A Social and Cultural History of Late Antiquity

by Douglas Boin

  Bishop Cyprian’s words are similar to those of an earlier third‐century writer, Tertullian, who claimed that “the blood of the martyrs” was the “seed” that led to the demographic growth of the church (Tertullian, Apologeticus 50). This imagery also would have harmonized, to many Christians, with the words of the writer of Revelation, who – in a cosmic drama fought by angels and demons – framed “Rome” as a corrupt, decadent, and depraved new “Babylon” (Revelation 17.5). That was a gloomy tune the writer of the text called 1 Peter had sung, as well (1 Peter 5.13). All these texts may have taught Christians to see a value in cultural separation. And yet they are not the whole story of early Christianity, either.

  In the records of a church meeting at Elvira, in Roman Spain, c.305–306, the hierarchy turned its attention to several challenges facing Roman Christians on the Iberian peninsula. The obsessive list of complaints which they drew up in Latin, which survives as the Canons of the Council of Elvira, is a quizzical look at what church leaders feared at the turn of the fourth century. “Persecution” was decidedly not one of them. Among the first five recommendations which the council passed, three addressed the status of Christian flamines – priests of the local imperial cult – who were also active members of the Christian community. These canons, or “rules,” were designed to limit Christian participation in this important public office. The mere fact that the church leadership had to articulate these rules suggests the ease with which many Christians fulfilled their high‐profile duties as Roman politicians, even before Christianity was officially legalized.

  There is no reason for historians to try to blur, collapse, or artificially harmonize this conflicting evidence. In the third century and the early fourth century, just as in the first and second centuries, Christians did not see eye‐to‐eye with their own peers on how to participate in Roman city life. Whether Rome’s emperors ever recognized this fact is entirely unclear. What is clear is that by 303 CE, the policy drafted in the palace would be the most discriminatory against Christians yet.

  6.2 The End of the Third Century and the Rise of the Rule of Four

  By the 280s, Rome’s empire had weathered a tempestuous century, militarily, politically, and economically. Gaius Valerius Diocles, a soldier from the city of Salona in Roman Croatia (b. 244–d. 312 CE), engineered the foundations of a new stable state. After being proclaimed emperor by his troops in 284 CE, Diocles began a dedicated campaign to keep the empire from slipping back into civil war and military and political turmoil.

  It was a challenging task for anyone, let alone a man from the provinces whom one fourth‐century writer reports was the son of a freed slave. In fact, perhaps because of the stigma Diocles felt as an outsider, he soon adopted a more stereotypically Roman – which is to say, Latin‐sounding – version of his name: Diocletian. (For these details, we can thank the fourth‐century Latin writer Aurelius Victor [On the Emperors] 39.1.)

  Diocletian’s vision ensured that the fifty years of political turnover in the palace soon came to an end. Immediate rivals were quickly eliminated. By 293 CE, a form of power‐sharing was instituted among senior‐level leaders and junior counterparts. This new constitutional system, in which two senior “Augustuses” (Latin plural, Augusti) oversaw the political formation of two junior “Caesars” (Latin plural, Caesares), may have helped Diocletian identify future, capable administrators and bring them into the governmental system without risk of civil war or overt political conflict. This Tetrarchy, or “Rule of Four,” was implemented across the empire, with the Augusti and Caesares residing in capitals in the eastern and western provinces. Trier in Roman Germany, Antioch in Roman Syria, Nicomedia in Roman Turkey, and Thessaloniki in Roman Greece all emerged as important government centers during the administration of the Tetrarchs. (Exploring Culture 6.1: The Many Lives of Rome’s “Colosseum.”)

  Exploring Culture 6.1 The Many Lives of Rome’s Colosseum

  In 70 CE, the Emperor Titus marched a Roman army into Jerusalem. By year’s end, the Second Temple would be in ruins. When the war ended, in 74, the province of Judaea would be punished; Jewish prisoners would be paraded through Rome; and the state’s finances would be replenished with the spoils of war. Flush with new money, the Flavian family would build an amphitheater that would henceforth define the look of Rome. Since the Middle Ages, this building has been called the Colosseum, a name taken from its proximity to a “colossal” statue (Cassius Dio, Roman History 65.15).

