by Will Durant
The senatorial aristocracy through land ownership, and the mercantile magnates through far-flung ventures in which the profits were commensurate with the risks, enjoyed such wealth and luxury as only a few had ever known in Rome. The aristocracy of the East had better tastes than that of Rome in the days of Cicero or Juvenal; it did not gorge itself on exotic foods, had a lower rate of divorce, and showed considerable fidelity and industry in serving the state. Its extravagance lay chiefly in ornate dress, in robes of furry hems and dazzling tints, in silken tunics preciously dyed, threaded with gold, and illuminated with scenes from nature or history. Some men were “walking murals”; on the garments of one senator could be found the whole story of Christ.9 Underneath this social crust of gold was a middle class fretted with taxation, a plodding bureaucracy, a medley of meddlesome monks, a flotsam and jetsam of proletaires exploited by the price system and soothed by the dole.
Morals, sexual and commercial, were not appreciably different from those of other cultures at a like stage of economic development. Chrysostom condemned dancing as exciting passion, but Constantinople danced. The Church continued to refuse baptism to actors, but the Byzantine stage continued to display its suggestive pantomimes; people must be consoled for monogamy and prose. Procopius’ Secret History, never trustworthy, reports that “practically all women were corrupt” in his time.10 Contraceptives were a subject of assiduous study and research; Oribasius, the outstanding physician of the fourth century, gave them a chapter in his compendium of medicine; another medical writer, Aëtius, in the sixth century, recommended the use of vinegar or brine, or the practice of continence at the beginning and end of the menstrual period.11 Justinian and Theodora sought to diminish prostitution by banishing procuresses and brothel keepers from Constantinople, with transient results. In general the status of woman was high; never had women been more unfettered in law and custom, or more influential in government.
II. SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY: 364–565
What, in this apparently religious society, was the fate of education, learning, literature, science, and philosophy?
Primary instruction continued in the hands of private teachers paid by the parents per pupil and term. Higher education, till Theodosius II, was provided both by lecturers operating under their own power, and through professois paid by city or state. Libanius complained that these were too poorly paid—that they longed through hunger to go to the baker, but refrained through fear of being asked to pay their debts.12 However, we read of teachers like Eumenius, who received 600,000 sesterces ($30,000?) a year;13 in this, as in other fields, the best and the worst received too much, the rest too little. Julian, to propagate paganism, introduced state examinations and appointments for all university teachers.14 Theodosius II, for opposite reasons, made it a penal offense to give public instruction without a state license; and such licenses were soon confined to conformists with the orthodox creed.
The great universities of the East were at Alexandria, Athens, Constantinople, and Antioch, specializing respectively in medicine, philosophy, literature, and rhetoric. Oribasius of Pergamum (c. 325–403), physician to Julian, compiled a medical encyclopedia of seventy “books.” Aëtius of Amida, court physician under Justinian, wrote a similar survey, distinguished by the best ancient analysis of ailments of the eye, ear, nose, mouth, and teeth; with interesting chapters on goiter and hydrophobia, and surgical procedures ranging from tonsillectomy to hemorrhoids. Alexander of Tralles (c. 525–605) was the most original of these medical authors: he named various intestinal parasites, accurately described disorders of the digestive tract, and discussed with unprecedented thoroughness the diagnosis and treatment of pulmonary diseases. His textbook of internal pathology and therapy was translated into Syriac, Arabic, Hebrew, and Latin, and exercised in Christendom an influence only next to that of Hippocrates, Galen, and Soranus.15 According to Augustine the vivisection of human beings was practiced in the fifth century.16 Superstition encroached daily on medicine. Most physicians accepted astrology, and some advised different treatments according to the position of the planets.17 Aëtius recommended, for contraception, that the woman should suspend near her anus the tooth of a child;18 and Marcellus, in his De medicamentis (395), anticipated modern technique by urging the wearing of a rabbit’s foot.19 Mules fared better than men; the most scientific work of the period was the Digestorum artis mulomedicinae libri IV of Flavius Vegetius (383–450); this book almost founded veterinary science, and remained an authority till the Renaissance.
Chemistry and alchemy went hand in hand, with Alexandria as their center. The alchemists were generally sincere investigators; they employed experimental methods more faithfully than any other scientists of antiquity; they substantially advanced the chemistry of metals and alloys; and we cannot be sure that the future will not justify their aims. Astrology too had an honest base; nearly everybody took it for granted that the stars, as well as the sun and moon, affected terrestrial events. But upon these foundations quackery raised a weird ziggurat of magic, divination, and planetary abracadabra. Horoscopes were even more fashionable in medieval cities than in New York or Paris today. St. Augustine tells of two friends who noted carefully the position of the constellations at the birth of their domestic animals.20 Much of the nonsense of Arabic astrology and alchemy was part of Islam’s Greek heritage.
