Robert Wiśniewski - The Beginnings of The Cult of Relics-Oxford University Press, USA (2019)

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T H E BE G I N N I N G S O F T H E C U L T O F R E L I C S
The Beginnings of the

Cult of Relics
R O B E R T W IŚ N IE WS K I
1
3
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© Robert Wiśniewski 2019
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To my wife Marta
Acknowledgements
The research for this book was possible thanks to the grant that I received
from the National Science Centre (Poland: Grant 2011/01/B/HS3/00736) and
also thanks to the Cult of Saints Project funded by grant from the European
Research Council and run by Bryan Ward-Perkins (ERC Advanced Grant
340540) but I am also grateful to other institutions which helped me to work
on several chapters of this book in a scholarly and comfortable atmosphere.
All Souls and Trinity colleges (Oxford), the Institute for Advanced Study at the
Central European University, the Kosciuszko Foundation, and the Lanckor-
oński Foundation granted me scholarships for research stays in Oxford,
Budapest, and Princeton.
Contents
List of Figures xi
Abbreviations xiii
Introduction 1
1. Prehistory and Early Chronology of the Cult of Relics 8
2. The First Miracles 27
3. Defenders of Cities 48
4. Relics and Divination 70
5. Burials ad Sanctos 83
6. Finding Relics 101
7. Touching Relics 122
8. Displaying and Seeing Relics 144
9. Dividing Relics 159
10. Discussions and Theology 180
11. Eastern, Western, and Local Habits in the Cult of Relics 203
Conclusions 214
Bibliography 219
Index 243
List of Figures
5.1 A tomb of unnamed saints in the church of the rue Malaval

(Marseilles), encircled by individual graves. Photo courtesy of
Manuel Moliner. 91
7.1 Tomb slab with libation holes (Rome). Marble, second century
(CIL 06.07010/1). Drawing by Magda Różycka. 128
7.2 Reliquary casket with the traces of a lock. Eastern Mediterranean,
sixth century. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art,
public domain. 135
7.3 Stone reliquary found in the apse of the southern nave of the
church in Hippos, Palestine (inv. St 00.14). The interior is divided
into three compartments, one of which contained a glass phial with
tiny particles of bones (inv. G 1008.01). Photo courtesy of Jolanta
Młynarczyk. 135
7.4 Marble slab over the tomb of St Paul in San Paulo fuori le
Mura (Rome), with openings leading to the sarcophagus.
Drawing by Magda Różycka. 136
7.5 Stone reliquary with an opening in the lid, discovered in the
southern pastophorium of the church in Hippos, Palestine
(inv. St 03.08). When found, the stick was still stuck in the opening.
Photo courtesy of Jolanta Młynarczyk. 138
8.1 Box with stones from the Holy Land (Vatican, Museo
Sacro 61883 ab). Photo © Governatorato SCV—Direzione dei Musei. 148
8.2 Silver casket, known as the Capsella of Brivio, with the representation
of the raising of Lazarus from the Musée du Louvre.
Photo © RMN-Grand Palais (Musée du Louvre)/Gérard Blot. 151
8.3 Capsella Africana. Vatican, Museo Sacro della Biblioteca Apostolica
(inv. no. 60859). Photo © Governatorato SCV—Direzione dei Musei. 152
8.4 Silver casket with the Cross flanked by Peter and Paul.
Photo © Toronto, Royal Ontario Museum. 153
11.1 Inside of the tomb of the saints from the church of rue Malaval
(Marseilles), with a bronze pipe through which oil was poured into
the tomb. Photo courtesy of Manuel Moliner. 208
Abbreviations
AASS Acta Sanctorum (Brussels)

BHG Bibliotheca Hagiographica Graeca (Brussels 1895, 1909², 1957³;
Bibliothecae Hagiographicae Graecae Actuarium, ed. F. Halkin
(Brussels, 1961)
BHL Bibliotheca Hagiographica Latina, Brussels 1949 (2nd edition);
Bibliothecae Hagiographicae Latinae Novum Supplementum, ed.
H. Fros (Brussels, 1986)
CCG Corpus Christianorum. Series Graeca (Turnhout)
CCL Corpus Christianorum. Series Latina (Turnhout)
CIL Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum (Berlin)
CSCO Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium (Leuven)
CSEL Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum (Vienna)
CSLA The Cult of Saints in Late Antiquity Database:
<http://csla.history.ox.ac.uk>
GCS Die Griechischen Christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten (drei)
Jahrhunderte (Berlin)
ILChV Inscriptiones Latinae Christianae Veteres, ed. E. Diehl, vols 13
(Berlin, 1961, 2nd edn)
LCL Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, MA, and London)
MGH AA Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Auctores Antiquissimi (Hanover)
MGH SRM Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Scriptores Rerum Merovingicarum
(Hanover)
OECT Oxford Early Christian Texts (Oxford)
PG Patrologiae Cursus Completus, series Graeca (Paris, 1844–55)
PL Patrologiae Cursus Completus Series Latina (Paris, 1841–9)
PLRE Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire, ed. A. H. M Jones,
J. R. Martindale, and J. Morris (Cambridge, 1971–92)
SC Sources chrétiennes (Paris)
SEG Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum (Amsterdam and Leiden)
SH Subsidia Hagiographica (Brussels)
Teubner Bibliotheca Teubneriana (Leipzig)
TU Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur
(Berlin)
Other abbreviations follow the sigla of L’Année philologique.
Introduction
This book is about the veneration of the bones of saints, about the belief in
their power, and about the ways of contact with them. The phenomenon
known as the cult of relics appeared in Christianity in the fourth century,
spread quickly, and became a common and almost obvious trait of Christian
piety. It was present in all currents of Christianity until the early modern
period, when the rejection of the cult of relics became a distinguishing feature
of the Reformed Churches. It is still one of the issues on which Catholics,
Orthodox, and ancient Eastern Christians differ from Protestants.¹ In the
modern world, however, this phenomenon hardly raises discussions similar
to those which are provoked by such questions as the priesthood of women or
papal primacy. Among those who do not venerate relics their cult may arouse
puzzlement, but rarely outrage. Some relics attract amused interest. The Holy
Prepuce, or the foreskin of Jesus, the milk of Mary, the two skulls of John the
Baptist (one of them when he was 8), or animal bones found in a reliquary,
mentioned at a lecture on late antique or medieval piety, invariably enliven the
audience, which usually expects more of the same (and often more does
follow). Beyond this amusement, however, there are usually questions: did
people really believe that these relics were true and held power able to heal the
sick, check the enemy, or appease the sea? Did they think that touching,
kissing, and, sometimes, eating relics was an act of piety? And if so, how did
this belief and these practices begin?
All these are important issues. The rise of the cult of relics was really an
astonishing phenomenon and the purpose of this book is to explain its
beginnings. It deals with such questions as: When exactly did the cult of relics
begin? How did it spread? How strong and common was it? What were the
relics expected to do? And what did people do with them? With the exception
of Chapter 1, which traces the prehistory of the cult of relics, the chapters that
¹ It was long believed that a similar attitude gained momentum during the Iconoclastic crisis,
but John Wortley convincingly argues that there is no reliable evidence of the hostility of
iconoclastic emperors toward relics: see Wortley, ‘Iconoclasm and Leipsanoclasm: Leo III,
Constantine V and the Relics’, in Wortley 2009, 253–79.
2 The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

follow deal with specific aspects of this phenomenon, and not with the
subsequent stages of its development. Chapters 2–5 are focused on beliefs,
Chapters 6–10 on practices. Chapter 11 addresses the question of how uniform
the cult of relics was.
Thus the construction of the book is thematic, but the study has been
founded upon a strong conviction that the cult of relics had its history² and
that in order to be understood, it must be studied with a constant awareness of
its chronology. This aspect of the research, seemingly obvious to a historian, is
often absent from studies dealing with the cult of relics. This phenomenon is
usually presented either as having existed in Christianity from the beginning,
at least in embryo, or as having appeared suddenly in Late Antiquity in its fully
mature form, like Athena who sprang fully grown and armed from the head of
Zeus. In consequence, snippets of evidence from the entire period c.300–600
(and even later) are often used to reconstruct the picture of this phenomenon,
on the assumption that they are pieces of the same puzzle. This assumption, if
not absurd, is hazardous. This book will show more than once that the cult of
relics exploded rather than developed, but also that not all of its elements
appeared at the same time, and we can trace the origins and evolution of at
least some of them.
In order to trace this development, this book takes a broad, but limited,
chronological perspective, examining the growth of the cult of relics until it
had gained a mature and stable form, which in most aspects took place before
the end of the fifth century, in others at the end of the sixth century. Only
occasionally will I refer to later evidence. This evidence comes from diverse
parts and languages of ancient Christianity, because this is the only way to
observe interactions within a still unified world, and to avoid easy judgements
about differences of custom between Eastern and Western Christendom.
The book is about the relics, that is, corporeal remains or other objects
connected with people considered to be saints. Their cult, however, can be
seen as a part of two wider phenomena, namely the cult of saints (which did
not always require relics) and the veneration of holy objects (which did not
have to be linked with saints). Consequently, the cult of saints will be con-
stantly present in the background, and frequently I will be asking questions
about the relations between the saints and their relics. Also, I will refer to other
sacred objects and places which people venerated and in whose power they
believed, both pagan, such as tombs of heroes, protecting statues, talismans,
and magical artefacts, and Christian, such as souvenirs from the Holy Land,
fragments of the True Cross, holy books, and sacred springs.
The term ‘relics’, which we come across in most modern European
languages, comes from the Latin reliquiae. In Late Antiquity this word was
² Brown 1981.
Introduction 3
widely used in reference to the remains of saints. It is important, however, to
say that this term, as well as its equivalents in other languages of ancient
Christendom, was not entirely technical. On the one hand, it could signify
remains of any man or woman; just as the term corpus, which was used
without distinction for the bodies of the dead, holy or not. On the other
hand, in the context of the cult of saints the word reliquiae covered an entire
spectrum of objects, from entire bodies to ashes, to strips of cloth which
touched the tombs of saints and which we usually qualify as contact relics.
Even more generic was the term memoriae, or souvenirs, which could be used
in reference to the shrines of martyrs, reliquaries, as well as corporeal and
contact relics of any sort, not to mention the feasts of saints. As we will see, this
usage reflects a widespread conviction that all these material remains can have
similar functions and power. Greek terminology was slightly more precise, as
it distinguished between bodily and contact relics. The former were called
leipsana (remains) or sōma (body); the latter were usually referred to as
eulogiai (blessings).³ In Syriac the standard terms for relics are pagrā (body)
and garmē (bones), minor relics were also referred to as margānītā (pearls),
and dust from the dwelling place or tomb of a saint, mixed with oil and water,
was called hnana (grace). In Coptic, whose religious vocabulary was based on
Greek, we usually come across the term psoma (Greek sōma, body). In
Georgian a standard word was nacili, in Armenian nšxar, both meaning
‘fragments’. The semantic fields of these terms did not overlap exactly, but
in all the regions of Christendom both corporeal remains of saints and contact
relics were objects of veneration. The objects which remained in physical
contact with saints in their lifetime or after death included pieces of cloth,
instruments of torture, or oil from lamps burning over their tombs. All were
considered to transfer the power which dwelt in the bodies of the saints.⁴ In
this book all these categories will be discussed, but special attention will be
paid to corporeal relics, because contact relics were considered their substi-
tutes, and because the new attitude to dead bodies was the most significant and
interesting change in late antique mentality.
Once it emerged, the cult of relics aroused some criticism, but much more
enthusiasm. Both attitudes were expressed in writings, although, as ultimately
³ The term eulogia covered not only various objects connected with saints, but also their hair
and nails: Antonius, Symeonis Stylitae Vita Graeca 29; Vita Symeonis Stylitae Iunioris 130.9,
232.24. The only passage known to me in which leípsana might signify contact relics is
Callinicus’ Vita Hypatii 8.4, which says that Flavius Rufinus deposited in Rouphinianai leípsana
of Peter and Paul. From what we know of the custom of the Church of Rome these leípsana must
have been non-corporeal remains (see pp. 134–5). This, however, is an isolated testimony;
moreover, it seems that Callinicus, who wrote a century after the dedication of this shrine,
simply did not know what sort of relics it possessed.
⁴ See e.g. Vita Danielis Stylitae 82; Gerontius, Vita Melaniae 69; Gregory of Tours, Histor-
iarum libri 4.36.

all the doubts were rejected, the enthusiasts had much more chance to leave a
trace in the evidence. Relics appear quite often in late antique literature. We
can obviously find them in hagiography, but they are also mentioned in other
narrative sources and other literary genres. Preachers refer to their power,
pilgrims note the places in which they were deposited, and authors of letters
write about sending them to their correspondents. Occasional mentions can
be found also in other writings in any language of ancient Christianity. This
evidence makes it possible to construct a literary history of relics. It is
necessary, however, to emphasize that in this book, in the reconstruction of
beliefs and practices concerning relics, the chronology of the sources will be
followed much more closely than that of the events they describe: a sixth-
century author describing a supposedly fourth-century custom will be con-
sidered a witness of his own times rather than of the fourth century. The bulk
of the textual evidence studied in this book, drawn from every genre and
language of late antique literature, is quite well known to scholars, and only
rarely will I have occasion to analyse texts not quoted in earlier studies, but my
essential aim is not to bring out new sources, but rather to ask new questions
or propose new answers.
Being a historian by training I am more at ease when working with textual
evidence. But the cult of relics left many material traces which must be studied
carefully; otherwise the picture of the phenomenon will be not just incomplete,
but simply false. It is only the papyrological evidence, for instance, that shows
a form of divination which consisted in drawing lots close to the graves of
saints; it is only epigraphy that attests the presence of relics of Peter and Paul
in Africa; it is the material evidence that permits us to trace the evolution of
the physical access to relics. Last but not least, while the corpus of the textual
evidence is more or less closed, the amount of accessible material evidence is
still growing. Of course, material evidence cannot be considered to be a
window through which we can easily see the world as it really was. First, the
dating of this evidence is often uncertain and so it is difficult to use it in
reconstructing the dynamics of the development of the phenomenon. Secondly,
the interpretation of the archaeological finds is very often difficult. A flacon of
perfume, for instance, and an ampoule with the blood of a martyr look very
much the same. Thirdly, while archaeological evidence is essential for under-
standing practices, one has to be cautious in using it to reconstruct beliefs.
Graves found around a tomb of a martyr show that people wanted to be buried
close to the saints, but they do not say why. Having all this in mind, I have
tried to follow the fairly obvious methodological postulate of using all kinds of
accessible evidence, keeping in mind limits and traps proper to each of them.
The cult of relics started to attract scholarly interest already in the early
modern period, when the cult of saints became an object of lively discussion
between the Catholics and Protestants. The latter considered it an apparent
result of a swift ‘paganization’ of post-Constantinian Christianity; the former,
Introduction 5
its nearly original feature. This discussion was usually led cum ira et studio, but
it did inspire serious research. At the beginning of the seventeenth century, the
Bollandist Society, a group of Jesuit scholars, laid the foundations for the
critical study of hagiography, providing us with critical editions and tools to
study the textual evidence of the cult of saints.⁵ At the beginning of the
twentieth century, Hippolyte Delehaye, a member of this learned society,
began to study the cult itself.⁶ The interest in this phenomenon grew even
stronger in the last quarter of the twentieth century, not only among the
Bollandists. André Grabar, Gilbert Dagron, Alba Maria Orselli, to name just a
few, studied particular cults, types of cults and cult-sites, and specific aspects of
cult. A strong boost for those studies came from the book of Peter Brown, The
Cult of the Saints, published in 1981, which argued that this phenomenon was
not just a new manifestation of a perennial popular religion, but developed in
specific historical conditions and as such could be an object of historical
research. Brown analysed the situation in the Latin West. Since then several
authors have focused their interest on particular regions of the late antique
world. Yvette Duval and Victor Saxer studied the cult of saints in Latin Africa,
Arietta Papaconstantinou in Egypt, Brigitte Beaujard in Gaul, John Wortley
in Constantinople, and Elisabeth Key Fowden the sanctuary of St Sergius in
Resapha. Pierre Maraval presented an extensive survey on pilgrimage sites in
the East, most of which were related to the cult of saints.
All these studies paid considerable attention to relics. However, since the
relics were not the main object of their analysis, certain questions, for example
concerning physical contact with relics, dividing bodies of saints, development
of faith in the protective power of relics, differences between West and East,
either have not been asked or did not produce satisfactory answers. The
studies dealing specifically with relics are few. In one of them Arnold Ange-
nendt examined the development of the cult of relics from the beginning until
the early modern era. However, Late Antiquity was for him just a prehistory
for the period he was most interested in.⁷ Andreas Hartmann studied the
attitude toward physical, although not necessarily corporeal, remains of heroes
and other important people in the whole of classical Antiquity, but stopped in
the fourth century, and did not deal with the Christian cult of relics.⁸ Both
works can be useful in providing parallels and later developments, but their
centres of gravity lie firmly outside the period I am studying.
Interestingly, more research has been done on reliquaries than on relics.
Helmut Buschhausen, Alexander Mintschev, Galit Noga-Banai, Anja Kalinowski,
Ayse Aydin, and Cynthia Hahn studied diverse types of ‘relic-containers’, but
the evidence which they have collected has made it possible to study the cult
⁵ For the history of the Bollandists, see Godding et al. 2007.

⁶ Delehaye 1933 (the first edition was published in 1912). ⁷ Angenendt 1994.
⁸ Hartmann 2010.

of relics much more systematically than before. This interest in the material
aspect of the cult of relics is growing stronger in recent scholarship. Alan
Thacker and Anne-Marie Yasin showed how relics organized space of late
antique churches. Julia Smith focused on the access to and physical contact
with relics, asking several question to which I am trying to find answers,
focusing on a slightly earlier period than the one which is the primary object
of her research.
The studies of the authors named above provide the evidence without which
the present book could have hardly been written. Even more importantly,
while now and again the following <print only>pages will engage in a polemic
with specific theses presented in these studies, the ideas that I found in them
made me think about issues that otherwise I would not have been aware of.
This book was written in many places and it would not have been written at
all without the friendly encouragement, help, and criticism of many people to
whom I want to express my gratitude. My interest in the religious phenomena
of late antique Christianity has been developing for years at the late antique
seminar convened at the University of Warsaw by Ewa Wipszycka, the first
person who taught me how to study the saints. At her seminar a group of
friends and colleagues, historians, archaeologists, papyrologists, epigraphists,
and Roman jurists have always been eager to discuss any issue concerning
martyrs and holy monks, their tombs, cults, and corporeal remains. To this
group belong Stanisław Adamiak, Tomasz Derda, Paweł Janiszewski, Elżbieta
Jastrzębowska, Adam Łajtar, Krystyna Stebnicka, Jakub Urbanik, Adam Ziółk-
owski, and many others whose questions and remarks have often had a
profound impact on my research. The idea of writing this book emerged
when I was giving a series of lectures on the early cult of relics in Paris at
the École Pratique des Hautes Études, at the invitation of Bernard Flusin. I had
many occasions to talk either after the lectures or at the Centre d’Histoire et
Civilisation de Byzance with Bernard and also Monique Alexandre, Béatrice
Caseau, Estelle Cronnier, Vincent Déroche, and Catherine Jolivet-Levy. Most
chapters of this book have been either written or presented during my stays in
Oxford, first in Trinity College and then in All Souls. Enjoying all the
privileges, but unencumbered by any usual obligations, of the fellows of
these colleges, I had a lot of time to read, think, talk, and write. Oxford, with
its several late antique seminars gathering every week, has a number of
scholars most happy to talk about relics, and attracts many more from all
over the world. Let me name just a few of them. My special thanks go to Bryan
Ward-Perkins, whose friendship and support helped me to complete this book
and whose quickly developing enthusiasm for the study of the cult of saints
resulted in establishing a research group working on this phenomenon. The
members of this group, Nikoloz Aleksidze, Julia Doroszewska, David Lambert,
Sergey Minov, Paweł Nowakowski, Arietta Papaconstantinou, Fran Murray,
Matthieu Pignot, Geza Shenke, Marta Szada, Efthymios Rizos, David Taylor,
Introduction 7
Marta Tycner, Theo van Lint, Marijana Vuković, and Katarzyna Wojtalik, will
easily find in the following pages a number of references and suggestions
which I owe them. There are also other people at Oxford who hosted me at
seminars, or lunches, eagerly talking about relics: Phil Booth, Kate Cooper, Jaś
Elsner, Ine Jacobs, James Howard-Johnston, George Kazan, Conrad Leyser,
Neil McLynn, and especially Julia Smith are among them. In other places of
the world parts of this book have been discussed with Philippe Blaudeau, Peter
Brown, Bożena Iwaszkiewicz-Wronikowska, Gábor Klaniczay, William Kling-
shirn, Johan Leemans, AnneMarie Luijendijk, Peter Van Nuffelen, and Mari-
anne Sághy. Needless to say, this list is far from being complete. It does not
contain those with whom I rarely talked about relics, but whose sympathy and
support I have felt in my academic life, who copied for me articles, replaced
me at classes, and discussed topics which, seemingly not connected directly
with my research, turned out to be to be essential for informing my thinking
about Late Antiquity. Two persons have to be named for providing material
support: Manuel Moliner and Jolanta Młynarczyk very generously shared with
me images of most interesting reliquaries found during the excavations at
Hippos and Marseilles. My very special thanks go to my former students in
Warsaw, to whom I am deeply indebted for their curiosity, questions, ideas,
and sympathy. Out of them I have to name Katarzyna Parys, Maria Więck-
owska, and Bogna Włodarczyk, who, over a dozen years ago, enthusiastically
started to translate with me Jerome’s Against Vigilantius, a most malicious
treatise attacking an adversary of the cult of relics, thus giving a strong boost to
my interest in this phenomenon and showing me that it can be interesting for
others. Last but not least, I am deeply grateful to Damian Jasiński and, once
again, Bryan Ward-Perkins, who, with patience and good humour, made my
English readable, and to Jackie Pritchard, the copy-editor of this book, who
kept me from messing it up again and saved me from several errors.
Prehistory and Early Chronology

