21st International Congress of Byzantine Studies, London, 2006

Panel V.1 Historiography and Chronography

Michael Whitby (University of Warwick)

Religious Views of Procopius and Agathias

A generation ago it appeared that the much-disputed issue of the religious affiliation
of authors such as Procopius and Agathias had been resolved in favour of Christianity,
primarily by Averil Cameron in a series of publications; subsequent work on late Roman
historians or sixth-century literary culture has accepted and built upon her conclusions.
In such circumstances a reaction is inevitable at some stage, and it would be unhealthy
for any discipline for received wisdom not to be subjected to periodic questioning. For
us this has been achieved through some of Anthony Kaldellis’ recent work, and it
important to scrutinise how far the previous consensus has been upset by his researches.
There are certainly many important positive aspects to Kaldellis’ thesis. It can often
seem that scholars who write about late antique authors have little liking for, or even
sympathy with, the objects of their study. As a result the literary and intellectual
qualities of these authors are belittled, or significant issues are brushed aside with blunt
assertions of incoherence, poor formulation, or incompetence. Such approaches are
simply unworthy of both authors and scholars. Kaldellis has reasserted the need for
positive engagement with late Roman authors, and his insistence upon sensitivity to the
literary qualities of works has paid dividends, for example in his clarification of the
contrasting roles played by chance or fortune in Procopius’ account of the Vandal War
and the early part of the Gothic campaigns.
There are, however, problems in his treatment of religious issues. These relate in part
to the method of argument, which is to use hypotheses, and sometimes future
hypotheses, to argue specific points and so build a self-referential structure in which
subtle shifts of language contribute to the construction of new theories. In part they
concern the handling of specific passages: sometimes it is a question of the context or

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full content of a passage being ignored, instances of the “cut-and-paste” approach which
Kaldellis himself rightly decries; sometimes the point of disagreement is the significance
to be attached to individual comments by an author in the light of the contemporary
context, of what views other writers espoused on a particular topic. There are numerous
individual passages which deserve to be analysed, far more than can be treated within
this discussion, and so I will start by discussing some of the more general contextual
issues. I do not have space to debate Kaldellis’ thesis of a profound philosophical
underpinning to the religious views and literary approaches of Procopius and Agathias, a
thesis which leads to the postulation of esoteric messages embedded in the narratives.
Both authors certainly had some, perhaps considerable, knowledge of Plato, but some
Platonic language and phrases had become common property in the intervening centuries
and so may have carried a general, educated, aura rather than precise philosophical
reference. Furthermore, Kaldellis’ attempts to establish a Platonic structure for parts of
the Wars fall down on significant points of detail. At best the esoteric Platonism
attributed to Procopius and Agathias must remain an unproven hypothesis, to be kept
distinct from discussions of their religious affiliations.
One significant contextual issue is attitudes to heterodoxy. In his discussion of the
religious practices of the Alamanni, and in particular their sacrifice of animals, Agathias
comments that:
‘Those who do not manage to reach the truth would not deserve criticism but
pity and complete forgiveness. For they do not deliberately go astray but while
searching for what is good they reach an incorrect judgement and thereafter
hold fast to this, whatever it might be.’ (1.7.3)
Kaldellis finds this tolerance for heterodoxy a ‘devastating’ criticism of Christian
attitudes and behaviour, but there is a reasonably close parallel for the argument in
Evagrius’ defence of Christian doctrinal disagreements:
‘And no-one of those who have devised heresies among the Christians
originally wanted to blaspheme, or stumbled through wishing to dishonour the
divinity, but rather by supposing to speak better than their predecessor if he
were to advocate this. And the essential and vital points are commonly agreed
by all: for what we worship is a trinity and what we glorify a unity, and God

