Procopius and non-Chalcedonian Christians:

a loud silence?

Maria Conterno
(Ghent University1)

Procopius’ attitude towards religion, and his own religious stance, have long
retained scholars’ attention and are indeed among the most debated questions in
scholarship on the sixth-century historian. Besides discussing whether Procopius
was a Christian or not, and if yes, of what kind (lukewarm, fervent, sceptical,
conventional, ‘non-conventional’),2 scholars have also remarked and dwelled upon
the little to no space he gives in his works to the religious troubles of his time,
notably to Justinian’s religious policies and to the main events in sixth-century
ecclesiastical history.
Various possible explanations have been put forth, linked mainly to Procopius
himself, such as his personal distaste for doctrinal disputes and his opposition to
religious persecutions, his unease about producing statements on a matter that was
not yet settled, perhaps also his lack of a full appreciation of the delicate relation-
ships between Byzantium and the peoples of the eastern frontier, his choice to adopt,
as historian, a becoming irenic and tolerant demeanour, and, last but not least,
his adherence to the rules and constraints imposed by the chosen literary genre,
classicising history in the case of the Wars, panegyric in the case of the Buildings, and
whatever the genre of the Secret History may be.3 As Averil Cameron concluded,
there is possibly no one single reason. The purpose of the present paper is therefore

1. The research leading to this publication has received funding from the European
Research Council under the European Union’s Seventh Framework Programme (FP/2007-
2013) / ERC Grant, agreement n. 313153, and from the Flemish Research Fund (FWO,
Funds Wetenschappelijk Onderzoek).
2. Evans 1971 offers a survey of the different hypotheses expressed up to his time. In her 1985
monograph on Procopius, Averil Cameron argued compellingly in favour of Procopius’
Christian origins and thinking, and her opinion has been widely accepted. More recently,
Anthony Kaldellis has proposed a thought-provoking and much debated view of Procopius
as a pagan in disguise, cf. Kaldellis 2004. For a pointed examination of Kaldellis’ arguments
see Whitby 2007 and Scott 2013. Two more recent (re)assessments of Procopius’ attitude
toward religion can be found in Wolińska 2014 and Stickler forthcoming.
3. Cameron 1985, pp. 119-120, 124-127; Whitby 2007, pp. 76-79; Evans 1971, p. 84.

Le monde de Procope / The World of Procopius,

sous la direction de Geoffrey Greatrex et Sylvain Janniard, 2018 — p. 000-000
96 • MARIA CONTERNO

not to challenge any of these explanations, which all correctly grasp single details
of the picture, but to zoom out from Procopius and widen the perspective. I will move
from Procopius’ conspicuous, and to us rather awkward, silence on sixth-century
christological disputes and non-Chalcedonian Christians, and I will try to understand
what this silence tells us not, or not only, about Procopius himself, but about
Procopius’ world and society.
The first thing to make clear is what precisely, or who, is conspicuously absent
in Procopius. Certainly not the religious discourse nor religious controversies in
general. It is true that Procopius does not provide a full coverage of Justinian’s
fluctuating religious policy, of his various attempts to fix the rifts brought about by
the fifth-century councils, and of the reactions on the different sides. But he does
allude to all this in the Wars, more than once and in rather explicit terms, like in
the following passage of book 7:
Now, although the emperor did promise to concern himself personally with Italy, still
he was devoting his time for the most part to the doctrines of the Christians, seeking
eagerly and with great determination to make a satisfactory settlement of the questions
disputed among them.4

In some well-known passages of the Secret History, Procopius speaks about the
feigned dissent between Justinian and Theodora over religious matters, and he overtly
blames the emperor for meddling in Church affairs, accusing him of intentionally
bringing about further divisions rather than unity:
Now first of all they [i.e. Justinian and Theodora] set the Christians at variance with one
another, and by pretending to go opposite ways from each other in the matters under
dispute, they succeeded in rending them all asunder, as will shortly be related by me.5
For in his eagerness to gather all men into one belief as to Christ, he kept destroying
the rest of mankind in senseless fashion, and that too while acting with a pretence of
piety. For it did not seem to him murder if the victims chanced to be not of his
own creed.6
The religious disputes of the sixth century are indeed there, in the background,
but they are not described in detail and treated at length. This may certainly be due
to Procopius’ avowed aversion to theological speculation – which he explicitly
declares in book 5 of the Wars7 – but also to his intention to deal with such matters

