by Baker, Simon
However, there was one action at this time that above all else revealed the importance of Christianity to Constantine as the glue unifying his and Licinius’s new empire. In 313 news reached the emperor that an argument had broken out in the Christian Church of North Africa. It centred on who was the rightful bishop of the province: Caecilian or Donatus. The dispute had arisen because one group believed that Caecilian should not be recognized. He had been ordained, they said, by a bishop who had colluded in the persecutions of Diocletian by handing over holy scriptures to the Roman authorities. As a result, the rival bishop, Donatus, was consecrated. To previous emperors, such a dispute would have been a parochial matter of absolutely no importance. But not to Constantine.
I consider it absolutely contrary to the divine law that we should overlook such quarrels and contentions, whereby the Highest Divinity may perhaps be roused not only against the human race but also against myself, to whose care He had by His celestial will committed the government of all earthly things.33
The message was clear: whereas in the past emperors were accustomed to arbitrate petitions or cases of a civil or legal nature brought to them by provincials, Constantine’s authority as ruler of the Roman empire was defined as much by his ability to adjudicate disputes within the Church.34 Dissension among Christians was dissension against the unity of the empire, and in the new regime that was not allowed. Since the persecutions under Diocletian, Constantine had always known that the practice of worshipping one Christian God to the exclusion of all others made imperial unity impossible to achieve. If he were now to break cover and throw in his lot with the Christians, there could be no political advantage if he and his fellow Christians were not themselves united. When the North African dispute rumbled on into the winter of 315–16 the emperor wrote to those involved. He threatened to visit them in person and bash their heads together. By that time, however, there were other, far more pressing matters on Constantine’s mind.
The summer of 315 saw the city of Rome in the throes of hosting a grand party. The emperor of the west had left his imperial seat at Trier and, accompanied by an entourage of his family, bishops and court officials, had returned in person to the city he had liberated three years earlier. By way of entertainment, circus races and public games were in full swing. The festival was being held to mark Constantine’s decennalia – his tenth anniversary of becoming emperor – and now, looking back, there was much to celebrate. He had campaigned against the Germans and secured the Rhine frontier. He had restored peace and stability to an empire that had been falling apart at the seams but was now prospering. The Senate in Rome was once again industrious, a partner in government. Indeed, Constantine had addressed the fear of senators that they, and hence Rome, were no longer important: he increased their number, bestowing the rank of senator on people who were not required to live in Rome or to attend meetings of the Senate. Membership thus became empire-wide rather than local.35
The new Christian élite also had cause for celebration. They could now boast a privileged position of influence in Constantine’s court, and the emperor himself, in conversation or in study with Lactantius and Bishop Ossius, was perhaps gaining greater knowledge of his divine protector. His faith was, at least ostensibly, being confirmed. The extent of Christian influence on Constantine can perhaps be gauged in specially minted, commemorative medallions produced in the same year. On them Constantine is depicted wearing the cipher of Christ, the chi-rho, and they were ceremoniously handed out to prominent court officials. Priests, believers and upholders of the traditional Roman religions, however, were not excluded from this prosperity. In the new spirit of toleration their cults too were flourishing. Indeed now, at the festival, a fitting tribute to the emperor’s discretion was unveiled and dedicated.
The Arch of Constantine still stands today in the Forum. This major monument marks the transition from classical to a new style known as ‘late antique’. In this style reliefs are sculpted depicting Constantine’s liberation of Italy: here is a scene describing the defeat of Maxentius, there the drowning of the tyrant’s soldiers and in another Constantine’s entry into Rome. There is, however, not one Christian symbol to be seen anywhere on it. Quite the opposite was true. Some of the sculptures dated to the reign of Hadrian. They were recycled and remodelled to show Constantine and Licinius, and not the classical emperor, hunting and sacrificing to the Roman gods. This was to be the last time that an emperor would be portrayed performing such pagan activities. For all the strides taken towards favouring Christianity, the reality was that the western emperor could still not yet declare his hand.
