Ryan C. Fowler and Alberto J. Quiroga Puertas

A Prolegomena to the Third Sophistic

Introduction

This volume (including its Prolegomena) is not an argument for the influence of Plato on literature from the late third to the late sixth centuries. The impact of Plato’s dialogues and the developing Platonism of various philosophical and rhetorical strains (so-called Middle-, Peripatetic, Stoic, Neo-, etc.) on late antique literature has long been noticed, studied, and discussed to various degrees. In the modern era, we might simply start with the works of Friedrich Schleiermacher in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries; but, to take a primary and more recent example, consider the most recent edition of Methodius of Olympus’ one complete extant Greek work, his Symposium (circa 270/290 CE), which contains Platonic allusions and citations from twenty-seven dialogues and one letter.1 In other words, an account of Plato’s influence on late antique literature and a full bibliography listing recent studies on Plato would be extensive. That said, there are two important characteristics of this particular collection that deserve attention. First, although not a unique endeavor (for example, see Fox 1986, Dodds 1991), this edited volume brings together side by side various examinations of the significance of Plato’s thought and literary style on both Christian and non-Christian authors in the late antique period. Second, this volume is meant to reflect what the effect of inclusion that the periodization “Third Sophistic” might have to offer scholars of late antiquity—and it is this last point that our Prolegomena specifically addresses.

Discussion of the Term “Third Sophistic” in ModernScholarship

We would like to face head-on the current status of the short history of the term “Third Sophistic,” along with a number of the fruitful problems that have emerged from attempts to define and apply it to specific authors. In fact, we are motivated by an array of questions made possible by these fruitful problems. For example, when looking at late antiquity with an eye toward periodization, should we include only Hellenic, “pagan” (i. e., non-Christian) rhetoric, or has Christian rhetoric been adequately legitimized enough in current scholarship to “matter”—having gone through a long period of deprecation?2 Did Christian rhetoric indeed “take over for pagan”?; further, is one misusing the idea of antique by applying it in this way?³ Were Greek letters “firmly married” to Christianity, and what did that relationship look like? Was late antique literature simply a matter of “reviving classical standards,” or was there more at work when Hellenic rhetoric and philosophy met a tolerated, sanctioned, and then legitimized Christianity?⁴ Is such a periodic delimitation even desirable (for example, what would it accomplish?); possible (is there anything to encourage it?); or “allowable” (since there is no antique precedent in the vein of Philostratus’ )?⁵ Or, rather, is the literature of the late third century and beyond simply a continuation of the Second Sophistic (if there is such a thing even as that, if one were to view Philostratus’ identification of the deuterosoph-istic as primarily stemming from a sense of self-concern)?⁶ In other words: why should anyone make anything out of what might be merely a “Third Sophistic bubble”?⁷

Neither the definition nor the application of the term “Third Sophistic” is settled in modern studies on the late antique period, especially in the Christian milieu. The importance of the literary texts of the fourth century and beyond, however, is no longer in question.⁸ Albin Lesky, for example, pointed out in 1966 that fourth-century literature represents the last great legacy of antiquity.⁹ By the end of the fourth century the πεπαιδευμένοι had famously undergone what Peter Brown described as a “sea change”: its pagan values were redefined within the context of Christianity.¹⁰ More recently, in 2003, Simon Swain highlighted the impact of political and religious events on literature, particularly on a Hellenic rhetoric and letters that were “firmly married” to Christianity—that is, in the late third and early fourth centuries during the instantiation of Christianity within a reorganized Roman Empire.¹¹

It was Laurent Pernot—in his 1993 La Rhétorique de l’éloge dans le Monde Gréco-romain—who ushered in the concept “Third Sophistic” after analyzing what he calls the Greco-Roman triumph of the Fathers; he announced the fourth century as the start of the Third Sophistic, that is, the period in which Christianity became the official religion and Christian rhetoric took over for pagan.12 Other scholars have since explored this issue. For Raymond Vam Dam, the fourth century not only maintained Attic Greek standards but also revived classical standards, not in order to utilize Classical Greek myths but rather Christian myths and Christian history.¹³ Eugenio Amato, who has written on the term “Third Sophistic,” prefers that it be used to describe the third through sixth centuries. Anthony Kaldellis applies it to the eleventh- and twelfth-century CE Byzantine heirs of Michael Psellus.¹⁴ In one of the most comprehensive treatments of the term “Third Sophistic,” the work of Pierre-Louis Malosse and Bernard Schouler discusses continuity between the Second and Third Sophistics but concentrates heavily on emphasizing key differences between the two periods; their conclusion is that the Third Sophistic is the product of the literary Zeitgeist.¹⁵ Recently, Raffaella Cribiore has picked up on Pernot’s use of “Third Sophistic,” acknowledging the term’s serviceability but finding it problematic because the implication of a gulf between the two periods diminishes their connection.¹⁶ And, similarly, in two articles in 2010 and 2013, Lieve Van Hoof has brought to our attention the problems with the designation “Third Sophistic” as emphasizing discontinuity between the second through fourth centuries CE through the application of an overly simplistic dichotomous religious perspective (i.e., “pagans” versus Christians).¹⁷ Overall, across the literature regarding the Third Sophistic, there have been two sorts of accusations: on the one hand, that the term implies too great a difference between the literature of the first through early third centuries and that of the late third and after; and, on the other hand, that there has been so much emphasis placed on ideological and linguistic continuity that the two periods cannot be distinguished in any meaningful way. We aim here to address both issues.