4. Wars 7.35.11. All the translations are taken from the Loeb edition.
5. Anecd. 10.15. On the interplay between emperor and empress on religious matters see
Pazdernik 1994, with remarks upon this very passage at pp. 263-263.
6. Anecd. 13.7. Cf. also Anecd. 18.29.
7. Wars 7.3.5-9: “After Theodatus had formed this plan, there came from Byzantium to the
chief priest of Rome two envoys, Hypatius, the priest of Ephesus, and Demetrius, from
Philippi in Macedonia, to confer about tenet of faith, which is a subject of disagreement
and controversy among the Christians. As for the points in dispute, although I know them well,
I shall by no means make mention of them; for I consider it a sort of insane folly to investigate the
nature of God, enquiring of what sort it is. For man cannot, I think, apprehend even human affairs
with accuracy, much less those things which pertain to the nature of God. As for me, therefore,
I shall maintain a discreet silence concerning these matters, with the sole object that old
and venerable beliefs may not be discredited. For I, for my part, will say nothing whatever
 PROCOPIUS AND NON-CHALCEDONIAN CHRISTIANS: A LOUD SILENCE? • 97

in another work specially dedicated to them. Various passages in his preserved works,
in fact, seem to hint at such a planned treatise of ecclesiastical history.8 The possible
nature and content of this treatise, and whether he actually ever wrote it, will not
concern us here,9 but it is worth remarking that Procopius’ personal disapproval of
theological inquiries did not prevent him from at least envisaging and promising to
his readers, if not actually completing, a work on religious matters. And it should
also be observed that Procopius’ antipathy apparently concerned only theological
disputes (and christological disputes in particular), not religion and the religious
discourse in general. This is clearly suggested by passages like the following:
But about that time, Jesus, the incarnate Son of God preached among the men of
Palestine and he showed manifestly, by never sinning at all and by performing even
impossible deeds, that he was the Son of God in very truth, [...].10
For God, being born a man as was His will, is subjected to even a third generation, and
His ancestry is traced back from His mother as is that of a man.11
On that site the natives had set up a church in early times to the Apostle John; this
Apostle has been named ‘the Theologian’ because the things that concern God were
described by him in a manner beyond the human nature.12

Whether these sentences were introduced only to comply with the mainstream
religion and hide his own real religious stance, is not relevant at all: we are still
confronted with the fact that ‘Procopius the historian’ considered it appropriate to
put such explicitly religious and theological remarks in the mouth of ‘Procopius the
narrator’ in his classicising works. Another point to stress is that, although he says
he has chosen to deal with religious and church issues in a separate book, he does all
the same refer to the presence of ‘deviant’ Christians in the empire and describe
Justinian’s persecutions of certain heretics, calling them exactly that.13 Arians, for
instance, receive particular attention and are a well identified actor in the Wars.

about God save that He is altogether good and has all things in His power. But let each one say
whatever he thinks he knows about these matters, both priest and layman.” Remarkably,
even though he says that he considers investigating the nature of God pure nonsense,
Procopius also claims that he is well informed on the theological issues that were being
debated. On Procopius’ conscious use of theological vocabulary, see Stickler forthcoming.
8. For instance Wars 8.25.13: “For the others, by direction of the Emperor, stopped at the
city of Ulpiana in Illyricum, since a civil war had arisen among the inhabitants of that
place concerning those matters over which the Christians fight among themselves, as will be told
by me in the treatise on this subject.”
9. For a detailed discussion, see Kaldellis 2009. See also Stickler forthcoming.
10. Wars 2.12.22. This passage appears in the account of Jesus’ letter exchange with King
Abgar of Edessa. The whole narrative has been thoroughly analysed by Brodka 2013:
against Kaldellis, Brodka argues that the story of the miracolous healing of Abgar, far
from being an ironically polemic excursus, was reported by Procopius as an example of
the power of faith, and speaks therefore in favour of Procopius’ Christianity.
11. Build. 1.3.12.
12. Build. 5.1.5.
13. Anecd. 11.14-15: “There are in the whole Roman Empire many rejected doctrines of
the Christians, which they are accustomed to call ‘heresies’– those of the Montani,
the Sabbatiani, and all the others which are wont to cause the judgment of man to go
98 • MARIA CONTERNO

But he even refers once to the heresy of Eutyches, the most extreme fringe of
Miaphysitism which was condemned by the Syro-Orthodox themselves, in the
episode of the usurper Basiliscus, in book 3:
And Basiliscus, deserted by all, fled for refuge to the same sanctuary as formerly.
And Acacius, the priest of the city, put him into the hands of Zeno, charging him with
impiety and with having brought great confusion and many innovations into the
Christian doctrine, having inclined toward the heresy of Eutyches.14