Constantine was ambitious to unite the empire. He had now found the means with which to realize that ambition. But for the time being he held himself back. He knew that if he openly supported Christianity he would expose a political flank. The upholders of the traditional gods among the senators, governors and administrators of the empire could still attack him, strategically claiming that he was persecuting pagans. Overt favouring of the Christians, Constantine understood, would not only offend those who supported the traditional gods, but would also expose their weakness, suggesting their disadvantage in the new empire. And with the majority of Roman citizens pagan, there was potentially a plentiful source of support for such rivals to draw on. However, it was not pagan senators that Constantine feared most, but a pagan emperor.
In the same month as the celebrations in Rome took place (July 315), Constantia, the wife of Licinius, gave birth to a son. Just over a year later, on 7 August 316, Constantine’s wife, Fausta, also gave birth to a baby boy. But the arrival of these children was not entirely a cause for jubilation because two new chains of legitimacy were being formed. In the minds of Constantine and Licinius it sparked a question that they had not yet confronted: to whom did the empire really belong? Since their alliance had been struck, the answer seemed increasingly to suggest Constantine.
Motivated perhaps by genuine belief, perhaps by calculated self-interest, Constantine’s industrious reforms in favour of the Christians were not just unifying the empire with a new theme. They were winning him vital support in Licinius’s territory, where the majority of the Roman empire’s Christians resided. As Constantine looked at his commemorative arch, he could see how the portraits of both him and Licinius showed the emperors in harmony. Their joint holding of the consulship, and the depiction of both their heads on the coins of the period supported that impression. But Constantine’s new brand of government did not fit with the façade. The logical conclusion of one God, one empire was one emperor.
It would not be long before both Licinius and Constantine showed their hands. When that happened, the two men would become rivals and precipitate a new war. It was to be a war between the supporters of Constantine and the radical new religion he had embraced and those who wanted to uphold Rome’s traditions. So at least the banners of the two sides would claim. In reality, although dressed up in the robes of a holy war, this conflict was aimed at achieving a time-honoured goal: control of the Roman empire.
WAR OF RELIGIONS
The steps that turned an alliance of emperors into a fierce rivalry are difficult to piece together. Certainly Licinius had reason to be resentful, even jealous.36 Constantine had taken control of the part of the empire that Licinius believed was rightfully his. To make matters worse, the eastern emperor had only to look around his own territory to see that Constantine enjoyed far greater popularity than he did. Christians of the east offered prayers for Constantine; they hoped that the same largesse he showed their brothers in the west might one day rain down on them too; indeed, because they were prepared to die for their faith, they were prepared to die for him too. They knew that Licinius was neither their saviour nor their voice. In fact, it is possible that it had been Constantine’s intention all along to place Licinius in a vice: to use him to settle the eastern empire at the beginning, but then, when that had been achieved, to destabilize him through the instrument of Christianity. Despite envying Cons
tantine’s popularity, Licinius harboured a much greater source of bitterness – something that would ultimately push him over the edge.
What most riled the emperor of the east were the steps that Constantine took to cut out Licinius’s newborn son from succession to imperial power. In 315 Constantine gave his half-sister Anastasia in marriage to the prominent senator Bassianus. He then sent a delegate to Licinius proposing that Bassianus become deputy emperor in the west. Licinius took offence. It must have occurred to him that it would only require Constantine to appoint his teenage son Crispus as deputy in the east for Constantine to bring the whole empire within the control of his own dynasty. Perhaps it was for this reason that Licinius decided to terminate his friendship with Constantine in the most decisive way: by plotting his assassination.