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 the Word, though born before the ages, was incarnated in a second birth out of
pity for creation’ (1.11)
It is true that Evagrius is discussing errant Christians rather than pagans, but that may
make his tolerance even more surprising: Agathias’ pagan Alamanni had not yet had the
opportunity of enlightenment, whereas the wayward Christians had tasted the truth.
Evagrius may not always practice what he preaches, since he is severely critical of
Nestorius’ innovations (1.1-2), but his toleration is in line with the exiled Nestorius’ own
defence of his Christological views (Evagrius 1.7, p. 12). Indeed Evagrius could even
present heresy as an important aspect of doctrinal clarification through its contribution to
the systematic refining of orthodoxy (i.11, p. 19); the essential issue is that error can be
progressively corrected, which is also the trigger for Agathias’ tolerant comment since
he expects all the Alamanni to be converted from their irrational beliefs, except for
complete fools.
Procopius preferred to avoid debate which might lead its participants into trouble:
‘For although I am well versed in what was in dispute I will not mention them
at all. For I consider it an insane folly to examine what the nature of God is.
For I think that even human affairs cannot be accurately grasped by humanity,
and certainly not what relates to the nature of God. Accordingly, for my part I
will play safe by keeping silent on these matters, with the sole intent that what
has been honoured should not be discredited. For I would not say anything else
at all about God than that he is comprehensively good and holds all things in
his power. But let each person say whatever he thinks he knows about these
things, both priest and layman’ (Wars 5.3.5-9)
This has been described by Kaldellis as ‘certainly not the voice of a Christian’, but such
recognition of human limitations is precisely what had been advocated by Gregory of
Nazianzen, ‘To know God is hard, to describe him impossible’ (Or. 28.4); Cyril of
Jerusalem, ‘For in what concerns God to confess our ignorance is the best knowledge’
(Catecheses 6.2), and other fourth-century theologians. One popular image of late
Roman attitudes to theological discussion is provided by Gregory of Nyssa’s oft-quoted
comments about the prevalence of Trinitarian banter among the bread-sellers and bath
attendants of Constantinople: ‘Because like those Athenians [an allusion to Paul’s visit

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to Athens in Acts 17.16-34] there are people now who devote their time to nothing else
but discussing and listening to new things, which have just emerged, impromptu opining
on theology, servants perhaps, slaves or fugitives from household service, who discourse
to us on topics which are hard to understand’ (De deitate filii et spirtus sancti; PG 46
col. 557). That Gregory was not exaggerating wildly is revealed by a letter of Theodoret
of Cyrrhus who, probably in 451, responded to some soldiers who had become involved
in an argument about the omnipotence of God. Theodoret provided a detailed defence of
divine power, with Biblical and Patristic citations, but concluded the letter by advising
the soldiers not to get drawn into any discussion of doctrine if the opponents were not
immediately convinced, citing the instruction of St Paul on not striving about words
(Letter 146). Gregory of Nyssa himself strongly disapproved of what he regarded as ill-
informed curiosity: ‘I am uncertain as to what this evil should be called – inflammation
of the brain, or madness, or a sort of epidemic disease which effects the derangement of
reason’ (De deitate filii 57). If doctrinal debate could lead even experts astray, it was
even more important for lay people to avoid being caught up in controversies where
error could prove dangerous.
Acceptance of the incomprehensibility of God was a powerful argument against
intrusive pressures to define complex doctrinal issues, often in front of an audience
which may have contained opponents or others with an interest in tripping up the
speaker. A good example of such justified caution is the behaviour of Eutyches at the
‘Home Synod’ organised at Constantinople by Bishop Flavian in November 448:
Eutyches twice responded to definitions of consubstantiality by emphasising his
agreement with the speaker, ‘Since you now say so, I agree with it all’, ‘Before I did not
say this of him; I am saying to you what, I think, I did not originally say. But now, since
your sacredness has said it, I say it’ (ACO II.i.139-40, 142-4, esp. §§ 520, 522). In each
case the speaker, first Bishop Basil of Seleucia and then the ex-prefect Florentius, was
attempting to help Eutyches produce a definition which would allow him to demonstrate
his orthodoxy in front of a fairly hostile audience. However, in spite of this coaxing
Eutyches was condemned since this was the wish of Flavian as presiding officer.
One defence against a drive for excessive precision in theological definitions was the
development of apophatic terminology, the description of the divine by what it was not