of the Cult of Relics
This book will argue that in the mid-fourth century Christianity witnessed an
entirely new phenomenon: in the space of no more than one generation,
people born into a society which accorded due respect to the physical remains
of the dead, but nonetheless commonly shuddered at the very thought of
touching them, came to seek physical closeness to the bodies of martyrs in the
newly formed belief that these were endowed with a supernatural power. This
new phenomenon, however, had not come out of nothing. Certain features of
Christianity preconditioned the emergence of the cult of relics, even if they
did not lead on their own to its rise. Some of them, such as admiration for the
martyrs and the belief in the resurrection of the body, can be traced back
to the very early period of Christian history. Others, such as the beliefs in
the sanctity and power of certain material objects and places as well as in the
intercession of the saints, developed at later dates but still before the mid-
fourth century.
There is one other reason which makes me focus in this chapter on a more
distant past. The bulk of the evidence for the cult of relics dates back to the
period starting in the 350s, but there are sources which seem to suggest that at
least some elements of this phenomenon may have appeared earlier. The
sources in question might even indicate that we are dealing with beliefs and
practices for which our surviving evidence is relatively late, but which were
actually present in Christian religiosity from a very early date. In this chapter
I will analyse these pieces of evidence in order to see which features of the cult
of relics can be traced to the pre-Constantinian period. Then, I will discuss the
fourth-century evidence of the emerging phenomenon up to the 360s. This
evidence, presented in chronological order, will demonstrate when the new
beliefs and practices started to appear. The trigger mechanism of the shift in
mentality—the shift that marks the beginning of the cult of relics—will be
discussed in Chapter 2.
Prehistory and Early Chronology 9
THE BIBLICAL BACKGROUND
Before we turn to the evidence concerning the second and third centuries, it is
important to refer to the scriptural background of the cult of relics. It will serve
not so much to study an early phase of its development, for there is hardly any
continuity in this respect between biblical times and Late Antiquity, but to see
what the late antique reader could have found in the texts normative for
Christian beliefs and customs.
The cult of relics, as a regular practice, is absent from the Bible, but a few
intriguing passages could have provided a scriptural justification for this
phenomenon. First of all, two short Old Testament episodes seem to show
that the bones of prophets could have been endowed with special power.
According to the First Book of Kings, a man instructed his sons to bury him
in the tomb of the prophet who had foretold the fall of the sanctuary in Bethel.
He gave the following reason for this:
lay me by his bones, that my bones may be preserved with his bones. For the word
will surely come to pass which he spoke by the word of the Lord against the altar
in Bethel, and against the high houses in Samaria.¹
The words in italics can be found only in the Septuagint and in its Latin
translation known as the Vetus Latina. They are absent from Jerome’s Vulgate
(and likewise from the modern translations based on the Masoretic Hebrew
text). Still, late antique Christians knew this passage in the version quoted
above. However, the sequel of the story, which can be found in the Second
Book of Kings,² shows that if the bones of the prophet actually survived the
destruction of Bethel, it did not happen because they had any sort of intrinsic
power. The reason was that King Josiah, who demolished the schismatic
sanctuary and the surrounding graves, decided not to destroy the tomb of
the prophet who had foretold his deed. Thus, the phrase read in context does
not really testify to a belief in the supernatural power of the prophet’s body
and nothing suggests that late antique Christians should have thought
otherwise.³
A more relevant passage can be found in the Second Book of Kings:
And Elisha died, and they buried him. And the bands of the Moabites came into
the land, at the beginning of the year. And it came to pass as they were burying a
man, that behold, they saw a band [of men], and they cast the man into the grave
of Elisha: and as soon as he touched the bones of Elisha, he revived and stood up
on his feet.⁴
¹ 1 Kings 13:31–2. ² 2 Kings 23:15–18.

³ This can be seen in the results of the search in the Biblia Patristica, the index of scriptural
quotations in late antique literature, now accessible online: <http://www.biblindex.info>.
⁴ 2 Kings 13:20–1 (Septuagint).

This episode strongly suggests that the healing power remained in the bones of
the famous prophet who had performed diverse miracles in his lifetime. Even
if there is no other passage like this in the Old Testament, these words were
read as a testimony to the power of the relics of saints. Such a reading of this
passage, however, appears only at the end of the fourth century; earlier authors
consider this story to be true and interesting, but isolated, and do not expect a
similar thing to happen again.⁵
In the New Testament we can hardly find a suggestion that the physical
remains of any person could hold any sort of supernatural power, of course
with the important exception of the resurrected body of Christ, which, how-
ever, can hardly be qualified as a relic. Yet two episodes mention a kind of
contact relic. A woman having an issue of blood is healed having touched
Jesus’ garment, and ‘handkerchiefs and aprons’ of Paul the Apostle cure
illnesses and chase away evil spirits.⁶ Of course, neither of these passages
tells about the power of a dead body and, as we will see later on, for over
two centuries following the composition of the New Testament, we cannot see
any continuity in the practice of touching the clothes of holy people in the
hope of regaining health which would date back to apostolic times. Still, this is
an important piece of evidence, as it testifies to the existence of a belief that
miraculous power can be transmitted in a physical way—such a belief was
indeed essential for the development of the cult of relics. In this short section,
however, I have covered all instances of biblical references to relics—or rather
the list of biblical passages which came to be used with reference to the cult of
relics only after the phenomenon in question was already well in place.
P R E- C O N S T A N T I N I A N CHRI S TIANITY: FOU R C AS E S
For post-New Testament Christianity of the second and third centuries we

have no record of an established custom of unearthing the bodies of martyrs or
looking for healing at their graves. Yet, as has been said above, there are a few
pieces of evidence which date back or at least refer to this period and tell about
episodes which strangely resemble the practices of the later centuries. Their
credibility, interpretation, and significance have to be examined.
The first passage calling for a reflection in this context comes from the
Martyrdom of Polycarp, bishop of Smyrna, who was burnt at the stake around
⁵ For the late fourth century, see e.g. Ambrose, De excessu fratris Satyri 2.83; earlier authors:
Origen, In Leviticum homiliae 3.3; Athanasius, De patientia 6; for other quotations, see Biblia
Patristica.
⁶ Mark 5:25–34, Acts 19:12.

the middle of the second century. In the closing paragraphs of the Martyrdom
we read the following:
Thus we later picked up his bones, which are dearer than precious stones and
finer than gold, and laid them to rest where it was appropriate. The Lord will
grant that we, as far as we can, shall gather there in joy and gladness, and celebrate
the birthday of his martyrdom, both in remembrance of those who have already
fought the contest, and for the training and preparation of those who will do so in
the future.⁷
The author of the Martyrdom of Polycarp presents himself as an eyewitness.
Yet the dating of this text, and particularly of the quoted passage, has given rise
to some vigorously discussed controversies. Some scholars considered the
entire account to be a third-century composition, while others thought that
the passage in question was interpolated in the third century, still others
believed that it was a genuine account, written shortly after Polycarp’s
death.⁸ For our purpose, it is important to say that whenever the Martyrdom
of Polycarp was written, at the beginning of the fourth century Eusebius of
Caesarea quoted it in the form cited above, so we are dealing with a testimony
which certainly pre-dates the development of the phenomenon in the mid-
fourth century, although it is not entirely clear by how much.
The discussion on the dating of the passage dealing with Polycarp’s burial
has been closely connected with the debate on the beginning of the cult of
relics. Those who propounded the theory of its early start take it as a strong
argument in favour of their view, while their adversaries consider it to be an
interpolation. However, the question which needs to be asked in this context is
whether the attitude of the author to the body of the martyr was really
different from the traditional Greek attitude toward the bodies of heroes
who died in combat. Christians did not invent respect for and care of the
bodies of the dead, especially of those who died a heroic death. Such an
attitude was entirely normal not just among the Jews, Greeks, and Romans,
but also in most civilizations that we know of. It suffices to mention all the
pains that were taken to recover the precious bodies of those who fell in battle
described in the Iliad. One has to be cautious and refrain from interpreting
every single manifestation of respect paid to the deceased as a sign of the cult
of relics. True, the author in question not only tells about the care for the body
of the bishop, but also announces that the anniversary of his martyrdom will
be celebrated at his tomb. Still, nothing suggests that he believed that Poly-
carp’s remains would be at any point taken out of the grave or, even more
⁷ Martyrium Polycarpi 18 (trans. E. Rizos). See also the record in the Cult of Saints in Late
Antiquity database: E. Rizos, CSLA E00087.
⁸ See the discussion and bibliography in the record quoted above and especially
Campenhausen 1957, who considers the passage to be interpolated, and Dehandschutter 1993,
who argues it is original.

importantly, become a source of miraculous power. And this, as we will see in
Chapter 2, was the essential trait of the new attitude toward the remains of the
martyrs: in the fourth century martyrs ceased to be seen as mere examples to
be imitated, and became depositaries of miraculous powers able to chase away
demons, heal the sick, reveal hidden things, protect communities, punish the
impious, and remit sins.⁹
The second piece of evidence which might suggest that Christians sought
physical contact with the bodily remains of martyrs before the fourth century
comes from the apocryphal Acts of Thomas, which date back to the early third
century.¹⁰ This is what their anonymous author says in the epilogue:
And it happened after a long time [after the death of Judas Thomas] that one of
the sons of king Mazdai had a devil, and no man was able to bind him, because he
was very violent. And king Mazdai thought in his mind and said: ‘I will go [and]
open the grave of Judas, and take one of the bones of the Apostle of God, and will
hang it upon my son, and he will be healed’ . . . And he did not find the bones, for
one of the brethren had taken them secretly and conveyed them to the West. And
king Mazdai took [some] of the dust of the spot where the bones of the Apostle
had lain and hung it upon his son, and said: ‘I believe in Thee, my Lord Jesus, now
that he hath left me, who always troubleth men that they may not see the light’.
And when he had hung [it] upon his son and believed, he was healed.¹¹
There are several intriguing elements in this story: the transfer of the body
from India, where the Apostle died, to the West; the miraculous power of the
bones and dust from the grave, and the practice of touching relics. Of course,
one has to remember that the apocryphal acts of Apostles are a very peculiar
literary genre that depicted a world destined to excite wonder, a world in
which the Apostles baptize lions, dogs speak in human voices, and St Peter
brings back to life a dried herring. The religious behaviour described in such
texts does not necessarily reflect actual practice. Still, the evidence is puzzling.
This passage, however, although present both in the Greek and Syriac versions
of the text, can hardly be part of its third-century layer. Apocrypha were
extremely susceptible to diverse redactional interventions and neither version
of the Acts of Thomas in their present form can be deemed original.¹² The
passage quoted above is placed at the end of the text, the part most easily
affected by interpolations. Indeed, the preceding chapter of the Acts ends with
the Apostle’s martyrial death, which, however, does not put an end to, but
gives momentum to the development of his Church: ‘And the Lord wrought
with them, and many were added unto the faith,’ says the author. This sounds
very much like the last sentence of the story. The last chapter seems to have
been added later, and it is quite easy to show why and when this happened.
⁹ Pietri 1991. ¹⁰ Klijn 2003, 15.

¹¹ Acts of Thomas 170, trans. Klijn 2003. ¹² Tissot 1981.

The essential information which this chapter brings is that of the transfer of
the powerful body of the Apostle to the West. The text is not specific about the
place of its deposition, but we know that the body of Thomas was venerated in
Edessa, where the Acts were most probably written. Interestingly, the evidence
of the tomb of Thomas in Edessa is quite late. Eusebius, who wrote in his
Church History in the 320s about the mission of Thomas in Parthia, does not
seem to know about the transfer of his body to Edessa, a city which he
otherwise mentioned on several occasions.¹³ The story of the transfer is
attested for the first time only in the 360s or 370s by the Syriac writer Ephrem
of Nisibis. In his Hymn 42 he puts the following lamentation in the mouth of
the devil:
The merchant brought the bones: nay, rather! they brought him. Lo, the mutual
gain!
What profit were they to me, while theirs was the mutual gain? Both brought
me loss.
Who will show me the casket of Iscariot, whence courage I derived?
But the casket of Thomas is slaying me, for a hidden power there residing,
tortures me.¹⁴
The crucial element of the story told by the Acts, that of the transfer and power
of Thomas’ bones, is evidently here. Only slightly later, in 384, the Apostle’s
tomb in Edessa was visited by the pilgrim Egeria.¹⁵ The story from the last
chapter of the Acts of Thomas thus appeared most probably between the times
of Eusebius and those of Ephrem and Egeria. It was an important period, in
which Edessa contrived its early Christian history. Later on, we will see
another element of this plan, namely a new version of the letter sent by Christ
to King Abgar. This new version, which also appeared in Edessa between the
times of Eusebius and Egeria, was to guard the city and keep its enemies at
bay.¹⁶ It is difficult to overlook a similar function for Thomas’ tomb and
Christ’s letter: both elevated Edessa to the status of a truly Apostolic Church,
protected by divine power against the Persian armies and the hosts of demons.
The aforementioned epilogue of the Acts of Thomas was probably part of
this new historical policy. It was added because some explanation was needed
of why the tomb of the Apostle who, as the Acts clearly stated, had been active
and died in India was venerated in Edessa. We cannot say when exactly it
happened, but the 350s–360s seems to be a reasonable guess, considering
that the earliest safely dated testimonies to belief in the power of relics date
back to those two decades. It is quite certain that we are not dealing with a
third-century story.
¹³ Thomas and Parthia: Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 3.1.1.

¹⁴ Ephrem, Hymnus 42.2 (trans. J. T. S. Stopford). ¹⁵ Egeria, Itinerarium 17.1 and 19.2.
¹⁶ See pp. 64–5.

The two episodes that follow which might be used to illustrate a pre-
Constantinian interest in relics come from the West. The first of these is set
in Rome and concerns the bodies of the Apostles Peter and Paul. In late
antique evidence we come across stories about the attempted and aborted
transfer of their relics which supposedly took place in the middle of the third
century. This extremely interesting, although confusing dossier consists of a
few elements.
The oldest of them is a wall in the so-called triclia, or banquet hall, at the
Catacombs of St Sebastian, on the Via Appia, south-east of Rome. The wall is
covered with graffiti invoking both Apostles. One of them can be dated to the
year 260, and since it was written over an older graffito of the same kind, the
practice of making them must have started earlier, although probably not
earlier than the middle of the third century.¹⁷ The inscriptions bear testimony
to a cult of the Apostles which consisted in asking them for prayer and having
a meal (refrigerium) in their honour. The epigraphic evidence does not explain
why this practice developed in this specific place, at a distance from the tomb
of Peter on the Vatican Hill and that of Paul on the Via Ostiense.
The second piece of evidence is an entry in the Depositio Martyrum, or the
earliest extant Christian calendar. It is preserved in the so-called Chronogra-
phy of 354, but was most probably composed earlier in the fourth century.¹⁸
Under the third day before the Kalends of July, that is on 29 June, it mentions
a commemoration of ‘Peter in the Catacombs and Paul, on the Via Ostiense’.
The feast of Paul on the Via Ostiense is obvious,¹⁹ but that of Peter at the
Catacombs is puzzling. The Catacombs mentioned in this entry are certainly
those of St Sebastian, for that was the place called Ad Catacumbas, which only
subsequently gave its name to other underground cemeteries. Interestingly,
unlike other entries in the calendar, this one gives not only the day of the
celebration, but also the year, ‘during the consulate of Tuscus and Bassus’,
that, is AD 258. Most disappointingly, it does not say anything about what
happened on that day.
The third piece of evidence is a monumental inscription from the same
Catacombs of St Sebastian. Its author was Pope Damasus (366–84), who
placed several epigrams commemorating the saints in suburban martyria
and cemeteries. The one at St Sebastian’s begins thus: ‘Here the saints abided
previously. You ought to know this, whoever you are, you who seek equally the
names of Peter and Paul’ (Hic habitasse prius sanctos cognoscere debes, nomina
quisque Petri pariter Paulique requiris).²⁰ It has been widely discussed whether
the word habitare referred to an otherwise unattested stay of the Apostles in
this place or to the deposition of their relics. Recently, David Eastman has
¹⁷ Marichal 1962. For the role of this place, see Jastrzębowska 1981.
¹⁸ Burgess 2012, 381–2. ¹⁹ See Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 2.25.7.
²⁰ Damasus, Epigrammata 20.

proposed a new solution of the problem, drawing attention to the word hic
(‘here’), which in his opinion refers to Rome in general and not to the specific
place in which the inscription was written, thus dissociating the Catacombs
and the physical presence of Peter and Paul, dead or alive.²¹ This hypothesis is
difficult to prove, but even if it is so, the Damasan inscription shows at best
what some people in the fourth century thought about the history of this place.
The fourth piece of evidence is the Martyrdom of St Sebastian, dating
probably from the mid-fifth century, in which the martyr, who died in 258,
expresses his wish to be buried ‘at the Catacombs, next to the vestiges of the
Apostles’ (ad catacumbas . . . iuxta vestigia apostolorum), which may suggest
that in the mid-third century the bodies of Peter and Paul rested by the
Via Appia.²²
The fifth piece of evidence is the ending of the fifth-century Syriac Acts of
Sharbel, a martyr at Edessa. Its author sets Sharbel’s martyrdom in the times of
Fabian, bishop of Rome (AD 250), and describes an episode from his episcopate
strangely unrelated to the main storyline. He claims that when Rome was
affected by famine, its inhabitants decided to expel all the foreigners from the
city, but allowed them to take their dead away with them. The foreigners
declared that they would depart, but with the bodies of Peter and Paul, for the
Apostles had also been foreigners in Rome.
And when the people of Rome knew that this matter was so, then they left them
[to do it]. And when they had taken them [i.e. the Apostles’ relics] up and were
removing them from their places, immediately there was a great earthquake, and
the buildings of the city were on the point of falling down, and the city was near
being overthrown. And when the people of Rome saw it, they turned and
besought the strangers to remain in their city, and that the bones might be laid
in their places. And when the bones of the Apostles were returned to their places,
there was quiet, and the earthquakes ceased, and the winds became still, and the
air became bright, and that whole city became cheerful.²³
This is the earliest source which mentions an aborted transfer of the relics of
the Apostles in Rome, placing it around the middle of the third century. It does
not say from where exactly the bodies were removed.
The sixth piece of evidence is a letter of Pope Gregory the Great to the
Empress Constantina. It refuses to comply with her request to send to Con-
stantinople the ‘head of saint Paul or some other part of his body’.²⁴ When
explaining his position, Gregory says that some Greeks already tried to transfer
the bodies of the Apostles directly after their death, and went with them as far
as to the Catacombs. There they were stopped by a thunderstorm, and the
²¹ Eastman 2011, 94–109, with references to the earlier discussion.

