IN TAKING CONTROL OF Licinius’ empire, Constantine confronted far greater challenges than those that had faced him after the defeat of Maxentius. In 312 there were well-established connections between his own court and Maxentius’ senatorial aristocracy whose members appear to have moved seamlessly into his service. This situation may well have been eased by his father’s long residence in the west and reasonable coordination between his court and Maximian’s over the years. There were no such preexisting links with the governing classes of the eastern cities or with the senior echelons of Licinius’ bureaucracy, yet these were the people Constantine would need to deal with if he was to find a way to survive after his conquest. It was also the case, as we have already seen regarding veterans’ benefits, that practice in the east varied in some particulars from that in the west, and while some measure of the old regime might be tacitly accepted—hence the survival of Licinius’ letter to the Bithynians in the Theodosian Code—pretty much everything would have to be reviewed, a point signaled on December 16, 324, when Constantine issued the edict, now de rigueur in cases of victory in civil war, invalidating all the “acts of the tyrant.”1 The next year promised to be immensely busy.
The earliest surviving text for 325 in the Theodosian Code reveals the difficulty of the task that Constantine faced, not least that symbolic gestures such as abolishing the “acts of the tyrant” could bring their own problems with them. On February 12, he issued an edict stating that “although the acts of the tyrant and his judges are invalidated, no one should wish through fraud to overturn what he did or what was legitimately done”—a wise move, as invalidating more than a decade of administrative regulation would have caused chaos.2 It might have been read to mean that Constantine was trying to figure out what to do with his new territory. Among the many decisions that he would have to make were where he would live, how he would deal with Licinius’ army, what agents of the old regime he could trust, and what eastern practices could be left in place.
FIGURE 23.1
This hexagonal pendant, which shows various figures from classical mythology, is one of five pieces that once formed a gold chain of such value that it was most likely given by Constantine to one of his most senior supporters; possibly, given the provenance of this piece in the Balkans, the praetorian prefect Flavius Constantius. Source: Stanze di Farraello, Vatican Palace. Scala/Art Resource, NY.
Finding a way to integrate the eastern governing class into his own regime was going to be immensely problematic. And how would he handle the Italian aristocracy, upon whom his power depended, and the western general staff which had served him so well? There was no parallel in the east to the Roman Senate, and although there was a court infrastructure, it was far from obvious that he could simply graft Licinius’ court onto his own. He knew from experience that he could not simply breeze in and fire the old guard if he wanted to build a stable regime.
The Christians were plainly high on Constantine’s list of people to make contact with, and one of his early missives was addressed to the Christians of the east.3 He begins by focusing on the difference between those devoted to the “most sacred cult of the Christians” and those who had treated them with contempt: it is plain for all to see that now the power of the great God has been clearly demonstrated through Constantine’s victory.4 Those who are mindful of “the most powerful” observed what was decent and right, while those who persecuted the followers of “the most powerful” had been utterly defeated: “many of their armies have been slaughtered, many have been turned in flight and their entire military establishment has fallen into disgraceful defeat.”5 War had arisen from persecution, and “the divinity” had sent forth a savior. Having examined Constantine’s service, the Highest God determined that he was a worthy instrument. Beginning from the western sea around Britain, Constantine had righted wrongs, becoming convinced without a shadow of a doubt that he owed his success to “the greatest God.”6
Then the emperor issued an order of restitution, freeing those who were imprisoned, restoring to their previous positions those who had lost them and returning property—though exempting martyrs from ordinary rules of inheritance. Their property was to go to the church.7 Those, including the imperial treasury, who had taken such property would lose all claim to it and give it back to the rightful owners. The language here is redolent of that used in rulings over disputed inheritances, contested property, and status. A rescript sent in September 325 to an official named Helladius may indicate that these provisions were already in place. For Constantine tells him that “contrary to the rule of ancient law and the rescripts of former emperors,” a petitioner in a property case, who traditionally had to produce evidence to support a claim, no longer needed to do so; and if the petitioner could not produce the evidence, the defendant had to prove his/her rightful possession of the property.8
The letter as a whole, without Constantine ever specifying who the “greatest God” is, offers an admirable statement of his devotion to the God who has guided him to success. A western Christian might well recognize the influence of Lactantius’ Concerning the Deaths of the Persecutors, but the letter speaks not just to Christians but to all people about the importance of piety and justice—qualities that knew no ideological or religious boundaries. For Christians such as the magistrate at Oxyrhynchus—who within months of Licinius’ defeat would use the term “the Lord’s Day” when ordering the postponement of a hearing—the letter seemed an affirmation of the legitimacy of their faith. But, most important, there was nothing here to offend a pagan; the significance of the evils perpetrated by the persecutors of the church lay less in their own faith than in the fact that they did wrong by the Highest God, whose existence and power were now so widely accepted and variously understood, especially in Asia Minor.9
In this letter to the Christian community, Constantine shows no sign of being aware that different Christian groups might show up to claim confiscated property, though the absence of any reference to the “Catholic” Church—the standard term in earlier texts for those whom Constantine recognized as being in communion—may reflect his awareness that western and eastern Christianity could not necessarily be assumed to be as one. Certainly he soon realized that there were serious problems besetting the church, for he summoned a meeting of bishops at Antioch, probably thinking to attend, but then decided on a meeting later at Nicaea where he would be ready to settle his new subjects’ outstanding issues.