  Although it was long suspected that spoils of the Jewish war had been used to fund its construction, within the last twenty years, a study of one Late Antique inscription has cautiously confirmed that assertion. The inscription is an example of the care which later city prefects of Rome lavished on this dear monument. This fragmentary Late Antique text reads:

  During the reign of our two emperors, Theodosius and Placidus Valentianus, Rufius Caecina Felix Lampadius, a most distinguished and [illustrious prefect of the city repaired] the sand‐floor (in Latin, harena) of the Flavian amphitheater along with its imperial box … and doors but also the stadium seating.

  (CIL 6.32086)

  Based on the identity of the ruling emperors and the city prefect named here, historians have dated these repairs to 443–444 CE. The stone itself, conspicuously pockmarked with holes, hides traces of another time, too.

  Bronze letters, likely dating from Flavian era, were originally fixed into these holes. According to one professional, this earlier text, included the telling Latin phrase “ex manubiis,” a standard formula used to commemorate dedications made “from the spoils of war.”

  Four hundred years later, when the memories of that Jewish war were distant Roman history (for some), the Flavian Amphitheater would still be standing. It would also continue to lure Romans eager for blood sport, animal or human. Christians and Jews counted among the spectators who filled its seats.

  For centuries, emperors and populace had flocked here to be entertained, and the stadium had been frequently repaired. In 230 CE, Alexander Severus allegedly taxed pimps and prostitutes to raise revenue for restoring it (SHA, Severus Alexander 24.3). A century later, in 357, Constantius II marveled at the amphitheater’s “huge bulk, strengthened by its framework of travertine, to whose top human eyesight barely ascends” (Ammianus Marcellinus, Roman History 16.10.4, LCL trans. by Rolfe). Almost one hundred and fifty years after him, yet another official – a Roman consul – would pay “at his own expense” to repair “the arena and the podium around the arena after they were destroyed by a terrible earthquake” (CIL 6.32094). That last repair dates to 508 CE.

  Gladiatorial combat had long been banned by this time. In 404 CE, the Emperor Honorius had stopped these grizzly matches (Theodore, Church History 5.26). Animal hunts had continued.

  Only in the eighth century was the building stripped of its entertainment function. In fact, new excavations in the twenty‐first century are revealing that the Colosseum’s corridors and arena were transformed into housing during the early medieval period. By the Renaissance, the travertine was being carted away for other projects.

  For the citizens of the late third‐century empire, who watched the profile of these cities grow, the new attention must have made a powerful statement: The Tetrarchs were investing in the future of Rome, the stability of its government, and the security of its people. We should look at the building program in one of these cities.

  6.3 A View from Thessaloniki, Roman Greece, Late Third Century CE

  Thessaloniki was a city of tradesmen and guilds strategically located on the Via Egnatia, the east–west road that helped travelers cross from Europe to Asia Minor (and vice versa). Because the city was so well integrated into the empire’s roads, for example, it is, perhaps not surprisingly, the first city from which we have any written evidence for Paul, one of Jesus’ first followers who stopped here in the late 40s and early 50s CE on his way south to Athens and Corinth. Three centuries later, the junior “Caesar” of the eastern empire, Galerius, set up
his imperial residence here. Galerius ruled as “Caesar” from 293–305 CE and was promoted to Augustus in 305. He held that senior title until his death in 311.

  Galerius’ urban investments

  With Diocletian’s help, Galerius began a new building program in the city. It included a race track. (The Greek‐derived word for “race track” is a hippodrome; the Latin‐derived word, “circus.” Galerius’ entertainment structure can be referred to with either term.) Galerius and Diocletian also paid for the construction of a new palace, as well as a mausoleum, or monumental tomb, that was supposed to be the final resting place of Galerius and his family. Thessaloniki’s palace had many of the amenities an emperor would have found on the Palatine Hill in Rome: secluded courtyards for whispered meetings, audience halls to host public receptions, dining rooms to entertain clients. There were also comfortable living quarters. These details are known from careful study of the remains of Galerius’ palace, which exists today as a mass of truncated brick walls.