²² Passio S. Sebastiani 88; see Cooper 1999, 310–13.
²³ Martyrdom of Sharbel (trans. B. P. Pratten, pp. 61–2; modified by S. Minov: CSLA E01943).
²⁴ Gregory the Great, Epistula IV 30 (trans. J. Barmby).

bodies were carried back to Rome. This supposedly took place in a period
much earlier than the mid-third century, but Gregory mentions the very
place named in the Depositio Martyrum and where the inscriptions invoking
the Apostles were found, namely the Catacombs of St Sebastian.
On the basis of this evidence, at the end of the nineteenth century, Louis
Duchesne hypothesized that around the middle of the third century the bodies
of the Apostles were taken out of their tombs and transferred to the Cata-
combs. Duchesne thought that this was done in order to protect them in the
midst of the persecutions of Valerian, which started in 257.²⁵ This claim is not
substantiated in an explicit manner by any single source on its own, but it is
indeed striking that our evidence attests to some movement of the relics of the
Apostles, signals an event connected with their cult in the 250s, and points to
the Catacombs of St Sebastian. The supposition that the transfer indeed took
place and was prompted by the edict of Valerian, who forbade Christians from
‘assembling or entering what are called koimētēria’, cannot be dismissed as
absurd. Éric Rebillard convincingly argues that the word koimētēria referred
not to the Christian cemeteries in general, but specifically to the tombs of the
martyrs.²⁶ Still, no source mentions any acts of destruction or desecration of
Christian burial places during that persecution, and so the decision to transfer
the bones of the Apostles looks somewhat overdramatic, all the more so as it is
not clear why the Catacombs would have been safer than the Vatican and the
cemetery on the Via Ostiense. In all, it is not possible to determine whether
any transfer of the relics took place in the 250s. Indeed, another solution to
this problem has been proposed. Henry Chadwick turned attention to yet
another piece of literary evidence, namely a passage from the Liber Pontificalis
according to which ‘at the request of a certain lady Lucina, he [Bishop
Cornelius] took up the bodies of the Apostles saints Peter and Paul from the
Catacombs at night’ and deposited them respectively on the Vatican and the
Via Ostiense.²⁷ This may be a late testimony to a tradition of the Catacombs as
the original place of the burial of the Apostles. This tradition, which is also
attested in later itineraria, did not have to date back to the first century.
Chadwick argues that the competing localization of Peter’s and Paul’s burials
on the Via Appia might have emerged as late as the third century in a
dissenting group in the Church of Rome.
In all, the transfer of the bodies of the Apostles is only one of the possible
explanations of the puzzling dossier of the shrine Ad Catacumbas. Even more
importantly, if the transfer indeed took place, it probably did not aim to
bring the sacred objects to a specific place. The relics were to be given
²⁵ Duchesne in the Liber Pontificalis, vol. 1, pp. civ–cvii.

²⁶ Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 7.13.3; Rebillard 2009, 3–6.
²⁷ Liber Pontificalis 22.4 (trans. R. Davis); Chadwick 1957.

protection; they were not supposed to be a means of protection. Interestingly,
in Rome, a vague memory of this transfer, true or false, was used to promote
the idea of the non-transferability of relics: both texts which mention the
transfer claim that it was an intervention of God that put an end to it. Thus,
the dossier quoted above cannot attest to a cult of relics at such an early date.
However, its epigraphical part, datable to the 250s and 260s, is the earliest
attestation of the phenomenon which was essential for its development,
namely the belief in the intercession of the Apostles. We are not dealing
here with a cult of relics, but we are probably witnessing the early beginnings
of the cult of saints.
The last episode appearing in scholarly debates about the beginnings of the
cult of relics is the story of Lucilla of Carthage, a devout and wealthy lady who
played a significant role in the emergence of the Donatist schism after the end
of the Diocletianic persecution.²⁸ Using her money and influence, she sup-
posedly induced a group of African bishops to reject the election of the
archdeacon Caecilian as bishop of Carthage, and to entrust this office to a
certain Maiorinus, a member of her own household. Optatus of Milevis, when
describing these events in his anti-Donatist treatise, explained Lucilla’s aver-
sion to Caecilian thus:
No-one is unaware that this took place in Carthage after the ordination of
Caecilian, and indeed through some factious woman or other called Lucilla,
who, while the Church was still tranquil and the peace had not yet been shattered
by the whirlwinds of persecution, was unable to bear the rebuke of the archdeacon
Caecilian. She was said to kiss (libare) the bone of some martyr or other—if, that
is, he was a martyr—before the spiritual food and drink, and, since she preferred to
the saving cup the bone of some dead man, who if he was a martyr had not yet
been confirmed as one, she was rebuked, and went away in angry humiliation.²⁹
Scholars dealing with the history of the cult of relics usually considered this
passage to be a testimony of a real, if uncommon practice.³⁰ This testimony is,
however, misleading, and its sense can be grasped only if we study the context
in which it was written. We know that Optatus composed his treatise after the
death of the Emperor Julian (363), which is referred to in the text, and the
analysis of its content suggests that it must have been re-edited in the 380s.³¹
Therefore, the passage quoted above was written over sixty years after the
²⁸ What follows is based on Wiśniewski 2011.

²⁹ Optatus, Contra Parmenianum 1.16.1 (trans. M. Edwards).
³⁰ See Dölger 1932; Delehaye 1933, 60; and among more recent scholars, Saxer 1980, 233–5;
Brown 1981, 34; Shaw 1992, 25–6 (although the last remarks that the account may have a
rhetorical character); Miller 1998, 121–3.
³¹ Julian: Optatus, Contra Parmenianum 2.16; according to Jerome Optatus flourished during
the reign of Valens and Valentinian (Gratian is not mentioned: Jerome, De viris inlustribus 110).
Thus, the treatise should have been written in the years 364–7, but these dates do not refer to
Book 7, which was composed later: M. Labrousse, in her introduction (SC 412, 12–14).

event it tells us about and, as we will see, at least a few years after the first safely
attested movements of the saints’ relics through the Mediterranean. When
Optatus described the case of Lucilla, the opening of saints’ graves and
transferring of their bodies had already become a familiar phenomenon,
even if it still had an aura of novelty.
The aim of Optatus’ work is no less important than the date of its compos-
ition. The treatise is a polemic against the Donatists and an essential element
of its argument is an account of the early history of the schism. It is evident
that this story cannot be taken as a faithful and unbiased record of what had
happened.³² According to Optatus, the rupture resulted from the resentments
and desires of various individuals. The first group were the greedy senior
laymen of the Church of Carthage from whom Caecilian demanded that they
return the treasure of the Church which they had appropriated. The second
group consisted of the clerics Botrus and Caelestius: they each hoped to
become bishop of Carthage, but their hopes had been dashed (Optatus does
not explain how they both could aspire to be elected for the same office and
still remain allies). The third contentious individual was Lucilla, who declared
against Caecilian for of the reasons presented in the passage quoted above.³³
Briefly put, Optatus portrays the schism as a result of actions taken by a group
of dishonest nobles, two ambitious and deceitful clerics, and a woman who, as
the sequel to the story demonstrates, played the crucial role: it was a member
of her household who would become the first ‘Donatist’ bishop of Carthage,
elected to that office owing to her active support.
The mere fact that it was a woman who was the actual founder of Donatism
was supposed to discredit this movement in the eyes of Optatus’ audience.³⁴
However, the author was not satisfied with this and went out of his way to
paint an unfavourable picture of her. He mentions Lucilla twice in the
narrative, qualifying her first as seditious (factiosa), and then as ‘powerful
and seditious’ (potens et factiosa). In Latin literature, factiosus is a rare but
well-known word, used several times by Sallust. Lucilla, potens et factiosa, was
certainly to be associated by Optatus’ readers with the repulsive nobiles factiosi
described in De bello Iugurthino.³⁵ What is more, Lucilla is a vengeful woman
and does not submit to the rules of the Church. It seems that the short
description of her religious practices aims to discredit her even further. First
³² Barnes 1975, 15, justly says that modern scholars tend to believe the Catholic version of the
beginnings of the controversy. A good example is Saxer 1980, 233–5, who takes for granted not
only the practice mentioned above, but also the description of the state of Lucilla’s emotions
when rebuked by Caecilian (correpta cum confusione irata discessit).
³³ The entire story is told in Optatus, Contra Parmenianum 1.16–18.
³⁴ In the sixth century Primasius of Hadrumetum equates Donatism with Montanism—both
movements were supported by women: Primasius, In Apocalypsin 3.9.
³⁵ Sallust, Bellum Iugurthinum 8.1; 15.3; 27.2; 28.4; 77.1; 85.3; De coniuratione Catilinae 18.4;
51.32; 54.5.

of all, the verb depicting Lucilla’s behaviour is very telling. Whatever Optatus
meant exactly by libare (to ‘kiss’ or ‘touch’), the word was strongly associated
with pagan cult, and Christian authors used it in reference to heathen or,
rarely, biblical sacrifices—it was never used to describe contemporary mani-
festations of piety.³⁶ Secondly, the very object of veneration is shocking: it is a
bone (!), of a presumed martyr (!!), taken out of the grave (!!!). Thirdly, Lucilla
would kiss this bone just before approaching the Eucharist, which suggests
that she preferred it to the ‘saving cup’. All of this would have filled readers
with disgust for that rebellious, resentful, and extremely superstitious ‘found-
ress’ of Donatism. If the text was to meet its goal, the custom presented in it
had to present her as an off-putting person for all potential readers of
his treatise. Therefore, the story of Lucilla cannot be considered a truthful
description of an actual practice, but a rhetorical picture intended to make the
reader boil with pious indignation.
Of course, one may ask whether Lucilla, who was undoubtedly a real
person, could not have been in fact addicted to practices fitting quite well
with Optatus’ picture.³⁷ This, however, is highly improbable for two reasons.
First, as has been already pointed out, the earliest authors mentioning the cult
of relics wrote in the time of Optatus, not of Lucilla. It is thus difficult to
imagine that the latter ostentatiously venerated a part of a dead body at the
time when the tombs of the martyrs were inviolable and the very idea of
reverence towards bodily remains did not yet exist. Secondly, the episode
of Lucilla is not the only passage in which Optatus describes the partisans of
Donatus as people who break the most fundamental rules and violate sacred
customs: not only did they massacre Catholics, rape women, and kill children,
but they also tore out foetuses from the wombs of their mothers. The Donatist
bishop Felix fornicates with a virgin to whom he himself had given the veil.
Other Donatists cast the Eucharist to the dogs.³⁸ If some elements of this
picture may be true, the whole presentation is a rhetorical device which cannot
be taken at face value. The image of an influential widow kissing a bone of an
alleged martyr before receiving Communion belongs to the same category.
Optatus is not the only author to mention Lucilla and her role in the rise of
the Donatist schism. Her name appears for the first time in the record of the
inquiry conducted by the consularis Zenophilus in 320, whose goal was to find
out which bishops of the two feuding camps in the African Church were guilty
of traditio, or handing over sacred books during the persecution. In this text,
Lucilla is accused of bribing the bishops who deposed Caecilian and elected
³⁶ The only exception in the cult of relics is Victricius, De laude sanctorum 5, but he uses the
verb in a figurative sense.
³⁷ So e.g. De Veer 1968.
³⁸ Foetuses torn out: Optatus, Contra Parmenianum 2.18.3; Felix: 2.19.4; Eucharist cast to the
dogs: 2.19.1 and 2.21.6; the phial with the oil for Chrismation thrown by Donatists through the
window: 2.19.2.

Maiorinus in his place, but the episode with the bone is not mentioned.³⁹
Augustine also makes Lucilla guilty of bribing the bishops gathered in Car-
thage, and even of organizing their synod. In Contra Cresconium he calls her a
most rich, very powerful, and extremely seditious woman; he asserts that she
supported Donatus with her money, and says that her hatred of Caecilian
began when the archdeacon rebuked her ‘for ecclesiastical discipline’.⁴⁰ It is
interesting to note that Augustine does not specify what exactly led Caecilian
to reprimand the rich lady. He emphasizes in stronger terms than Optatus the
serious defect of Lucilla’s character (factiosissima!), but clearly thinks that the
most discrediting aspect of the whole affair is the fact that this most wealthy
woman bribed the bishops. Augustine was familiar with Optatus’ work, so he
knew about Lucilla’s veneration of the relic. And yet he did not mention it.
I suppose that the reason for this could have been the change of customs which
had occurred between the 360s and the 410s, when Augustine wrote Contra
Cresconium. As we will see in Chapter 7, during these fifty years, physical
contact with relics became more common. This is not to say that kissing or
touching a martyr’s bone was an entirely normal practice at the beginning of
the fifth century, but a description of such an act would not have filled the
reader with the kind of disgust Optatus hoped to evoke. The custom of kissing
relics is attested in the West already at the turn of the fourth and the fifth
centuries.⁴¹ At that time it still could give rise to controversy, but it would no
longer seem to be totally outrageous and as a result it was not so obviously
useful as a way to attack the Donatists as it had been fifty years earlier.
In all, the episode of Lucilla is of little use for studying customs related to the
corporeal remains of the saints at the turn of the third and fourth centuries,
but it shows quite well how, more than half a century later, Christians
imagined a caricature of the cult of relics, and therefore it allows us to find
out what the acceptable practices looked like in this period. It may also suggest
that, another half-century later, the picture painted by Optatus had lost its
grotesque features because by that time other people started to venerate relics
in a similar fashion.
In all, there is no evidence of the veneration of relics of saints which can
be safely dated to the second or third centuries. Before the Diocletianic
³⁹ Gesta Apud Zenophilum, pp. 195–6. The passage is referred to also by Augustine, Contra
Cresconium 3.29.33.
⁴⁰ Bribery: Augustine, Epistula 43.6 and 9; Enarrationes in Psalmum 36.2.19; Contra Cresco-
nium 3.28.32 (praepotens et pecuniosissima femina); Contra Epistulam Parmeniani 1.3.5
(pecuniosissima et factiosissima femina); supporting Donatus and his party: Epistula 133.4;
Sermo 46.39; reprimand: Epistula 43.6.
⁴¹ Victricius, De laude sanctorum 6 (written c.396). In the East it was probably known already
in the 370s: Gregory of Nyssa, De sancto Theodoro, p. 62. See also Jerome, Adversus Vigilantium
4 and Epistula 108.9; Theodoret, Historia religiosa 21.20; Egeria, Itinerarium 37.1–2; Prudentius,
Peristephanon 2.517–20; 5.337–40; 9.99–100; 11.193–4; Augustine, Sermo 277A.1; more on this
subject: Penn 2005, 78–9 and nn. 54–5.

persecution the dead remained in their graves and the graves do not seem to
have been considered places in which any power dwelt. At the same time,
however, some of those graves, and possibly also other artefacts connected
with their death,⁴² probably came to be important for Christian communities,
important enough to attract the attention of the Roman administration—
otherwise, it would be difficult to explain why as early as in 257 the decree
of Valerian forbade access to koimētēria. Also, in the second half of the third
century, after the persecutions of Decius and Valerian, we can see the first
signs of the emerging belief in the intercession of saints. The graffiti from the
Catacombs of St Sebastian show that people expected their prayers to be heard
by the Apostles. This belief, however, was probably not yet connected with
their physical remains.
T H E FO U R T H CE N T U R Y : THE VE RY BE G I NNI NGS
At the beginning of the fourth century still nothing suggests that the tombs of
the martyrs and Apostles were sought after, visited by people from outside the
local community, or considered to hold a special power. Eusebius of Caesarea,
who wrote the final version of his Church History just before 325, mentions
only a few burial places of the New Testament saints, namely James, the Lord’s
brother, Peter, Paul, Philip, and John the Evangelist, and does not attribute to
them any special significance.⁴³ The situation begins to change in the decades
that followed, as can be seen in the descriptions of early pilgrimages which
started when Helena, Constantine’s mother, visited Palestine in 327.⁴⁴ But the
change in question did not take place immediately.
The earliest list of places visited by a pilgrim to the Holy Land comes from
the Itinerary of the anonymous Pilgrim of Bordeaux and is dated to AD 333.
This list is already quite extensive. The Pilgrim visited a number of places
connected with both major and very secondary biblical personages, and saw,
among other things, the ‘cornerstone rejected by the builders’, the plane trees
planted in Sychar by the patriarch Jacob, the sycamore tree which Zacchaeus
climbed to see Jesus, and two healing springs.⁴⁵ In all, the Itinerary shows an
already flourishing interest in places and material objects which either
⁴² These objects are always covered with martyrs’ blood; see Passio Perpetuae 21.5 (a ring
stained with blood of the martyr is offered to a Christian soldier assisting in the execution);
Pontius, Vita Cypriani 16.6 (Cyprian’s cloths covered with bloody sweat are collected by the
faithful).
⁴³ Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 2.23.18 (James, brother of the Lord, in Jerusalem), 2.25.5–8
(Peter and Paul in Rome), 3.31.3 (Philip in Hierapolis and John in Ephesus).
⁴⁴ Drijvers 1992, 55–72.
⁴⁵ Itinerarium Burdigalense 588 (plane trees), 590 (cornerstone), 596 (sycamore).

commemorated the sacred history or, in some cases, were vehicles for divine
power.⁴⁶ But it does not say anything about relics of saints. True, the Pilgrim of
Bordeaux visited several tombs of Old Testament figures—Joseph, Isaiah,
Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel—but they are referred to in
the same way as the tombs of two personages from classical history, Euripides
and Hannibal. Importantly, no tomb of a martyr or a New Testament saint is
mentioned, if we put aside the very specific cases of the empty tombs of Christ
and Lazarus.⁴⁷
Fifty years later, however, in 384, another Western pilgrim to the Holy
Land, Egeria, paid visits to several tombs and sanctuaries of saints in Palestine
and other regions. She lists the martyr-shrine (martyrium) of St Thecla in
Seleucia in Isauria, St Euphemia’s in Chalcedon (famosissimum martyrium),
St John’s in Ephesus, St Thomas’ in Edessa, monk and martyr St Helpidius
in Haran, various martyria in Heroonpolis, and the church of the Holy
Apostles and a number of other martyria in Constantinople.⁴⁸ Thus, interest
in the tombs of the martyrs appeared between 333 and 384. When exactly did
it occur?
The new attitude toward the bodies of the saints is attested for the first time
shortly after the middle of the fourth century. In the 350s, we can see the first
translations, or transfers of relics, to new resting places. First, between 351 and
354, Caesar Gallus brought the coffin of St Babylas, bishop and martyr at
Antioch, from a cemetery to a new-built martyrium in the suburban resort of
Daphne. John Chrysostom and the church historian Sozomen, writing
respectively a generation and two generations later, explain that Gallus wished
to chase away superstition and licentiousness from Daphne, but it is difficult
to say whether this was his actual intention.⁴⁹ A few years later, the remains of
Timothy, a disciple of Paul the Apostle, and later those of Luke the Evangelist
and Andrew the Apostle arrived in Constantinople. These transfers are attest-
ed by several sources, the earliest of which is Jerome’s Chronicle, published in
the early 390s. It says that in 356 ‘the relics of the Apostle Timothy were
transferred to Constantinople’, and, in the following year, ‘the bones of
Andrew the Apostle and Luke the Evangelist were welcomed by the
⁴⁶ Healing springs: Itinerarium Burdigalense 585, 586, and 596. For the power of earth from
the Holy Land, see also Augustine, De civitate Dei 22.8.192–214. Stones from the Holy Land can
be found in early collections of relics (Smith 2015).
⁴⁷ Itinerarium Burdigalense 587 (Joseph), 595 (Isaiah), 598 (Rachel), 599 (Abraham, Isaac,
Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca), 604 (Euripides), 572 (Hannibal, confused with the still living nephew of
Constantine, Hannibalianus), 596 (Lazarus). The absence of the tombs of martyrs from the
Itinerarium Burdigalense is in my opinion a serious argument against the thesis of Markus 1994
claiming that it is their veneration which gave a start to the very idea of holy places.
⁴⁸ Egeria, Itinerarium 7.7 (Heroonpolis), 20.5 (Helpidius), 22.2–23.5 (Thecla), 23.7 (Euphemia),
23.9 (Constantinople), 23.10 (John).
⁴⁹ John Chrysostom, In Babylam 67–9; Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 5.19.12.

inhabitants of Constantinople with much enthusiasm’.⁵⁰ This last date has
been put in doubt by Richard Burgess, who suggested that the transfer of
Andrew and Luke must have taken place twenty years earlier, as dated by
chronicles based on a now lost set of Latin consular fasti.⁵¹ Yet even if this was
so, this particular event did not have any immediate impact on the movement
of relics before the 350s.
In the same decade, in 356, in Egypt, St Antony, the man who gave rise to
the monastic movement in Egypt, died.⁵² In his Vita, written shortly after,
most probably in the 360s, Athanasius, bishop of Alexandria, presents a
curious custom of privatizing the bodies of martyrs:
The Egyptians are wont to honour with funeral rites, and to wrap in linen cloths
at death the bodies of zealous men, and especially of the holy martyrs; and not to
bury them underground, but to place them on couches, and to keep them in their
houses (παρ’ ἑαυτοῖς), thinking in this to honour the departed.⁵³
Athanasius puts in Antony’s mouth a strong disapproval of this custom and
claims that the latter ordered that his body should be buried in secret for fear
that it could become an object of veneration. This interesting passage, how-
ever, presents some difficulties in interpretation. The fact that Athanasius
refers to those who honour the dead in this particular way as ‘Egyptians’
suggests that he is thinking of an old indigenous custom.⁵⁴ But the fact that he
singles out the burials of the martyrs indicates that the practice was already
Christianized. It is possible that some Egyptians actually kept the sarcophagi
of their dead in their houses.⁵⁵ But it is highly unlikely that in this particular
instance Athanasius had in mind the custom of keeping the relics of the
martyrs in houses directly after their death, for the last persecutions ended
long before the Life of Antony was written. Rather, he refers to the practice of
transferring martyrs’ bodies from cemeteries. Such transfers are also attested
and vigorously condemned in his festal letters 40 and 41, written in the early
370s. By that time the bodies of martyrs were evidently looked for.
The reason why they were looked for can be first seen in two pieces of
evidence contemporary with the Life of Antony. At the very end of the 350s,
Hilary of Poitiers, who was exiled from Gaul in 356 and stayed in Constan-
tinople and Asia Minor, refers, in two different treatises, to the tortures which
are inflicted upon demons by a power dwelling in the tombs of the Apostles
and martyrs. These testimonies will be discussed in detail in Chapter 2, but it is
⁵⁰ Jerome, Chronicon XXXV 19 (AD 356/357: Timothy) and XXXV 20 (357/8: Andrew
and Luke).
⁵¹ Burgess 2003. ⁵² Jerome, Chronicon XXXV 19 (AD 356/7).
⁵³ Athanasius, Vita Antonii 90.2; trans. Robertson; see also 91.6; for the dating of this text, see
Brennan 1976.
⁵⁴ This is the sense of Egyptian practices in the Vita Antonii 79. ⁵⁵ See p. 126.