The most interesting figure in the science of this age is that of the pagan mathematician and philosopher Hypatia. Her father Theon is the last man whose name is recorded as a professor at the Alexandrian Museum; he wrote a commentary on Ptolemy’s Syntaxis, and acknowledged the share of his daughter in its composition. Hypatia, says Suidas, wrote commentaries on Diophantus, on the Astronomical Canon of Ptolemy, and on the Conics of Apollonius of Perga.21 None of her works survives. From mathematics she passed to philosophy, built her system on the lines of Plato and Plotinus, and (according to the Christian historian Socrates) “far surpassed all the philosophers of her time.”22 Appointed to the chair of philosophy in the Museum, she drew to her lectures a large audience of varied and distant provenance. Some students fell in love with her, but she seems never to have married; Suidas would have us believe that she married, but remained a virgin nevertheless.23 Suidas transmits another tale, perhaps invented by her enemies, that when one youth importuned her she impatiently raised her dress, and said to him: “This symbol of unclean generation is what you are in love with, and not anything beautiful.”24 She was so fond of philosophy that she would stop in the streets and explain, to any who asked, difficult points in Plato or Aristotle. “Such was her self-possession and ease of manner,” says Socrates, “arising from the refinement and cultivation of her mind, that she not infrequently appeared before the city magistrates without ever losing in an assembly of men that dignified modesty of deportment for which she was conspicuous, and which gained for her universal respect and admiration.”
But the admiration was not quite universal. The Christians of Alexandria must have looked upon her askance, for she was not only a seductive unbeliever, but an intimate friend of Orestes, the pagan prefect of the city. When Archbishop Cyril instigated his monastic followers to expel the Jews from Alexandria, Orestes sent to Theodosius II an offensively impartial account of the incident. Some monks stoned the prefect; he had the leader of the mob arrested and tortured to death (415). Cyril’s supporters charged Hypatia with being the chief influence upon Orestes; she alone, they argued, prevented a reconciliation between the prefect and the Patriarch. One day a band of fanatics, led by a “reader” or minor clerk on Cyril’s staff, pulled her from her carriage, dragged her into a church, stripped her of her garments, battered her to death with tiles, tore her corpse to pieces, and burned the remains in a savage orgy (415).25 “An act so inhuman,” says Socrates, “could not fail to bring the greatest opprobrium not only upon Cyril, but also upon the whole Alexandrian church.”26 However, no personal punishment was exacted; the Emperor Theodosius II merely restricted the freedom of the monks to app
ear in public (Sept., 416), and excluded pagans from all public office (Dec., 416). Cyril’s victory was complete.
Pagan professors of philosophy, after the death of Hypatia, sought security in Athens, where non-Christian teaching was still relatively and innocuously free. Student life was still lively there, and enjoyed most of the consolations of higher education—fraternities, distinctive garbs, hazing, and a general hilarity.27 The Stoic as well as the Epicurean School had now disappeared, but the Platonic Academy enjoyed a splendid decline under Themistius, Priscus, and Proclus. Themistius (fl. 380) was destined to influence Averroës and other medieval thinkers by his commentaries on Aristotle. Priscus was for a time the friend and adviser of Julian; he was arrested by Valens and Valentinian I on a charge of using magic to give them a fever; he returned to Athens, and taught there till his death at ninety in 395. Proclus (410–85), like a true Platonist, approached philosophy through mathematics. A man of scholastic patience, he collated the ideas of Greek philosophy into one system, and gave it a superficially scientific form. But he felt the mystic mood of Neoplatonism too; by fasting and purification, he thought, one might enter into communion with supernatural beings.28 The schools of Athens had lost all vitality when Justinian closed them in 529. Their work lay in rehearsing again and again the theories of the ancient masters; they were oppressed and stifled by the magnitude of their heritage; their only deviations were into a mysticism that borrowed from the less orthodox moods of Christianity. Justinian closed the schools of the rhetoricians as well as of the philosophers, confiscated their property, and forbade any pagan to teach. Greek philosophy, after eleven centuries of history, had come to an end.
The passage from philosophy to religion, from Plato to Christ, stands out in certain strange Greek writings confidently ascribed by medieval thinkers to Dionysius “the Areopagite”—one of the Athenians who accepted the teaching of Paul. These works are chiefly four: On the Celestial Hierarchy, On the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy, On the Divine Names, and On Mystical Theology. We do not know by whom they were written, or when, or where; their contents indicate an origin between the fourth and sixth centuries; we only know that few books have more deeply influenced Christian theology. John Scotus Erigena translated and built on one of them, Albertus Magnus and Thomas Aquinas reverenced them, a hundred mystics—Jewish and Moslem as well as Christianfed on them, and medieval art and popular theology accepted them as an infallible guide to celestial beings and ranks. Their general purpose was to combine Neoplatonism with Christian cosmology. God, though incomprehensibly transcendent, is nevertheless immanent in all things as their source and life. Between God and man intervene three triads of supernatural beings: Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones; Dominations, Virtues, and Powers; Principalities, Archangels, and Angels. (The reader will recall how Dante ranged these nine groups around the throne of God, and how Milton wove some of their names into a sonorous line.) Creation, in these works, is by emanation: all things flow from God through these mediating angelic ranks; and then, by a reverse process, these nine orders of the celestial hierarchy lead men and all creation back to God.