In July at the latest, he reintroduced himself to all the peoples of the empire. Declaring that he was devoted to good government, he invited those who felt that a member of the imperial entourage or any other official had wronged them to present their case to himself in person. And if the claim were proved, he himself would take vengeance on whoever “has hitherto deceived us with simulated integrity.” For it was only by approaching people in this way that Constantine could be assured that “the highest divinity” would “always be propitious” to him and keep him safe, “with the state flourishing and unharmed.”10 A few months later, probably in conjunction with this edict, he wrote to Flavius Constantius telling him that he had urged any subjects, displeased with the treatment they received when appealing cases to their own governors, to write directly to him.11 In essence and in line with the earlier letter to the Christian community, Constantine was reaffirming his desire to make sure that justice was done. The consistency of his statements on the subject leaves little doubt of his sincerity; but Diocletian and Galerius had said the same, and no earlier Roman emperor on record, apparently, had thought otherwise. Whether expressed by a pagan or by a Christian, the government’s value system remained intact—at least for now.
The challenge that every emperor faced was to ensure that he could carry out his essential tasks; control his officials’ behavior; ensure that the infrastructure of the state functioned and that the army was under control. In the course of the year, Constantine had taken action on taxes and on integrating Licinius’ troops with his own. On April 24, his court had issued a reminder that taxes could not be set by local magistrates because they would be tempted to shift the burden of payment from themselves to the poor. In June and July he was in repeated communication with Valerius Maximus (probably a relative of the Maximus we have already met as prefect of Rome), then serving as vicarius of the east.12
First, Constantine raised with Maximus the question of veterans’ retirement benefits, apparently having decided to change the deal he’d agreed to in 320. Under the new rules, a soldier in a regular line unit whether in the field army (comitatenses) or in a frontier army (riparenses) would receive only four exemptions—one each for himself and his wife, his mother and his father; after retirement it would be reduced to just one exemption, for himself only, unless he left the service because he had been wounded. If not wounded, he would get the benefit so long as he didn’t leave the service before completing twenty-five years’ service. Soldiers who did not serve in regular line units (cavalry and auxiliary units) were awarded exemptions only for themselves while on active service, thereby maintaining the traditional distinction between these units. In an earlier edict he had maintained the status quo with respect to soldiers’ wills: in their last testaments they could leave their property to whoever they wished and “if they note any wish by letters inscribed with blood on the sheath of their sword or on their shield, or if they write anything in the dust with their sword as they give up their lives during battle,” those wishes too should be valid. The right of soldiers to make testamentary provisions outside the norm stemmed from the acknowledgment that their identities as soldiers might be stronger than any links with relatives whom they might not have seen in years, that they might have families configured in somewhat unconventional ways, or that they might die while their fathers were still alive.13 Yet another edict on military matters stated that veterans would be given farms, money for equipment, a yoke of oxen and seed grain, or tax exemptions so that they could engage in business. The reason for this beneficence was that Constantine worried that veterans, left in idleness, would slip into poverty.14
Two later communications show his tendency to seek reconciliation wherever possible and to try to ensure that his wealthier subjects didn’t cheat the less fortunate ones. First on the list was the old penalty by which criminals were sentenced to fight each other to the death in the arena (damnatio ad ludum, “condemnation to the gladiatorial training facility”); second was the behavior of property holders. As far as these last were concerned, we know that Constantine instructed Maximus about people who had the decurial status which would require service on a town council in two places: if they tried to evade the more irksome munera to which they would be subject in a larger city by declaring themselves residents in the smaller place, they should serve in both. And if landowners tried to exact more than the usual rents from tenant farmers, they should be stopped and forced to return the excess.15 Damnatio ad ludum, while still employed in the west, had fallen out of common usage in the east; when Maximus asked whether he should use it, he was told to send offenders to the mines instead.
This ruling, like the earlier ones on veterans’ benefits, shows that Constantine was concerned with more than simply applying western practices to the east. The same rule applied when it came to the issue of faith, as would become evident at the great council of bishops from all parts of the empire, which he convened at the city of Nicaea in May 325.