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and an acknowledgement that human concepts cannot encompass it; Gregory of Nyssa,
unsurprisingly, made significant contributions to this approach. In the sixth century Ps.-
Dionysius the Areopagite, a theologian from the eastern provinces whose works passed
under the name of St Paul’s Athenian convert who had rejected the chattering of his
fellow citizens, developed apophatic theology further, indeed being the first writer to use
this term (Mystic Theology 3). It is probably a coincidence that the first reference to Ps.-
Dionysius was during the discussions between supporters of Severus of Antioch and
orthodox Chalcedonians at Constantinople in 533, but this Christian approach to debate
was certainly a current trend which Procopius could adopt. An even more complete
defence against precision was silence, an approach enshrined in Cyrus of Panopolis’
famously brief inaugural sermon at Cotyaeum: ‘Brothers, may the birth of our God and
Saviour Jesus Christ be honoured by silence, because it was through hearing alone that
he was conceived in the Holy Virgin by the Word. To him be the glory for ever and
ever. Amen.’ (Malalas 14.16, p. 362 Bonn). In February 452, Emperor Marcian
silenced further discussion of Christian faith to avoid injury to the decisions of
Chalcedon (Cod.Iust. 1.1.4).
This Christian approach provides the relevant context for Procopius’ comments about
theological debate, but there is also a historiographical precedent in the church historian
Socrates: he demonstrates an even stronger aversion than Procopius to the theological
sophistry whose main object was to obtain an intellectual triumph, whatever the means,
rather than discern the truth, using the simple but powerful image of a night battle to
represent the overall confusion, Socrates condemned those who pursued precision of
language rather than fullness of understanding (HE 1.23, esp. 6). His heroes were those
who knew which disagreements should be avoided as unprofitable (HE 3.25.4, Jovian;
5.10.10, Sisinnius); by contrast the leading Arian Eunomius arrogantly claimed that
humans could equal God in their knowledge of his nature (HE 4.7, esp. 13-14). In his
hostility to dialectic and sophistry, Socrates presented himself as operating in a
philosophical tradition which stretched back through Plotinus to Plato (HE 2.35, esp. 6-
9).
Socrates is recognised as a writer of unusual tolerance, and his approach has
similarities with that or Procopius. His exploitation of aspects of the pagan

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philosophical tradition does not make him either a philosopher or a pagan. Similarly,
although it is possible to point to statements of Socrates the philosopher as antecedents
for Procopius’ views on human limitations, the clear Christian pedigree for this line of
argument means that this passage cannot count as evidence for a link between Procopius
and contemporary Platonic philosophers. The fact that Procopius offers a less precise
definition of the divine than Evagrius did after his defence of diversity (HE 1.11, quoted
above) is entirely explicable in terms of their respective contexts: Evagrius was
emphasising the common ground across the Christological divide, so that a comment on
what could be accepted about the nature of God the Word was appropriate; Procopius
was deliberately operating at a more general level and constructed his description
accordingly. The former was composing an ecclesiastical history, the latter a purely
secular work.
In this context Procopius is likely to have intended ta tetimemena, ‘what has been
honoured’ (Wars 5.3.7), to refer to traditional Christian teachings about God, the sort of
simple truths which Gregory of Nyssa or Socrates the historian were concerned to
defend against excessively logical human enquiry. His argument, however, does not
entail that he regarded all Christian definitions of God as ‘insane folly’, and it is
illegitimate to use such a reading of this passage as the basis for interpreting Procopius’
comments about the logic of Samaritan converts who ‘thought it foolish to endure any
discomfiture for the sake of a senseless doctrine’ (SH 11.25-30). In this section of the
Secret History there is no ambiguity about which doctrine was senseless, since Procopius
explicitly states that anyone with any reason or good sense remained true to their new
faith, whereas the majority behaved differently: in this context Christianity and sensible
behaviour go together.
In keeping with his distaste for excessively precise theological investigation,
Procopius was also strongly critical of Justinian’s religious persecutions which he
presented as destroying mankind in pursuit of unified belief (Secret History 13.7-8).
Such aversion to energetic action on religious matters, which could in some
circumstances be tantamount to passive toleration, can be paralleled in the behaviour of
some sixth-century rulers. The Ostrogoth Theoderic, writing to the Jewish community
in Genoa circa 510, permitted the addition of a roof to their synagogue but no expansion