“Continuity-and-Change” Model

If we were not to recognize anything but simply an historical coincidence distinguishing the biographical works of Philosostratus (second and third centuries CE) and Eunapius (fourth and fifth centuries CE)—the events and literary figures both authors happen to discuss while “creating” periodizations based on their own perspectives—a critic might ask: Why create a gap between the Second and Third Sophistics? The answer might be simply that there is a major drop-off (though not absolute) in literary production in the middle of the third century, which may or may not be the result of the so-called Third Century Crisis, usually attributed to invasion, civil war, plague, and economic depression in the Roman Empire during the years 235 – 284 CE, and which, for some, signals the shift between classical antiquity and late antiquity.18

More to the point, however, is the increasing cultural significance of Christianity for the literature from the late third century and after, and how its prevalence both helps maintain an important continuity by incorporating past Greek models of education, philosophy, and rhetoric, and, at the same time, assures a number of powerful differences because this new context involves different concerns, conflicts, and struggles.19 Transformation and adaptation, then, were critical to ensure self-preservation within social and political circumstances in which some degree of power, authority, and influence had shifted from “pagan” intellectual figures (or even the emperor) to the bishop.²⁰ The ideological, rhetorical, and literary game had changed; but, we would argue, core aspects of both the means of expression and the end goals had not.

We do argue for a “continuity and change” model between the two Sophistics, some of which is due to the continuity of the Greek and Latin παιδεῖαι, in which the lack of Christianity (not necessarily the “paganism”) of Hellenic models was scrubbed or flaunted, depending on the author and the occasion.²¹ As we have just stated, the growing importance and pervasiveness of Christianity forced battle to be drawn during that third-century interlude. This is not to say that Tertullian and Origen were not serious about their views on Christianity. What we are emphasizing is the pervasiveness of Christianity as a political and social phenomenon, as well as a school of thought, that demanded confrontation in nearly all aspects of public and private life by the end of the third century. In the second century, by contrast, Maximus of Tyre, Albinus, Alcinous, and Apuleius could still write extensively without any mention of Christianity at all.22

In addition, there no longer seems to be a modern concern about the existence of a “Christian rhetoric,” nor are the issues of the fourth century regarding authority, rhetoric, and persuasion considered to be wholly non-Christian. Our focus, then, does not concern a particular rhetorical style or ideological issue, since we aim to show that the general issues remain the same, nor are we advocating a different methodology or science toward this literature than that with which the Second Sophistic, for example, has been approached. The difference we see results from the consequences of the new status of Christianity itself.

Periodization of the Third Sophistic

In terms of periodization, and in line with the established modern dating of this iteration of Greco-Roman rhetoric as a historical period (as an alternative to Philostratus’ characterization of rhetorical τóποι), modern interpreters now generally imagine that the Second Sophistic came to an end by about 250 CE.23 But unless there is a literature to recommend it, there is no reason to describe the start of the Third Sophistic as beginning immediately after the Second (e. g., starting at the year 251 CE, or something similar).

Instead, since any literary timeframe’s boundaries should remain rough and flexible, we would put the start of the Third Sophistic at the Tetrarchic period—under Diocletian and Maximian, with authors such as Porphyry (d. circa 305), Methodius (d. 311), and Lactantius (d. 320s). Given the gap in literary production (perhaps simply an issue of survival) during the “Third Century Crisis,” the Third Sophistic seems to have begun in the later third century CE after the “crisis” had been mitigated—under-standing that there was not necessarily a clean break between the Second and Third Sophistics. This transitional period that traversed the third century witnessed a number of events: the Christian turn; internal religious, military, and economic crises; and the creation of a literary orthodoxy. The start of the Third Sophistic’s end could be dated at the death throes of the Academy in Athens under Justinian in 529, once the influence of the Hellenic παιδεία was about to become extinct, or at least when the influence of unfiltered παιδεία was lost. It was this curriculum that had previously insured the continuity of literary, cultural, and philosophical canons and the influence of the same models for centuries. In other words, the Hellenic παιδεία was always there, but was transformed and subsumed under the guidance of (and to the benefit of) Christianity. Therefore, some final candidates might include the Latin author Flavius Cresconius Corippus (the late Roman epic poet of the sixth century); or, on the Greek side, Olympiodorus the Younger (c. 495 – 570), the “last pagan” to maintain the Platonist tradition in Alexandria, the Byzantine historian Zosimus (fl. 490s–510s) who lived in Constantinople during the reign of Anastasius I, or Procopius of Caesarea (c. 500 CE–c. 565), the reputed “last historian of the ancient world.”

