat pagans, Arians, and the court.89 Yet, were these churches more costly to build than, for example, the rich villas with their marble and mosaics? Ambrose’s lack of funds is an interesting invention, since his financial resources are very difficult to quantify. The general assumption is that Ambrose was raised in a house of means, his father having served as prefect of Gaul under Constantius II.90 If Ambrose’s family had met with some financial disaster in the wake of Constantius’ death and the power changes that followed soon after, they were hardly destitute. Personally, Ambrose and his siblings had received a sizable inheritance that included lands in North Africa, and Satyrus, his brother, had been sent to sell estates in North Africa, the profits from which are not recorded. Finally, Ambrose had embarked on a high-level government position before becoming bishop. Ambrose likely belonged therefore to the wealthy elite of Milan, and thus it is difficult to imagine that Ambrose himself could not afford a single church, in lieu of an elaborate villa. Ambrose may have had to protect his accumulated wealth to live off the interest, having given up his secular career and its salary, although clerics were given tax breaks since Constantine. Still, as Lizzi Testa showed, Ambrose had funds to donate throughout his episcopate, all the more since Satyrus’ death in 378 AD. Did Ambrose not follow his own vigorous censure of the rich man and his hoarded abundance? With this new viewpoint, a reconsideration of Ambrose’s approval of building plans for his churches is necessary. If the churches had been built with elite refinement in method and décor, the visual message would have spoken against his numerous attacks on wealth, his emphasis on misericordia, and his charge to clergy to be role models of virtue. Ambrose’s own words suggest he may have saved money on church building in order to distribute donatives to the needy. The rich person tears down his property because he is oblivious of eternal things, he tears down his granaries because he knows not how to dispense his grain but how to hoard it. ‘And I will build’, he says, ‘larger ones’. Unhappy man, distribute to the poor what you spend on construction. In shunning the grace of generosity, you are incurring the costs of construction.91

If Ambrose followed his own exhortation, even if metaphorical, the erection of churches such as the Basilica Apostolorum would be a fitting display of his own generosity. The Apostolorum, in fact, would be particularly pertinent, contrasting so pointedly in its construction methods with the imperially-funded 88

Ibid. 77. M. Sannazaro, ‘“Ad modum crucis:” la basilica paleocristiana dei SS. Apostoli e Nazaro’ (2008), 131-7. 90 R. Lizzi Testa, ‘“Praesul et possessor”: Ambrogio e la proprietà privata’ (2017), 34-42. 91 Ambrose, De Nabuthae historia 7.33-4. 89

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portico, which displayed the wealth of emperor and city, and a place, moreover, dedicated to commercial enterprise. How much greater the contrast also, if, one might wonder, the funding of this church provided employment for Milanese or displaced immigrant workers, acting as a sort of economic stimulus. The local materials and construction methods point in this direction. In another way too, Ambrose’s emphasis on misericordia which Lawrence exemplified was executed in the siting of the Apostolorum. The monumental portico that led to and from the city, that directed visitors to the forum and the palace, was constructed to impress the anonymous viewer. That viewer, perhaps visitor or resident, participated in the growing affluence of the city, when the imperial court returned. This primary road, one must imagine, was filled with rich and poor, citizen and foreigner, resident and refugee, who traveled to this place for various reasons, to work, to shop, to socialize, to travel, or even to gamble. Some of these very people can be imagined coming to the city after the grain shortage in Rome in 384 or in advance of barbarian attacks such as those of the Goths. Each viewer within that portico, however, experienced the wealth of empire, passing permanent shops and temporary vendors that displayed their wares, luxury items not unlike those that the antagonist in the Cornelia vignette displayed or that in Lawrence’s demanded. Certainly, a range of responses would occur, but the riches of empire were recognized. The visual narrative of a visitor to this portico mimics the Lawrence episode. Imagine the viewer entering this porticoed road having come from the countryside at the south or through the narrow streets of the city at the north. This monumental portico, constructed with all the elaborations that the imperial bank could fund, likely amazed the viewer further, filled with permanent shops and temporary vendors hawking their wares, especially those luxury items now entering a city with an imperial court – i.e., the riches of the world. The material grandeur of the wide, multicultural empire lay splayed before a bedazzled eye. Then, suddenly, halfway along this visual array of affluence, a break in the portico permitted a view into a courtyard and to an entrance to some large building. Such a stark break in the visual rhythm of the street perhaps encouraged one to stop and to look. The portal in mid-portico allowed a view into a courtyard and to an entrance to an at best modestly decorated building that could not be fully viewed, blocked by the portico’s roof. In other words, the size of the building would have been hidden. One would need to enter the portico, if not the church itself, to comprehend its full size. Further obscuring the appearance of the church may have been a crowd of people. If following what happened at St. Peter’s in Rome, at least at times, a host of needy may have gathered before the doors.92 Following Ambrose’s own descriptions of the 92

Paulinus of Nola, Ep. 13 is a consolation written for Pammachius who had lost his wife at the end of the fourth century. As part of the funerary rites, Pammachius held a banquet for the poor at St Peter’s. On this letter, see Lucy Grig, ‘Throwing parties for the poor: poverty and