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of ornament since, though he condemned ‘the prayers of erring men’ he accepted that he
could not ‘command your faith because no-one is forced to believe against his will’
(Cassiodorus, Variae 2.27). In 535 the new Ostrogothic king Theodahad, an Arian,
stressed to Justinian with regard to a Catholic convert:
Since the Deity allows various religions to exist, I do not dare to impose
one alone. For I remember reading that we should sacrifice to the Lord
of our own will, not at the command of anyone who compels us. He who
does otherwise clearly opposes the heavenly decree. (Cassiodorus,
Variae 10.26)
In the east Tiberius Constantine restrained the zeal for persecution of successive
Patriarchs of Constantinople, John Scholasticus and Eutychius (John of Ephesus,
Ecclesiastical History 1.37; 3.12). The impression of a division between the rigour of
some clergy and the greater flexibility of secular leaders is reinforced by the clash
between Emperor Maurice and the Constantinopolitan Patriarch John Nesteutes over the
punishment of a so-called magician and his son: Maurice favoured clemency but John
secured a painful execution for the guilty (Theophylact 1.11.15-20). Such was the
preference for peaceful co-existence that a leader might be praised for moderation even
when their actions indicated otherwise: thus Evagrius presented a very favourable
picture of the state of the churches under Anastasius, ‘with all strife and contention being
removed’ (3.30), even though the emperor had the patriarchs Euphemius and
Macedonius banished from Constantinople. Such differences need to be borne in mind
when assessing the religious pedigree of statements by authors such as Procopius, since
much of our information about contemporary views on sensitive religious issues was
composed by theologians and may not be representative of wider secular attitudes.
What is interesting about Procopius’ views is the degree of toleration which he
espouses. Although it is correct to attribute most of the relatively few pleas for toleration
to be articulated in late antiquity to pagan intellectuals such as Libanius (Oration 30) or
Symmachus (Third Relatio), or to spokesmen for insecure or challenged Christians such
as Themistius in his speeches on behalf of emperors Jovian and Valens (Orations 5 & 6),
it also appears that historians were more likely to favour inclusive or tolerant behaviour.
In addition to the comments of Evagrius and Agathias, discussed above, the

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ecclesiastical historian Socrates expressed support for individuals who promoted
accommodation: he praised Theodosius II for never approving persecutors (7.42.1) and
contrasted favourably the patience of Proclus, Bishop of Constantinople, with the
behaviour of his own teacher, Bishop Atticus, who ‘occasionally practised severities on
the heretics’ (7.41.4-7). The downfall of Nestorius, whose attacks on heretics while
Bishop of Constantinople reflected his wrath and pride, was an example of the dangers
of intolerance (7.29.4-13; 31). In a discussion of regional variations in Christian
worship, with particular reference to Easter, Socrates accepted diversity, reproached the
rigorist disputants and observed that in the absence of apostolic regulation it was open to
all who wished to celebrate the festival as recipients of grace in accordance with custom
prevailing in their particular place (5.22); the chapter then continues with a review of
differences in baptism, fasting, marriage, the Eucharist and other rites. Just as Evagrius
stressed the essential similarity of the positions of those embroiled in the fifth-century
Christological disputes, so Socrates observed that the Trinitarian arguments which the
Council of Nicaea had failed to resolve were conducted by believers who agreed on the
important facts of a Trinity which included the Son of God as a distinct member of that
Trinity (1.23.8).
Socrates’ toleration is markedly greater than that of his contemporary Sozomen, who
derived much material from him but with few clear expressions in favour of toleration.
His attitude might be explicable if it were accepted that he adhered to the Novatian
schism, a view argued on the basis that his account contains positive references to
Novatian and his followers. On this assumption, as an outsider Socrates might have
sympathy with other outsiders, but the Novatians were rigorists which makes it less
likely that a member of the sect would espouse toleration. Socrates’ willingness to
accept alternative views may, in fact, spring from the established historiographical
tradition of relativity: this can be traced back to Herodotus’ discussion of the validity of
national customs, which included the non-judgemental illustration of the burial practices
of the Greeks and those of the Indian Callatiae who ate their dead (3.38), and a
millennium later this approach underpinned the views of Agathias on the Alamanni.
Of crucial importance to Procopius’ Christianity is his treatment of tyche, fortune or
fate. The argument of the last chapter of Kaldellis’ Procopius builds to the conclusion