worth emphasizing at this point that this is the very first safely dated evidence
for the belief in the power of relics.
From this moment on the evidence becomes abundant. According to
Ammianus Marcellinus, in 359, Sabinianus, the Christian commander of the
Roman army in the East, instead of making preparations for the war against
Persia, was wasting time ‘amid the tombs of Edessa as if he had nothing to fear
when he had made his peace with the dead’.⁵⁶ Ammianus is not specific what
kind of tombs he has in mind, but suggests that Sabinianus believed in the help
of those who were buried in them.
Also in the 350s, or at the very beginning of the 360s, young Jerome of
Stridon and his friends from school used to visit on Sundays the tombs of the
Apostles and martyrs in Rome.⁵⁷ The tombs of the Apostles are obviously
those of Peter and Paul. It is not clear when exactly the basilica of St Peter was
completed, but it certainly happened after 354; the first basilica of St Paul
was constructed at about the same time.⁵⁸ Also in 354 Constantine’s daughter
was buried in a mausoleum close to the tomb of St Agnes, although this was
probably an impulse rather than a result of the development of this saint’s
cult.⁵⁹ In all, from the 350s we can see a growing interest in the tombs of the
Apostles and martyrs, a belief in the power of their bones, the custom of
visiting them, and the practice of transferring them from cemeteries to new
resting places.
The strength of this emerging phenomenon is even better attested during
the short reign of the Emperor Julian, called the Apostate, when it evidently
provoked the extreme hostility of the ‘pagan’ population. In 362 Bishop
George of Alexandria and one of his companions were killed by a street
mob in the city. According to Ammianus, this is what happened then:
the inhuman mob loaded the mutilated bodies of the slain men upon camels and
carried them to the shore; there they burned them on a fire and threw the ashes
into the sea, fearing, as they shouted, that their remains (reliquiae) might be
collected and a shrine (aedes) built for them, as for others who, when urged to
abandon their religion, endured terrible tortures, even going so far as to meet a
glorious death with unsullied faith; whence they are now called martyrs.⁶⁰
Admittedly, for Ammianus the word reliquiae did not have a technical sense: it
meant simply ‘remains’. Still, if he did not confuse the image of Christian
practices in the 360s with that of the 390s (i.e. of the time when he was writing
his book), this passage, like the episode of Sabinianus quoted above, suggests
that already at the beginning of the second half of the fourth century those
⁵⁶ Ammianus, Res gestae 18.7.7. For Sabinianus, see Sabinianus (3) in PLRE 1, 789.
⁵⁷ Jerome, In Ezechielem 12.40.243–9. ⁵⁸ Gem 2013; Trout 2003 and Sághy 2000.
⁵⁹ Thacker 2014, 138. ⁶⁰ Ammianus, Res gestae 22.11.10; trans. Rolfe.

who adhered to the old ‘pagan’ cults strongly associated Christianity with the
cult of the martyrs and found this phenomenon irritating.
I suppose that Ammianus was right in dating this sentiment to the 360s, for
there is more evidence of pagan hostility toward the tombs of the saints in this
period. In 362, Julian, anxious about the silence of the oracle of Apollo at
Daphne, ordered the removal the body of St Babylas from there lest it continue
to sully the sacred area.⁶¹ This was obviously a special case, as Babylas’ remains
were installed in Daphne only a few years earlier, but it was not unique. Julian
ordered the same to be done with the tombs of the martyrs in Didyma in Asia
Minor.⁶² Local attacks on Christian tombs also took place in Palestine and
Syria. In Sebaste, the tomb of John the Baptist was destroyed, his bones burnt
and dispersed over the fields.⁶³ Julian himself claims that the inhabitants of
Emesa set fire to the tombs of the ‘Galileans’, that is, Christians, and similar
events also took place around Antioch.⁶⁴ Certainly, one should not overesti-
mate the significance of those events. The attacks on the tombs could have
resulted partly from the fact that, unlike churches, they were easily accessible
and unprotected. Even in modern Europe tombs have fallen victim to aggres-
sion more frequently than buildings or monuments which were more import-
ant, but more guarded. Moreover, the burning of the martyrs’ corpses is
attested already in the second century, when it was simply an additional
punishment and not a reaction to the cult of relics.⁶⁵ Also, as we have already
seen, during the persecutions of Valerian in the 250s Christians were forbid-
den not only to assemble, but also to approach tombs, presumably those of the
martyrs.⁶⁶ But it seems that in 362 those tombs were more important than in
the third century, for that was the first time that they were directly attacked
and destroyed, not only on the initiative of Julian.
Even though these three pieces of evidence coincide in time—the transfer of
relics by Gallus and Constantius, the remarks of Hilary of Poitiers about the
power of the tombs of the saints, and the acts of hostility against Christian
martyria—one still has to ask the question whether they are not symptoms of
an older phenomenon which simply did not have an occasion to appear in the
evidence earlier, for the literary evidence of Christian practices becomes in
general more abundant in the second half of the fourth century. This, however,
does not seem to be the case. It is symptomatic that the writings of Eusebius
and those early martyrial stories which can be safely dated to the period
preceding the fourth century show little interest in the physical remains of
the saints. There is no archaeological, papyrological, or epigraphical evidence
⁶¹ John Chrysostom, In Babylam 80–91 and Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 5.19.16–19.

⁶² Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 5.20.7.
⁶³ Rufinus, Historia ecclesiastica 11.28 and Philostorgius, Historia ecclesiastica 7.4a.
⁶⁴ Julian, Misopogon 357C and 361A–B; also Epistula 41.438C; see Torres 2009.
⁶⁵ Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 4.15.40–3 (Polycarp) and 5.1.62 (the martyrs of Lyons).
⁶⁶ Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 7.11.10 and 7.13.

which would attest to such interest before the later fourth century.⁶⁷ We are
most probably dealing then with a truly new phenomenon.
All this suggests that the transfers of the bodies of Babylas, Andrew,
Luke, and Timothy did not result from a pre-existing veneration of relics.
It is more probable that those transfers and the construction of their monu-
mental martyria gave a momentum to the emerging cult of relics rather than
expressed it. But the rise of the new phenomenon certainly did not owe its
success uniquely to the solemn imperial ‘translations’. In Chapter 2 I will argue
that the surge of popular enthusiasm for the cult of relics resulted above all
from a growing belief in the miraculous power of relics which is attested for
the first time in the two treatises of Hilary of Poitiers referred to above.
⁶⁷ Papaconstantinou 2001, 370.

The First Miracles
In Late Antiquity many relics, though by no means all, were famous for the
miracles they performed. These miracles were not just proofs of the authen-
ticity of the bodily remains of saints. They were paving the way for the success
of the cult of relics and constituted the distinctive feature which set this cult
apart from the earlier forms of veneration of the martyrs’ graves. The thauma-
turgical (miracle-working) power of relics manifested itself in a number of
ways: they were believed capable of expelling demons, curing diseases, reveal-
ing hidden things, and defending cities from enemies. They also brought
help in the other world to the dead buried ad sanctos. All these aspects of
the belief in the power of relics will be addressed in the chapters that follow.
I will focus first on how people came to expect relics to exorcize evil spirits and
heal the sick.
Historians usually find it awkward to talk about ‘real’ miracles. Admittedly,
the only miracles that are wholly accessible to our inquiry are literary miracles,
episodes which served authors to express their vision of the world, history,
man, and God,¹ and we certainly should not yield too easily to the temptation
to explain what really happened during exorcisms and healings described in
hagiography. Yet this question cannot be entirely evaded in any study on the
origins of the cult of relics, because the miracles featuring in late antique
sources cannot be dismissed as mere literary phenomena. Of course, the
explosion of the miraculous in the second half of the fourth and in the fifth
century results, up to a point, from the emergence of the new literary genre,
namely the lives of saints. Still, the evidence of the belief in miracles found in
non-hagiographical sources is ample enough to prove that people actually
came to believe in the healings obtained through the agency of saints, dead or
alive. Nor can the surge in miracles, noticeable in our sources from the second
half of the fourth century, be explained as merely one aspect of the wider
phenomenon, namely an evolution of the religious vision of the world which
took place in the post-Constantinian period. It is not only a change in the
¹ See e.g. Flusin 1983.


vision of reality that we see in that period; it is reality itself that changed:
I think that the abundance of miracles in late antique Christian literature
results, at least in part, from the fact that something actually began to happen
at the tombs of the saints. This change is well illustrated by the case of
Augustine. In the 380s, he wrote that the era of miracles had ended and that
at present one could admire only the marvels of nature.² But thirty years later,
in Book 22 of The City of God, as well as in a number of sermons from the
same period, he argues that healings happen hic et nunc, in the shrines of
martyrs, and suggests that the testimonies of the healed should be collected so
that they can be made widely known.³ The reason for the evolution of
Augustine’s opinion was not his readings, reflections, or pastoral consider-
ations; it was rather the observation of what was happening in Africa in the
early fifth century, especially in Hippo and Uzalis, after the arrival of the relics
of Gervasius and Protasius and those of St Stephen.⁴
CHRISTIANITY WITHOUT MIRACLES (OR ALMOST)
It may seem understandable that the miracles enumerated by Augustine or the

anonymous contemporary author of the Book of the Miracles of St Stephen
somehow reflect what really happened in the cities of Hippo and Uzalis.
Where hundreds of people, many of whom are sick, are expecting a miracle
to happen, a miracle probably will happen sooner or later. Of course, the
nature of this phenomenon is not easy to grasp and, as I have already pointed
out, historians feel somewhat uneasy about approaching it. Miraculous heal-
ings used to be explained in one of two ways: either quite simply as the healing
of a psychosomatic disease or, when considered in a more sophisticated
manner, as a ritual of reintegration of people excluded from the community
due to their illness (or rather because of their sins which were believed to have
led to that illness).⁵ In both cases, however, the healing implies the belief that
there is a power residing in the sanctuary, capable of bringing help to the sick.
Therefore, the belief in the power of relics must precede the healing. Interest-
ingly, in the middle of the fourth century such a belief was not evident.
There is no doubt that the belief in miracles was strong and important in
primitive Christianity. Suffice it to mention the New Testament narratives
² Augustine, De vera religione 25/47 (written in 387–91); De utilitate credendi 34–5 (391–2);
Sermo 126.3–4. See Van Uytfanghe 1981, esp. 211.
³ For the written testimonies (libelli), see Augustine, Sermones 94; 286.5–7; 319.6; De civitate
Dei 22.8–10.
⁴ See above and the Liber de miraculis s. Stephani 1.1.
⁵ For the former approach, see Stancliffe 1983, 250–4; for the latter, Van Dam 1993, 84–6, and
his discussion of specific miracles described by Gregory of Tours on the pages that follow.
The First Miracles 29

describing the healings performed by Christ and the Apostles, and, even more
importantly, the Pauline letters and various second-century writings suggest-
ing that miracle-workers were normally expected to be found in Christian
communities.⁶ Yet it seems that this belief had dramatically weakened over the
course of the third century.⁷ The reasons for this are not entirely clear,
although it is possible that the essential role was played by the process of the
‘rationalization’ and professionalization of the Christian leadership. In the
Church, bishops and exegetes displaced miracle-workers and prophets. This
process was probably reinforced by the anti-Montanist reaction, which made
all charismatic activity look suspicious, and, even more importantly, by the
accusation of sorcery made against Christians from the second half of the
second century on.⁸
Be that as it may, the Christian authors of the third and early fourth
centuries seem to regard miracles as belonging rather to the distant past of
biblical Israel and the history of the early Church. They do not doubt the signs
and the wonders performed by Moses, Christ, the Apostles, and their imme-
diate followers. Indeed, the apocryphal acts of the Apostles abound in wonders
far more spectacular than those that can be found in the New Testament. But
several authors of this period maintain that the era of spectacular miracles has
ended, and that no extraordinary manifestations of God’s power can be
expected any longer. Such things will no longer happen, because they are
not necessary. This conviction was to change once again over the course of the
fourth century, but still in the 380s Augustine wrote that, as far as miracles
were concerned, his contemporaries had to content themselves with the
wonderful rising and setting of the sun.⁹ Ambrose, according to whom the
miracles of Gervasius and Protasius re-enacted those of ancient times, seems
to think that before the discovery of the Milanese relics there was a time when
such marvels did not happen.¹⁰ That is what other writers too, such as
Victorinus of Poetovio or Eusebius of Caesarea, had asserted before. Certainly,
it would be rash to attach too much weight to the opinions of those intellec-
tuals. The simple people, not necessarily all that simple, could still have
believed in God’s direct interventions in the course of human lives. Christians,
after all, did not live in a bubble and we know that the belief that miracles were
happening ‘here and now’ is well attested in the Roman world in the second
and third centuries. Suffice it to mention Lucian of Samosata’s mockery of
people’s credulousness, the testimonies of healings happening in Asklepieia, or
⁶ Kee 1983.
⁷ Van Uytfanghe 1981, 210. See also the evidence collected by Daunton-Fear 2009, 68–131.
The material presented in his book supports the thesis of the direct continuation of exorcistic
practices and beliefs from apostolic times to Late Antiquity, but at the same time shows that the
belief in bodily healings at least radically diminished in the third and early fourth centuries.
⁸ Carleton Paget 2011, 138–42. ⁹ Augustine, De utilitate credendi 34.
¹⁰ Ambrose, Epistula 77.9.

the miraculous stories told in the earliest Neoplatonic biographies.¹¹ We
should also remember that results very similar to those which people associ-
ated with the agency of saints were associated with the power of magic—and it
does not seem that the belief in magic weakened in any way in the third or
early fourth century. Moreover, given that health is one of the most basic
human needs and that it can deteriorate so rapidly, one can suppose that even
people who did not expect to see anything like the parting of the Rea Sea in
their lifetimes did not altogether give up hope for a God-sent restoration
to health. The tradition of miraculous healing certainly did not disappear
altogether from the Church directly after apostolic times; it was still quite
vigorous in the second century. Later on, however, testimonies to the belief in
healing miracles become very scattered. To be exact, the available sources—
narrative, theological, and polemical writings—still give evidence of the belief
that the possessed could be exorcized; they even describe, although rarely,
specific exorcisms and give the names of those who were healed. But healings
of bodily diseases, if mentioned at all, are presented in very vague terms and it
is difficult to say whether those who refer to them are thinking about con-
temporary or biblical miracles.
No doubt, it is possible that, contrary to what Eusebius and other learned
authors say or fail to mention, there were, in the very same period, Christians
who believed that miracles still happened in their days. But even if this was the
case, they certainly did not believe in the thaumaturgical power of the bodies
or graves of the saints until as late as the second half of the fourth century.¹² It
is symptomatic that Eusebius of Caesarea does not attribute any special power
to the remains of the martyrs that he admired, and that in AD 333 the only
healing places found in Palestine by the anonymous pilgrim from Bordeaux
were miraculous springs.¹³
When did this attitude change? What gave rise to the new belief, which,
once it became firmly established, fuelled a massive increase in the phenom-
enon? Certainly, we are facing here a wider problem, because in Late Antiquity
miracles were believed to occur not only at the tombs of the martyrs, but also
in the cells of monks and in other special places, and relics were not the only
objects whose power could be transmitted in a physical way. The aim of this
chapter, however, is not to explain the general phenomenon of the emergence
of Christian thaumaturgy in Late Antiquity, but to answer the more specific
questions of why, when, and how relics began to perform miracles, or rather
came to be expected to do so.
¹¹ Lucian, Philopseudes 16; Philostratus, Vita Apollonii 3.39, 4.45, 6.43; healing in Asklepieia:
Edelstein 1945, testimonia 382–442.
¹² For the puzzling, but isolated testimony of the Acts of Thomas 170, see pp. 12–13.
¹³ Itinerarium Burdigalense 585, 589, 596; see also 592. Incidentally, it has to be noted that the
belief in the power of these springs most probably was not of Christian origin.
THE VERY BEGIN NING: TIME AND PLACE
Let us begin with the question of chronology. As has been demonstrated in

Chapter 1, the interest in and transfers of relics did not begin before the
translations of the Apostles Andrew, Luke, and Timothy to Constantinople,
and the martyr Babylas to (and then from) Daphne.¹⁴ Nothing suggests that
any of these translations was organized with the express purpose of harnessing
the power which might have resided in the saints’ bodies. If the expectation of
miracles had already existed at that time, it would have become manifest
during the very transfer of the relics: in the evidence from the end of the
fourth century onward we can observe that relics do perform miracles during
their translations,¹⁵ and this should not be seen as a mere literary convention.
Yet we find nothing like that in the contemporary evidence of the transfers
mentioned above. It is true that, according to the church historian Philostor-
gius, Babylas’ coffin had miraculously outrun the procession in 362, but
Philostorgius wrote about it only in the 420s.¹⁶ John Chrysostom, who
delivered his sermon on Babylas about 378, was convinced that the power
(energeia) of the saint had not left his tomb after the removal of the body, but
did not mention any extraordinary events accompanying the transfer. Rufinus,
referring to this translation in his Ecclesiastical History at the very beginning of
the fifth century, did not do so either. As for the Apostles’ relics carried to
Constantinople, no contemporary sources mention anything miraculous
about this episode. To sum up, just before or during the first transfers of
saints’ bodies we do not see any expectation of miracles produced by relics.¹⁷
However, shortly after the remains of the Apostles had been carried to
Constantinople, in the late 350s, Hilary of Poitiers wrote On the Trinity and
Against Constantius, two treatises providing the earliest testimony to the belief
in the power of relics, if we disregard the highly suspect passage at the end of
the Acts of Thomas discussed in the first chapter. Hilary was expelled from his
episcopal see by the Emperor Constantius in 356. The details of his itinerary
are difficult to determine, but we know that he stayed in Phrygia, visited
Constantinople, and took part in the synod of Seleucia in Isauria before
coming back to Gaul in 360.¹⁸ The two works named above were written
¹⁴ See p. 22.
¹⁵ Gervasius and Protasius: Ambrose, Epistula 77.2; Hymnus 11.17–20; Augustine, Confes-
siones 9.7; Paulinus of Milan, Vita Ambrosii 14.2; Nazarius: Vita Ambrosii 33.3–4; Stephen:
Augustine, De civitate Dei 22.8.265–78; Liber de miraculis s. Stephani 1.1–3.
¹⁶ Philostorgius, Historia ecclesiastica 7.8a (Passio Artemii 55).
¹⁷ People certainly believed that it was Babylas’ presence that had silenced Apollo’s oracle in
Daphne, but this idea was invented not by Christians advertising the power of Babylas’ body, but
by pagans maintaining that the neighbourhood of the sanctuary was polluted by the cadaver; see
p. 186.
¹⁸ For the dating of Hilary’s works and itinerary, see Simonetti 1965 and Brennecke 1984,
265–71 and 335–60.

towards the end of his exile. The first passage of interest for the cult of relics
runs as follows:
Yet it cannot be denied that Christ was Christ. It cannot be that He was unknown
to mankind. The books of the prophets have set their seal upon Him: the fullness
of the times which waxes daily witnesses of Him: by the working of wonders the
tombs of Apostles and martyrs proclaim Him (hunc apostolorum et martyrum per
uirtutum operationes loquuntur sepulchra), the power of His name reveals Him,
the unclean spirits confess Him, and the demons howling in their torment call
aloud His name. In all we see the dispensation of His power.¹⁹
The second passage comes from the invective against the Emperor Constan-
tius. According to Jerome this pamphlet was published only after the death of
the Arian emperor, in 361 (Hilary was brave, but not reckless), but it must
have been written before. The author compares Constantius to the emperors
who persecuted Christians, and in doing so (quite contrary to their intentions)
rendered a service to the Church—by producing martyrs. He says:
We owe even more to your cruelty, Nero, Decius, Maximianus. The blood of the
holy martyrs was shed everywhere, and every day their reverend bones bear
testimony (Sanctus ubique beatorum martyrum sanguis exceptus est et ueneranda
ossa cottidie testimonio sunt), for in their presence the demons groan, the diseases
are chased away and marvellous things are admired: bodies are hauled up without
ropes, women are suspended by their feet, but their clothes do not fall over their
faces, spirits burn without flames, the tormented confess their crimes without
interrogation, and all of this provides no less benefit to the investigator than to the
increase of the faith.²⁰
This captivating image of demoniacs suspended in the air, which will become
remarkably popular in later Christian literature, is certainly far from being a
photographic record of reality.²¹ However, it brings to mind modern descrip-
tions of fits of hysteria; and since there is no obvious literary source for this
scene, we may suppose that Hilary described, certainly in a highly rhetorical
manner, what he had actually seen.²²
The first questions are these: where did he see it and what sort of tombs is he
talking about? The martyrs mentioned in the two passages quoted above are
not easy to identify, as the tombs of martyrs in the East were plentiful.
A tentative identification is nonetheless possible considering that Hilary
seems to be referring to a large-sized martyrium rather than an ordinary
burial place: given our knowledge that he visited Seleucia, we may assume
that he had in mind the nearby sanctuary of St Thecla, located close to
that city.
¹⁹ Hilary, De Trinitate 11.3. ²⁰ Hilary, Contra Constantium 8.