What is actually absent in Procopius’ portrait of his world, then? First of all the
very words ‘Monophysites’ and ‘Nestorians’, or other comparable terms to indicate
non-Chalcedonian Christians. What seems to be missing are non-Chalcedonian
Christians as a body, as actors – even as supporting actors or walk-on actors – in the
events that Procopius reports, in the society that Procopius is describing. Even in
those events in which we know that non-Chalcedonian Christians played a role,
Procopius does not present them as such, nor refer to them as separate from the
body of the Imperial Church.
In book 1 of the Wars, the Ethiopian king Hellesthaios is introduced as Χριστιανός
τε ὢν καὶ δόξης τῆσδε ὡς μάλιστα ἐπιμελούμενος, “a Christian, and one who took
the greatest care of this faith,” and Justinian is said to have asked him and the
Himyarite King Esimiphaeus support against the Persians διὰ τὸ τῆς δόξης ὁμόγνωμον,
“on account of their being like-minded on the faith,” that is on account of their
shared religion.15 But both the Ethiopians and the Himyarites were Miaphysites, and
the hypothesis that Procopius was unaware of this is most farfetched. Seeing that
Justinian, in order to seek their alliance, had no qualms about overlooking the
doctrinal disagreement and stressing their common faith instead, one could in
this case assume that Procopius was ready (or felt compelled) to do the same. But
another example is provided by the Secret History, a context where the compulsion
to go along with the emperor can by no means be put forth as explanation. This is
actually the only passage where a group of anti-Chalcedonian Christian seems to be
referred to per se and as the object of some kind of concern.16 Procopius says that
Justinian ordered to a certain Rhodon to help the Patriarch Paul of Alexandria to
deal with the problems of the Christian community there, which, as we know, was
largely anti-Chalcedonian:
ᾧ δὴ ἐπέστελλεν ἐς ἅπαντα Παύλῳ ὑπηρετεῖν προθυμίᾳ τῇ πάσῃ, ὅπως δὴ ἀτελεύτητον
μένοι τῶν πρὸς αὐτοῦ ἐπαγγελλομένων μηδέν. ταύτῃ γὰρ τῶν Ἀλεξανδρέων τοὺς
<αἱρετικούς> ἑταιρίζεσθαι αὐτὸν ἐς τὴν ἐν Καλχηδόνι σύνοδον ᾤετο δυνατὸν ἔσεσθαι.
This man he instructed to support Paul with all zeal in everything, so that not one of
his orders might remain unfulfilled. For in this way he thought he should be able to
win the adherence of the <...> among/of the Alexandrians to the Council of Chalcedon.

astray. All these heretics he commanded to change their earlier beliefs, threatening
many things in case of their disobedience, and in particular that it would be impossible
for them in the future to hand down their property to their children or other relatives”.
14. Wars 3.7.22.
15. Wars 1.20.1 and 1.20.9.
16. Anecd. 27.4-6.
 PROCOPIUS AND NON-CHALCEDONIAN CHRISTIANS: A LOUD SILENCE? • 99

The word αἱρετικούς is a conjecture of Haury, the Teubner editor. The very word
used by Procopius to name the anti-Chalcedonians of Alexandria has apparently
been dropped in the whole manuscript tradition. According to the critical apparatus
there is no lacuna, nor any illegible or erased word in any of the manuscripts, and
one gathers that a word is missing only from the inconsistency of the sentence.17
This is a most curious case, and a most excruciating coincidence, I should add. Other
conjectures have been proposed to fill the gap: εὐδοκιμωτέρους, λογιμοτάτους,
πρώτους, πλείστους, ἱερεῖς, to which we could also add, more simply, χριστιανούς.
There is indeed no compelling argument to maintain that ‘heretics’ is the correct
guess. Quite the opposite, since on the following page, speaking about a certain
Arsenius who volunteered to help the Patriarch with such questions, Procopius
mentions again the Christians of Alexandria without any negative connotation.18
Given also that Miaphysitism does not appear among the heresies mentioned in
chapter 11,19 I would rather be inclined to think that αἱρετικούς is in fact the less
plausible conjecture.
This little philological conundrum will remain unsolved for the time being. The
overall impression, however, is that Procopius did not want to stigmatise non-
Chalcedonian Christians as he did other heterodox Christians. And the fact that
Eutyches is indeed pinpointed as a heretic leads one to think that he must have been
aware of the doctrinal nuances within the anti-Chalcedonian movement. It looks
as though certain groups were perceived as unquestionably beyond the pale – and
could therefore be explicitly mentioned as such, and labelled ‘heretics’: Arians,
Montanists, Sabbatians, Eutychians – whereas others were not singled out because
they were still perceived as dissent from the inside,20 a dissent whose contents and
expressions Procopius did not deem immediately relevant in that specific context.
In order to ‘test’ this impression, and to understand whether it is strictly due to
Procopius’ disinclination for theology and unwillingness to go into matters that
were not yet settled, or if it also corresponds to a more widespread perception,
other historical sources need to be browsed, both contemporary and later, both
Chalcedonian and non-Chalcedonian.
I shall begin with two other sixth-century historians whose religious stance and
attitude towards the theological disputes have been the subject of scholarly discus-
sion: John Malalas and Evagrius Scholasticus. Approaching Malalas presents one
major obstacle, namely the fact that his Chronicle appeared in at least two editions