The type of cultural, religious, and literary shifts we are discussing had all happened by the end of the third century with, on the Greek side, either Porphyry or Methodius of Olympus and, on the Latin side, Lactantius. These writers, in our opinion, mark the beginning of the Third Sophistic.24 The shift we have been discussing is quite clear in the case of Methodius. His Symposium or Banquet of Ten Virgins, clearly modeled on Plato’s work of the same name, is a storehouse of allusions to Plato’s dialogues although Plato’s name is not mentioned once. Methodius is extremely familiar with Plato’s dialogues themselves (although not, on the face of it, with particular Platonic handbooks or introductions) and cites the philosopher more than any other Church father; he seems to be well acquainted with over two dozen of Plato’s dialogues (both spurious and authentic) as well as the Seventh Letter. Further, Methodius quotes Paul, Justin Martyr, Clement, Origen, Iranaeus, Athanasius, and Tertullian—that is, some of the most prominent authors from the previous generation of Second Sophistic Christians—in addition to incorporating direct and paraphrased quotes from Homer, Hesiod, Euripides, Sophocles, and Aristotle, alongside copious quotations from the New and Old Testaments.25 Methodius melds all of these influences into a nearly seamless Christian philosophical treatise built upon Hellenic models. As happened with most Christian works of the time: if the flesh of this work is Christian, its skeleton is Hellenic.

The continuation of the Hellenic παιδεία, which provided such a consistent and sustained tradition of education, reflects a uniquely prolonged continuity of ideas, quotations, models, tropes, and exempla. To take only one example, it is this continuity that allows us to map the originally Platonic formula: “assimilation to god as much as possible” ( [Theatetus 176b1])” within an extremely diverse range of authors: Philo, Galen, Alcinous, Albinus, Theon, Clement, Origen, Plotinus, Porphyry, Iamblicus, Methodius, Eusebius, Basil, Julian—that is, in more than 300 years of literary work. Yet what had changed from the Second Sophistic (however one wishes to view the “Third Century Crisis”) is a sociopolitical-ly legitimized Christianity that had shifted the balance of power, influence, and access within a radically changing—and centripetally shifting—Empire. And when the two Apollinares respond to Julian’s edict “not to teach what they do not think admirable” with an attempt (reportedly) to rewrite the Jewish Bible into heroic verse, and the Gospels into tragic or Platonic forms of discourse, we find a developed interest in expressing both the sameness and the difference that seem to be inherent characteristics during the period between the late third and middle sixth centuries.26 In the spirit of defining, justifying, and developing Christian ideas, or fighting against their influence, classical Greek authors were used in a variety of ways, whether scrubbed of their “paganism”—that is, a particular philosophical tenet seen to be inconsistent with a particular Christian concept—or simply left unattributed. Something significant had shifted after the Greek first- and second-century authors and rhetors such as Dio Chrysostom, Apuleius, Aelius Aristides, and Polemon. And yet, though this ideological shift existed, at the same time there is an essential self-conscious continuity between the Second and what we would call the Third Sophistic. To take two illustrative examples, in a letter to Theodorus, Libanius notes that when he reads works by Aristides (one of his most important rhetorical models), he talks to the second-century author while sitting near a portrait of him.27 Likewise, in the medieval florilegium Doctrina Patrum (330.7), we are told that John Chrysostom sought inspiration by contemplating a portrait of Paul hung in his room.²⁸

In addition to these issues of classification, we believe that exploring late antique literature from the perspective of the Third Sophistic can help explain the religious and cultural dynamics of that period. Although the term does not tout an ancient source (as δευτέρα σοφιστική), in some ways the usefulness of the term “Third Sophistic” serves as a matter of convenience while providing an opportunity for certain assumptions within conversations about late antique literature in both the Latin and Greek world. In other words, just as it is helpful to keep in mind the important sociohistorical (and linguistic) educational and ideological relationship between Apuleius and Augustine—that is, we contend, between Latin authors of the Second and the Third Sophistics—so does this benefit apply to the Greek-speaking world. For example, Aeilus Aristides and Gregory of Nazianzus share a fundamental and common interest in rhetoric and self-fashioning, and one of the major differences between the two can be attributed to the intervening impact of Christianity. In the case of the rhetoric and oratory of the Third Sophistic, the taste for religio-philosophical issues (Platonic, Christian, etc.) overshadowed the previous mytho-sophistic traditions of the Second Sophistic, and, rather than using them to persuade large audiences often for the sole purpose of entertainment, rhetors and authors used them to analyze and explain the facts at the core of the transition toward a Christian order, arguing either for or against it.

Our interest remains—above all—to facilitate and advocate for the continued and thorough reading and contextualization of persuasive speech and polemics in literature tuned to “a Christian key.”29 We would also readily admit that the literary outcome in some cases has resulted either in a response that is in harmony or discord with the “New Philosophy,” depending upon the ideological purpose and perspective of the particular rhetor or author. Note, for example, the volley between the Against the Christians of Celsus, Porphyry, and Julian; and then Origen’s Against Celsus, Methodius’ and Eusebius’ Against Porphyry, and Augustine’s and Gregory of Nazianzus’ Against Julian. Importantly, this general project was accomplished based on classical models that were sometimes acknowledged, but which were more often neutralized when being reused in the name of a Christian discourse.