²¹ On its symbolic sense, see Wiśniewski 2002.
²² For a modern literary description of a possibly similar state, see Haan and Koehler 2014.

Luckily, only a few graves of the Apostles were known at that time. His
itinerary suggests that he may have visited the tomb of John the Evangelist in
Ephesus, that of Philip in Phrygian Hierapolis, and, finally, the newly built
church of the Apostles in Constantinople. There is no other possibility, except
for the resting places of Peter and Paul in Rome.²³ Owing to recent excavations
we know that the tomb of Philip, mentioned by Eusebius, gave rise to a
monumental complex, the first elements of which appeared already in the
fourth century.²⁴ The shrine of St John in Ephesus, which was probably even
more famous, was built during the reign of Constantine, as we may learn from
a recently reconstructed inscription.²⁵ It attracted visitors (Egeria visited it in
384), and came to be known as a place of miracles by the end of the fourth
century. In 396, Victricius of Rouen expressed his belief in the power of
St John’s relics, which had just been brought to his city, but were known to
have healed the sick in Ephesus.²⁶ The church of the Holy Apostles in
Constantinople, in which the bodies of Luke, Andrew, and Timothy had
been deposited no earlier than a year or two before Hilary visited the city,
was also greatly esteemed, perhaps even more so than St John’s shrine. I am not
sure if the plural in Hilary’s remark is to be taken literally: ‘by the working of
wonders the tombs of Apostles and martyrs proclaim Him’ (hunc apostolorum
et martyrum per uirtutum operationes loquuntur sepulchra), but it suggests
either at least two distinct martyria of the Apostles or the Apostoleion in
Constantinople. Be that as it may, the relics kept in Constantinople were very
well known in the late fourth century, especially among Westerners: Jerome
mentioned their transfers in his Chronicle and their miracles in Adversus
Vigilantium, Egeria visited them, Ambrose brought their alleged fragments to
Milan and had them distributed among some Western bishops, John Chry-
sostom spoke about the pain inflicted by them on demoniacs, while Paulinus of
Nola believed that they were as powerful as those of Peter and Paul.²⁷
At some point, people began to believe that those places possessed a
miraculous power. When did it happen? Hilary wrote his treatises around
360, but we should note that the passages quoted above were not written in
order to give information about miracles happening at the tombs of the saints.
On the contrary, it seems that Hilary, who used them to prove the divinity of
Christ in De Trinitate and demonstrate the futility of Arian persecutions in
Contra Constantium, assumed that his readers must have known about them
already. If this was the case, the phenomenon must have already been in place
²³ For all these graves, see Maraval 1985, 380–1 (Ephesus), 385 (Hierapolis), and Mango 1990.
²⁴ Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 3.31.3; see D’Andria 2017, 7–14. ²⁵ Feissel 2014.
²⁶ Egeria, Itinerarium 23.10; Gregory of Nazianzus, Contra Iulianum I 69; Victricius, De laude
sanctorum 11 and possibly Jerome, Epistula 109.1.
²⁷ Egeria, Itinerarium 23.9; Jerome, Chronicon XXXV 19 and 20 (AD 356/7 and 358/8) and
Adversus Vigilantium 5; John Chrysostom, In II Epistulam ad Corinthios 26.5. For Ambrose’s
transfers and distribution, see p. 162

for some time, but certainly not a long time. Since there is no trace of such
belief in the accounts of the translations organized by Constantius, it appeared
probably after rather than before them, and so not long before Hilary’s stay in
Constantinople. Whichever supposition is correct, the following question
remains: what gave the impulse for this belief to emerge?
Before addressing this question, we should return to pre-Constantinian
Christianity, a Christianity (almost) without miracles. It has to be said that
the third century knew a literary genre from which contemporary miracles
were not entirely absent. The genre I am referring to is passiones, or martyr
stories, which depict Christian heroes who having given testimony during
interrogation do not suffer when they are flung into the arena: fire will not
touch their bodies, swords will fail to cut their necks, and wild beasts will stay
aloof from them.²⁸ Eventually, the heroes die (otherwise they would not have
been recognized as martyrs), but before their deaths the onlookers witness the
miraculous power of God revealed in his servants. Even if these descriptions
never suggest that it manifested itself also after the executions, it remains
possible that martyr stories contributed to the emergence of the belief in the
power residing in the relics of Christian martyrs. More importantly, the
underlying conviction that martyrs were ‘chosen vessels’ of the Holy Spirit
could have provided a sound theological justification for the belief in the
power of their bodies.²⁹ Still, it seems that theological reflection, although
undoubtedly essential for intellectual acknowledgement of the phenomenon
and important for its further development, was an outcome, not a cause, of the
experiences of contact with the miraculous power of relics.³⁰ Besides, the
miracles observed at the death of a martyr described in third-century texts
differ from the miracles happening at the tombs of the martyrs in the fourth
century: in the early passiones, martyrs are only the objects of miracles; their
role is always passive. In addition to that, even if we assume that people
actually believed in the reality of the extraordinary events which were said to
accompany the dying hours of some martyrs, they certainly did not expect that
such things would happen in their own lives. Also, there is one other reason
why the appearance of miracles in martyr stories fails to provide a full
explanation of the belief in the power of martyrs’ bodies: it does not explain
why this belief did not appear two centuries before Hilary wrote his works, in
the time of such martyrs as Polycarp or Perpetua.
²⁸ Later on, the miraculous resistance to tortures will become a leading trait of the so-called
passions épiques, but the motif is well established already in second- and third-century literature:
Martyrium Polycarpi 15–16; Acta Pauli et Theclae 22 (fire); Passio Perpetuae 21.7–10 (sword);
Acta Pauli et Theclae 28 and 34–7; Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 5.1.42 (wild beasts).
²⁹ See e.g. Constitutiones Apostolicae 5.1.2.
³⁰ In 422 Augustine, writing to Paulinus, wonders whose power makes demons suffer in the
bodies of the possessed. The torments inflicted on evil spirits are for him an observable fact
which he cannot yet explain theologically in a satisfactory manner. See p. 199.
DEMONIACS AT THE MARTYRIA
For the above reasons, we should probably look elsewhere for the ultimate
causes of the emergence of miracle-working relics. A good starting point is to
analyse what exactly, according to Hilary, happened at the graves. In De
Trinitate, he first refers to some miracles occurring there, but leaves them
unspecified; when he begins enumerating them, he explicitly mentions only
confessions, the howling and suffering of evil spirits who cry from the mouths
of demoniacs. In Contra Constantium he says that martyrs’ bones ‘expel
diseases’, but he describes merely various torments inflicted by unclean spirits.
These are not even proper exorcisms, for no demons are expelled; they reveal
their identity and evildoing, but persist in the bodies of the possessed. It seems
that Hilary describes the following situation: people who are considered and
who consider themselves demoniacs stay in a sanctuary. They can be seen
screaming that they are demons, they cry out their names, and confess their
sins.³¹ They are not actually healed by the relics, they are still possessed and do
not stop yelling, but the witnesses interpret all of this as a sign of a power
which tortures unclean spirits, because according to the then common con-
viction demoniacs did not feel the pain inflicted on demons which remain in
their bodies.³² These scenes do not represent fully fledged miracles, but they
do testify to the conviction that some sort of miraculous power resided in
relics. I think that this conviction was derived in part from the observation of
what was happening in some martyria in the years of Hilary’s exile.
It was probably this conviction that subsequently gave rise to the belief in
and expectation of miraculous cures; but in the beginning these were probably
not so much healings of physical diseases as of demoniac possession. The
miracles produced by relics which we can see in the sources up to the
beginning of the fifth century are mostly various sorts of manifestations of
their power over demons. In 370, Athanasius, in his Festal Letter 42, which is
extant in a Coptic translation, condemns Melitians, a rival Christian group in
Egypt, who reputedly steal the bodies of martyrs from cemeteries:
If they object, saying that many possessed by unclean spirits have been cured in
the martyria, that is only a pretext. Let them listen and I will answer them by
saying that they are not healed by the martyrs coming upon the demons, but they
are healed by the Saviour, the one Whom the martyrs confessed. And the demons
³¹ Sulpicius Severus, Dialogi 3.6.4; Jerome, Vita Hilarionis 13.7; Victricius, De laude sanc-
torum 11; Constantius, Vita Germani 7 and 13; Vita patrum Jurensium 42; Theodoret, Historia
religiosa 9.9–10; 13.10–11; Vita Danielis Stylitae 59; Vita Theodori Syceotae 18, 35, 38, 84,
92; Cyril of Scythopolis, Vita Euthymii 24 (27.2) and 56 (77.1); Vita Abramii 8 (235.1);
see Wiśniewski 2005, 129–30.
³² See e.g. Paulinus of Nola, Carmen 23.61–81.

cry out because they are being tortured by Him, just as those in the Gospel cried
saying: ‘I beg you, do not torture us!’ But they seek to see the demons that are
destroying them.³³
It is far from certain that all those who sought after martyrs’ bodies were
actually Melitians, but whoever they were, they did it because of the power of
relics over evil spirits—the letter does not suggest that martyrs’ bodies were
efficient in healing other maladies.
In 384, the presbyters Marcellinus and Faustus, authors of the Libellus
precum, a plea addressed to the Emperor Valentinian II, while describing the
horrors of Arian persecution in Italy, say that:
Rufininus, however, a man of marvellous simplicity, and still more admirable
because of the constancy of his faith, forestalled exile by spilling his blood . . . All
that is known to the people of Naples in Campania, where the relics of his blood
(reliquiae cruoris eius) bind demons in the possessed bodies: certainly by the
grace of the very faith for which he shed his blood.³⁴
The saint’s blood expels demons; as in Athanasius, there is not a word about
healing physical illnesses.
Similarly, Jerome of Stridon, writing in 404 about his friend Paula’s visit to
the martyrium of John the Baptist in Sebaste in Palestine, which took place in
385, recalls only tormented demoniacs and does not mention any healings:
for she saw demons screaming under different tortures before the tombs of the
saints, and men howling like wolves, baying like dogs, roaring like lions, hissing
like serpents and bellowing like bulls. They twisted their heads and bent them
backwards until they touched the ground; women too were suspended head
downward and their clothes did not slide down to cover their faces.³⁵
This description is certainly inspired by the passages from the treatises of
Hilary quoted above, but it had to be in line with what, according to Jerome,
used to happen at the tombs of the saints. Similar scenes can be found in other
authors. At about the same time, John Chrysostom, with a view to convincing
his audience of the power of the saints, depicts howling demoniacs in the
Apostoleion in Constantinople; so does, without mentioning any particular
place, Maximus of Turin.³⁶ According to Sozomen, who writes in the 440s, the
power of John the Baptist manifested itself in 393 in the ordeal which the saint
inflicted on a demoniac in the sanctuary in Hebdomon, where the head of the
saint had been deposited shortly before that by the Emperor Theodosius.³⁷
The torments inflicted by martyrs on demons were seen as retribution for the
³³ Athanasius, Epistula festalis 42. The translation follows that of Camplani.

³⁴ Faustinus and Marcellinus, Libellus precum 26.
³⁵ Jerome, Epistula 108.13. Translation Wallace (slightly changed).
³⁶ John Chrysostom, In II Epistulam ad Corinthios 26.5; Maximus of Turin, Sermo 12.2.
³⁷ Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 7.24.8.

persecutions inspired by the latter.³⁸ That is why the sufferings of evil spirits
described in the fourth- and fifth-century literature resemble those of the
martyrs in the passiones and, consequently, their literary picture cannot be
treated as an accurate description of the behaviour of the possessed. But this is
not to say that we must doubt that the tormented ‘demoniacs’ were really there.
The descriptions of physical healings appeared slightly later and initially
were rare and more discreet. Gregory of Nazianzus mentions healings at the
tombs of martyrs, but in doing so he is as vague as Hilary: all he says is that the
bodies of the saints cast out demons and diseases alike.³⁹ The earliest securely
dated specific scenes of miraculous healings effected by relics can be found
about twenty years after Hilary’s De Trinitate and Contra Constantium. In
379, Gregory of Nyssa mentions a soldier whose leg was healed by the Forty
Martyrs of Sebaste in the martyrium built by his family on their estate of Ibora
in Cappadocia; Ambrose, writing to his sister in 386 about the discovery of the
bodies of Gervasius and Protasius, mentions the healing of a blind man which
accompanied this event.⁴⁰ Yet most Milanese miracles described by Ambrose
and his hagiographer are still tortures inflicted on demons. When Augustine
recalls this episode in his Confessions, written c.397, he emphasizes that in
Milan not only evil spirits were expelled (which seems to be for him quite a
normal phenomenon), but, for good measure, a man regained his vision, and
it is this unusual fact that he describes in greater detail.⁴¹ And even if from this
moment on healings at martyrs’ graves become more numerous, they are still
not as numerous as exorcisms. It is only in the fifth century that the former
become more abundant, and in some texts outnumber the latter.⁴² That is why
I am inclined to think that at least in the first decades of the development of
the cult of relics the most common and visible signs of their power were the
cries of demoniacs, which impressed visitors to martyria and were interpreted
as echoing the sufferings of evil spirits. This interpretation was quite natural
on two counts: first, because of the long-standing literary tradition of describ-
ing the fight against the devil led by the Apostles and martyrs; secondly, as has
been said already, the decline in the belief in contemporary miracles in the
³⁸ e.g. Prudentius, Peristephanon 1.103–8 with the comments of Fontaine 1964, esp. 200–1,
and Wiśniewski 2002.
³⁹ Gregory of Nazianzus, Contra Iulianum I 69.
⁴⁰ Gregory of Nyssa, Homilia in sanctos XL martyres II, pp. 166–7; see also De sancto
Theodoro, p. 69 (a general remark about diseases healed and demons expelled by Theodore’s
relics); Ambrose, Epistula 77.2 and 17.
⁴¹ Tormented demons: Ambrose, Epistula 77.2, 16 and 20–2; Paulinus of Milan, Vita
Ambrosii 16.1–2; 21.3; 29.2; 33.3–4; 48.2; demons expelled: Ambrose, Epistula 77.9; Vita
Ambrosii 14.3; 28.1; 43.1–3; Augustine, Confessiones 9.7. Later on, presenting examples of
contemporary miracles in Africa in De civitate Dei 22.8, Augustine emphasizes physical healings
and seems to find them more spectacular than exorcisms.
⁴² See e.g. Liber de miraculis s. Stephani. It is difficult to say whether exorcisms of demons did
not happen in Uzalis or the author considered them less spectacular and so not worth describing.

third and early fourth centuries did not include exorcisms—even at that time
nobody doubted the possibility of punishing and expelling demons, a possi-
bility which, incidentally, was considered accessible, at least in theory, to any
Christian and was known to pagans as well.⁴³
Subsequently, the conviction developed that relics were also capable of
healing physical illnesses. This conviction was entirely comprehensible, since
if Jesus had expelled demons and healed maladies,⁴⁴ relics which became
known for their ability to make demons suffer could have been expected to
have power over diseases too, especially considering that the distinction
between physical illnesses and diseases resulting from demonic possession
was far from clear. I suppose that Hilary must have already reasoned in this
way, for he maintains that relics can drive away both demons and diseases,
even if he is not specific about what he means by the latter. Elsewhere, namely
in his Commentary on the Psalms, when discussing the gifts of the Holy Spirit
which every Christian receives with baptism, he enumerates in one breath ‘the
charisma of healing and the power to tame demons’, directly after mentioning
the gift of prophecy.⁴⁵ Thus, all these three gifts belonged to the same pattern
which had been well known before the belief in the power of relics came into
existence. However, if we are to trust the evidence, people first became
convinced of the power of relics over demons, and it was only later that they
started to expect and look for healing from the bodies of the saints.
This came about swiftly. To the evidence quoted above we can add a
testimony of Victricius of Rouen, who in his sermon, preached in 396, on
the arrival of relics of various Apostles and martyrs in his town, tells that:
John the Evangelist cures at Ephesus, and many other places besides; we are told
that he did not leave Christ’s breast even before his sanctification, and that the
same healing power is here with us. Proculus and Agricola cure at Bononia, and
here too we observe their majesty. Antonius cures at Placentia. Saturninus and
Troianus cure in Macedonia. Nazarius cures at Milan. Mucius, Alexander, Daty-
sus, Chindeus pour out the favour of health with generous virtue. Ragota,
Leonida, Anastasia, Anatoclia cure, as the Apostle Paul says.⁴⁶
Certainly, this does not mean that people in Rouen would actually come to the
relics collected by Victricius when they were ill, but it proves that their bishop
expected his congregation to do so. The same is true of Sozomen, who wrote at
⁴³ See Tertullian, Apologeticum 23; Cyprian, Epistula 75.15. For non-Christian evidence, see
Cotter 1999, 75–105.
⁴⁴ It is interesting to note that in late antique iconography, which played an important role in
directing the reading of the Gospels, the earthly Jesus is represented above all as a healer.
⁴⁵ Hilary of Poitiers, Tractatus super psalmos 64.15. See also Irenaeus, Adversus haereses
2.32.4; Gregory of Nyssa, Vita Macrinae 39. The same pattern is explicitly referred to relics by
Gregory of Nazianzus, In sanctum Cyprianum 18 and Contra Iulianum I 69.
⁴⁶ Victricius, De laude sanctorum 11.

the end of the first half of the fifth century. Almost all the miraculous shrines
presented in his Church History are famous because they are places in which
both demons are cast out and the sick are healed.⁴⁷ In the same generation,
Theodoret of Cyrrhus testifies to the custom of offering ex-votos in the shape
of healed body parts to the saints.⁴⁸ At that time, asking for a miraculous cure
in a martyr’s sanctuary was already a well-established practice. Other hopes
appeared probably at the same time: relics came to be seen as means of
divination and a guarantee of success in war, but these two spheres of their
activity will be described in separate chapters.
WHAT WERE THE DEMONIACS LOOKING

FOR AT THE TOMBS OF THE MARTYRS?
I think that the growing expectations with regard to the power of relics began
with the demoniacs. It was probably their cries and their overall behaviour in
the martyria of Apostles and martyrs that came to be regarded as the effect and
the proof of the power of relics. At this point, however, the question arises: if
at the beginning people did not expect miracles to happen at the tombs of the
saints, why were all those unfortunates coming there?
We do not know whether in Hilary’s days demoniacs were subjected to any
rituals taking place at the martyria. Some time later, in the fifth-century
churches of the West, we find personnel devoted to their care. They were
overseen by exorcists, a minor order of the clergy, attested already in the
middle of the third century.⁴⁹ The exorcists laid their hands on them, provided
them with food and drink, and even organized their work (demoniacs were to
sweep the church). All of this is well documented in a Gallic collection of
ecclesiastical canons, datable to the second half of the fifth century (although
the canons themselves may be older) known as Statuta ecclesiae antiqua.⁵⁰
In his Dialogues, written about 404, Sulpicius Severus claims that clerics
usually would touch the energumens and ‘speak many words’, this expression
most probably referring to long formulas of exorcism.⁵¹ Such rituals were
possibly known already in the middle of the fourth century. It is difficult to say
⁴⁷ Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 7.27.1 (tomb of Epiphanius of Salamis), 3.14.26 (tomb of

Hilarion), 4.3.2 (tomb of the ‘notaries’), 7.5.2 (the church of Anastasia), 2.3.8–13 (Michaelion in
Anaplous), 5.21.5–7 (a spring in Emmaus).
⁴⁸ Theodoret, Graecorum affectionum curatio 8.63–4.
⁴⁹ See the evidence collected in Thraede 1969.
⁵⁰ Statuta ecclesiae antiqua 62–4; see also Concilium Arelatense secundum 38/9 and 39/40;
Concilium Arausicanum a. 441 13/14 and 14/15.
⁵¹ Sulpicius Severus, Dialogi 3.6.3.

whether they were carried out not only in episcopal churches, but in martyria
as well. But even if this was, the case the exorcisms were certainly not the only
and, most probably, not the main reason for the presence of the demoniacs at
the tombs of the saints.
What the demoniacs were looking for in the martyria was, most probably
and above all, alms and shelter. We know little about how the poor and the
sick, deprived of the support of the family, gained their bread and where they
lived in the ancient city. The evidence, scanty and dispersed, shows us that
beggars could be found in the agora, near the city gates, or at the entrance to
the baths.⁵² None of these places seems to have provided a safe refuge from the
rain, wind, and cold. Moreover, the usual visitor to the baths was not neces-
sarily inclined to support the needy. It would be unfair to say that almsgiving
did not exist in Roman society, but it certainly played a special role among
Jews and Christians. In Christian communities, charitable work was one of the
primary responsibilities of bishops. It might seem then the poor and sick were
attracted by ecclesiae, ‘episcopal’ churches, or xenodochia, hospices run by the
bishops, rather than by basilicae constructed over the tombs of the martyrs.⁵³
In reality, they could be found fairly often in martyria, perhaps for a simple
reason: the bishop was not the only person to support the poor. Large private
donations were dispensed daily by rich Christians;⁵⁴ and it was done mostly in
the martyria. There is good evidence for this from the middle of the fourth
century on. We see it in Antioch, Edessa, Tipasa, Nola, and in Rome, where it
was at St Peter’s that rich Christians distributed alms—not on the Lateran Hill,
the seat of the bishop.⁵⁵
For the above reasons, the famous martyria which attracted pilgrims (and
those referred to by Hilary mentioning the graves of Apostles and martyrs
certainly belonged to that category) also attracted the poor and the sick.
Among the latter were the energumens, who at first came not necessarily in
order to be healed or freed of evil spirits,⁵⁶ but just to find alms, food, and
shelter. These people did not come to the martyria only for a short while, just
to receive alms or to pray: they would spend there entire days, and sometimes
⁵² Finn 2006, 111–15.