17. The one manucript I could examine, the Ambrosianus gr. 182 sup., confirms this: the text
runs uninterrupted, but the article τοὺς requires a noun that is not there.
18. Anecd. 27.11-14: “This Arsenius, thinking to gratify the Emperor, not long afterwards set
out in company with Paulus for Alexandria, in order to assist him in other matters and
in particular to help him with all his might to bring about obedience on the part of the
Alexandrians. For he declared that at the time when he had the ill-fortune to be excluded
from the Palace, he had not neglected the study of all the doctrines of the Christians. But
this annoyed Theodora; for she pretended to go against the Emperor in this, as I have
stated previously”.
19. Cf. supra, n. 13.
20. Indeed, it was not until 536 (when Pope Agapetus was present in Constantinople) that
anti-Chalcedonians were officially condemned and targeted by Justinian, see Menze 2008,
p. 97, and Greatrex 2007, p. 294.
100 • MARIA CONTERNO

(ending in ca 532 and 565) and survives only in a much abbreviated form, in a single
twelfth-century manuscript.21 This, however, has not prevented scholars from trying
to gain, from the preserved text, an insight into Malalas’ views, interests, concerns,
and even on his religious position. The suspicion of Miaphysitism, or of miaphysite
sympathies, cast upon Malalas by eminent byzantinists such as Krumbacher and
Hunger, was vigorously rejected in the collective volume Studies on John Malalas
by the Australian group working on his Chronicle.22 According to Brian Croke, in
particular, not only had Malalas no intention to convey a subliminal pro-miaphysite
message in his text, but he was not much interested in theological issues and eccle-
siastical problems either. His outline of the ecumenical councils is cursory, he does not
dwell upon doctrinal developments nor upon ecclesiastical dissent in the sixth century,
whereas he pays much attention, for instance, to the Manicheans. A prominent pos-
ition in his universal chronicle is given rather to liturgical aspects and to the heroes of
the Church – ascetics, saints, martyrs.23 Philippe Blaudeau, on the contrary, in an
article of 2006 argued again in favour of Malalas’ disguised miaphysitism and proposed
a very penetrating interpretation of his attitude toward religious conflicts and of
the narrative strategy he adopted in dealing with such a topic. Blaudeau observes
that more than once Malalas deliberately conceals, or plays down, the confessional
aspect of certain events such as uprisings, usurpation attempts or removal of church
leaders. According to Blaudeau this is due, rather than to a lack of interest, to Malalas’
wish to prevent the confessional aspect from getting the upper hand on the other
issues, in order to avoid that his readers get a black-and-white picture of such complex
events. Malalas, then, wants to put into perspective the impact of christological
controversies in order to preserve the specific value of religion as a means of social
cohesion. And for this very reason he would be willing to put aside his own personal
theological stance.24 More recently, Volker Henning Drecoll has instead interpreted
Malalas’ alleged indifference to theological issues as a sign of actual neutrality in
the face of the controversy between Chalcedonians and anti-Chalcedonian.25
As for Evagrius Scholasticus, one should first observe that he shares Procopius’
aversion for theological speculation, and he says openly that he considers the
debate on Christ’s nature to be a purely semantic issue.26 Secondly, his coverage of
contemporary ecclesiastical debates presents some remarkable omissions: he does not
mention Justinian’s meeting with the Miaphysites in 532 or with the representatives of
the Church of the East in 562, the Theopaschite edict of 533, the anti-origenist edict
of 543, the first edict on the Three Chapters in 544 and the talks with Pope Vigilius
in 548, nor Justinian’s Confession of faith of 551. Considering that his work is not a
classicising secular history but a history of the Church, this reticence of Evagrius’
looks almost as odd as Procopius’ silence. Through a comparison with Zacharias

21. See Greatrex 2016.

22. Jeffreys et al. 1990.
23. Croke 1990. Very similar considerations have been proposed more recently by Elizabeth
Jeffreys as well, cf. Jeffreys 2010.
24. Blaudeau 2006a, p. 248.
25. Drecoll 2016.
26. Evagrius 2.5.
 PROCOPIUS AND NON-CHALCEDONIAN CHRISTIANS: A LOUD SILENCE? • 101