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that for Procopius God and fortune are identical, though this fundamental message has to
be conveyed indirectly since the dominant Christian preconceptions of his sixth-century
audience could not be challenged head-on. Although I disagree with this conclusion,
there is considerable value in the detailed discussion which, for example, demonstrates
how Procopius adjusts the balance between chance or luck and planning in his accounts
of the Vandal and early Gothic campaigns; the role of chance in human affairs is a
complex topic, but Kaldellis is right that Procopius’ various comments on it cannot
easily be dismissed as examples of muddled thinking.
One consideration is that there was no single Christian perspective on such topics as
the role of chance in human affairs, and the extent of divine control of detailed events or
of the intervention of a benevolent divinity in the world. Evidence for this diversity is
contained in Theophylact’s various works. Theophylact’s Christian credentials are
firmly established not only by the content, language, and scriptural knowledge of his
History but also by his short work On Predestined Terms of Life which uses extensive
Biblical quotation to tackle the fundamental religious question of the compatibility of
human free will and divine intervention. Theophylact composed Predestined Terms as a
dialogue to present two competing views on the theological question of whether human
existence had a definite limit determined in advance or whether there was scope for
adaptation as a result of individual conduct or through natural calamities: Theognostus
aggressively championed predestination ‘with a throat like an open grave and a tongue
like a sharpened razor’ (Predestined Terms II, p.10.19-20), while Theophrastus rebutted
the arguments with less vehemence but an unattractive arrogance. The opposing
arguments are judged by Evangelus and Theopemptus who cautiously adopted a middle
position between strict predestination, which is regarded as un-Christian, and random
fate which contradicts the incomprehensible superiority of God. The dialogue concludes
with recommendations about behaviour, humility rather than arrogance and mildness
rather than wrath, since the limitations of human knowledge entail that men cannot
achieve certainty (Predestined Terms III, p. 30.6ff) – as St Paul had said, ‘We see in a
glass darkly’ (1 Corinthians 13.13), or, to quote Sophocles (Ajax 23) ‘We know nothing
distinctly, but wander around.’ Thus, the investigation of fate results in the recognition

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of human ignorance and the renunciation of excessive investigations, just as Procopius
had recommended with regard to theological debate.
Within Theophylact’s History the unpredictable mutability of fortune is one of the
more prominent themes, being exemplified in the ‘parable’ of Sesostris which a
Byzantine ambassador used to prick the overconfidence of the Avar Chagan (6.11.10-
16); Theophylact’s approval for the message is clear from his opening and closing
references to the ambassador as ‘a man clever and shrewd by nature’ and to his ‘good
sense’ (6.11.7, 16). The constant movement of time, chronos, brings instability, as is
expressed in a highly rhetorical passage (3. 8. 9), while the best-laid plans of men might
be undone by fortune, tyche, which ‘like a drone wasted the hives of prudence’ (2.15.5).
For Theophylact a key issue is how humans are to respond to this uncertainty, with
caution as the watch-word, although ultimately resignation in the fact of God’s
overarching design is encapsulated by Emperor Maurice’s quotation from Job, ‘Thou art
just, O Lord, and thy judgement is just’, after he has witnessed the murder of his sons
(8.11.3). In Theophylact there are different levels of explanation and understanding:
from the human perspective events will often seem to be random because of the
limitations on human knowledge, but closer inspection may reveal God’s purpose in
some cases, even if the greatest of tragedies, such as the Massacre of the Innocents, have
to be left to God’s supreme discernment (Predestined Terms III, p. 28. 28ff).
Theophylact demonstrates that within a Christian historical narrative it is possible to
have unpredictable fortune as a powerful force, with the ability of individual human
actors to react to, or cope with, this as a key historical theme. Theophylact stood at the
end of the varied historiographical traditions of late antiquity, in particular the enduring
classicising tradition exemplified by Procopius and the tradition of church history as
developed by Eusebius. His Christian predecessors had confronted the challenge of
incorporating natural human notions of chance, luck and fate in a variety of ways,
though with a common preference for avoiding the term tyche since its religious
overtones complicated an already difficult subject; in the Constantinian Oration to the
Saints, Eusebius has the emperor explicitly declare that it was wrong to assume that
tyche controlled the world. It was difficult, however, to avoid the underlying concept of
fortune or chance. In his own writings (e.g. the Praeparatio Evangelica) Eusebius