⁵³ For xenonochia in Constantinople, see Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 4.20.2 (Maratho-
nius) and Palladius, Dialogus de vita Iohannis Chrysostomi 5.133–4 (John Chrysostom); Sebaste
in Pontus: Epiphanius, Panarion 75.1; Caesarea: Basil, Epistula 176 and 142 (other towns); see:
Finn 2006, 82–8. For the sudden emergence of the ‘hospital’ in the East, see Horden 2005, 367–8.
⁵⁴ On this privatization of almsgiving, see Brown 1992, 95.
⁵⁵ Tipasa: CIL VIII 20906. Rome: Jerome, Epistula 22.32; Ammianus, Res gestae 27.3.6;
Antioch: Constantine, Oratio ad sanctos 12; John Chrysostom, Homiliae de statuis 1.9; Edessa:
Vita Rabbulae 6; the less clear evidence from Nola: Nola: Uranius, De obitu Paulini 3; see Finn
2006, 102–3.
⁵⁶ Neither in order to be possessed, as Brown 1981, 111, argues.

perhaps nights as well.⁵⁷ The demoniacs were in fact inhabitants of, not mere
visitors to, the shrines.⁵⁸
It is worth noting that the Gallic church canons draw a distinction between
the demoniacs and the other poor and sick who used to fill the churches. The
former certainly constituted a distinct group, very conspicuous because of how
they behaved. After all, some of them came to the martyria in order to be
seen—it is easily observable that certain mental diseases are characterized by
the need for spectators. In Warsaw, where I live, one can sometimes find
mentally disturbed people in certain churches, but these are always churches
in the historical part of the city, visited by large numbers of the faithful and
tourists. And the fourth-century martyria did attract people. First, because
they were new and beautiful. The Cappadocian Fathers, Paulinus of Nola, and
Asterius of Amasea describe them with admiration and pride. Secondly,
because they housed the graves of those who did not agree to recant their
faith in the hour of trial and made the persecutions fail.⁵⁹
Places which provided shelter, food, and audience were not easy to find in
the Mediterranean before the tombs of saints began to grow monumental. The
process of constructing large martyrial shrines began in the East only after
Constantine’s victory in 323 and took some time. The Martyrium in Jerusalem
commemorating the passion of Christ was dedicated in 335, but that was still
the very beginning of the process. No sizeable martyr’s shrine in the East can
be securely dated to the years preceding the construction of St Babylas’ in
Daphne and the church of the Holy Apostles in Constantinople, both in the
350s. In Rome too, the Basilica of St Peter was completed only after 354, for
the calendar composed in that year mentions only the celebration Petri in
Catacumbas et Pauli Ostense, and is silent about the Vatican basilica.⁶⁰ It
seems then that the belief in the power of martyrs’ graves, as we remember
attested for the first time c.360, appeared just a few years after the first
monumental martyria in Constantinople, Antioch, and Rome were completed.
NO N-CHRISTIAN THAUMATURG Y
AND M IRACLE-WORKING M ONKS
The explanation presented above emphasizes the link between the

re-emergence of the belief in miracles in Late Antiquity and the construction
programme of Constantine and his heirs. At first sight, this sort of explanation
⁵⁷ Even if normally martyria and churches were closed for the night, beggars could sleep in
porticoes, as in the story concerning Ancyra, told by Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 68.2–3.
⁵⁸ See n. 50 and Gregory of Tours, Historiarum libri 7.29 and Liber vitae patrum 17.4.
⁵⁹ Bastiaensen 1995. ⁶⁰ Pietri 1976, 366–80.

might seem similar to the attempts to look for a ‘rational’ explanation of such
biblical miracles as the drowning of the Egyptian army in the Red Sea or the
tumbling down of the walls of Jericho. Consequently, it may rightly seem a
superfluous task to look for natural causes of episodes which in fact are merely
literary fiction. The difference between the belief in biblical, as opposed
to contemporary, miracles is nevertheless important. The former resulted
directly from the place of the miracles in the Holy Scripture, while the sudden
emergence of the latter is easier to explain if we admit that people actually saw
or experienced something that they found new and puzzling.
Another issue is that the explanation proposed above seems to omit two
important chronological elements of the miraculous in Late Antiquity, namely
the existence of non-Christian and the rise of monastic thaumaturgy. Chris-
tians were not the first to have healing sanctuaries. Temples of Asklepios still
functioned for most of the fourth century and one might ask whether the
miracles happening at the tombs of the martyrs were not inspired to some
extent by the healings which occurred in pagan shrines. The antiquated
argument that the cult of Asklepios was the most important rival of Chris-
tianity is certainly oversimplified, but there is no doubt that this particular cult
aroused anxiety and irritation among Christian writers.⁶¹ And that for good
reason, for we know that the sick were often tempted to look for a miraculous
cure in shrines of other religions.⁶² Thus one could suppose that bishops
simply decided to take over their rivals’ practice in order to beat them at
their own game. The second chronological issue consists in the fact that, at
about the same time as Hilary of Poitiers was writing his On the Trinity and
Against Constantius, Athanasius of Alexandria published his Life of Antony,
the earliest testimony to monastic miracles. In consequence, when the new era
of Christian miracles began, was it with the belief in the power of relics or with
the appearance of charismatic ascetics?
The pagan background of Christian miracles was certainly important. It is
worth emphasizing yet again that before the first sanctuaries were built in the
fourth century there were no Christian holy places which could have played a
role comparable to that of the pagan healing shrines. The churches of the
earlier period were no more than gathering places for the community. But this
does not mean that the miracle-working in the Christian martyria was merely
copied from pagan thaumaturgy, which came to be replaced with Christian
miracles when pagan temples were closed down during the reign of Theodos-
ius I, or perhaps even earlier than that (if we take into account the attempts of
Constantius). Moreover, even if this was indeed the case, one can hardly
imagine that one day people found the gate of an Asklepieion closed and
decided to look for a healing dream in a martyrium if nobody had believed
⁶¹ Edelstein 1945, 132–8. ⁶² Csepregi 2011, esp. 18–19.


beforehand that any special power dwelt in that place. Yet one can imagine
very well that incubation, or the practice of sleeping in shrines, was indeed
taken over once the belief in the healing power of relics appeared. As a result,
I am inclined to think that the influence of non-Christian methods can
perhaps explain certain traits of Christian healing practices, but not the rise
of the belief in miracles itself.
The question of the beginning of monastic thaumaturgy is a complex
matter. The protagonists of the five fourth-century lives of saints, namely
Antony, Macrina, Gregory Thaumaturgus, Hilarion, and Martin, are present-
ed in their literary portraits as miracle-workers. Yet this element of the literary
image of the saint is evidently constructed upon the model of Christ and other
biblical figures, and so the miraculous episodes in the lives of famous ascetics
do not prove that those ascetics were actually considered to be miracle-
workers in their lifetime. In the middle of the fourth century, several monks
were certainly treated as clairvoyants and exorcists; we know this, because the
lives of Antony, Pachomius, and Martin of Tours demonstrate that the belief
in their visions, prophecies, and fights against demons sometimes met with
scorn, doubts, concern, and criticism, which implies that this belief really
existed.⁶³ However, it is much more difficult to find convincing evidence
that the holy monks also had the reputation of healers and were actually
treated as such by their contemporaries, at least before the fifth century, when
the relics were already widely reputed for their miracles. Even in the case of
Martin, whose vita pre-dates his death, we cannot be sure that his image as a
healer was not a literary creation of Sulpicius Severus. The hostile reaction to
his thaumaturgy was provoked by his Life rather than by his activity.⁶⁴ All that
may suggest that the monastic thaumaturgy followed rather than preceded the
belief in the miraculous power of relics.
The question of whether it was relics or monks that first gained a reputation
for performing miracles is of secondary importance in relation to the fact that
the belief in thaumaturgy re-emerged suddenly, in more or less the same
period, in two distinct spheres of religiosity. This fact shows that the ground
for Christian thaumaturgy was already there, and that the expectation of
miracles was in the air. Therefore, the reconstruction of the reasons and
chronology of the belief in the power of relics which I have proposed above
cannot be treated as a complete explanation of the general revival of the belief
in miracles in Late Antiquity. Still, it answers two questions: first, why the
remains and the tombs of the martyrs became so swiftly and broadly recog-
nized as efficient thaumaturgical objects, and secondly, why it happened in the
mid-fourth century.
⁶³ Athanasius, Vita Antonii 33; Sulpicius Severus, Dialogi 3.15.4; Vita Pachomii G¹ 112.
⁶⁴ Wiśniewski 2018.

Can we then fix the chronology of the Christian miraculous in Late
Antiquity? That would be risky, because the earliest testimonies appear so
close in time to one another that their order of appearance in our sources may
be accidental. Still, we can say that in the middle of the fourth century people
who observed what was going on in the martyria began to believe in the power
of relics over demons. At that time, the great ascetics were already consulted as
clairvoyants, but possibly not yet as miracle-workers. Once the demon-
expelling power of relics and the prophetic power of monks had been recog-
nized, it was quite easy to widen its limits, after the image of Christ and the
Apostles who were able to predict future events, drive away demons, and heal
diseases. This example helped to shape first the literary representation of
miracle-working monks and healing relics and then, just a few decades later,
the actual practice of looking for a cure at the tombs of martyrs and in the cells
of monks.
The conviction of the powerful presence of the saints in their relics did not
go unchallenged. It raised certain theological problems: can the saints, who are
in heaven, remain at the same time in their bodies buried in earth? If so, where
do their souls abide? If not, whose power performs miracles at their graves?
The controversy raised by these and other questions will be discussed in
Chapter 10.
SPREADING THE BELIEF IN MIRACLES
There is not much doubt as to where in Christendom the belief in the power of
relics emerged. The authors named above, who are the first witnesses of this
phenomenon, came from various parts of the empire, but for some time, up to
the 380s, the miracles about which they wrote always took place in the East. In
Rome, Pope Damasus (366–84), who did much to promote the cult of local
martyrs, was silent about their miracles. At about the same time in Africa,
Augustine repeated the old conviction that the era of miracles was over, and
only then did he begin to gradually change his opinion.⁶⁵
The change in Augustine’s views was perhaps later than that of most of his
contemporaries. As we have seen above, the first miracles were reported in the
West in the 380s, in Naples and Milan.⁶⁶ Then, in the 390s, Victricius of Rouen
mentioned the miracles at the tombs of saints which occurred regularly in
Milan, Bologna, and Piacenza, and expressed his hope that the same power
⁶⁵ Augustine, De utilitate credendi 34 (no miracles today); Epistula 78.3 (no miracles in
Africa).
⁶⁶ Ambrose, Epistula 77.2, and Hymnus 11; Faustinus and Marcellinus, Libellus precum 26.
See pp. 36–7.

would manifest itself in his own city. Shortly after that Paulinus started writing
his annual hymns in praise of St Felix, whose tomb in Nola was said to
perform miracles. And finally, after 420, Augustine and the anonymous author
of the Book of Miracles of St Stephen enumerated the healings obtained
through the power of that saint in Africa.⁶⁷
The fact that the belief in contemporary miracles re-emerged in several
places distinctly later than in others leads us to ask another question: how did
the new belief spread around the Mediterranean? How did people in Italy,
Gaul, or Africa learn that miracles started to occur again? What made them
think that the stories of miracles were true, and what made them think that
miracles could also change their own lives? Of course, it is not so very difficult
to persuade the sick that they should try some new methods of treatment if the
old ones did not work. But this does not mean that people will always happily
embrace all new practices for their sheer novelty.
There is a strong possibility that the start of the belief in miracles in some
regions was influenced by the news about exorcisms and healings coming
from other parts of the Mediterranean. The earliest surviving collections
of Eastern miracles, performed in the most famous sanctuaries of saints,
appeared only in the late fifth century, and most of them probably remained
unknown to the Latin-speaking audience,⁶⁸ but miracles which occurred in
specific Western sanctuaries started to be collected quite quickly. According to
Augustine, such collections were made in Calama, Hippo, and Uzalis shortly
after the arrival of the relics of St Stephen in those cities, that is, in the 420s.⁶⁹
In addition, Augustine publicized miracles occurring in Hippo in his sermons
and so, most probably, did other bishops. Finally, the news about miracles was
transmitted in pilgrims’ tales, letters, and other writings which mentioned
them incidentally.⁷⁰ We do not know how efficient those texts were in the
propagation of the belief in miracles, but Augustine was convinced that they
might have helped this cause.⁷¹
Interestingly, the expectation of miracles was not associated with all relics.
Many old graves, even those of famous saints, did not attract people looking
for miraculous healings. In Africa, for instance, the sources are silent about
miracles at the tombs of local martyrs, even of those of such renown as
St Cyprian or St Perpetua. The relics had to be newly discovered or acquired,
or rather something new had to happen in order to make people believe
in their power. In northern Italy it was the discovery of the bodies of
Gervasius, Protasius, and Nazarius in Milan, and those of Vitalis and Agricola
⁶⁷ Victricius, De laude sanctorum 11; Paulinus of Nola, Carmina, especially 14, 18–21, 23
passim; Liber de miraculis s. Stephani, passim; Augustine, De civitate Dei 22.8.
⁶⁸ The only exception is the Latin collection of the miracles of Sts Cosmas and Damian, the
critical edition of which is being prepared by Anna Rack-Teuteberg.
⁶⁹ Augustine, De civitate Dei 22.8.339–454. ⁷⁰ Egeria, Itinerarium 20.13.
⁷¹ Augustine, De civitate Dei 22.8.160–71.

in Bologna;⁷² in Africa, the arrival of the relics of St Stephen. Only rarely did
an old relic manage to gain a reputation for being miraculously powerful.
According to Augustine, a stone from the stoning of St Stephen started to be
considered to have a miraculous power by the 420s in Ancona, even though it
had been enshrined in that Italian city for a long time. Yet this happened only
after the body of St Stephen had been discovered in Palestine in 415 and the
story of this finding, translated into Latin, started to circulate throughout the
Mediterranean.⁷³
In several places a new start was marked by a ceremony of translation, or
transfer of relics. In Africa, the relics of St Stephen, the first miracle-working
relics, were introduced to several towns on the initiative, or at least with the
support, of local bishops: Evodius of Uzalis, Praeiectus of Aquae Tibilitanae,
Lucillus of Sinitis, Possidius of Calama, and Augustine of Hippo.⁷⁴ Even if the
bishops were not the only people who moved relics from one place to another,
their role as the organizers of ceremonial translations was matched only by
that of the emperors. These translations, resembling the imperial adventus,
engaged the entire population: everybody was expected to be there and await
the arrival of the saints. We can see this in 396 in Rouen, where Bishop
Victricius preached a sermon about the miracles performed by the relics of
the saints in other places and encouraged people to believe in their power.⁷⁵ It
certainly mattered how the relics arrived and who carried them. It seems that
on Minorca, where the relics of St Stephen were brought by Orosius in 418
without much ado, nobody expected them to heal the sick or expel demons.⁷⁶
The ceremony of the transfer and deposition of relics helped a lot in making
the belief in their power emerge, but it was not indispensable. The tombs of
John the Evangelist in Ephesus and the place in which St Thecla was swal-
lowed by the earth in Seleucia in Isauria gained celebrity status owing to their
miracles, although the bodies of both saints were not transferred anywhere.
In some places, like Rouen, there was also another factor which could have
played a role in making people believe in the power of relics—a newly built
and large church in which they were deposited.⁷⁷ We do not know whether
that shrine eventually came to be known as a sanctuary renowned for its
miracles, but this was obviously Victricius’ intention, and we have seen the
importance of the new martyria for the emergence of the phenomenon in
the East. The construction of a new church could perhaps kindle the belief
⁷² Paulinus, Vita Ambrosii 15–16 (Gervasius and Protasius), 29 (Vitalis and Agricola) and
32–3 (Nazarius).
⁷³ Augustine, Sermo 323.2.
⁷⁴ Uzalis: Augustine, De civitate Dei 22.8.360–2 and Liber de miraculis s. Stephani prol.; Aquae
Tibilitanae, Sinitis, Calama, Audurus, Hippo: Augustine, De civitate Dei 22.8.265–323; for
Hippo, see also Augustine, Sermo 318.1.
⁷⁵ Victricius, De laude sanctorum 11. ⁷⁶ Severus of Minorca, Epistula 4 and 20.
⁷⁷ Victricius, De laude sanctorum 12.

in the power of saints even in places where neither new relics nor new stories
arrived. This could have been the case with the sanctuary of St John in Ephesus
and that of St Thecla in Seleucia.
To conclude, there were several factors which played a role in bringing the
belief in miracles to new places. The first of these was the stories told by
pilgrims and visitors to famous shrines renowned for their miracles. These
stories, however, would not have been enough to trigger a new belief if they
had not been accompanied by certain vehicles for the miraculous power. It was
thus the new relics, either transferred from afar or discovered locally, which
were the second factor contributing to the emergence of the new belief. The
third factor was the solemn ceremonies which advertised the power of the
newly acquired relics. Finally, the fourth factor was the construction of new
buildings, large sanctuaries, which attracted pilgrims, almsgivers, beggars, and
above all the sick and demoniacs, and provided the necessary conditions for
the relics to display their power—a stage, actors, and audience.
Defenders of Cities
In January 402, Paulinus, then presbyter at Nola, wrote one of the poems with
which he celebrated the annual commemoration of St Felix. The body of the
saint lay in the new basilica built by Paulinus not far from the city. That year
the poem directly referred to a new grave threat menacing Italy: the Goths led
by Alaric had just crossed the Alps and were about to invade the peninsula.
Paulinus, confident of receiving help from St Felix, prayed to him in the
following words:
I beg you, ask Christ to lend our cause His benevolent support . . . Once the Lord
has allowed you fair fortune for the Roman domain, bid the elements that serve
you, Felix, to minister to our good . . . Let sun and moon in harmony under your
control remain poised, and keep the stars stationary in suspended course
till the victory of Rome is finally accomplished. In Assyrian Babylon, Daniel
victoriously tamed the lions by welling prayer; so now Felix, you must tame the
uncivilised barbarians, and Christ must shatter them so that they recline as
captives at your feet.¹
Paulinus is one of the first Christian writers we know of who clearly expressed
their firm belief in the extension of the protection of the saints to the cities
which possessed their relics. In his Natalicia, we find three instances in which
he refers to their power, with the mention of their capability to halt the
invading enemies or ward them off from the city walls. The earliest reference
dates back to the beginning of 402, as we have seen in the passage quoted
above. In 405, he assured his readers of the protection of the Apostles Peter
and Paul over Rome and that of Andrew and Timothy over Constantinople. In
407, he again praised Peter and Paul, Felix, and other martyrs who had saved
Italy from a renewed threat of advancing Goths.²
¹ Paulinus of Nola, Carmen 26 (Nat. 8). 246–58 (trans. P. G. Walsh).