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poor, those present may have been the perpetually destitute or the once great and wealthy having fallen on hard times. Mimicking the Lawrence episode, the Apostolorum’s location provided a surprise in the viewer’s narrative. With its scale reduced by the confines of the portico, its basic decoration and modest construction techniques, and its motley lot of characters welcomed before the doors, the visual made a different impression than the victory proclaimed by its cross plan. And just where were the treasures like those in the portico before it? Stepping into the courtyard, especially with Lawrence’s quip in mind, the viewer would not see the portico’s goods; rather he would see on display the treasured and visible poor. Lawrence provided misericordia’s memorable aphorism, and the Apostolorum provided a strategic place to see and to value the poor. On special occasions Ambrose made his grander overtures. During such events, which might include the deposition of relics, Ambrose called crowds to this church, a ready occasion for the distribution of largess, common in traditional Roman dedications of temples and chapels.93 Yet, for most days and most people, especially those newcomers, the Apostolorum stood as a testament to the moral character of the city. Here wealth turned to a higher purpose than the purchase of baubles in the portico before it. Here one imagines the poor gathered where Ambrose stood as a Lawrence, giving a place for these undervalued, invisible poor, no longer feared as if their bad fortune was contagious. The first step to victory, literally to reach the entrance of the cross-planned church, may have been through the poor and an act of misericordia. Ambrose’s drive to instill a sense of misericordia in his city was more than a philosophical endeavor. Drawing on Cicero alongside Old and New Testament authors and his more recent Christian heroes such as Lawrence, Ambrose proclaimed and modeled this care for the needy in text, word, and deed. When Ambrose’s own words fashion his forceful presence in the face of epic challenges, from the emperor to the heretic to the pagan, motives for political gain are found easily. The so-called invisible poor have notably left little record of themselves for posterity; they have also left no record of the daily activities or of the sincerity of Ambrose and like individuals. As Morgan and Knapp argued, modern scholars should reconsider the famous tales, fables, excerpts, and sayings to give at least some shadowy form to the poor. The episode of Lawrence and his famous saying paired with Ambrose’s Basilica Apostolorum provide an opportunity to identify Ambrose’s efforts for the needy and to make visible and valuable those traditionally unseen and underappreciated individuals. splendour in the late antique church’, in Margaret Atkins and Robin Osborne (eds), Poverty in the Roman World (New York, 2006), 145-61. See also Ammianus Marcellinus, Res Gestae 27.3.6, who describes Lampadius summoning beggars from the Vatican and enriching them with gifts, rather than giving to an unworthy plebs, in L. Grig, ‘Throwing parties for the poor’ (2006), 158. 93 R. Lizzi Testa, ‘“Praesul et possessor”: Ambrogio e la proprietà privata’ (2017), 21-33.

Inclusive or Exclusive? The Moral Dimensions of Ambrose’s Misericordia Robert L. GRANT, St Ambrose University, Davenport, IA, USA

ABSTRACT This article examines the reach and limits of Ambrose’s theology of ‘misericordia’. He understands this term in two senses. His reading of the scriptures and other Christian theologians encourages him to interpret it as a grace from God which leads to salvation offered to those who cannot merit it. This may be best translated as ‘mercy’. His Roman philosophical training, especially in Stoicism, allows him to define it as a human virtue, one’s ethical duty to the poor who are owed it. ‘Kindness’ is a reasonable translation. The result of this dual usage is a still somewhat inchoate union of Roman and Christian truth claims. Together, these two concepts are among Ambrose’s most universal theological and ethical principles. They have proven to be enduring pillars of Christian thinking. Yet Ambrose has left unresolved the explanation of how these two are related. Moreover, his specific applications of both the grace and the virtue of misericordia can be critiqued for their blind spots. In his view, for example, only Christians are eligible for the grace of eternal life. Similarly, the virtue is not extended to slaves nor, much, to barbarians. Yet, any critique of his failures to apply his principles should be done in reference to the historical period in which he lived. We are left with a case study of the development of theological ethical formulations. In short, his Universal truth claims are still valid even while they are in need of being applied in ever greater inclusivity.

Ambrose’s theology of ‘misericordia’, is sweeping and elegant, yet fraught with peculiar qualifications and uneven applications. He has an inclusive understanding of God’s mercy: ‘Divine mercy … is common to all … everyone will rise’ including Jews and those with ‘virtue’ [Omnes resurgunt … Communis est divinae fructus clementiae … Videmus igitur coelum patere virtuti, nec hoc esse paucorum].1 But he then truncates this vision with qualifications: ‘There is no way’, he tells Valentinian II, ‘that the salvation of everyone can be secured other than through the true God, that is, the God of the Christians’ [Aliter enim salus tuta esse non poterit nisi unusquisque Deum verum, hoc est Deum christianorum…]. As if he wasn’t perfectly clear, Ambrose adds: ‘The 1

Ambrose, De excessu fratris II 92: ‘We see, then, that heaven is open to virtue, nor is this to be only for a few…’ See also De excessu fratris II 95-101. All Latin citations of Ambrose’s writings are from Sancti Ambrosii Episcopi Mediolanensis Opera (SAEMO) (Milan, 1997-).

Studia Patristica CXIII, 119-132. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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gods of the gentiles are demons, so Scripture says’ [Dii enim gentium daemonia, sicut Scriptura dicit].2 Similarly, his conception of misericordia as a virtue suffers reductionism in its application. Thus, for example, while ‘it is a great incentive to mercy to share in the tragedies of others’, he does not apply this to such social ills as hereditary slavery.3 In short, Ambrose makes ample use of the concept of ‘misericordia’ in both doctrinal and ethical treatises, yet because of his less than generous applications he is not unreasonably accused of intolerance. 4 As Gibbon famously opined: ‘The cause of humanity and that of persecution have been asserted by the same Ambrose with equal energy and equal success.’5 One is left to wrestle with contradictions: is misericordia inclusive or exclusive? Where does he get his ideas and how does he determine to whom they apply? Such questions motivate the first half of this article. The second half of the article focuses on Ambrosian misericordia as a way of addressing larger problems that still dog historical theology: how can the Christian theological tradition be respected as authoritative while not denying its egregious blind spots or getting mired in ancient solutions to ancient problems? Must we accept Ambrose’s limiting of access to Divine Misericordia to those who are baptized Nicaean Christian? Can we critique his failure to more generously offer the virtue of misericorida, for instance, to hereditary slaves?6 The case will be made that while his general principles are always valid, we can – and in some cases should – dispense with his particular applications. But to begin, the term ‘misericordia’ occurs 496 times in the Ambrosian corpus.7 It consistently means one or another of two things.8 Soteriologically it 2