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exploited the term ta symbebekota, literally ‘what has happened’ but with implications of
‘chance events’, Socrates normally relied on kairos, ‘opportunity’ or ‘opportune
moment’ and in this was followed by Sozomen and Evagrius, while Theodoret used
symphora, ‘happening’, and eukleria, ‘good allocation’, as neutral alternatives. On three
occasions, however, the word tyche did enter Socrates’ text, twice in the fairly neutral
sense of what had befallen a man during his career (4.1.3; 5.25.2), but in the third
(7.23.5) the word has the broader connotations of fortune or luck.
With regard to using the term tyche, Procopius did not share the reservations of the
church historians of the fourth and fifth centuries, but this does not prove that he was any
less Christian. There had always been a certain ambivalence to Tyche, even in its
stronger religious sense: at Constantinople the festival to celebrate the city’s foundation,
as established by Constantine, contained an act of public respect for its Tyche in the
Hippodrome, a ceremony which appears to have continued into the sixth century
(Malalas 13.8, p. 322). It is possible that for many people, perhaps even most, the
word’s pagan religious overtones were weaker. Even Justinian could declare in a Novel
that the tyche of the emperor was exempt from the laws, since God had subjected the
laws to it (Novel 105.2.4).
A starting point for considering Procopius’ interlinked attitudes to God and fate is his
account of the sack of Antioch in 540, which contains first an editorial comment on the
role of tyche in the random sequence of human achievement (2.9.13), and then an
emotional statement about his inability to understand God’s purpose in permitting the
destruction of one of the world’s great cities by such an ungodly man as Khusro (2.10.4-
5). Scholars have found the sequence troubling, and Kaldellis is right to insist that it
deserves further scrutiny, though his conclusions that there is a contradiction between
God and tyche and that Procopius regarded the deity as indifferent are not compelling.
The difficulties arise through Procopius’ confrontation with the “problem of evil”, with
the sack of Antioch as the contemporary equivalent of the Massacre of the Innocents. It
has been observed that Greek patristic authors reveal an ‘unresolved and ill-perceived
tension in their understanding of God and his relationship with evil’, with God’s
supremacy over evil separated from the question of the existence of evil as a challenge to
God’s goodness and sovereignty. Dualists had a ready solution, but for Christians a