Scholasticus, Pauline Allen has pointed out in Evagrius the evidence for an alleged
polarization between the Chalcedonian and Miaphysite traditions.27 But in response
to that, Kazimier Ginter proposed in 2001 a broader reading of Evagrius’ work, call-
ing attention to the way Evagrius presents the Emperors Anastasius and Justinian.28
Anastasius, known for being a partisan of Miaphysitism, is praised by Syro-Orthodox
sources whereas later Chalcedonian sources, such as Theophanes Confessor, present
him as a heretic. Yet Evagrius portrays Anastasius in an explicitly good light – even
at the cost of some inconsistencies – while Justinian is presented as the model of
the bad ruler and is harshly criticised for slipping into the Aphtartodocete heresy
toward the end of his life. Anastasius, he says, went to heaven, Justinian to hell:
Evagrius could not be more explicit in his judgement. As observed also by Philippe
Blaudeau, what is determinant in Evagrius’ appraisal of an emperor is less his
christological profession than his ability to assure the cohesion of the empire and of
the universal church.29 Ginter also points out how mild a tone Evagrius uses when
referring to Miaphysites, and he contrasts for instance the vocabulary employed with
reference to Severus of Antioch, or even Eutyches, and the one used to depict Nestorius.
His conclusion is that the real ideological polarisation in the sixth century was not
between Chalcedonians and Miaphysites, but rather between these two traditions
together and the Antiochene (or Nestorian) tradition of the Church of the East.
Evagrius’ praise of Anastasius is paralleled by Jacob of Sarugh’s praise of Justin I.
In his letter to Paul of Edessa, the Syrian Orthodox bishop Jacob defines Justin I
– who had confirmed the Council of Chalcedon and was adopting severe repressive
measures against anti-Chalcedonians – as “faithful and worthy of victory,” compar-
ing his faith to that of Constantine and Abgar.30 Likewise, around 520, in his letter to
the Himyarite Christians of Najran, who were being persecuted by the local Jewish
king Yusuf As‘ar Dhu Nuwas, Jacob wrote “We Romans live in the peaceful land of
blessed Christian kings,” and the Christian king was again Justin I.31 Symeon of Beth
Arsham, too, in his letter on the martyrs of Najran, has explicit words of praise
for Justin.32 As we know from Procopius as well,33 Justin was in fact to support the

27. Allen 1980.
28. Ginter 2001.
29. Blaudeau 2006b, pp. 655-696.
30. Jacob of Sarugh, Letter to Paul of Edessa, pp. 244-245. This and other relevant passages of
Jacob’s letter to Paul have been recently discussed by Philip Forness in a presentation
entitled “Images of Christian Rulers and Empires during doctrinal conflicts” at the work-
shop Images of the Good Christian Ruler in the Mediterranean and the Near East (4th-10th Century),
Frankfurt 9-11 November 2016. A more detailed analysis will be in the forthcoming
publication of the workshop proceedings. Forness discusses both the letter to Paul of
Edessa and the letter to the Himyarites also in his doctoral dissertation, Forness 2016.
31. Jaboc of Sarugh, Letter to the Himyarite Christians, p. 374 (Syriac text), p. 388 (translation).
I thank Philip Forness for bringing to my attention this text of Jacob’s.
32. Symeon of Beth Arsham, Letter on the Martyrs of Najran, p. 481 (Italian translation), p. 502
(Syriac text). An equally praising tone is used toward Justinian by the Miaphysite
bishops he convoked in Constantinople in 532, and whose ‘Plerophoria’ (the document
they submitted to the emperor before the beginning of the talks) is preserved in the
Ecclesiastical History of Pseudo-Zacharia Rhetor, 9.15.
33. Wars 1.20.1-8.
102 • MARIA CONTERNO