Ambrose, Epistle 72.1. His family may have owned thousands of slaves. See Angelo Paredi, Sant’Ambrogio e la sua età (Milano, 2015), 17. Those captives he liberated (Ambrose, De officiis II 136-43) were freedmen and women war captives who had been sold into slavery. Following Roman law, he accepted hereditary slavery. Cf. Jennifer A. Glancy, Slavery in Early Christianity (Minneapolis, 2006), 98. 4 Ambrose, Ep. 72/Maur. 17.1. Cf. Pier Franco Beatrice (ed.), trans. Sever J. Voicu and Sandra Zampa, L’Intolleranza Cristiana nei Confronti dei Pagani (Bologna, 1990). 5 Quoted from J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, Ambrose of Milan, Political Letters and Speeches (Liverpool, 2005), 45. 6 Slavery, justified for centuries on the basis of natural and Roman law, was only definitively condemned by the Catholic Church in 1891. See Pope Leo XIII, Rerum Novarum (May 15, 1891), 44. Salvation for non-Christians was admitted even later, see Dei Verbum 3 (Nov. 18, 1965) and Catechism of the Catholic Church (1993), 118-9. 7 Most (332×) are in the exegetical works, forty nine times in dogmatic texts, forty six in Moral/ Aescetic, and forty in his letters. The frequency of other ‘key’ Ambrosian terms gives context: Gratia (2,377), Natura (1,527), Justitia (900+), Merita (760), Poenitentia (356), Libertas (350+), Benefacere (205). It is also worth noting that exegetical works constitute 62% of the Ambrosian corpus, 10% for moral/ascetic, 13% for dogmatic, and 11% for the epistulae. Thesarus Sancti Ambrosii, curante Cetedoc, Brepols, Universitas Catholica Lovaniensis, Lovanii Novi (1994). 8 Ambrose’s Biblical citations generally support one or another of his two intended meanings. 3

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is a gift from God offered for salvation. Ethically it is a virtue. The two notions are not readily reconcilable to one another and should be treated as different, albeit related, terms. In the first sense we might prefer to translate the Latin with ‘mercy’, which is very often associated with God’s justice and juxtaposed to God’s righteous ‘wrath’ (indignatio).9 Illustrative is de Virginibus II 38, in which Ambrose describes that, as a consequence of Jeroboam’s profaning the Temple, his hand withered. But it was restored when the king did penance: ‘Such was a perfect example in one person, both of divine mercy and anger when he who, when sacrificing, immediately his right hand was taken then, being penitent, he was given forgiveness’ [Tam matururm in uno et misericordiae divinae et indignationis exemplum exstitit, ut sacrificanti subito dextra adimeretur, poenitenti venia daretur].10 God’s mercy is offered freely; it is unmerited; and it is for the salvation of one’s soul, as in Ep. 63.96: ‘Let us not forsake [Christ] … for who would flee from peace? Who would flee from salvation? Who would flee from mercy? Who would flee from redemption?’ [Sed nos non refugiamus … Quis, igitur fugiat pacem? Quis fugiat salutem? Quis fugiat misericordiam? Quis fugiat redemptionem?].11 Yet he often suggests that it is exclusive to (Nicaean) Christians. ‘I too’, Ambrose prays, ‘formerly unclean, but now by Your mercy [am] made clean through faith…’ [ut ego quoque dudum immundus, sed jam per tuam misericordiam fide mundus].12 Ethical misericordia, as distinct from God’s mercy, is a virtue. It is a discipline; it is practiced for the sake of the common good; and it is rewarded. This misericordia, which might be translated as ‘kindness’, or ‘compassion’, is the meritorious duty to care for others – especially the socio-economically marginalized who, in fact, properly demand it of us by Natural Law. ‘This is a true law of nature, which binds us to show all kindly feeling so that we should all of us in turn help one another as parts of one body’ [Haec utique lex naturae est, quae nos ad omnem adstringit humanitatem, ut alter alteri tamquam unius partes corporis inviem deferamus].13 Misericordia is like beneficence which is integral to justice.14 It is also linked to liberality.15 This means not only that, say, Theodosius (‘Augustae clementiae’)16 should show misericordia towards 9 Examples of this use include De virginibus I 38 and De poenitentia I 9, 20, Ep. 63.96; De virginibus I 2 and II 30, 38; De poenitentia II 27; De excessu fratris I 29, 65, 69, 80 and II 25. 10 Ambrose De virginibus II 38. 11 Ambrose, Epistle 63.96 12 Ambrose, De fide I 133. 13 Ambrose, De officiis III 19. 14 See Ambrose’s De officiis I 166 (also Cicero’s De off. II 52), Ep.s 51.15 and 63.31; De vidovis 11, 29, 32, 54, and 74; De officiis I 38, 40, 147, 150, and 154; De officiis II 3, 43, 70-1; and De poenitentia I 28. 15 Ambrose, De officiis II 71; De vidovis 11. 16 Using that title for the emperor may go back to Caesar, who, at the end of the civil wars, established a new temple in Rome to ‘Clementia’ (the Athenian goddess Eleos).