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multiplicity of interpretations was inevitable, with ambiguity and uncertainty evident
when individuals attempted to pin down a slippery concept rather than adopt the patience
of Job as evinced by the Emperor Maurice. Against this background, the
incomprehension of Procopius with regard to the destruction of Antioch is thoroughly
Christian: indeed if Procopius were not a Christian he would not have had the challenge
of accepting both the superior providence of God and the random changes of human
fortunes in this world.
Although Procopius was perplexed by God’s failure to intervene to save Antioch, he
recognised that the catastrophe was the result of a concatenation of events which
Eusebius would have called ta symbebekota whereas he used the traditional term tyche.
This, however, did not prevent him from exploring how different individuals might react
to and represent the event. With regard to Antioch, Khusro’s views are revealed through
a speech in which he asserts that God had permitted him to capture the city with so little
effort, while protesting that the considerable loss of life was not his responsibility and in
fact dulled the pleasure which he should have felt at his triumph (Wars 2.9.1-6). The
speech was intended to embarrass its Roman audience by exploiting the raw nerve of
divine support, but Procopius warns his readers not to accept its content at face value
(2.9.8), a warning which relates to the whole speech. Elsewhere in the Wars Procopius
showed himself to be adept at adapting to the context the emphasis between God and
circumstance when reflecting on responsibility for action. Thus when Belisarius wants to
improve the behaviour of his troops he refers to the risks of divine anger over
misconduct (3.12.8-22, 16.6-8; 5.10.30); after a defeat leaders will not mention God but
point to the impact of tyche (Gelimer: 4.2.9-22; Witigis: 6.26.11; Ildibad: 6.30.21-3;
Totila: 7.24.4-5, 25; 8.30.12), but when victorious they may point to the divine help
which they have received and hope will continue (Belisarius: 4.1.21, 24; Totila: 7.8.24,
9.13-17, 21.1-11). A good example of the adaptation of language to occasion is
Procopius’ text of the letter which Pharas sent to the defeated Gelimer in an attempt to
persuade him to surrender: although victorious, Pharas does not mention God and
instead presents the Vandal defeat as the result of tyche (4.6.15-26); this avoids
suggesting that Gelimer was personally responsible for events or that the Romans were

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somehow superior through privileged access to divine help – rather Pharas presents
himself and Belisarius as the equals of Gelimer in their servitude to Justinian.
Procopius operated within a Christian framework of an omnipotent deity, as he
commented with regard to the devout Narses’ attribution of everything to God, ‘which
indeed was the true account’ (8.33.1). God has the capacity to intervene in human
affairs, but there is no evidence that he chooses to do so on a regular basis; this is the
premise which underlies the judgement of Evangelus and Theopemptus in Theophylact’s
Predestined Terms. The interaction between God and human affairs is complex and
variable, but neither the benevolence nor the power of God is diminished by his failure
to intervene on all occasions when it might seem appropriate to human intelligence. I
would suggest that what distinguishes the approach of Procopius to the issues of God
and tyche from that of Theophylact, whose Christianity is in no doubt, is the extent to
which he was prepared to push his reflections on the supremely difficult intellectual
issue of reconciling the fortuitous nature of human events with his overarching belief in
divine guidance of the world. Perhaps he should have extended his own advice to
refrain from pursuing doctrinal discussions to encompass this more fundamental
question, but Procopius was a historian interested in identifying and analysing causes,
perhaps not to the extent of his most rigorous predecessors, Thucydides and Polybius,
but more fully than other classical predecessors such as Xenophon or Arrian and in
marked contrast to the somewhat incurious Theophylact. As a result Procopius struggled
to formulate such passages as his analysis of the failure of Belisarius’ plans for
confronting Totila (7.13.15-18) and his responses to the destruction of Antioch (2.9.13,
10.4-5) and the death of Totila (8.32.28-30), but his explanations accept the overarching
providence of God combined with the responsibility on mankind to plan the best course
through the contingencies of human existence (3.18.2).
Although my assessment of the religious affiliations of Procopius and Agathias
differs from that of Kaldellis, I would at the same time endorse the principles which
underlie his investigation, in particular the recognition of the serious literary qualities of
their works. It is important that the explanation of incoherence is rejected with regard to
Procopius’ comments on God and tyche, and that his careful use of language is
acknowledged in this area as elsewhere. It is equally important to recognise that there

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was no such thing as an Identikit Christian in the sixth century, a standard against which
writers such as Procopius or Agathias have to be assessed: diversity of emphasis or
approach was possible on some issues, and did not have to lead to heresy – although that
was a danger as Evagrius recognised – so that it is unsatisfactory to assess the religious
credentials of these authors by reference to a standard derived from patristic texts.

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