  Archaeologists still don’t have the complete picture of Galerius’ palace, but one of its most lasting features, its main entryway, is still standing. This large monument is a four‐sided arch, erected at the intersection of two roads. It originally stood at the very crossroads of the Via Egnatia, the entry to Galerius’ palace, and the path to the emperor’s mausoleum; Galerius had picked prime real estate for his residence. The Arch of Galerius, as it is called, is for historians one of the most important pieces of material culture from the period of the “Rule of Four.” For everyone coming into and out of Thessaloniki would have seen it. It communicated the impressive reach of Galerius’ authority (Figure 6.1).

  Figure 6.1 This view of the city of Thessaloniki, Greece, looking northeast, shows two important Late Antique monuments: the arch and the rotunda built by the Roman ruler Galerius. The Arch of Galerius, c.298–303, commemorated the Roman Empire’s recent victories over the Persians. It crossed one of the most important Roman roads in Thessaloniki, the Via Egnatia, which led to the Black Sea and onward to Asia Minor. The arch also formed part of the vestibule, or entrance way, for Galerius’ palace. In the distance is the rotunda, or round building, which was likely planned as Galerius’ mausoleum. After being promoted from the rank of Caesar to Augustus in 305 CE, he would rule for six years but was eventually buried in modern Serbia, rendering the rotunda a vacant imperial property. By the fifth or sixth century CE, it would be transformed into a church for Saint George, called Agios Georgios in Greek.

  Photo credit: © Pete Titmuss/Alamy Stock Photo.

  The political messages of Galerius’ arch and palace vestibule

  Unfortunately, the arch is only partially preserved, but several of its sculptural reliefs are still in place on the northwest and southwest piers. These panels celebrated the Tetrarch’s deeds and accomplishments and depicted selected events from Galerius’ life, such as his military victory over the Sasanian Persians and the peace treaty he signed with them in 298 CE. As a whole, the panels speak to the Tetrarchs’ commitment to the social cohesiveness of the empire.

  Each scene was divided into registers, or panels. One shows Galerius on a magistrate’s chair. In it, dignitaries come to him as supplicants, offering prayers and honors on his behalf. Another shows the emperor in a paludamentum, the popular military cloak of the third‐century rulers (such as Valerian wears in the Persian cameo [Figure 4.4]). Galerius himself is protected by foreign bodyguards at his side – their hairstyle has been taken to signify their idenity as “German” – and the emperor is shown welcoming a foreign embassy (Figure 6.2). Sasanian ambassadors kneel before the emperor. This reverential act was called a proskynesis from the Greek verb proskuneo [προσκυνέω], meaning “to kneel down in an act of worship.”

  Figure 6.2 A close‐up view of three sculpted scenes from the Arch of Galerius at Thessaloniki, Greece (c.298–303). In the top panel, which art historians call a register, Caesar Galerius addresses his troops and is surrounded by foreign bodyguards, who are distinguished by their non‐Roman dress. In the middle register, Galerius receives an embassy of Sasanians, whom he has just conquered; the three Persian men kneel before the Roman ruler to recognize his power and authority. In the lower register, a traditional Roman sacrifice is taking place. The arcade, at right, acts as an urban backdrop, showing how the sacrifice brought leading figures of the town together to give thanks for Galerius’ victory. Some attendees wear togas with their heads covered as a sign of Roman piety. Galerius, in his military uniform, stands at center and offers incense at the altar.

  Photo credit: © Danita Delimont/Alamy Stock Photo.