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his vanquished enemies, but that all Christians should be generous to the poor and anyone in crisis.17 And again, practicing this virtue is meritorious towards salvation. ‘Mercy, therefore, is good because it makes one perfect, in that it imitates the perfect Father … On Judgment Day [the merciful one] will have salvation from the Lord whom He owes because of his mercy’ [Bona etiam misericordia, quae et ipsa perfectos facit, quia imitatur perfectum Patrem … In die judici habebit salutem a Domino, quem habebit suae debitorem misericordiae].18 Not infrequently, divine mercy and human kindness over-lap, as in his letter to Marcellina regarding the controversy of the synagogue of Callenicum, wherein misericordia is among the gifts of Christ ‘that are an incentive to virtue and also its reward’ [Ita ergo Christi beneficia et incentiva virtutis et praemia sunt].19 Generally, however, the virtue is clearly distinguished from the grace. To suggest that misericordia can mean either a grace or a virtue is one of Ambrose’s most distinct contributions to Western Christian theological ethics. It is also rather confusing. This is because he attempts to be both Stoic and Christian while not making it clear exactly how those two systems are harmonized. This situation is particularly obvious in De officiis, in which Ambrose demonstrates both his reliance upon and independence from the Stoic principles of Cicero. For example, Ambrose inserts his Christian term misericordia into passages on justice and beneficence where he is otherwise carefully following Cicero, subtly suggesting both its fittingness and its distinctiveness.20 He casually slips it in among a cluster of Cicero’s terms such as liberalitas, benignitas, beneficia, and justitia.21 Following Philo of Alexandria, he then asserts that the Stoics got their ideas from Moses [Unde hoc nisi de nostris scripturis dicendum sumpserunt?]22 and then explicates the virtue using Scripture. What exactly is Ambrose doing? Is he slipping an exotic concept into traditional Stoicism, subtly shifting its overall orientation? Or maybe he is merely re-branding an already known concept. Perhaps he is doing something more original, something new. At first glance, there doesn’t seem to be much in the Stoic tradition to support his Christian concept of misericordia.23 For Cicero, the concept (interchangeable with ‘clementia’) can apply to the military in forbearing to treat vanquished enemies harshly. In at least one case clementia is asserted to be derived 17

Ambrose, Ep. 62.3; De officiis I 154; III 47; De vidovis 27; De officiis II 142. Ambrose, De officiis I 38-9. 19 Ambrose, Ep. 41.6. 20 Cicero, De officiis I 42-60; II 61-5; and especially III 24-8. 21 Ambrose, De officiis I 130, 166. It should be noted that Cicero’s term ‘clementia’ is rare. 22 Ambrose, De officiis I 133. 23 In an English opera omnia, a search counts ‘mercy’ 55 times and ‘clemency’ 166 times. Cicero, Complete Works, Delphi Classics (Hastings, 2014). 18

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from Natural Law.24 Rarely it means something like empathy, sharing the misery of the miserable: ‘Mercy is grieving for the misery of another’ [misericordia est aegritudo ex miseria alterius].25 Speaking as an advocate, it often means legal leniency sought by one having admitted to a crime. More frequently, especially in his letters of patronage, he asks the powerful to forgive their political adversaries. For example, in his appeal to Caesar in defense of his friend King Deiotarus of Galatia (who had sided with Pompey) Cicero is sure that Caesar ‘will surely give to mercy what you denied to your anger’ [dabis profecto misericordiae, quod iracundiae negavisti]. He continues: ‘Many are the monuments to your clemency, the greatest of these is the security of those to whom you’ve given health’ (that is, whose lives he has spared) [multi sunt tuae clementiae monumenta sed maxime eorum in columitates, quibus salutem dedisti].26 Cicero links benevolentia to beneficia and both Cicero and Ambrose tie these terms to justitia. To this Ambrose explicitly adds misericordia (De officiis I 130). It can be argued that, for Ambrose, misericordia combines Cicero’s liberality, kindness, good will and is especially similar to the twinned terms justice and beneficence (De officiis I 131-2). Yet, through the alchemy of blending these elements with his Christian ethos, Ambrose is, arguably, discovering an otherwise obscure, if not novel, virtue. Cicero’s beneficence has to expand when it becomes Ambrose’s misericordia. The former is simply one of the duties necessary to preserve the common good [ut societas hominum coniunctionque servetur] which is an a priori derived from Natural Law [natura vi ratione hominem conciliat homini … ad vitae societatem ingenerat].27 Whereas the latter must take into account an even higher good than that: eternal salvation. He envisions this second tier to be laid on top of (superadditur, in Thomas’ language), not to replace, the first.28 There is one important caveat to be considered. Does Ambrose really claim that ethical misericordia is acquired by reason or is it (like Aquinas’ ‘theological virtues’) an ‘infusion’ of God’s grace?29 If the latter, then he is not 24

Cicero, Pro Murena, 6. Cicero, Tusculan disputationes 4.8.18. 26 Pro Regia Deiotarus, in M. Tullii Ciceronis Operum Tomus Secundus qui Continet Orationes Omnes quae Exstant (1627). 27 Cicero, De officiis I 17, 12. 28 In fact, there is a similarly awkward stumble in the Summa Theologiae (ST). Thomas, having asserted the continued validity of Natural Law and the Virtues, leaps really rather awkwardly into a discussion of the ‘theological’ virtues, attainment of which requires the prerequisite of grace. Cf. ST I II 91.4. The bridge between the two is not solidly constructed. 29 Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae II II 63.4: ‘Those infused moral virtues, whereby people behave well in respect to … God differ from the acquired virtues, whereby one behaves well in respect to human affairs [differentes speciae virtutes morales infusae per quas homines bene se habent in ordine ad hoc … Dei, et aliae virtutes acquisititae, secundum quas homo se bene habet in ordine ad res humanas]. Indeed, Aquinas lists ‘mercy’ among the Theological Virtues. 25