Ethiopian counter offensive in South Arabia, helping the (miaphysite) king Hellesthaios
to re-establish the (miaphysite) Himyarite kingdom. Clearly to these authors, and in
these contexts, the support offered by Christian emperors was more important
than their theological orthodoxy. Symeon, a native of Persia, was later among
the Miaphysites who benefited from the protection of the Empress Theodora in
Constantinople. He spent most of his life fighting Nestorianism and, according to
John of Ephesus, his last great endeavour was to collect the confessions of faith of all
the Christian peoples and kingdoms on earth to prove to the Persian King Kawad
that Nestorianism was a deviant confession accepted only in Persia, and that the
rest of the Christians of the world shared the same faith and rejected it unanim-
ously. This suggests that the polarisation between Chalcedonian and Miaphysites
on one hand and Nestorians on the other was perceived, and fostered, by the Mia-
physites as well.34
I will come back to this point later. First, however, it is worth spending some
more time on John of Ephesus, who, on account of his prominence in sixth-century
historiography can be considered as Procopius’ and Evagrius’ miaphysite counterpart.
Not only the works of John of Ephesus, but his whole life is representative of the
complex, and even puzzling, religious and ecclesiastical dynamics in sixth-century
Byzantium. As Jan van Ginkel pointed out, a careful reading of John’s works allows
us to debunk some commonly accepted representations.35 The persecutions of the
Miaphysites in the first decades of the century, for instance, were not harsh at all,
they produced almost no martyrs and, all things considered, they boiled down to
the removal of miaphysite leaders in the cities and the intimidation of those in the
surrounding territories, without common people actually being touched.36 On the
other hand, the support and protection offered by Theodora to the Miaphysites
appears rather as a very smart way to keep the miaphysite dissidents under control,
to prevent them from causing trouble around.37 And if it is true that the Council of
536 and the following Novella 42 mark a fundamental watershed in the relationships
between Chalcedonians and anti-Chalcedonians, leading gradually to the creation
of a separate hierarchy from the 540s on,38 we still have to deal with the fact that in
542 John, one of the leading figures among the Miaphysites, began his missionary
activity in the eastern provinces sponsored, if not officially appointed, by Justinian
himself. John came in handy to Justinian not only to do away with the persisting
pockets of paganism in the provinces, but also to keep a link with the miaphysite
leaders, particularly in view of the Council of 553. And even after the Council, John
displays remarkable confidence at the end of the second part of his Ecclesiastical

34. On Symeon of Beth Arsham, see Bettiolo 2015, pp. 72-78.

35. Van Ginkel 1994; 2005.
36. However, see also Greatrex 2007, which offers a more balanced and in depth evaluation
of the role of the army in the implementation of Justin’s religious policy in the provinces
of the eastern frontier.
37. On the ambiguities and possible double effect of Theodora’s protection of the Miaphysites
see also Pazdernik 1994, p. 175.
38. On the development of an independent Syrian Orthodox hierarchy under Justinian, see
Menze 2008. On the fracture between the Miaphysites and the Roman empire on cultural
and identity level see Wood 2010.
 PROCOPIUS AND NON-CHALCEDONIAN CHRISTIANS: A LOUD SILENCE? • 103

History, being positive about the reunification of the two parties. Attempts at reconcili-
ation are attested also in the third part of the work, under the reign of Justin II,
namely a meeting in Callinicum in 568 and one more in 571, where Chalcedonians
and Syrian Orthodox repeatedly celebrated the eucharist together.39 Everyone
knows how the story ends for John, yet van Ginkel’s conclusion is that throughout
his whole life and in all his works, the Church was for him the Imperial Church, and
orthodoxy was for him indissolubly linked with the Roman State and with the Imperial
Church. He never envisaged a separate church, and reunification was not only possible
in his view, but necessary.
Miaphysites were not the only non-Chalcedonian Christians, however. The lack
of relevant contemporary East Syrian sources makes it more difficult to grasp all the
nuances of the relationships between the Imperial Church and East Syrian Christians
at the time of Justinian. Beside homilies, liturgical treatises, and saint lives in Syriac,
we just have the so-called Ecclesiastical History of Barhadbeshabba ‘Arbaya and Cosmas
Indicopleustes’ Topographia Christiana.
In Barhadbeshabba’s work, whose actual title is History of the holy fathers who were
persecuted for the sake of the truth and which was composed between the end of the
sixth and the beginning of the seventh century, the separation between the three
confessions appears already irreparably clear. Interestingly, in the account of the
Council of Ephesus the emperor and the patriarch of Constantinople are not presented
as fiercely opposed to Nestorius and his doctrine, but rather led astray, bewitched
almost, by the demonic Cyril of Alexandria, who eventually triumphed thanks to
schemes, ruses, and corruption.40 Later on, however, in the chapter dedicated to the
life of Abraham of Beth Rabban (d. 569), director of the theological School of Nisibis,
Barhadbeshabba recounts a dispute the holy man had at a distance with the emperor
(most likely Justinian), and presents Chalcedonians and Miaphysites, jointly labelled
as “the Roman people,” united by their hatred for him: “The Roman people hated him,
both the Synodites [i.e. the Chalcedonians] and the Syrians [i.e. the Miaphysites].”41
Although this passage seems to confirm the polarisation suggested by Chalcedonian
and Miaphysite sources, attempts at establishing a theological unity with the Church
of the East indeed occurred during the reign of Justinian. A certain Paul came to
Constantinople from Nisibis around 562, at the head of a delegation of theologians
invited by Justinian himself to discuss on faith matters. Of this talk we have testimonies
from both the Chalcedonian and the East Syrian side, which are equally biased but
confirm each other.42 In the Chalcedonian account, preserved in Syriac, Paul is called
‘Nestorian’, and a two-qnome (two hypostases) formula is explicitly ascribed to him.