III. LITERATURE: 364–565
In 425 Theodosius II, or his regents, reorganized higher education in Constantinople, and formally established a university of thirty-one teachers: one for philosophy, two for law, twenty-eight for Latin and Greek “grammar” and “rhetoric.” These last included the study of the two literatures; and the large number of teachers assigned to them suggests a lively interest in letters. One such professor, Priscian, composed, about 526, an immense Grammar of Latin and Greek, which became one of the most famous textbooks of the Middle Ages. The Eastern Church seems to have raised no objections at this time to the copying of the pagan classics;29 though a few saints protested, the School of Constantinople transmitted faithfully, to the end of the Byzantine Empire, the masterpieces of antiquity. And, despite the rising cost of parchment, the flow of books was still abundant. About 450 Musaeus, of unknown provenance, composed his famous poem, Hero and Leander—how Leander anticipated Byron by swimming the Hellespont to reach his beloved Hero, how he died in the attempt, and how Hero, seeing him flung up dead at the foot of her tower,
from the sheer crag plunged in hurtling headlong fall
To find with her dead love a death among the waves.30
It was the Christian gentlemen of the Byzantine court who composed, for the final installment of the Greek Anthology, graceful love poems in the ancient moods and modes, and in terms of the pagan gods. Here, from Agathias (c. 550), is a song that may have helped Ben Jonson to a masterpiece:
I love not wine; yet if thou’lt make
A sad man merry, sip first sup,
And when thou givest I’ll take the cup.
If thy lips touch it, for thy sake
No more may I be stiff and staid
And the luscious jug evade.
The cup conveys thy kiss to me,
And tells the joy it had of thee.31
The most important literary work of this age was done by the historians. Eunapius of Sardis composed a lost Universal History of the period from 270 to 400, making Justinian his hero, and twenty-three gossipy biographies of the later Sophists and Neoplatonists. Socrates, an orthodox Christian of Constantinople, wrote a History of the Church from 309 to 439; it is fairly accurate and generally fair, as we have seen in the case of Hypatia; but this Socrates fills his narrative with superstitions, legends, and miracles, and talks so frequently of himself as if he found it hard to distinguish between himself and the cosmos. He ends with a novel plea for peace among the sects: if peace comes, he thinks, historians will have nothing to write about, and that miserable tribe of tragedy-mongers will cease.32 Mostly copied from Socrates is the Ecclesiastical History of Sozomen, a convert from Palestine, and, like his model, a lawyer at the capital; apparently a legal training was no handicap to superstition. Zosimus of Constantinople composed, about 475, a History of the Roman Empire; he was a pagan, but did not yield to his Christian rivals in credulity and nonsense. Toward 525 Dionysius Exiguus—Dennis the Short—suggested a new method of dating events, from the supposed year of Christ’s birth. The proposal was not accepted by the Latin Church till the tenth century; and the Byzantines continued to the end to number their years from the creation of the world. It is discouraging to note how many things were known to the youth of our civilization, which are unknown to us today.
The one great historian of the period was Procopius. Born in Palestinian Caesarea (490), he studied law, came to Constantinople, and was appointed secretary and legal adviser to Belisarius. He accompanied the general on the Syrian, African, and Italian campaigns, and returned with him to the capital. In 550 he published his Books of the Wars. Knowing at first hand the merits of the general and the parsimony of the ruler, he made Belisarius a brilliant hero, and left Justinian in the shade. The book was received with applause by the public, with silence by the Emperor. Procopius now composed his Anecdota, or Secret History; but he kept it so successfully from publication or circulation that in 554 he was commissioned by Justinian to write an account of the buildings erected during the reign. Procopius issued De Aedifiais in 560, and so loaded it with praise for the Emperor that Justinian might well have suspected it of insincerity or irony. The Secret History was not given to the world until after Justinian—and perhaps Procopius—had died. It is a fascinating book, like any denunciation of our neighbors; but there is something unpleasant in literary attacks upon persons who can no longer speak in their own defense. An historian who strains his pen to prove a thesis may be trusted to distort the truth.
Procopius was occasionally inaccurate in matters beyond his own experience; he copied at times the manner and philosophy of Herodotus, at times the speeches and sieges of Thucydides; he shared the superstitions of his age, and darkened his pages with portents, oracles, miracles, and dreams. But where he wrote of what he had seen, his account has stood every test. His industry was courageous, his arrangement of materials
is logical, his narrative is absorbing, his Greek is clear and direct, and almost classically pure.
Was he a Christian? Externally, yes; and yet at times he echoes the paganism of his models, the fatalism of the Stoa, the skepticism of the Academy. He speaks of Fortune’s
perverse nature and unaccountable will. But these things, I believe, have never been comprehensible to man, nor will they ever be. Nevertheless there is always much talk on these subjects, and opinions are always being bandied about … as each of us seeks comfort for his ignorance. … I consider it insane folly to investigate the nature of God. … I shall observe a discreet silence concerning these questions, with the sole object that old and venerable beliefs may not be discredited.33
IV. BYZANTINE ART: 326–565
1. The Passage from Paganism
The pre-eminent achievements of Byzantine civilization were governmental administration and decorative art: a state that survived eleven centuries, a St. Sophia that stands today.