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identifying a new virtue that is available to all people, but creating a distinctly Christian virtue given to those who do not merit it. If so, he has collapsed the human virtue of kindness into the grace of God’s mercy, which the written evidence of his own usage contradicts. On the other hand, if misericordia is derived from Natural Law, this newly discovered virtue would not be exclusive to those who receive divine revelation, even though it is meritable for salvation. As problematic as this option is, there are grounds for claiming it. For one thing, unlike Thomas, Ambrose does not divide the virtues between the theological (infused by Grace) from the moral and intellectual (acquired by reason).30 Secondly, especially in De officiis, Ambrose’s misericordia is inserted among the ‘cardinal’ virtues and those other moral virtues derived from them, all of which he gets from Cicero. Most importantly, Ambrose clearly seems to think that all virtues are available to all rational people. Indeed, he does not deny that Cicero or Plato had grasped something of the virtue of misericordia, he only insists that they got it from the Bible.31 Virtuous misericordia has the aura of universality about it, being derived from rational nature itself. All of this is to say that when a Christian exercises the same virtue as does a gentile, they are aware that they are not only serving the common good but also accruing merit for their salvation. ‘Mercy, also, is a good thing, as it makes one perfect, in imitation of the perfect Father. Nothing commends the Christian soul like mercy’ [Bona etiam misericordia, quae et ipsa perfectos facit, quia imitator perfectu patrem. Nihil tam commendat Christiana animam, quam misericordia].32 In any case, Ambrose’s misericordia is not identical to any Stoic virtue. The precise point at which Ambrose diverges from Cicero is that misericordia is not only a duty to serve the common good but is also meritorious toward eternal salvation. To be clear, he does not replace the civic duty with eternal reward but adds the one to the other. Interestingly, the reward is not earned on the basis of the demonstrable effectiveness of one’s duty. Rather, ‘the Lord requires diligence of us, not profit’ [praesertim cum studium a nobis Dominus, non profectum requirat].33 However, his definition is based on Augustine, not Ambrose, Summa Theologicae II II 30.1 respondeo. See also I II 61.3 sed contra, where he credits and accepts Cicero’s numeration of four ‘cardinal’ virtues: ‘So, Cicero, in his Rhetoric, reduces all other virtues to these four’ [Est quod Tullius, in sua Rhetorica ad has quatuor omnes alias reducit]. All other virtues are derived from these ‘and thus are “special” virtues’ [et sic sunt speciales virtutes]. 30 And even Thomas is not clear as one might expect. He equates, for example, the virtues of wisdom, understanding, and knowledge with ‘some gifts of the Holy Spirit’ [communicant etiam in nomine cum donis quibusdam Spiritus Sancti, unde simil etiam de eis considerabitur in consideratione donorum virtutibus correspondentium] ST II II. Prologus. 31 Ambrose, De officiis I 44: ‘How many years before these (Plato and Cicero) did Job live! He was the first to discover this… [Quanto antiquior illis Iob, qui hec primus reperit…]. 32 Ambrose, De officiis I 38. 33 Ambrose, De virginibus I 1. See also De offciis I 166, where Ambrose says that, in offering kindness, ‘more depends on the spirit with which we do it than on the sum we provide’.

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This suggests that Ambrose’s complex Christian-Stoic ethic is still grounded in effort (studium) and duty (officium), not gain, even while it nonetheless merits a reward from God. Ambrose envisions this as a second tier to be laid on top of, not to replace, the first.34 Having proposed this interesting hybrid, however, Ambrose still falls into the problems identified above: as an acquired virtue, misericordia qua kindness can be attained by anyone through reason. And by acquiring it, even non-Christians should be eligible for heaven. While we have seen that Ambrose does suggest that at least some non-Christians merit salvation even while, elsewhere, he denies it to all but Nicaean Christians. Ambrose exacerbates his problems by his qualified embrace of Origen’s theology of universal salvation (apokatastases). While, in his De poenetentia, for example, Ambrose suggests that Final Judgment is a permanent punishment for sinners, elsewhere he suggests that divine punishment is ‘medicinal’ and intended, ultimately, to procure salvation for that sinner.35 Brian Daley identifies the awkwardness that ‘in general, Ambrose seems to sympathize with the Origenist doctrine of universal salvation, although he never makes it entirely clear how strictly universal he expects it to be’.36 This assessment makes sense, especially in light of another Origenist concern that is also at the heart of Ambrose’s moral theology. The emphasis both duty in this age and supernatural teleology. Origen ‘tends … to emphasize the continuity between the present Christian life and its eschatological telos, or goal … eschatological statements have a present as well as future relevance’.37 For Origen, that bridge of continuity is provided by the borrowed Stoic concept of the logos spermatikos which supplies the flesh-and-blood body it’s true and eternal form [eidos] (rather than the body providing the soul with a temporary form).38 It is as if all humans, qua humans, are endowed with a sort of ‘primordial grace’, a divine rational principle infused at conception and not lost through the Fall. This sets up Origen to argue for the ultimate salvation of all humanity, endowed as everyone is with this ‘engendering Rationality’. Ambrose does not appear to have fully captured the consequences of this idea.39 The Cappadocians, upon whom Ambrose also relies, vary in their use of Origen. Basil of Caesarea seems to have dropped his earlier, Origenist hope for the salvation of all to a ‘more severe’ criticism of even his own chances.40 34

The gap between reason and grace is caused by Augustine’s doctrine of original sin. Ambrose, De poenitentia I 22: ‘He awaits our lamentations here, in time, so that He might spare us those which would be eternal’. Vs. In Ps. I 47-8. See Origen, De principiis II 10.3. See also Brian E. Daley, The Hope of the Early Church: A Handbook of Patristic Theology (Cambridge, New York, Portchester, Melbourne, Sydney, 1991), 97-101, esp. 98. 36 B.E. Daley, The Hope of the Early Church (1991), 99. 37 Ibid. 48. Ambrose, like Origen, is more speculative than systematic. See ibid. 47. 38 Origen, De principiis II 3.2. See B.E. Daley, The Hope of the Early Church (1991), 52. 39 Or perhaps he consciously avoids being too closely with Origenism, it being by then under something of a cloud of suspicion. 40 B.E. Daley, The Hope of the Early Church (1991), 81. 35