39. On the optimistic mood and the lower tensions around the year 570s see also
Greatrex 2006; 2009.
40. Barhadbeshabba ‘Arbaya 23-25.
41. Barhadbeshabba ‘Arbaya 32. An English translation of this chapter is included in
Becker 2008, pp. 73-85.
42. A French translation of the Chalcedonian account, preserved in Syriac, is provided by
Guillaumont 1969-1970, pp. 62-65. On the East Syrian side the dispute is referred to in the
Chronicle of Seert, part 2.1, 32, see Wood 2013, pp. 135-137. The talks were apparently as
unsuccesful as the talks with the miaphysite bishops held in 532, of which as well
we have accounts from both sides, see Brock 1981.
104 • MARIA CONTERNO

Such a formula, however, does not appear in the christological confessions of the
sixth-century East Syrian synods:43 it would be fully developed and strengthened
only by Babai the Great at the end of the sixth/beginning of the seventh century.
Cosmas Indicopleustes, writing in Greek in Byzantine territory, had no problem
saying explicitly that he was a pupil of Mar Aba, who later became the catholicos
of the Church of the East (540-552). From Cosmas we know that Mar Aba had taught
in Alexandria, and that his disciple Thomas of Edessa died in Constantinople.44 East
Syrian Christians, therefore, not only travelled but preached within the empire, and
apparently they could even dwell undisturbed in the capital. Mar Aba was also a
teacher at the already mentioned School of Nisibis, where he himself had studied.
It is the same School of Nisibis that was highly praised by Junillus Africanus and
whose fame reached even Cassiodorus in the West.45 Junillus was Justinian’s quaestor
sacri palatii and he wrote a work on biblical exegesis, the Instituta regularia divinæ
legis, where he claims to be transmitting the teachings he found in the book of a
certain Paul the Persian, teacher of the School of Nisibis, whom he himself had
heard preaching on the Epistle to the Romans years before. Michael Maas and
Edward Mathews rightly argued, in the introduction to the edition of the Instituta,
that it would be misleading to identify straightforwardly the teachings of the School
of Nisibis with the doctrine of Theodore of Mopsuestia and Nestorius.46 Still, the
School of Nisibis was undoubtedly, like the School of Edessa before it, the main centre
of the spread of the Antiochene dyophisite christology in the East.47 Independently
of the specifics of Junillus’ theological stance, the very mention of the School of
Nisibis as a revered institution in a book on the interpretation of the Holy Scriptures
written around the middle of the sixth century by one of Justinian’s main officials
strongly suggests that between the Chalcedonians and the Christians of the East
there still was a viable theological common ground, and that East Syrian Christians
had undergone no (definitive) ‘demonization’ yet.
We should not forget that the whole anti-Nestorian rhetoric was very often used
by both Chalcedonians and Miaphysites as a tool to keep the delicate balance
between them – or as a weapon to destroy it. Therefore allusions to a Chalcedonian-
Miaphysite united front against the ‘Nestorians’ are less indicative of a general
hostile attitude of Byzantium against the Christians of the East than of the still
ongoing negotiations between Chalcedonians and anti-Chalcedonians. According to
Sebastian Brock, it was precisely the increasing presence of Miaphysites in Persian
territory caused by Justinian’s waves of persecution toward them that led East Syrian
Christians to entrench their dyophysite position at the end of the sixth century, and
to take it to the extreme level represented by the two-qnome formula to be found in
Babai’s Liber de Unione.48

43. Brock 1994, p. 76.

44. Cosmas Indicopleustes 2.2. On Mar Aba’s teachings and their influence on the Topographia
Christiana see Berti 2017.
45. Cassiodorus 1, pref. 1.
46. Maas 2003.
47. In the quoted chapter of Barhadbeshabba ‘Arbaya’s Ecclesiastical History (see supra, n. 33)
the dispute at a distance between Mar Abraham and the emperor grinds to a halt precisely
when it comes to the figures of Diodore of Tarsus, Theodore of Mopsuestia, and Nestorius.
48. Brock 1994, p. 76.
 PROCOPIUS AND NON-CHALCEDONIAN CHRISTIANS: A LOUD SILENCE? • 105