To carry off such an action, Licinius quickly needed to acquire a pretext and allies. Fortunately, both were easily attainable. He could justify toppling his fellow emperor on the grounds that Constantine had broken the Edict of Milan; he had begun favouring Christians above pagans. If that was not sufficient grounds for action, then, according to a pagan historian, Constantine’s infringement of Licinius’s territory in the autumn of 315 certainly did the trick.37 As for help in carrying out the murder of the western emperor, Licinius needed only to look as far as the Senate in Rome.
By 316 some pagan senators, for all the favour that Constantine had promised them, were quietly seething with disaffection. They disapproved of his lavish spending from the imperial treasury to build Christian churches. To them it seemed that only bishops had the emperor’s ear and were his favoured dinner guests in the palace. There was no point in expressing ambition, they moaned, for now it was only possible to get ahead in the new regime if you were Christian.
Licinius knew the time was ripe for action. In Nicomedia he asked his court official Senecio to find a willing conspirator in Rome. The ideal assassin needed to have elevated status, be able to gain close access to the emperor and be above suspicion. Senecio had one particularly suitable candidate in mind: his own brother and Constantine’s brother-in-law, Senator Bassianus. In setting the plot in motion, however, Licinius had overlooked his own weakness. It is easy to imagine that just as he had been able to find an ally in Constantine’s inner court, he had forgotten that the western emperor also had a devout ally in the east. One might speculate that it was she who now passed on a surreptitious alert.
Perhaps Constantia had chanced upon a rumour drifting through the corridors of the Nicomedian palace, or perhaps she herself had accidentally overheard the conversation between Licinius and Senecio. It is even possible that she, on discovering the plot against her brother’s life, immediately wrote a letter warning him and dispatched it through a trusted Christian channel of communication. What is certain is that when Bassianus attempted the assassination, he was taken completely by surprise. Constantine had been expecting him. The man who was murdered that night was not the God-beloved emperor, but the putative assassin. When Licinius heard the news he ordered the statues and busts of Constantine in Nicomedia to be smashed. With that, war was declared.
The first encounters between the two armies took place in 316 at Cibalae and Serdica in the Balkans. Although Constantine had the upper hand in both battles, he failed to deliver the decisive blow. As a result, a new alliance was drawn up between the two men. The territories of the Balkans and Greece were ceded to Constantine, while Licinius retained Thrace, Asia Minor, Egypt and the Roman east. The two grudging allies also agreed on the thorny issue of succession: on 1 March 317 Constantine announced from his new seat at Serdica (now Sofia in Bulgaria) that both his sons (his baby by Fausta and Flavius Julius Crispus) and Licinius’s child by Constantia were to be declared Caesars – future emperors in waiting. They also agreed to hold the joint consulship for 317, and thereafter to alternate the consulship of each half of the empire between father and son each year. But beneath this paper-thin show of harmony there were deep cracks. In reality, the peace was at best unstable, at worst a piece of diplomatic cynicism on the part of Constantine. The war had simply been shelved.
Between 317 and 321 Licinius endured religious toleration of the Christians. Perhaps he was being kept in line by his wife or by the bishop of Nicomedia, who was based at his court. However, it was a role that the old ‘liberator’ of the east, the one-time saviour of the Christians, increasingly hated. He had drifted without belief into toleration of the Christians for short-term gain, and now it showed. In the west, by contrast, Constantine the Christian became increasingly strident. He liked to stay up late at night and compose his own rousing speeches. These he delivered to his courtiers, lay sermons expressing his divinely inspired vision for the empire. He put on quite a show. Whenever he mentioned the judgement of God, his face would tighten with intensity, he would lower his voice and point to heaven. His words caused some courtiers in his audience to bow their heads as if he were ‘actually flogging them with his argument’. Others clapped loudly, but could not really match the emperor’s fervour. Ultimately they ignored his Christian lecturing.38
Alongside communicating the awe of God, however, the emperor could still be repressive, even violent. In 317 the Donatist dispute in Africa had not yet been resolved. Constantine lost patience and tried to end it by authorizing exiles and executions. Within a few years, some pagan temples were closed down – the first sign in the west of the slow eradication of the pluralist melting pot of pagan cults. In their place was evidence of a growing new common identity.