² Paulinus of Nola, Carmen 19 (Nat. 11, AD 405). 329–41; Carmen 21 (Nat. 13, AD 407). 1–12.
Defenders of Cities 49
HOW COMMO N WAS THE BELIEF IN THE SAINTS ’

PROTECTION OVER CITIES?
It is not entirely clear whether Paulinus expressed a belief which was already
widely shared in his day or rather promoted a new idea. A definitive answer to
this question is not that easy to find, but it seems that his confidence was not
universally shared among his audience.³ In his Poem 26 he went out of his way
to convince his audience that Felix could help the empire in distress: he
referred to the Bible (quoting diverse examples of Old Testament interces-
sors), appealed to logic (explaining that Felix was close to God, who did
marvellous things to help His people) and to popular knowledge (insisting
that Nola was familiar with Felix’s miracles for the benefit of various individ-
uals).⁴ Also, he declared that he placed his trust in the power of Felix, but
nowhere did he mention people actually praying to the saint, gathering at his
grave, or displaying the relics in the face of the approaching enemy.
We should also note that Paulinus’ contemporaries rarely express belief in
the protective power of saints. Such advocates of the cult of relics as Ambrose,
Victricius of Rouen, and Jerome do not suggest that the saints can defend
communities against invaders.⁵ Although an argument ex silentio should
never be fully trusted, this reticence seems to be significant in the case
of authors who lived during the period of barbarian invasions and often
described them.⁶ In February 402, when Paulinus was writing his Poem 26
and Alaric’s troops were ravaging northern Italy, Gaudentius of Brescia
delivered a sermon at the dedication of the basilica known as the Concilium
sanctorum, ‘the Gathering of the Saints’. The entire sermon is devoted to the
saints whose relics were deposited in the new church.⁷ The author mentions
the barbarian threat which prevented some bishops from attending the cere-
mony,⁸ but does not suggest in any way that relics have the power to keep the
enemy at bay. Presumably in the same year, Maximus of Turin preached a
series of sermons concerning the danger caused by the barbarians. He sum-
moned his audience to look for God’s help by living virtuous lives, prayer,
fasting, integrity, orthodox faith, and acts of charity,⁹ but did not mention the
saints whose relics were kept in Turin, although he referred to them in other
³ Heim 1992, 306.

⁴ In the case of Felix this belief is attested by the epigraphic evidence from Cimitile: CIL
X 1338 and 1370; see Orselli 1965, 75–7.
⁵ According to Paulinus of Milan, Vita Ambrosii 51, Ambrose, after his death, helped the
Moorish commander Mascezel to win a battle, but this text was written only c.422.
⁶ I have not omitted any examples quoted by Courcelle 1964; Orselli 1965, and Beaujard 2000.
⁷ Gaudentius, Tractatus 17; see Courcelle 1953, 23–4. These saints are John the Baptist,
Thomas and Andrew the Apostles, Luke the Evangelist, the martyrs Gervasius, Protasius,
Nazarius, Sisinnius, Martyrius, Alexander, and the Forty Martyrs of Sebaste.
⁸ Gaudentius, Tractatus 17.2. ⁹ Maximus, Sermo 81.3; 82.3; 83.1; 85.2; 86.1–3.

sermons, and believed that they were defensores capable of helping people in
the world to come (in futuro).¹⁰ Another case in point is that of Toulouse, a
city which was attacked in 407, but managed to withstand barbarian raids, and
possessed the body of its bishop and martyr, St Saturninus. His relics were
certainly much venerated in the locality; only a few years earlier, in 402 or 403,
they were transferred to the new basilica built by Bishop Exuperius. And yet
Jerome, who in 406 had written his fiery defence of the cult of relics specifically
at the request of his friends from Toulouse and who was well informed about
the siege in 407 by the very same people, assumed the city ‘had been kept from
falling hitherto by the merits of its reverend bishop Exuperius’, still alive at
that time, and did not mention Saturninus at all.¹¹
All this demonstrates that in Milan, Rouen, Brescia, Turin, and Toulouse
the belief in protection by the martyrs and their relics was not entirely obvious.
Yet this is not to say that Paulinus’ views were an isolated phenomenon.
Indeed, in the writings of his contemporaries we do find some traces of
looking for martyrs’ support in war. In the 380s Gregory of Nyssa, preaching
a sermon on the feast of St Theodore of Euchaita, much venerated in Pontus,
invoked the martyr thus: ‘The infamous Scythians [i.e. Goths] gestating war
against us are not far. As a soldier, defend us!’—and expressed his conviction
that the Apostles would take care of the churches that they had founded or in
which they had suffered.¹² In the 390s, Ammianus Marcellinus sneered at the
general Sabinianus, the commander of the Roman army in the East, who in
359 had visited some tombs in Edessa before departing for the war with Persia,
with the obvious intention of looking for help from the martyrs.¹³ Around 406,
Sulpicius Severus scoffed at the Emperor Constantius’ behaviour during the
battle of Mursa, in 351, in the following words:
For at that time, when a battle was fought at Mursa against Magnentius, Con-
stantius had not the courage to go down to witness for himself the conflict, but
took up his abode in a basilica of the martyrs which stood outside the town,
Valens who was then the bishop of the place being with him to keep up his
courage.¹⁴
About the same time as Paulinus wrote his Poem 26, Rufinus of Aquileia, an
acquaintance of his, recounted very earnestly how the Emperor Theodosius I,
before the war against Eugenius (393), ‘visited with priests all the places of
prayer, and clad in hair-cloth lay prostrated before the tombs of the martyrs
and Apostles, begging for trustworthy help of the saints’.¹⁵ One of those places
can be identified as the sanctuary at Hebdomon, close to Constantinople,
¹⁰ Maximus, Sermo 12.1–2; see also Sermones 105–6. ¹¹ Jerome, Epistula 123.16.
¹² Gregory of Nyssa, De sancto Theodoro, pp. 70–1; see E. Rizos, CSLA E01749.
¹³ Ammianus, Res gestae 18.7.7.
¹⁴ Sulpicius Severus, Chronica 2.38.3 (trans. A. Roberts, slightly adapted).
¹⁵ Rufinus, Historia ecclesiastica 11.33 (trans. Ph. Amidon).
where the head of John the Baptist was deposited. According to Sozomen,
Theodosius’ victory in the battle of the Frigidus was announced there by a
demon, lamenting his defeat at the hands of St John through the mouth of an
energumen.¹⁶
Another early trace of the belief in saints’ help can be found in the poet
Claudian, who ridiculed a certain dux by the name of Jacobus:
By the ashes of St Paul and the shrine of revered St Peter, do not pull my verses
to pieces, General James. So may St Thomas prove a buckler to protect thy
breast and St Bartholomew bear thee company to the wars; so may the blessed
saints prevent the barbarians from crossing the Alps and Suzanna endow thee
with her strength; so, should any savage foe seek to swim across the Danube, let
him be drowned therein like the swift chariots of Pharaoh; so may an avenging
javelin strike the Getic hordes and the favour of Thecla guide the armies of
Rome; so may thy guests dying in their efforts to out-drink thee assure thy
board its triumph of hospitality and the broached casks overcome thy thirst; so
may thy hand ne’er be red with an enemy’s blood—do not, I say, pull my verses
to pieces.¹⁷
The epigram was written about 403, and its addressee was probably in
command of some forces in one of the Alpine provinces during the first
onslaught of Alaric’s troops on Italy.¹⁸ It may be that already in that war
Jacobus manifested his belief in the power of saints and their relics, for the
only piece of information that we have about him apart from the quoted
passage is a letter of Bishop Vigilius, which says that Jacobus was responsible
for the transfer of the relics of the martyrs of Anaunia to Constantinople.¹⁹
Prudentius, also Paulinus’ contemporary, rejoiced that the ‘holy maid
Eulalia honours with her bones and tends with her love her Emerita (Mérida)’,
and the martyrs Emeritus and Chelidonius ‘protect the folk who dwell by
Ebro’s waters’ (i.e. in Calahorra). He also believed that the martyrs would
represent and protect their cities on the Day of Judgement.²⁰
Slightly later, Augustine mentioned in his De cura pro mortuis that St Felix
appeared on the city walls during the siege of Nola, about which he learned
from some eyewitnesses.²¹ He also suggested that some people were disap-
pointed because the saints apparently failed to save the city of Rome from
¹⁶ Theodosius’ prayer: Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 7.24.2. See also Theodoret, Historia
ecclesiastica 5.24.3–12. Demoniac’s prophecy: Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 7.24.8.
¹⁷ Claudian, Carmina Minora 50 (trans. M. Platnauer).
¹⁸ See Woods 1991b and Al. Cameron 1970, 224–5.
¹⁹ See Jacobus (1) in PLRE 1, 450, and Woods 1991b for a closer identification of his office,
and Vanderspoel 1986 for the date and identification with the personage mentioned by Vigilius.
²⁰ Prudentius, Peristephanon 3.3–5 (Eulalia); 1.115–17 (Emeritus and Chelidonius), 4.1–60
(local martyrs and the Last Judgement).
²¹ Augustine, De cura pro mortuis 19 (written in 420–2); in spite of the fact that Nola finally
was captured: De civitate Dei 1.10.57–63 (written in 413).

being sacked in 410. They would sneer at those who relied on the martyrs for
help:
‘Peter’s body lies in Rome’, people are saying, ‘Paul’s body lies in Rome, Laur-
ence’s body lies in Rome, the bodies of other holy martyrs lie in Rome; and Rome
is grief-stricken, and Rome is being devastated, afflicted, crushed, burnt; death
stalking the streets in so many ways, by hunger, by pestilence, by the sword.
Where are the memorial shrines (memoriae) of the Apostles?’²²
Those who became disillusioned about the power of martyrs had evidently
placed their trust in them before. At the same time in the East, the author of
the anonymous Sermon on St Thomas the Apostle²³ expressed his hope that the
saint, who had already banished Arians from Thrace, would also liberate the
West—he was presumably referring to Alaric’s invasion.²⁴
All this evidence comes from the end of the fourth and beginning of the fifth
century and should be considered along with the reticence on the part of the
authors named above. Interestingly, if Sulpicius Severus and Ammianus did
not project into the past a belief which only appeared in their days, we do see
Roman commanders looking for martyrs’ help in virtually all major conflicts
of the second half of the fourth century, namely the war with Persia during the
reign of Constantius (356: Ammianus), the civil wars against Magnentius
(353: Sulpicius Severus) and Eugenius (394: Rufinus, Sozomen), and Alaric’s
invasion at the turn of the fifth century (Ps.-Chrysostom, Claudian, Paulinus,
and Augustine).
Moreover, the silence of the authors who were interested in the cult of relics
but did not write about their protective power can be partly explained if we
examine their writings against the historical background of the second half of
the fourth century. In that period the West simply was not faced with any
serious threats which would have called for help from above. There were no
major natural disasters, the great tsunami of 365 affected only the eastern part
of the Mediterranean,²⁵ and, after the subjugation of the Alamanni by Julian,
the West did not expect any imminent danger of a barbarian invasion. The
situation in Italy changed only in 402, with Alaric’s first raid into the penin-
sula, in Gaul on the last day of 406, with the fall of the Rhine frontier, and in
Spain in 409, with the coming of the Visigoths. Now, almost all the works
which praised relics but failed to express a belief in their protection against the
enemy had been written before the provinces of their authors were attacked.
Victricius’ De laude sanctorum was written in Gaul in 395, Ambrose died in
²² Augustine, Sermo 296.6 (trans. E. Hill).

²³ Attributed to John Chrysostom, but spurius according to Clavis Patrum Graecorum 4574.
²⁴ Sermo in s. Thomam Apostolum, p. 500. It is that possible some relics of Thomas were to be
found close to Constantinople (in Drypia) and some in the West. It is by no means evident that
the sermon was delivered at the tomb of Thomas in Edessa, as Courcelle 1964, 35, thinks.
²⁵ G. Kelly 2004, 141–9.
Italy in 397, the last writings of Sulpicius Severus in Gaul date back to c.405,
Jerome published his Adversus Vigilantium, a defence of the cult of relics,
directed to his Gallic friends, in 406, and Prudentius’ Peristephanon was
composed in Spain before 405.²⁶ Thus, Paulinus was simply the first ardent
supporter of the cult of saints in the West, who wrote in a region directly
threatened by Germanic invasions. The silence of contemporary Greek advo-
cates of the cult of saints can be explained in a similar way. Their homelands
were not seriously threatened in their lifetimes, and so it is no surprise that of
the Cappadocian Fathers only Gregory of Nyssa referred, in the passage
quoted above, to the power of the martyr Theodore, who could protect Pontus
against the threat of an invasion.²⁷ The only major city which was then clearly
in peril was Constantinople and John Chrysostom, its bishop, assured its
inhabitants that it was protected by some unspecified Egyptian martyrs
whose relics had been brought from Alexandria.²⁸
Unlike the accounts of healing miracles, traces of the belief in the protective
power of the saints occur rather rarely in the later literature of the fifth
century. Hagiographers, church historians, chroniclers, and preachers hardly
ever mention any role for relics in the defence of the cities. In the West, only
the Chronicle of Hydatius, composed around 486, contains a brief remark
saying that in 456 ‘Theoderic was preparing to pillage Emerita (Mérida) but
was deterred by warnings from the blessed martyr Eulalia’ (beatae Eulaliae
martyris terretur ostentis). Mérida was the place of Eulalia’s burial.²⁹ We may
add to that the tale of St Stephen’s attempt to save Metz, where his relics were
kept, from an attack of the Huns in the middle of the fifth century. According
to this story, St Stephen was interceding for Metz with Peter and Paul. It
proved to be of no avail, because God had already decided the fate of the city.
Still, he managed to save at least his own chapel from destruction.³⁰ The
problem is that this particular story was recorded only by Gregory of Tours
²⁶ Hunter 1999, 406–7; Prudentius: Roberts 1993, 2–3; Sulpicius Severus: Stancliffe 1983,
80–1.
²⁷ Gregory of Nyssa, De sancto Theodoro, pp. 70–1 (see n. 12). It is not certain what threat he
had in mind—perhaps the Gothic danger caused by Fritigern.
²⁸ John Chrysostom, Laudatio martyrum Aegyptiorum 1. The venue of this sermon is
uncertain, but E. Rizos, CSLA E02383, convincingly argues that Constantinople is more probable
than Antioch.
²⁹ Hydatius, Chronica s.a. 456; see also the death of Heremigarius who had scorned Mérida,
‘thereby causing an affront to the holy martyr Eulalia . . . was cast headlong into the river Ana by
the hand of God and died’ (s.a. 429, trans. Burgess).
³⁰ Gregory of Tours, Historiarum libri 2.6. See also the story of King Agila, who profaned the
shrine of the martyr Aquisclus in Cordoba, and subsequently ‘was smitten by vengeance for the
present war, and lost there his son, who was killed together with a large part of the army, and also
lost the whole treasure with its renowned riches. All that through the agency of Aquisclus and
other saints’: this would have happened in 549, but the story is attested only in the second quarter
of the seventh century: Isidore of Seville, Historia Gothorum 45 (trans. G. Donini).

at the end of the sixth century and there is no guarantee that it really dates
back to the times of the Hunnic invasion.³¹
In Greek fifth-century literature an important witness of the protection
secured by the saints is Theodoret of Cyrrhus, who claimed that the cities
which possessed corporeal remains of martyrs venerated them as ‘guardians
and defenders’ (ὡς πολιούχους τιμῶσι καὶ φύλακας).³² We may suppose that
this general remark also referred to protection against enemies and natural
disasters, but this is not explicitly stated. The fifth-century author of the
Miracles of St Thecla laid out his views more clearly, presenting the role of
the saints in the world in the following way:
Thus because God is the lover of mankind, the most compassionate and generous,
he sowed the saints over the earth, as if he divided the earth among excellent
physicians. Thus, on the one hand, the saints can easily perform miracles, for they
are in a way closer to those in need and able to act immediately, bringing healing.
On the other hand, through the agency of God’s grace and power, they can
perform great deeds which demand His help in the highest degree, acting as
ambassadors, intercessors, and persuaders for the sake of nations, cities, races and
peoples, against pestilences, wars, hungers, droughts, earthquakes, and against all
things that only the hand of God can control and master.³³
The protection of the community against wars and cataclysms is presented
here as a category apart, distinct from the day-to-day miraculous activity of
the saints. This general reflection is followed by an account of Thecla’s
interventions in the rescue of a few Cilician towns attacked by Isaurians.
The saint appeared on the walls of Seleucia repulsing the enemy with battle
cries and thunderclaps, attacked in person the besiegers of Iconium, ordered
the construction of a shrine (naos) dedicated to her which was to protect the
road to Selinus, and finally delivered a band of brigands who had robbed her
sanctuary into the hands of Roman soldiers. Gilbert Dagron dates the Isaurian
raids from which Thecla supposedly rescued those three Cilician cities to the
360s and 370s, but her interventions were described only a hundred years
later³⁴ and so one should regard these passages rather as a testimony to late
fifth-century belief.
The fifth-century evidence might seem rather scanty, but it does not mean
that belief in the protective power of relics dwindled in that period. General
remarks of Theodoret and the author of the Miracles of St Thecla can even
³¹ Other stories in Gregory of Tours about cities and armies protected by relics: Historiarum
libri 3.29, 7.31 and Liber in gloria confessorum 78.
³² Theodoret, Graecorum affectionum curatio 8.10. According to Canivet SC 57, 28–31 it was
written probably between AD 427 and 431.
³³ Miracula Theclae 4.32–43 (trans. S. F. Johnson).
³⁴ Miracula Theclae 5, 6, 27, and 28 (the two former in AD 354, the two latter in the 370s,
according to Dagron in Miracula Theclae, introduction, pp. 115–18).
suggest the contrary. On closer examination, the shortage of episodes illustrating
this belief is not surprising. If a city or province was not in danger, there
was no reason to write about protection guaranteed by relics. And this was the
case with the Asiatic part of the empire, which, having seen the wars of
Constantius II, the fiasco of Julian’s expedition,³⁵ and the peace with Persia
concluded by Jovian in 363, was not threatened with any major invasion,
except for the Hunnic raid in 395. The only city besieged by the Persians
before the Anastasian War of 502 was Theodosiopolis in Osrhoene, attacked
in 421–2. No source mentions a role played by relics in its successful defence,
but Theodoret tells an interesting story about a lithobolos, or stone thrower,
with which the local bishop Eunomius killed a blasphemous Sassanian lesser
king. What is interesting is the name of the machine, ‘Thomas the Apostle’,
presumably given in order to secure the support of the saint.³⁶ Other towns
could have feared only more or less organized bandits, like the Isaurian
raiders. When the situation deteriorated again in the sixth century, with the
renewed conflict with Persia and the subsequent Avar and Slavic attacks, the
mentions of saints bringing help to cities reappear in the evidence. Resapha,
the place of the cult of St Sergius, was besieged by Chosraw II, but the Persians
did not take it. According to Evagrius it was saved by the saint, for the
besiegers were frightened by a vision of an immense army which appeared
miraculously on the city walls.³⁷ As for the threat posed by the Slavs, the
collection of the Miracles of St Demetrios consists mostly of miracles by which
Thessalonica was saved from their incursions.³⁸
If the silence of the sources about saints protecting cities is understandable
in time of peace, there was even less reason to write about the support
provided by relics if a war broke out and a besieged city fell or surrendered—
which happened many a time in the West. At the very beginning of the fifth
century, Paulinus could have been thinking that his hopes for the help of the
saints were not in vain. In February 402, he wrote (Carmen 26) that the power
of Christ, acting through St Felix, can crush the barbarians, and the barbarians
were indeed crushed in the battle of Pollentia in the spring of the same year.³⁹
But later on the situation changed. The series of Natalicia for the festivals of
St Felix came to an end in 407. Since this happened three years before the
³⁵ No relics are mentioned in accounts of these wars, although we find a heavenly intervention
in Theodoret’s description of the siege of Amida, Historia ecclesiastica 2.31.8–9 (Shapur terrified
by a vision) and 2.31.11–14 (a monk, Jacob, inflicts a plague of flies and mosquitoes on the
Persian besiegers).
³⁶ Theodoret, Historia ecclesiastica 5.39.12–14.
³⁷ Evagrius, Historia ecclesiastica 4.28; see E. K. Fowden 1999, 134–5.
³⁸ See Lemerle 1979–81. See also Evagrius, Historia ecclesiastica 1.13 (the head of Simeon
Stylites protects the army of the East); Historia ecclesiastica 4.28 (St Sergius protects his city
against Persians); Theophylact Simocatta, Historia ecclesiastica 7.15.2 (Alexander of Dryzipara
punishes Avars with plague).
³⁹ See Guttilla 1989, 19.

second invasion of Alaric there is no ground then to attribute it to Paulinus’
disappointment with his patron saint who failed to defend Nola, just as Peter,
Paul, and other martyrs failed to defend Rome in 410. Still, it is doubtful
whether Paulinus would have still been willing to sing St Felix’s praises after
the sack of Rome and Nola in summer that year.
A good example of a city which probably put its trust in saintly defenders,
without however leaving clear traces of this in literary evidence, is Maipher-
qat in Sophene, on the frontier between the Roman Empire and Persia. At
the end of the fourth century Maipherqat was not much more than a village,
but it was developed and fortified by Bishop Marutha, who deposited in it
relics of a number of saints, mostly from Persia, and changed its name to
Martyropolis. Marutha’s project was endorsed by the Emperor Theodosius II,
who probably hoped that this frontier post would be strengthened by the
saints. Yet we can hardly see this in the evidence. The foundation of the city
took place in a period of détente between the Romans and the Persians which
lasted until 502. In 502, when war broke out, Martyropolis was captured, and
the same happened again in 589. None of these events was a good occasion
to write about protection provided by the saints.⁴⁰ Only inhabitants of cities
which were endangered and then rescued, or at least not taken, could bear
witness to a belief in the saints’ protection. And this group was simply not
very large.
All this shows that the limited amount of literary evidence for the belief in
question can be misleading. Fortunately, this belief had a good chance of
leaving traces in epigraphical evidence. People who hoped to be healed or
delivered from a demon did not express it in monumental inscriptions. Those
who sought perpetual protection from a saint for their city sometimes did. An
early sixth-century inscription from Euchaita, for instance, calls St Theodore
‘the guardian of this town’.⁴¹ In Jerash (in Jordan), a late fifth-century inscrip-
tion calls the same saint ‘an unageing defence and barrier against ill for the
town and the dwellers therein and its citizens yet to be’.⁴² Peasants from Crete
ask St Nicolas: ‘Help this village!’⁴³ The inhabitants of Tyre address their plea
to God, but call Tyre ‘the city of the God-Bearer’.⁴⁴ Inscriptions like these do
not tell us anything about specific events, but they are a manifest sign of trust
in the protection of saints. It is difficult to assess how strongly this trust was
associated with relics; but we can say that it appeared early, lasted long, and
was probably much more common than the sources suggest.
⁴⁰ For the evidence and discussion, see E. K. Fowden 1999, 45–59.