  By Late Antiquity, “obeisance” to the ruler was a regular political display. In the third century BCE, while traveling and fighting in Persia, the accomplished Macedonian general Alexander the Great had seen it performed by Persians, who used it to show deference to their ruler, treating him in a divine way. In accounts of his campaigns, Alexander and his advisors argued over whether such an act of godly deference towards another human being might be appropriate for Alexander himself (Arrian, Campaigns of Alexander [Anabasis] 4.10–12). The idea was scuttled as being too scandalously strange for Alexander’s subjects, too culturally tainted by its Persian origins. Centuries later, as the Arch of Galerius shows, this form of ancient Persian honor had become a widely recognizable aspect of Rome’s imperial cult.

  Whether the Roman citizens of Thessaloniki cared about the Persian origins of “proskynesis” during a time of Roman–Persian conflict is uncertain, but by the time of the “Rule of Four,” Romans were regularly using a Persian practice as part of their own repertoire for worshipping the Roman emperor. A ritual which had its roots in fifth‐century BCE Persia was now being used by the Sasanian’s own rivals to emphasize the glory and divine grandeur of their own ruler. Regardless of the irony, the public advertisement of Galerius’ triumphs on the arch must have been a welcome message for the people of Thessaloniki. Like many others throughout the Roman world, they may have heard horror stories of recent emperors captured or killed in battle on the banks of the Tigris and Euphrates. The arch was a sign that Rome’s greatness had returned.

  Other scenes on the arch announced important changes, such as the new constitutional system of the empire and the order that Diocletian had brought to the state. In another panel, the two ruling senior emperors, Diocletian and his colleague Maximian, are enthroned atop the personification of the Heavens, the Roman god Caelus; and a personification of the Known World, known in Greek as the Oikoumene, the root of our word economy. This visual arrangement – of having the emperors buttressed by the heavens and the personification of the universe – promoted a powerful ideology: that the two senior Tetrarchs were “rulers of the known world.” That is, they were, in the language of the day, cosmocratores (from the Greek words cosmos, meaning “universe,” and κρατέω [krateo], meaning “to rule”).

  Two junior partners, Constantius Chlorus and Galerius, were seated at the sides of this pair of chief executives. They are surrounded by several deities from Mt. Olympus, the home of the traditional gods. In all, the panels’ message reinforces the divine source of the emperors’ power. Two additional figures are also present on the arch. They are each winged, female figures who represent the divine idea of Victory (Victoria is the goddess’s name in Latin; in Greek, she is called Nikē and was an important local goddess, incorporated into the name of Thessaloniki itself).

  In sum, Galerius’ building projects at Thessaloniki – at a major intersection promoting the imperial house and located on a main road which united the empire – communicated, like a billboard, the stability of the new government. The scenes from the palace’s vestibule, or arch, are also particularly significant for recognizing how the members of the “Rule of Four” promoted their diplomatic and military relationship with Sasanian Persia. New imperial capital cities like Thessaloniki, then, were not tangential to the story of later Rome. At the end of the third century CE, they witnessed first‐han
d new, important developments and stepped proudly before the townspeople as a herald announcing the strength of Rome’s empire (Key Debates 6.1: Catastrophe or Continuity? Or a False Choice?; Figure 6.3).

  Figure 6.3 A plan of the old agora, or market center, of Athens, Greece, c.400–700 CE. For centuries, its stoas (shaded porticos), temples, shrines, fountains, and wells had seen countless lively characters walk in their midst, from philosophers like Socrates to anonymous wives and daughters of Athenian families out for a day’s chores. Even under Rome, emperors and citizens continued to live in the shadow of Pericles’ Parthenon and Athens’ historic monuments. That story began to change in the middle of the third century CE. When a tribe of foreigners, the Heruli, attacked Athens c.267 CE, the Romans of Athens decided to build a new set of defenses. These walls can be seen on this plan to the east and southeast of the old agora. They were built along the road to the Acropolis, site of the city’s precious Temple of Athena, and even incorporated older monuments in the agora, like the Stoa of Attalos. The central area of the old agora would be excluded from the much smaller walled city at this time. Plan courtesy of John Camp, The Athenian Agora: Excavations in the Heart of Classical Athens (London: Thames and Hudson, 1998), p. 199 with author’s modifications.