Third Sophistic and the Dynamics of Late Antiquity

Methodology

Our Third Sophistic approach dovetails with the current multilayered approach of late antique studies that has benefited from social-scientific methodologies (most notably those of de Certeau, Bourdieu, Foucault, Goffman, and Stark), which have helped to bridge epistemological gaps between literature, history, theology, and philosophy, thus continuing to help create a theoretical framework that could be applied to the Third Sophistic. These approaches (mainly Certeau’s) underline the process of reappropriation of cultural legacies as a means to create a new cultural canon that suited new historical circumstances. The Protean nature of late antique society did not suffer from a cultural Diogenean syndrome, since the prevalent tendency was a reappropriation and re-creation of past leitmotivs with the intention of producing new cultural products.30

Christianity under the Third Sophistic Light

It seems clear in this post-Harnackian era that we no longer see Christianity as an altogether “other” cultural phenomenon, with Galilee considered to be a unique anomaly in an ancient world that was at this time otherwise utterly Hellenized. Rather, we might now imagine that “Hellenism already preceded Christianity, inasmuch as Judaism, of which Christianity was a part, has already interacted with Hellenism for over three centuries.”31 Nor do modern readers any longer seem to hold the notion that, “Christianity, in the tradition of Jewish monotheism, succeeded in replacing invariably polytheistic systems of religious belief with a monotheistic creed.”32 Further, it seems likely that “to a casual pagan observer,” the activities of teaching or preaching, sermon or lecture, exegesis or homily would look less like non-Christian, or “pagan,” religion and more like a day at school.33

So, if philosophy, and not religion per se, held the ethical and moral purview of the pre-Christian mind within the realm of Hellenism, then Christianity would have had to contend not as much with traditional Greek “pagan” religion (except in the sense that it professed perverted conceptions of the divine), but instead with the philosophical schools around it (being itself viewed as a kind of philosophy); the continuation of philosophical conversions (since we see Christian and philosophical conversions described using the same vocabulary); and the influence of the teachings of—and adherence to—a single master.³⁴ As a result, early Christian authors and scholars would have been pleased to encourage Greek philosophy in its criticisms of traditional—i. e., Homeric and Hesiodic—“pagan” Greek religion, whether in the form of Callimachus’ criticism of the Cretans’ belief in the tomb of Zeus; Pythagoras’, Empedocles’, Plato’s, and Porphyry’s criticisms of animal sacrifices; or various (e. g., Plato’s, Plutarch’s) criticisms of Zeus’ version of “philanthropy.”35 In other words, the Harnackian vision of a Christianity moving through a cycle of progress, degeneration, and reformation has been complicated.³⁶

As mentioned above, since Peter Brown’s work, it has become clear that there was a complete “sea change” in the status of Christianity at the end of the third century that reflects its shift into a force that demanded conflict: literarily, politically, and socially.³⁷ Further, it now seems more likely that it was not Constantine’s conversion that started or encouraged the rapid spread of Christianity, but instead that it might have been the other way around: his conversion can be seen as a reflection of the growth and spread of the religion well before the so-called Constantinian Shift.³⁸ In addition, since Averil Cameron’s work it has been difficult to ignore the existence and importance of Christian rhetoric, which was developing at this time not in opposition to, but rather alongside, a continually developing Hellenic philosophical and rhetorical discourse.39 What makes Christian rhetoric distinctive, then, is that fourth-century Christian authors had to bypass Paul’s claim (“not with wisdom and eloquence []”), while at the same time making sure that they were not perceived as ignoring it.⁴⁰ Simultaneously, late antique authors’ works also had to contain numerous contradictions that interfered with the traditional classical practice of rhetoric: the negotiation of the art of speaking well and its developing relationship with the false “wisdom of this world” both added to the continued (and complicated) influence of philosophy and rhetoric on Christianity. All of these ideas were at the core of the epistemological problems of Christian γνώσις, πίστις, and ὁμοίωσις; all challenged the very idea of a unified orthodoxy at the cusp of the third century and later; all helped define the source and distribution of power and influence within the Empire.⁴¹