This short venture into sixth-century Chalcedonian and non-Chalcedonian sources

was aimed at illustrating how complex and multifaceted the relationships between
the Chalcedonians, the Miaphysites, and the Christians of the East still were at
Procopius’ time, a complexity that reflected not only Justinian’s repeated attempts
at triangulation, but the composite and evolving scenarios on the non-Chalcedo-
nian side as well. Listening to these different voices, we get the idea that the mutual
perceptions of the three groups were not necessarily uniform and well-defined, and
certainly were not univocally hostile and sectarian. They could, and indeed would,
change according to junctures, context, people involved, or even just rhetorical
needs. Against such a blurred backdrop, Procopius’ choice not to label nor single out
non-Chalcedonian Christians is maybe less surprising, as is the fact that in his works
they do not appear as communities with clearly identified contours.

Conclusions

The testimony of other sixth-century sources enables us to put Procopius’ silence

on non-Chalcedonian Christians into perspective, and prompts us to ask a different
set of questions: what does this silence tell us about Procopius’ society? What about
Procopius’ intended readers? Did they see such a silence as problematic as we do, or
maybe not? Did Procopius intentionally overlook, or play down, a rift in the society
that he already perceived as irreparably severe, or was the perception of Procopius
(and of the portion of society that Procopius represents) simply different from the
one that we have, in hindsight?
To be sure, the distance between Chalcedonians, Miaphysites, and Christians of
the East kept growing, but it would grow at different speeds in different times and
places, and if the point of no return was actually reached sometime in the sixth
century, that probably happened without most people realising it. It would be hard
otherwise to explain Heraclius’ efforts to bring back to the Imperial Church both the
Miaphysites and the Christians of the East at the beginning of the following century:
the attempt at finding a theological common ground with the anti-Chalcedonians
based on the doctrine of Christ’s unique energy, and the accord celebrated with
the catholicos of the Church of the East Isho‘yabh III in 630 parallel Justinian’s
neo-Chalcedonian turn and his talks with Paul the Persian in 562. The failure of both
of Heraclius’ endeavours leads to infer that the point of no return had long been
reached; their very happening and their initial success, though, confirm that it had
not been reached for everyone.
In the sixth century, the Christian landscape was still one of multilayered
communities, where the body of the faithful was not (or not yet) necessarily at one
with the leaders involved in the doctrinal disputes, on the Chalcedonian side as
much as among the Miaphysites and in the Church of the East; where monasteries
were just beginning to play the role of strongholds of one or the other doctrinal
position that later sources ascribe to them; where there were probably huge differences
in perception and attitude between city and countryside, not to say between the
capital and the provinces and among different provinces. Besides, in the sixth century
Christianity still had to deal with other, long-standing heretic groups and pockets of
paganism. In a recent article on the religiosity of sixth-century Byzantine historians,
Roger Scott provides an insightful comparison with later chroniclers (in particular
106 • MARIA CONTERNO

Theophanes and Kedrenos) and argues that the need for doctrinal correctness to be
part of history was a late development in Byzantine historiography.49 Referring in
particular to Malalas, Scott says that in the sixth century the triumph of Christianity
over paganism was the main focus, besides still being an item in the agenda. In the
narrative of the Christian victory over paganism, drawing attention to internal
theological dissent would have been a counterproductive distraction.50 By the ninth
century, however, Byzantine historians had a different look on the past, and the
triumph of Christianity was equated with the triumph of the orthodoxy sanctioned
by the Ecumenical Councils, proof of which was to be looked for in history.
The victory of Christianity over paganism was certainly not the main focus of
Procopius’ works, and yet he similarly seems to consider the theological disputes of
his own time an unnecessary distraction in a narrative where the Christian Empire
is the unquestioned protagonist. As Scott also makes clear, religious freedom was
not an option at Justinian’s time – and Procopius is not so shallow a historian as to
let his readers believe it was – but what ‘standard’ Christianity actually was had not
been unequivocally established either. The only clear-cut borders were precisely
those with paganism (in all its various forms and manifestations) and with those
long-standing heretical groups that were already deemed alien to the Christian
community. Non-Chalcedonian Christians are not absent from Procopius’ works:
they are implicitly situated within these borders, that is within the borders of the
Christian oecumene as it was perceived by him and (most of) his contemporaries.
Procopius did acknowledge the existence of internal breaches and ongoing disputes,
and he might even have devoted a whole separate treatise to them, but neglecting
them in his main works did not mean to him conveying a distorted, unfaithful, or
partial image of reality.
Procopius’ silence on non-Chalcedonian Christians probably sounds louder to us
than it did to his contemporaries. Listening to it with hindsight should not make us
deaf to the diversified religious sonority of the sixth century.

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