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Gregory Naziansus is called a ‘cautious Origenist’ who embraces the idea of purgative punishment that leads to ultimate union of all rational creatures with God: ‘God will be all in all in the time of the restoration’ [apokatastases].41 Gregory of Nyssa is the most faithful Origenist in that ‘he both reaffirms and refines Origen’s eschatology in his hope for universal salvation or apokatastases, the restoration of the intellectual creation to an “original” unity with God in a contemplative beatitude’.42 Ambrose may have drawn the same conclusion even if he does not consistently commit to it. He does, more clearly, share other related views of the Cappadocians. Gregory Nazianzus and Basil of Caesarea evoke the same defining characteristics of misericordia as either a grace or a virtue. Nazianzus speaks of ‘mercy’ in Oration 2 and 43 (his funeral oration for Basil) where he praises Basil as one who ‘had in view only one object; to win mercy by being merciful and to acquire heavenly blessings by his distribution of grain here below’ (43.34-6). He urges other Christians to have mercy on the poor and excoriates corrupt judges and grain merchants for depriving the poor of food (not unlike Ambrose in De officiis I 243). In Letters 74, 77, 91, 140, and 185 Gregory refers to mercy as a gift of God to sinners, though he does exhort his listeners to ‘conquer by mercy and make them debtors of our kindness’ and to ‘imitate the mercy of God’.43 In Homily 6.3, Basil of Caesarea, like Ambrose (in De officiis I 161), urges his listeners to ‘imitate the Earth and let your alms bear fruit for the grace of good works is returned to the giver’. In Homily 8.8 he argues that total renunciation of wealth is better than gradual divestment. To Basil are sometimes attributed two 4th-century homilies ‘tou autou peri eleous kai kriseos’ (On Mercy and Judgement) and ‘peri eumoia’ (On Beneficence).44 Significantly for this study, in the former the author binds together those two concepts so that ‘where there is mercy, you will note justice’.45 In the latter the author describes two tiers of beneficence. Perfect beneficence requires following the admonition of the synoptic Gospels (Mk. 10:21, Matt. 19:21 and Lk. 18:22) to ‘sell what you have and give to the poor’. Mendicant monks become the model of this perfect virtue. All others can ‘follow their example’ more gently by gradually divesting their wealth.46

41 Gregory Nazianzus, Oration 30.6. Thesaurus Linguae Graecae (TLG) online. See B.E. Daley, The Hope of the Early Church (1991), 84. 42 Ibid. 85. 43 Gregory Nazianzus, Letter 77 and 140. 44 See PG 31, 1705-14 and Susan R. Holman, Caroline Macé and Brian J. Matz, ‘De Beneficientia: A Homily on Social Action attributed to Basil of Caesarea’, VigChr 66 (2012), 457-81. 45 On Mercy and Justice 39. 46 When and how Ambrose (and Satyrus, if he was still alive) divested the family’s wealth remains something of a puzzle. Cf. De excessu fratris 59.

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Ambrose makes a similar concession, even for priests and bishops: ‘If any priest or other cleric does not give away all that he has, but does honorably what his office demands, he does not seem to me to be imperfect’ [sed et si quia ecclesiam nolens gravare in sacerdotio aliquo constitutus aut ministerio, non totum quod habet conferat sed operetur cum honestate quantum officio sat est; non mihi imperfectus videtur].47 Basil and Gregory Nazianzus, like Ambrose, understand God’s misericordia as an unmerited gift of grace by means of which the Christian is saved. It is also, as with Ambrose’s ethical misericordia, a duty and a virtue which is meritorious towards one’s salvation.48 Yet, following Daley, they also share with Ambrose a certain reluctance to fully embrace the universalism of Nyssa and especially of Origen. We are left with the same problems. Whether considering misericordia as a gift of God or as a human virtue, and while often evoking a universalist vision of both, Ambrose elsewhere applies it in more exclusivist terms: the grace is offered by God to Nicaeans and only Nicaeans earn merit by practicing the virtue. Undeniably, Ambrose contradicts himself and so diminishes his own vision. We won’t appreciate Ambrose’s struggles, admire his successes, and be patient with his failures if we don’t understand what an enormous task he undertook by structuring his theology on both Athens and Jerusalem. To fairly evaluate Ambrose’s misericordia certain strategies must be considered. The second part of this article proposes an evaluative model that distinguishes between those Ambrosian principles that can be considered to be universal, and so still valid, and certain secondary applications that may be neither. To begin, it may help to borrow a bit of structure from a more systematic moral theologian than was Ambrose. In his Natural Law theology, Thomas Aquinas distinguishes between the primary and secondary principles. The primary principle is that ‘good is to be done and pursued and evil is to be avoided’ [bonum est faciendum et prosequendum et malum vitandum].49 The secondary principles are simply specific applications of this single universal and necessary moral duty.50 This means that one might embrace Thomas’ first principle while being free to accept or reject any of his given secondary principles on the grounds that we live in a different time or face a different situation. These secondary principles may have been valid once, they may remain so in certain different conditions, or they may 47

Ambrose, De officiis I 152. This reflects his distinction between perfect and ordinary goodness. See De officiis III 11: Duplex enim forma perfectionis, alia medios. These correspond to Cicero’s ‘medium’ and ‘perfectum’ duties in his De officiis I 8. 48 As a duty: De officiis I 40; and as a virtue, De officiis II 3. 49 Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae (ST) I II 94.2. 50 ST I II 94.2 ad primum: ‘All these (secondary) precepts of the natural law have the character of one natural law, inasmuch as they refer to the first precept’ [omnia ista praecepta legis naturae, inquantum referuntur ad unum primum praeceptum, habent rationem unius legis naturalis].