The Palimpsestic Nature of Late Antique Culture

In late antiquity, Christian rhetoric could be seen as a palimpsest, in that Christian authors after the Second Sophistic aimed to erase what had been written, only to rewrite it themselves within their own cultural and religious key. Further, Christian rhetoric could be seen as a matter of reviving classical standards, as Van Dam writes, while at the same time treading a rather precarious line between simplicity and straightforwardness (simplicitas/ἁπλóτης) on the one hand, and sophistication and allusion (allegoria or permutatio) on the other, only sometimes professed.42 Both oppositional poles reflected similar tensions within early Christianity when one views their audience as concomitantly comprised of fishermen and tentmakers on the one side, and scholarchs and hyper-educated bishops on the other. Authors took a multifaceted approach to this problem: from the apophatic ways of some Christians, to the Philostratean (and predominantly ludic) dimension of expression that some bishops practiced. What is more, these approaches look very much like “pagan” disputes regarding rhetoric and philosophy—both in the late fourth century CE and in the generation before—but suddenly, with much more at stake.⁴³ For example, as Criscuolo writes, Julian’s letters “showed a new rhetoric that was justified by the requirements of a renewed Hellenism.”⁴⁴

These sorts of tensions, therefore, could further confirm an impression of late-antique Christian rhetoric as a kind of palimpsest of ancient rhetoric: neither Christian rhetoric nor “classical” or “pagan”’ rhetoric could be contained in toto during this time period.⁴⁵ For example, although he never seems to specify his religious affiliation (presenting his views largely through a Neoplatonic stance), the fifth-century Martianus Capella’s De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii was the means by which the classical Roman curriculum passed into the early medieval period, only to be modified—but scarcely revolutionized—by Christianity; yet his work helped define a standard formula of study from the fifth-century Christianized Empire until practically the twelfth century. We might also consider a figure such as Nonnus, who composed works of Christian and pagan content, and who both re-elaborated and innovated within the context of the legacy of late-antique epic. Both of these authors strad-dled—to some extent—the Christian and non-Christian milieux.

Blending of Cultural Traditions, Blurring of Boundaries

The idea that Christianity at the cusp of the third and fourth centuries was far from being an ideologically homogenous religion both resulted from and reflected different attitudes toward language and rhetoric, which resulted in various groups and alliances. The apophatic ways of Gregory in 380 coexisted with his taste for rhetoric and philosophy (the former likely ending with Julian’s dicta, and the latter starting up again when Gregory retired to Arianzum).46 There were few authors in the Christian urban milieu whose consideration of rhetoric and philosophy was crystal clear or unchanging. The figures of Synesius, Augustine, and Gregory of Nazianzus, for example, are paradigmatic cases of such blurring of roles: their careers take them from philosophy and rhetoric considered as professions, to the bishopric, and sometimes back again.

During this time Gregory of Nyssa could be more influenced by Plato than his heretical rival Aetius was by the dreaded Aristotle.47 Gregory himself could be a Christian Platonist while Origen could be guilty of philosophical misapplication, since accusations of philosophical heresy (for example, in light of his purported sub-ordinationism) were as numerous as those of “Gnosticism,” polytheism, or a generalized heresy.48 From Gregory’s perspective, during this time period, both Julian and Eunomius could be considered “heretics,” but in significantly different ways; and Augustine could be thought to have more in common with Plotinus than with Paul.49 This is an era when Christians and pagans and Neoplatonists were identified as, in turn, atheists, barbarians, philosophers, heathens, Hellenes, sophists, and rhetors, depending on the particular context of the speaker, e. g., his perspective, his agenda, and the timing. As a matter of fact, in our fascination with labeling all of these authors, we are often in danger of both oversimplifying and failing to grasp the rich implications that an analytical blurring of lines and merging identities—an integral element of the Third Sophistic movement—could allow us. If their contemporaries read “palindromicly,” our insistence on reading left to right (as it were) could miss the point.

Impression Management

An emphasis on the social and religious implications of the blurring of literary genres is especially essential. Certainly, during the third and fourth centuries it may be the case that Gnosticism was simply an all-too-elite Platonistic Christianity, one overly restrictive for the new “Platonismus für’s ‘Volk.’”50 At the end of the Second Sophistic, then, Plotinus was perhaps right: Gnosticism was a school of Platonism that had simply distorted the master’s (that is, Plato’s) teachings, just as Tertullian may have been correct when writing that “Valentinus was a Platonist.”51 It may have been that the rise of Gnosticism simply represented the loss of highly educated, socially powerful Christian thinkers. But while Origen discusses the perverse teachings of the philosophers as found in his Christian rivals (Valentinus, Basilides, Marcion were all “seduced by philosophy”), he himself would be bracketed with the so-called Gnostics and other heretics due to accusations of his own applications of philosophy. As he frequently seems to do, the prescient and liminal figure Origen anticipated the rhetorical battles that would continue through the third century, into the fourth and beyond, in his comparison of philosophers and poets, which we quote at length:

There is much elegance in words and much beauty in the discourses of philosophers and rhetoricians, who are all of the city of Jericho, that is, people of this world. If, therefore, you should find among the philosophers perverse doctrines beautified by the assertions of a splendid discourse, this is the “tongue of gold” [linguam auream]. But beware that the splendor of the performance does not beguile you, that the beauty of the golden discourse does not seize you. Remember that Jesus commanded all the gold found in Jericho to be anathema. If you read a poet with properly measured verses, weaving gods and goddesses in a very bright tune, do not be seduced by the sweetness of eloquence, for it is the “tongue of gold.” If you take it up and place it in your tent, if you introduce into your heart those things that are declared by the [poets and philosophers], then you will pollute the whole Church of the Lord. This the unhappy Valentinus did, and Basilides; Marcion also did this. Those persons stole the “tongues of gold” from Jericho. They attempted to introduce into the churches sects [sectas] not fitting to us, and to pollute all the Church of the Lord.52