Through endowments of property, the high profile of bishops, and charitable gifts of clothes and grain to the poor, orphans, destitute widows and divorcees, churches were fast becoming the centres of local power and organization throughout the provinces of the western empire.39 Around 321 the judicial authority of bishops was extended, and bequests to churches legalized. It was easy for the provincial élites to buy into the new religion. Upper classes across the empire were becoming increasingly wealthy and self-confident; archaeological finds reveal how the mark of Christ, the chi-rho, began appearing on objects belonging to the wealthy at this time and how new, exquisite villas were rising up across the western empire.40 Religious conversion had its advantages: it brought with it the new majesty of empire, a new patriotism, and the belief that these would continue to flourish so long as Constantine received not the old Roman ‘peace of the gods’, but divine protection from God.
In a rare preserved speech known as the ‘Oration to the Saints’, delivered to a Christian audience on a Good Friday between 321 and 324, Constantine made his position clear. God was responsible for his success. That success put him under a great obligation: to persuade his subjects to worship God, to reform the wicked and unbelieving, and to liberate the persecuted. It was a religious position that had huge political consequences. The stance forced Licinius into a corner, slowly but surely turning the screw on him. It was not long before he handed Constantine a gift, the very thing that the western emperor had perhaps been looking for all along, the very thing that neatly coincided with his faith – a justification for resuming the war.
In Nicomedia the emperor of the east was becoming increasingly suspicious, paranoid even. Were those officials within his own court, he wondered, agents of Constantine? Were they Christian spies? He took them aside and had them interrogated, but could find no evidence of guilt. For one man, so the story goes, he devised a test of loyalty. He asked Auxentius, a legal clerk in his administration, to accompany him to a courtyard in his palace where there was a fountain, a statue of Dionysus and a flourishing vine. Licinius ordered Auxentius to cut the fullest cluster of grapes he could find. When he had done so, the emperor asked him to dedicate the fruit to Dionysus. Auxentius refused. Licinius gave him an ultimatum: lay the grapes at the foot of the statue or leave his court for ever. Auxentius chose the latter; he would later become bishop of Mopsuestia, in modern-day Turkey.41 This episode was the first of many tests imposed by Licinius. Fear would drive him to far more e
xtreme measures.
In 323 Licinius compelled everyone in his administration to sacrifice or else lose their job. He put the same test of conformity to his army. On the advice of zealous pagan officials, the requirement was forced on civilians, and on 24 December of that year Constantine learnt that bishops were compelled to sacrifice at the festival marking Licinius’s fifteen years as emperor. Anyone who refused was to be punished. Councils and assemblies of bishops were forbidden; Licinius did not want them to organize, unite and encircle him, so he forced them to remain in their own cities. Christian meetings of worship could take place only in the open air, and all tax exemptions for the Christian clergy were scrapped. The influence of his devout wife, and his love for her, perhaps prevented him from going further. Other people in his administration had no such compunction. In short, Licinius encouraged a new permissiveness to reign in the east, a sharp whiplash of pagan reaction. Roman governors were free to punish dissident Christians, shut down some churches, demolish others and, in the case of the bishops in the province of Bithynia-Pontus south of the Black Sea, murder key figureheads in the Christian clergy. According to Eusebius, their bodies were chopped up and thrown into the sea as food for fish.42
At the imperial palace in Serdica Constantine was urged by Lactantius, his adviser and tutor to his son, to rescue ‘the just in other parts of the world’. When Constantine, perhaps deliberately, invaded Licinius’s territories in Thrace on the pretext of repelling a Gothic invasion, both parties seized the opportunity to wage war. Constantine’s case for hostilities against his brother-in-law and former ally was more wide-ranging than the diplomatic incident suggested. This was a war for the defence of the oppressed, a war of liberation, a war against a persecutor.43