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always have been wrong. However, in any but very specific moments and situations they may be deemed to be inappropriate applications of the primary principle. Inversely, two persons acting in diametrically opposite ways may well be adhering to the same general moral principle. Aquinas differentiates between ‘ad communia’ and ‘ad propria’, that is, between ‘general’ and ‘detail’ rules. ‘Although there is necessity in the general principles, the more we descend to matters of detail, the more frequently we encounter defects’ [etsi in communibus sit aliqua necessitas, quanto magis ad propria descenditur, tanto magis invenitur defectus]. He continues, ‘in matters of moral action, truth or practical rectitude is not the same for all in matters of detail, but only as to general principles’ [In operativis autem non est aedem veritas vel rectitudo practica apud omnes quantum ad propria, sed solum quantum ad communia: et apud illos apud quos est eadem rectitudo in propriis, non est aequaliter omnia nota].51 Any specific application of a universal principle such as misericordia is dispensable if, in that context, it is rationally judged to be contrary to the spirit of the primary principle. To put this formula in Ambrosian terms, the secondary principles of Natural Law are to the primary principle what expediencies are to virtues: valid only if they are proper applications of that virtue. And indeed, Ambrose makes it very clear that expediencies which are not ‘fitting and virtuous’ [deceat et honestum], that is, conducive of eternal life [ad vitae aeternae prosit], are to be shunned.52 This leaves Ambrose with an almost Pelagian-esque high bar for meritorious moral perfection. Yet it is attainable. Ambrose speaks of ‘perfect duty’ [perfectum officium] which includes misericordia, ‘which makes one perfect’ [quae et ipsa perfectos facit] especially when shown first to the poor [primum in pauperes] ‘sharing in common the produce of nature, which generates the fruit of the earth for everyone’ [ut communes judices partus naturae, quae omnibus ad usum generat fructus terrarum].53 He concentrates on the hungry, poor, indebted, the sad, the enslaved, all of whom are, in short, one’s ‘neighbors’.54 This preferential option for those ‘in want’ (inopiam) takes Ambrose a step beyond Roman tradition. His assertion that this duty is rewarded with eternal life is a full leap. This is what makes Ambrose’s misericordia, not necessarily something entirely new, yet a distinctly Christian virtue. Misericordia is a universal and necessary requisite 51 ST I II 94.4. For a commentary on this, see Pope Francis, Amoris Laetitia, 304: ‘It is true that general rules set forth a good which can never be disregarded or neglected, but in their formulation they cannot provide absolutely for all particular situations.’ 52 Ambrose, De officiis I 28. See also Cicero’s De officiis I 9. While they agree in principle, Ambrose accuses Cicero of being too accommodating. 53 Ambrose, De officiis I 37-8. 54 Ambrose, De officiis I 143-74. This does not require the emancipation of those born into slavery (i.e. the vast majority of slaves). The same Ambrose who bought the freedom of those who were captured after Hadrianopolis was a slave owner until he gave his property to the Church. This, of course, made the Church a slave owner.

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for moral perfection. It applies to everyone, always. On the other hand, its concomitant expediencies are the myriad ways that this first principle may be practiced by Christians for the Common Good that merits Eternal Reward. Thus we need not and in some cases, should not automatically embrace all and only those expediencies that Ambrose articulated for his people in Late Classical Christian Milan. To do so, let’s face it, would leave us saddled with hereditary slavery, male clericalism, and the eternally damned ‘heathen’ and Jew. Yet, we ought not judge Ambrose’s applications by our modern cultural standards. Rather, we can and should use Ambrose’s own first principle to critique his applications of it. In other words, Ambrose the theorist can be used to evaluate Ambrose the practitioner: what did he get right? Who did he omit and why? Why did he exclude whole groups from God’s mercy? What has enduring value and what no longer does (if it ever did)? There are at least two ways that trying to negotiate this can be done badly. One is by digging in one’s heels against deleting any principles – primary or secondary – from the canon of the Tradition on the grounds that the removal of even a jot or tittle triggers a rapid decent down the ‘lubricus declivitus’. Borrowing a phrase from a certain kind of American constitutionalism, this perspective can be called ‘originalism’. It conflates the primary and the secondary principles and treats them all as of equal value. The second error would be to disregard Ambrose’s original intent as irrelevant. This ‘Reception Theory’ liberates anyone to interpret the Tradition in any way that makes sense to us (or just to ‘me’) based on one’s own experiences.55 It treats all interpretations of the principles as of equivalent value, dismisses the author, and ignores the social, cultural, linguistic, economic, and political context out of which the author wrote.56 The originalist approach treats Ambrose’s theology as a window into the past: it can be viewed, but it can’t be touched. Reception Theory treats it like a mirror: it reflects the viewer’s self-image and we are likely to see in it what (and only what) we are trying to recognize in ourselves. In his essay ‘Ambrose, Paul and the Conversion of the Jews’ J. Warren Smith concludes that since both St. Paul (scriptural inerrancy) and St. Ambrose (Tradition’s inerrancy) have determined that one is saved by baptism, then it is not possible to maintain that Jews can be saved. He goes so far as to say that if we have a problem with Ambrose on this admittedly uncomfortable fact, then we really have a problem with Paul.57 But we do have a problem with Paul. The Apostle who said that in Christ ‘there is no distinction between Greek and 55 I see this as a version of the ‘reader’s response’ theory of literature and, recently, in Biblical studies. 56 Cf. Yunling Shi, ‘Review of Wolfgang Iser and His Reception Theory’, Theory and Practice in Language Studies 3 (2013), 982-6. 57 J. Warren Smith, ‘Ambrose, Paul, and the Conversion of Jews’, Ex Auditu 25 (2009), 175-98, 196.