The tension between such “sweet eloquence” and the simple truth started with Paul in the first century CE and would rage for centuries. And regarding the fine line between allegory and symbolism, early Christian rhetorical polemics against “Gnosticism” were not examples of the quashing of a minority by an established institution, but an artificially unified engagement with a great number of competing positions during the formulation of a school that was being shaped at that time by means of eloquent argumentation and rhetorical persuasion.⁵³ All of these associations and attributions were likely influenced by subtle and precarious moments of “impression management.”⁵⁴ The importance of theatricality—and accusations of theatrics —was as prevalent moving into the fourth century and the Third Sophistic as it had been previously in the Second, as well as, for that matter, the Classical period.⁵⁵

Theatricality

That said, however, in the third and fourth centuries CE there were religious conflicts driving rhetorical displays. Besides representing personal advancement in the hierarchy of the Church—and better and worse Holy or Apostolic Sees—these battles held personal moral implications for their audiences, if not also a competing interest in continuously gaining members and allies. If we look to Chaniotis’ definition of theatricality, for example, by studying “the effort of individuals or groups to construct an image of themselves which is at least in part deceiving, because it either is in contrast to reality or because it exaggerates or partly distorts reality,” we can see this type of performance by bishops not as malicious deception, but as an interaction made clearer through the application of discourse theory.56 In fact, “the effort to gain control over the emotions and the thoughts of others, to provoke specific reactions, such as, sorrow, pity, anger, fear, admiration or respect” is nearly the method of the late antique preacher. The sermon, then, can further be paired with Erasmo’s study of theatrics by noting that theatricality “is the connection of a person, thing, or event with the theatre, which is itself a combination of texts, actors, and audience.”57 The Bible and the homily, the preaching bishop, and the congregation, for example, fit this model perfectly. This is especially true if we see this combination as conscious, intentional, and reciprocal; as Bartsch writes, “[actors] know themselves watched by the object of their view and respond accordingly even as the categories of spectacle and spectator lose all stability.”⁵⁸ The search for applause—and the accusation of its solicitation, made from one presbyter against another—can be understood to be parallel with the hunt for applause by the Second Sophistics according to Philostratus.59 But as Van Nuffelen argues, besides the spectacular, there were other reasons for engaging in disputations in the Christian milieu, even in the face of adversity: namely, the role of rhetoric in bringing about persuasion and establishing the truth of the speaker. In the fourth century, it was the case that free and fair disputation functioned as an ideal, as a practice that was regarded as the good and proper way of settling differences in religious views. But as well, from the fourth to the sixth century (and beyond) the ideal of an open disputation functioned as a regulatory fiction, which shaped the interpretation and representation of events by late ancient sources. In other words, contrary to the model that Lim (1995) and Goldhill (2008) present, there is clear evidence for the efforts to preserve the continuation of disputations as they happened in the fourth century onward, and, further, for the strong belief that rhetoric and persuasion played an essential part in sustaining this practice.60

It is evident that the interferences of theatre and other spectacles in the field of rhetoric (both secular and religious) were a cause for concern among these early Christians. While it may remain true that the similarities between the figure of the rhetor-sophist and the actor have already been noticed and discussed in the Classical period (as well as in the Second Sophistic), it should also be noted that Christian elites wanted to avoid such assimilations at all costs, as proven by the number of lines of text and the great efforts devoted to establish firm differences between the figure of the priest and that of the orator in the Christian treatises of the time.⁶¹ Again, if we adopt Chaniotis’ definition of theatricality, we would see it as a type of self-fashioning; Gregory of Nazianzus, Augustine, and Libanius are masters of this process.62 Cribiore’s conclusion in her work on the school of Libanius is useful here: late antique society was craving noise, spectacle, and entertainment—all of them constituents of the theatricality at the core of that time.⁶³ For these reasons, Gregory’s famous statement, “They [i.e., churchgoers] look for orators, not for priests,” and Jerome’s chastisement, “Ciceronianus es, non Christianus,” should come as no surprise.⁶⁴

As a result, we can link this theatrical conception of culture in an increasingly Christian society—the phenomenon of “Philostratean Bishops,” so to speak—with the ways that cultural elites took advantage of this theatricality and in turn used it as the point of departure to fashion themselves. The most obvious example is Gregory of Nazianzus’ “forty days silence,” which has been interpreted as a means of reinforcing his authority; this decision dovetails with his constant denunciation of fellow-bishops as “charlatans.”⁶⁵ As Goffman proposes:

The expressiveness of the individual (and therefore his capacity to give impressions) appears to involve two radically different kinds of sign activity: the expression that he gives, and the expression that he gives off. The first involves verbal symbols or their substitutes which he uses admittedly and solely to convey information that he and the others are known to attach to these symbols. This is communication in the traditional and narrow sense. The second involves a wide range of action that others can treat as symptomatic of the actor, the expectation being that the action was performed for reasons other than the information conveyed in this way.66

When looking at the theatrics of the late antique era, then, the tension between how these authors provide overt signals in order to convey their message and how they use inductive impressions from their audience in “real time” (not only before the Emperor, but also now in councils before other bishops and before congregations) is as important as issues and complications of frankness and forthrightness were during the Second Sophistic. These remain important issues, though they are recontextual-ized. As Goffman writes later in that same work: “we live by inference.”⁶⁷

The act of detaching themselves from charges of theatricality and sophistry— even “Asianism”—was a characteristic feature of the self-fashioning of Christian elites.⁶⁸ But, as we see with Origen, the lines between labels—for example, “sophists,” “philosophers,” and “rhetors”—were at different times either significantly blurred or strictly defined, which led in some cases to a type of cultural cross-pollination . On the “pagan” side, the worry about theatricality was present, but absent was the idea of the theater as a demonic place; Libanius, for instance, applied terms from the theatre to name his students or his teaching-room.69 And the Church historian Socrates resorts to similar cross-cultural references: for example, when he speaks of sophists who converted to Christianity, he is transferring a cultural label into the realm of religion.70 So, when Themistius accused fellow intellectuals of being theatrical and histrionic, he wanted to discredit them in the cultural milieu.71 However, Eusebius of Caesarea’s criticisms of the sophist-like style of Paul of Samosata were meant to locate the latter in the realm of heresy.72 In other words, while in the “pagan” milieu theatricality was a cultural matter, Christian elites made it a religious one.

To look at the late third through sixth centuries CE in this way, it would seem that the issue of inclusion within the Third Sophistic should come down to the author’s own efforts regarding self-presentation. If every author of this time period engaged in rhetoric and self-fashioning based on his own cultural, religious, and political agendas, then inclusion into this tritosophistic would follow. It was enough, in other words, to self-identify as a sophist-preacher. But, in turn, by carefully studying these authors’ attempts at impression management (combined with the historical information we have about them, if any), we will be able to understand their place within the period without glossing over important differences.

Spatial Rhetoric

The consequences of the distinctive significance of late antique literature on issues of identity also reached the townscape, especially in terms of remapping sacred and secular places. The creation of Christian sacred spaces in late antiquity dealt with the reluctant attitude toward secluding God within a physical space as expressed in Acts 17:24 and 2 Corinthians 6:16, and both of these examples (as well as many others) support Paul’s Stoic ideas about dual citizenship in both earthly and cosmic cities.73 In other words, as van Kooten suggests, in contrast to a more ritualistic and locative Judaism or Hellenism, theirs was a philosophical, “logical” message that surpassed space and time (since one worships “in spirit and truth,” not in the temple). Paul had, in a sense, created a para-political “assembly” in his letters (e. g., with the Corinthian ἐκκλησία, to which both letters are addressed), in which he plays with the idea of “congregation” as well as with the Hellenic notion of as a political assembly, as applied by Aristotle to Homer’s assemblies.74 But we should note that, contrary to Paul’s declarations, space implied legitimization, and legitimization required physical space.

Powerful disputes within Christianity regarding physical space were eventually resolved and churches were built, but relatively late: that is, within the third century (e.g., Dura-Europos and Qirqbize in Belus).75 It was only around that time that a “spatial rhetoric” would even become necessary within the Christianization of secular places, and subsequent “pagan” responses can also be seen as disputes fought in the rhetorical arena. Efforts to cement the foundations of a Christian community in cities—as in the composition and delivery of sermons, as well as in the organization of processions and other public displays of Christian symbols—converged when Christians belligerently confronted pagans, Jews, fellow Christians, and the Imperial power, due to conflicts over space.⁷⁶ In other words, locations for gathering and preaching were especially and inextricably implicated in the religious and political arena of late antiquity.⁷⁷

Examples of this notion of spatial rhetoric are plentiful within elite Christians’ efforts to Christianize secular and urban spaces. John Chrysostom’s works abound in such efforts, yet other texts deserve particular attention by modern scholars for explaining how the locations of religious gatherings had to be remapped.⁷⁸ The affair of the basilicas and the Altar of Victory in which Ambrose of Milan became involved, the numerous testimonies of depositions and restorations of churches to Christian communities (e. g., Socrates Scholasticus’ Church History is full of such references), and the legal dispositions of the Codex Theodosianus strongly suggest that gathering and preaching locations were an active element in the religious and political milieu.⁷⁹

Creating recognized religious space was a challenge for early Christians, when it became necessary to grapple carefully with Scriptural passages such as that referenced above from Acts, as well as with the reluctance shown by Christians in previous centuries: that is, how to circumscribe God’s presence.⁸⁰ This problem, addressed by several late antique Christian authors, was solved by attributing a derivative sacred nature to churches. Christians, who understood themselves to be divine buildings of a sort (from 1 Corinthians), began to congregate in specific places which became holy by virtue of the mere presence of God’s flock.⁸¹

On the other side, an interest in remapping the religious spaces of the Empire was also shared by “pagan” authors. Julian’s attempt to resurrect the ancient oracular spring of Castalia at the temple of Apollo at Daphne turned into a disaster from a public relations point of view. When he tried to remove the bones of the third-century patriarch Babylas from the vicinity of the temple, the result was a massive Christian procession.⁸² As well, Libanius’ encomium of his hometown includes a praise of the positive impact of classical cultural legacy on the cultural life of Antioch and on its architecture.⁸³ And Themistius, Eunapius, and Eumenius of Autun also devoted lines to express their views on the impact of classical rhetoric and philosophy on the cultural life of the city as well as on the townscape.84 Struggles over the possession of space within late antique literature, therefore, give us new insights into the importance of rhetoric in contemporary city life, something we want to include as a characteristic feature of the Third Sophistic.

Conclusion

When defining the Third Sophistic, what we therefore need and want to consider is the analytical usefulness of a significant blurring of lines. Differences between notions of “sophistic,” “bishopric,” “philosophic,” and “rhetoric” were by no means fixed at the end of the third century. In this era of religious contests, Origen is able to rely on Paul’s anti-sophistic stance from both Corinthians, while at the same time calling for Christians to strive to become “the cleverer and sharper minds” and “to convert philosophers to Christianity.”85 We might note again here that, early on, Origen had set the tone for the Third-Sophistic tension involving a “paradox of language.”⁸⁶ So, beyond the problem of expressing in words religious ideas that were perceived as unavoidably “inexpressible,” we should keep in mind the difficulty of pulling apart content and form, especially in the fourth century— for example, on one side, biblical vs. biblical ; on the other, Platonic vs. Platonic .⁸⁷ This would especially be true when interpretation was becoming authoritative, as in the case of important homilies particularly. Take, for example, the strange status of Ps.-Clement’s Second Letter to the Corinthians, which seemed to have been read during public worship; the impact of Plotinus’ Enneads on Augustine; and Book 9 in City of God, in which Augustine quotes Apuleius in order to discuss Platonic daemons.

While elements of the Third Sophistic are often reflected in rhetorical and oratorical texts, readers must be aware that other genres are being studied with similar perspectives and methodologies. Certainly, rhetoric was central in the political and religious milieu of the time, but poetry (both “pagan” and Christian) also participated in the literary landscape of the Third Sophistic. One interest we have in all of these authors is that they (indeed, both Christian and non-), in most cases, worked within and transformed established Hellenic genres as introduced and reinforced by the παιδεία.

Even though magic, Neoplatonism, astrology, and oracles are all present in late epic poetry, the development of the hymnal as a new literary genre is something decidedly Christian, and deserves the attention that seems to be developing around it. Modern readers seem to be starting to work on late antique epic works with the deliberateness they deserve.88 Perhaps what we could now suggest is further study of the epic and poetry written by authors of the Third Sophistic such as the Christian poet Arator, Saint Romanos the Melodist and Hymnographer, Nonnus of Panapolis, Triphiodorus, Paul the Silentiary (an epigrammist and hymnist), among other authors.89 First, these authors re-elaborated the epic legacy while they also innovated within it (especially the school of Nonnus).⁹⁰ Second, these works also engaged in the debates of their time, albeit more subtly than the incendiary rhetoric of Chrysostom or Libanius. So, understanding Nonnus’ Dionysiaca as an account of the coming of a savior god in the Imperial period would help us further understand his historical circumstances (e. g., “henotheism”). Third, these poems are intricate and otherwise ambiguous. All of these characteristics make these texts difficult to deal with, but we look forward to seeing such studies emerge in coming years. But in addition to what has been discussed above, new studies of ancient genres are emerging at the same time that the Third Sophistic is gaining prominence as an analytical idea; historiography, for instance, in the form of ecclesiastical history, has recently emerged as a new subject of study.

In the interest of suggesting a metaphor, what the term “Third Sophistic” might be able to offer is a type of view—a window as opposed to a wall—between classics and religious studies, between what are referred to as “early medieval history” and “late antique philosophy”; a way we can look at a number of the same events and texts and discuss them while in the same room and looking out of the same aperture. In fact, the continuity-and-change pattern which we have been acknowledging and embracing is meant to be further applied to other genres and disciplines: for example, late antique art history and medicine. And, though not a reason in itself to apply a periodization, it is clear that current studies have moved well beyond the early Byzantine period into the “late middle ages,” and the Third Sophistic may allow for a softer landing when leaping from the Second Sophistic to the encounter between Islam and the Roman Empire.91 There was at that time a powerful awareness of the need to adapt a religious and cultural legacy to a new era, and it took so many shapes that we suggest we might regard the idea of the Third Sophistic as the frame for that window, which allows us cooperatively to contemplate such a changing, contradictory period.⁹²

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