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Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave and free’58 nonetheless expected women to be subordinate to their husbands and slaves to their masters.59 And we do have a problem with Ambrose. The scope of his misericordia, though theoretically boundless, excludes traditionalist and orientalist Romans, heterodox Christians, barbarians, and Jews. Yet our problem with the Apostle to the Gentiles and the Doctor of the Church is of our own making at least as much as it is due to any error on their part. It is caused by our equivalency between a virtue and an expediency, the conflation of the universal and necessary principle with the time and place specific applications. Once we tease out those tangled strands we may, indeed, still challenge (and perhaps then exonerate) Paul and Ambrose for their failures to fully comprehend the all-encompassing range of their own profound theological insights, but on their terms, not ours.60 Ambrose shows glimmers of extraordinary brilliance in his distinctive understanding of Christian misericordia. It is offered gratuitously by God to everyone. Those who receive it have the duty (officiis) to offer it to everyone. To do so is meritorious for salvation. Perhaps Ambrose slips into what we today would call social insensitivity, cultural blindness, dare I say an elitist myopia. He preferences Nicaean Christians over all others, elevates vowed widows and virgins above laity and, at least in some cases, raises clerics and his own episcopal authority over emperors and civil authority. Yet to study Ambrose, much less to learn from him, means to accept him as a man of his time and place. He should be judged for his actions and words, but not from our ever-so enlightened pinnacle of the early 21 st century. Rather, he can be judged on the basis of his own best insights and with tolerance for the limits of his cultural, social, historical, economic, political, and linguistic context. He is, for example, hardly exceptional – in his milieu – for his bias against barbarian immigrants. On the other hand, though he could hardly be seen as a feminist, Ambrose was notable, at least at first, for a decidedly counter cultural openness to women religious.61 We need not judge him negatively for his limits, but nor are we obliged to adhere to his 4th-century applications. 58

Romans 10:2; Colossians 3:11; also Galatians 3:28. Ephesians 5:32-3 and Philemon. While he urged Philemon to manumit Onezimus, he did not require it and he added nothing about his other slaves or slavery in general. 60 In Roman Catholic theology, inerrancy applies to the ‘whole’ of scripture and not categorically to specific statements. ‘The exegete must look for the meaning of the sacred writer in a determined situation and given the circumstances of the [sacred writer’s] time and culture…’ This applies equally to Tradition, since there is ‘a growth in insight’ (Dei Verbum 12 & 8). 61 Metha Hokke points out how his attitude toward vowed women religious shifted from empowerment to control in her resent presentation: ‘Community in Transition: De Virginitate as Testimony of a Hierarchical Reversal Between Virgins and Bishop’ (Ambrose of Milan: (Re-) Constructing Community, 6-8 April, 2018. Davenport, Iowa). 59

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With these judicious qualifications we can learn a great deal from Ambrose about the nature of misericordia, its meaning, purpose, end, and object. But to do justice to the eternal truth of his keen insights we must also reject those of his specific applications reasonably deemed inadequate, dated, or simply wrong for being circumscribed by a culture and molded by historical conditions that no longer exist. The second error, Reception Theory, risks lurching too far in the other direction: dismissing as irrelevant the context in which his theology was crafted and simply lifting it for our own purposes. This approach slides gleefully down the slippery slope, on its way stripping Ambrose of his very identity as author and sidelining his specific objectives and intentions in favor of one’s own, subjective, interpretation. That the reader brings something of their own experience to the text is, of course, axiomatic. This, along with their prejudices, presumptions, and preferences, must be recognized for the influence they have, for better or worse, on their interpretation. As a result of a prudent use of this approach, nested within a broader hermeneutical examination, reading becomes an experience in itself, potentially pleasurable and possibly helpful. But it is also fraught with all the dangers inherent to subjectivity. In the extreme, it kills meaning or at least reduces and trivializes it. Over emphasis on the reader’s response not only dismisses those secondary applications of Ambrose’s general theory of misericordia, it could exclude even his primary principle. We are left to make of misericordia whatever we would like it to be – tidily fitting it into our own world view.62 Ambrose, suffering this treatment, can be read as either a socialist or totalitarian; he can be (and has been) held responsible for the very death of authentic Christianity.63 Threading between Charybdis and Scilla requires that we pay due attention to the context within which Ambrose (or Paul or any one at any point in the Tradition) wrote, spoke, and acted. Scholars of the ‘theology of retrieval’, demonstrate that balance. They ‘immerse themselves in the texts, thought forms, and the forms of life of the Christian past in order to open up fresh opportunities for Christian faithfulness in the present’.64 Ambrose of Milan was the first elite Roman senatorial class Nicaean bishop. This provided him with wealth to redistribute, access to Roman and Greek 62 By the way, that this pretty much describes how Ambrose himself handles Scripture should be admitted … and critiqued. 63 See Charles Freeman, A.D. 381: Heretics, Pagans, and the Dawn of the Monotheistic State (Woodstock, NY, 2009), 128 and Francois Paschoud, ‘L’intolleranza cristiana vista e giudicata dai pagani’, in P.F. Beatrice (ed.), L’Intolleranza Cristiana nei Confronti dei Pagani (1990), 151. For a brilliant response which illustrates the problem with Reader’s Response theory see Peter Brown, Authority and the Sacred: Aspects of the Christianization of the Roman World (Cambridge, 1995), 29-54. 64 Kent Eilers and W. David Buschart, ‘An Overtaking Depth: Theology as Retrieval’, American Theological Inquiry 8 (2015), 1-20, especially 15.

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philosophy, a classical aesthetic, and his faith. He has left us the inheritance of Stoic-Christian ethics reframed within Nicaean soteriology. His applications of his own insights, however, were restricted, both by his historical context and his own limits. The Church should not be saddled with this baggage. He led a minority faith in waging an ideological war with heterodox Christians, Jews, and ‘gentile’ Romans. He increasingly embraced a clerical episcopacy that made him superior to all others. His theological conception of both the grace and the virtue of misericordia (indeed, his whole ethical system) is still valid, useful, and even defining of Christian identity. But that doesn’t mean that modern Christians cannot evaluate his blind-spots, errors, omissions, and the idiosyncratic accretions to the ‘deposit of faith’ of which he was steward. In the end, he should neither be tarred for what he got wrong nor gilded as if he got nothing wrong. Much more importantly, his unique blend of Biblical, Ciceronian and Cappadocian misericordia retains its broad value as a grace from God and as a human virtue, however inchoately intertwined. It deserves to be taught and lived, particularly in our time. His failures to more fully apply those insights in his own day and those of his applications too deeply rooted only in his historical context are – on the basis of his own best thinking – best left in late Classical Roman Christian history, which is to say they should be remembered, learned from, and then avoided.

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