⁴¹ P. Nowakowski, CSLA E00969.
⁴² Trans. A. H. M. Jones; see P. Nowakowski, CSLA E02342.
⁴³ See P. Nowakowski, CSLA E01368. ⁴⁴ See P. Nowakowski, CSLA E01765.
NON-CHRISTIAN PARA LLELS
What was the origin of the belief in the protective power of relics? Certainly, it
emerged from the belief in the power of saints over demons, discussed in
Chapter 2. Yet such a development was not inevitable, because defending
cities, unlike expelling demons, healing, and prophesying, did not conform
to the pattern of biblical miracles. Neither Jesus nor the Apostles protected
towns or promised to do so in the future. All predictions concerning cities
which can be found in the New Testament foretold their more or less
immediate destruction, in accordance with God’s will.⁴⁵ In the Old Testament,
examples of a God-sent rescue for Jerusalem are few and far between and
unconnected with the presence of any special object.⁴⁶ Even the Ark of the
Covenant, sometimes considered a source of power, never played any role in
the defence of the city.⁴⁷
The protective function of sacred objects connected with gods and heroes
was unquestionably more important in classical antiquity, even if in literary
sources objects of this sort do not appear as frequently as one might expect,
and the archaeological evidence is usually difficult to interpret.⁴⁸ The most
obvious parallels to the relics of the martyrs are certainly the bones of the
heroes whose burials in agorae, city gates, or city walls are attested by both
textual and material evidence.⁴⁹ It is interesting to note that this evidence does
not suggest that heroes’ bones had an intrinsic power or created an invisible
bulwark surrounding the city. Instead, they guaranteed that the hero actually
resided in the city and, if properly venerated and summoned, would act
personally as its defender.⁵⁰ And this belief, as we shall see, closely resembles
the role played by the relics of the saints. This parallel, however, is distant in
time from the emergence of the Christian phenomenon. Even if the cult of
heroes was not entirely dead in Late Antiquity (as illustrated in the evidence
presented below),⁵¹ the protective role of their tombs was by then marginal. As
early as the second century AD, Pausanias, who mentioned over fifty places of
⁴⁵ Matthew 24:1–3, 15–22; Mark 13:1–2, 14–20; Luke 21:5–6, 20–4; Rev. 17:1–18:24.
⁴⁶ 2 Kings 19:35 (the angel of the Lord slays the Assyrian army); 2 Macc. 3:24–7 (the Temple
treasury is defended by a radiant rider).
⁴⁷ The two texts which suggest that the Ark could be useful in the battle are Josh. 6:6–21 (the
capture of Jericho) and 1 Sam. 4:2–4 (the war with the Philistines, in which the Ark fails to bring
victory to Israel).
⁴⁸ The belief in the protective role of certain statues in Greek and Roman religion is usually
taken for granted: see e.g. Y.-M. Duval 1996, 102. He finds it superfluous to expatiate upon the
belief in the protective power of pagan statues of gods, which has existed without interruption for
hundreds of years, but does not refer to the evidence.
⁴⁹ Archaeological evidence: Kron 1999, 73 and n. 41 (tombs of heroes, with references to
detailed studies).
⁵⁰ Rohde 1925, 120–1; see the analysis of the most famous examples of transfers of the bodies
of heroes (especially that of Orestes in Herodotus, Historiae 1.66–8) in McCauley 1999, 94–5.
⁵¹ Lavan 2011, 453–5.

the cult of heroes in his Description of Greece, some of them including burial
sites, did not present any of these as a source of protective power. Further-
more, even tombs placed in the very entrance to a city, that is, in the location
which modern scholars regard as an obvious indication of the originally
protective character of the burial, were no longer seen in this way in Pausanias’
time. He explains, for instance, that the hero Aetolus was buried in the very
gate of Olympia simply due to an oracle which forbade his dead body to be laid
either outside the city or within its precincts.⁵² All this suggests that the tombs
of the heroes could hardly have played a major role in the emergence of the
Christian belief, although some influence is not impossible.
Yet the tombs of the heroes were not the only powerful objects which
protected cities in the Greek and Roman world. The most famous object of
this type was probably the Palladium, or a wooden statue of Pallas Athena,
believed to have been brought from Troy by Aeneas and thereafter kept in the
temple of Vesta in the Roman Forum. In modern scholarship, the term
‘palladium’ is used to denote an object belonging to the broad category of
city-protecting talismans.⁵³ However, in fact the Palladium was a class by
itself. Certainly, the Romans believed in the divine protection of cities; this
belief is clearly visible in the rite of evocatio, used in the Republican period to
win over the favour of the gods of a besieged enemy. This belief, however, was
not accompanied by any known attempts at stealing or neutralizing divine
effigies. It is true that according to the Aeneid, Ulysses and Diomedes had
stolen the Palladium from Troy, thus depriving the city of its surest defence.
But in this they had no followers.⁵⁴ Protective statues are absent from the
literary history of Roman wars. In Roman archaeology we do find many
examples of niches left in city gates, which today are usually thought to have
been designed to enshrine statuettes of protective deities,⁵⁵ but it is not clear
whether these statuettes were indeed considered to be objects endowed with
power or mere representations of divine patrons. Nevertheless, the silence of
the sources is a weak argument for the non-existence of the phenomenon, and
Christopher Faraone is probably right in supposing that the scarcity of
evidence of protective statues and other powerful objects in classical antiquity
may result from a disdain Greek philosophy had long cultivated toward such
devices. This disdain, widespread in the rationalizing historiography of Thu-
cydidean tradition, does not necessarily reflect, however, what most people of
the Mediterranean thought about talismans protecting communities.⁵⁶
More importantly, whatever the situation was in the classical era, late
antique authors had no qualms of this sort and protective statues appear in
⁵² Pausanias, Graeciae descriptio 5.4.4. ⁵³ Kitzinger 1954, 110 (about pagan practices).
⁵⁴ Virgil, Aeneid 2.160–84. Evocatio could be accompanied by the transfer of the cult statue
only after the capture of the city; see Basanoff 1947, 42–5 and 204.
⁵⁵ Faraone 1992, 8. ⁵⁶ Faraone 1992, 114.
numerous instances in the literary evidence from this period. Admittedly, in
some cases their crucial role could have been invented or overemphasized by
religiously engaged writers. Still, the very fact that these authors found it
important to mention such objects is symptomatic of the belief in their
power. Late antique statues had diverse and specialized functions. Some of
them protected the cities against natural disasters. In the fifth-century Quaes-
tiones et responsiones of Pseudo-Justinus, we find the earliest explicit mention
of talismans against the winds, storms, mice, and wild beasts, designed
supposedly by the first-century Neopythagorean philosopher Apollonius of
Tyana. It is interesting to note that talismans such as these are not mentioned
by Philostratus, the early third-century author of the Life of Apollonius, and
this suggests that they were invented at a later date.⁵⁷ According to Malalas, in
the time of Constantine, Ploutarchos, the governor of Syria and a Christian,
discovered in Antioch a bronze statue of Poseidon, which was a talisman
(telesma) against earthquakes.⁵⁸ Malalas wrote at the beginning of the sixth
century, but being an Antiochene he could draw his information from some
reliable local tradition.⁵⁹ Writing in the same period, the historian Zosimus
reported that in 375 the city of Athens was saved from an earthquake by the
erection of a statue of Achilles dedicated by the theurgist Nestorius.⁶⁰
Other statues were destined to impede enemies invading the frontiers.
According to Augustine, in 394 pagans hoped that Theodosius’ army, march-
ing towards Italy from the East, would be stopped by some golden effigies of
Jupiter which guarded the Alpine passes.⁶¹ Unfortunately, we do not know
who erected them and whether they were set up immediately before the
approach of the Theodosian army or much earlier. The early fifth-century
pagan historian Olympiodorus says that Sicily avoided the invasion of Alaric’s
Goths in 410 thanks to a sacred statue which protected it against fire from Etna
and enemies from overseas, and that the island was ultimately captured only
after the statue had been removed.⁶² The same author mentions effigies
representing barbarian peoples buried on the border of Thrace which guarded
the province from the attacks of barbarians. When these statues were dug up
during the reign of Constantius III,⁶³ the Huns, Sarmatians, and Goths
invaded the country.⁶⁴ Interestingly, there is also one other source mentioning
the protection of this particular province by a statue buried within its limits,
⁵⁷ Quaestiones et responsiones ad orthodoxos 24. The anonymous author is identified either

ash Diodorus of Tarsus or Theodoret of Cyrrhus. See Dulière 1970 and Dzielska 1986, 76 and
106–11. It is possible that Eusebius alluded to the talismans of Apollonius in Contra Hieroclem
40 when he mentioned ‘superstitious devices’ (periergous mechanas) known to his contempor-
aries and dedicated in the name of Apollonius.
⁵⁸ Malalas, Chronographia 13.3. ⁵⁹ See Downey 1935.
⁶⁰ Zosimus, Historia nova 4.18.1–4.
⁶¹ Augustine, De civitate Dei 5.26.31–6; see Y.-M. Duval 1996. ⁶² Olympiodorus, fr. 16.
⁶³ Gillet 1993, 10. ⁶⁴ Olympiodorus, fr. 27.

namely an epigram known from the Greek Anthology: ‘inscribed on the base of
[a statute of] Ares that lies buried in Thrace. It says that “as long as the fierce
Ares here has been laid low upon the ground, the Gothic people shall never set
foot upon Thrace”.’⁶⁵ The two episodes mentioned by Olympiodorus date
from the first half of the fifth century, which means that they occurred in his
day. Nevertheless, it is impossible to say when the statues began to be treated
as apotropaic objects. The epigram mentioning Ares is certainly datable to
Late Antiquity, because the Goths referred to in the inscription approached
the Roman borders only in the third century.⁶⁶
The reappearance of sacred statues in literary sources is partly due to the
interest in divine powerful objects, growing most notably among Neoplatonic
philosophers since the times of Iamblichus.⁶⁷ This interest can be well illus-
trated by a short remark of the Emperor Julian. Writing in 355, he emphasizes
that when the Gauls captured Rome, at the beginning of the fourth century BC,
the citizens ‘occupied the hill on which stands the famous statue of Jupiter’
and the enemy did not dare to attack. The emphasis put on the role of the
statue, which is absent from other ancient sources, suggests that Julian revised
the well-known story of the Gallic siege in keeping with his Neoplatonic
views.⁶⁸ Nevertheless, it is probable that we are dealing with something
more than a mere intellectual novelty which caused the powerful statues of
old to reappear in the evidence. In some cases the Neoplatonic belief did result
in the erection of new statues, such as that mentioned by Zosimus. After all,
people living in that period in various parts of the empire were probably ready
both to seek new methods of protecting their cities and to return to the
old ones.
The lack of a biblical pattern for talismans protecting cities and the growing
interest in such objects among ‘pagans’ at the end of the fourth century leads
us to the question of whether and, if so, to what degree Christian beliefs and
practices in this sphere were influenced by pagan customs.
H O W DI D I T W O R K ?
In order to understand the relation between Christian and pagan beliefs in this
sphere it is worth taking a closer look at the ways in which protective relics
were supposed to work. Let us return to Paulinus. It is interesting to note that,
⁶⁵ Anthologia Graeca 9.805; see Faraone 1991, 169–70.

⁶⁶ It does not seem that the statue of Victory in the Roman curia was considered to be an
apotropaic object, in spite of the fact that pagan senators strongly opposed its removal. It is
rather the ritual that was considered to be essential for the safety of Rome, not the statue itself;
see Lavan 2011, 445–7.
⁶⁷ Dodds 1947, 62–6. ⁶⁸ Julian, Laudatio Constantii 1.29.
when writing about the protection guaranteed to Rome and Constantinople by
the Apostles and to Nola by Felix, he never refers directly to their relics.
Admittedly, in his opinion the saints succoured the cities where their bodies
lay, but the connection between their graves and heavenly protection is not
stressed and is rather indirect.⁶⁹ And this, for a few reasons, seems to have
been a common view.
First, there is no strict topographical correlation between the place where
relics were kept and the territory protected by saints. The tomb of Felix was
not in Nola itself, but in the place which later came to be known as Cimitile,
a cemetery, about 2 kilometres away from the city which the saint was
supposed to defend. Moreover, as we have seen, Paulinus believed that
Felix, and other saints too, fought against the barbarians not only at the
local level—they were also able to come to help in places far away from
where their relics lay.⁷⁰ The same can be said about the protective miracles
of St Thecla. Her sanctuary was located near Seleucia, not in Seleucia itself,
which did not prevent her from defending this and other cities against pirates
and brigands. It should also be noted that the general Sabinianus and the
Emperor Theodosius I, who sought the assistance of saints before setting out
for war, did not take any relics with them.
Secondly, the authors who evoked the protective power of saints did not pay
any special attention to their relics on such occasions. Nor did they present
saints’ graves as sources of miraculous power capable of surrounding the city
with invisible walls. In Paulinus’ poems the protective role of saints consisted
in their interceding with God on behalf of cities. In the Miracles of St Thecla,
the saint is usually presented as protecting the city directly, fighting in person
against the enemy, but in both cases, directly or not, it was the saints who
defended the cities—not their physical remains. It is worth noting that in
Seleucia, and later in Thessalonica, the most famous example of a saint-
protected city (during the Slavic invasions), the very presence of relics was
disputable at best. Neither did Seleucia have the body of St Thecla nor
Thessalonica that of St Demetrius.⁷¹ Admittedly, we do observe certain efforts
to discover or produce their relics, or prove that they had always been in place,
but it does not imply that people actually thought that the protective power
derived from their presence. The relics do not play any role at all in the
accounts of St Thecla’s and St Demetrius’ interventions in defence of the
cities.⁷² Arguably, it was rather the belief in the presence of relics that resulted
from the experience of being protected by saints than vice versa. Moreover,
⁶⁹ Paulinus of Nola, Carmen 26 (Nat. 8; AD 402); 19 (Nat. 11; AD 405). 329–41; 21 (Nat. 13;
AD 407). 25–36.
⁷⁰ Paulinus of Nola, Carmen 21 (Nat. 13; AD 407).1–36.
⁷¹ For the relics of Demetrius, see Skedros 1999, 57–9, Woods 2000, and Bakirtzis 2002; for
Thecla, see Davis 2001.
⁷² See Lemerle 1979–81.

there were other methods of bringing saints’ attention to a besieged city: let us
recall the stone thrower in Theodosiopolis named after Thomas the Apostle.
The actual possession of relics was not necessary.
Thirdly, unlike the aforementioned sacred statues located on the borders of
Sicily, Thrace, or Italy in order to guard straits, passes, and frontiers, the saints
protected peoples and communities rather than thoroughfares and territories.
They did not play the role of talismans but that of patrons.
Certainly, the notion that the saints do not need their bodily remains in
order to act wherever they wish is perfectly correct from the theological point
of view; the same refers to healing miracles as well. But in the latter case, such
an opinion was rather a result of developments which took place at a later date,
following doctrinal reflection on the cult of saints. It is unquestionable that the
earliest healing miracles occurred at the tombs of martyrs. And even if at the
end of the sixth century Gregory the Great was at pains to convince his readers
that martyrs performed more miracles in places which did not possess their
relics,⁷³ the common opinion must have been exactly the opposite. It seems
that while the belief in the power of exorcisms and healing miracles traces its
origin mostly from an experience of direct contact with relics, the belief in
their protective power derives from reflection on the role of the saints as
intercessors and helpers in all spheres of human life, or (to use a technical
term) as patrons.
The idea of the patronus in the late antique cult of saints has been widely
discussed in scholarship.⁷⁴ It seems to be of particular importance for the
belief in the saints’ protection over cities. In Latin literature, the term
‘patronus’ appears in reference to the saints only at the end of the fourth
century, and only in a few authors. Maximus of Turin, Gaudentius of Brescia,
and Jerome,⁷⁵ all of whom are important witnesses of the development of the
cult of relics, did not use that term, and, interestingly, as we have seen, none of
them mentions protection provided by saints to cities. It was only Paulinus of
Nola who began to use the term patronus regularly with reference to St Felix. It
occurs about forty times in his poems and letters, which is a substantial
number even considering the fact that he wrote a lot about saints. It is
tempting, therefore, to presume that the use of the term ‘patronus’ and the
belief in the protective power of saints were connected. That connection,
however, should not be overstressed. What is essential is not the word itself,
but the way of thinking about the saints as protectors and intercessors.
Victricius, for instance, never calls the saints patroni, but refers to them as
judges, advocates, brothers in arms, and powers (iudices, advocati, commili-
tones, and potestates).⁷⁶ His view of the connection between the city and the
⁷³ See Gregory the Great, Dialogi 2.38. ⁷⁴ Above all by Brown 1981 and Orselli 1965.
⁷⁵ Also Augustine used it in this sense extremely rarely: De cura pro mortuis 6.
⁷⁶ Victricius, De laude sanctorum 12.
saints whose relics it possessed seems to have been very similar to that of
Paulinus. In Greek, there is no equivalent term which could convey exactly the
same meaning as patronus. John Chrysostom and Asterius of Amasea, both
contemporary with Paulinus and Victricius, refer to martyrs as prostatai
(leaders, the closest equivalent of patroni); Theodoret, as poliouchoi (protect-
ing the city) and phylakes (guards); the author of the Miracles of Saint Thecla
considers the saints presbeuontes (envoys) and addresses Thecla as the
promachos, poliouchos (the fighter for and protector), and mētēr (mother) of
Seleucia.⁷⁷ It is true that only some of these authors evoke the power of saints
in cases of a military threat, but, as we have already seen, it seems to be a result
of the relatively safe political and military situation in which most of them
wrote. It is also the political and military context that is the main reason why
Ambrose, who did refer to the saints as the patroni of the Church in Milan, did
not mention their protective role, for when he was writing about martyrs, the
cities of Italy were safe and secure.⁷⁸
The idea of patron saints and the perception of the link between relics and
the protection of the city as indirect may make one think of the relationship
between Greek heroes and their bones. As we have seen, they were considered
not so much a source of protective power by themselves as a guarantee of the
hero’s presence. This leads us back to the relations between Christian beliefs
and centuries-old Greek practices. The cult of heroes was not entirely dead in
Late Antiquity. Sarpedonios, a local hero whose tomb was venerated in
Seleucia in Isauria, is mentioned several times in the Miracles of St Thecla,
and the narrative suggests that the new saint took over the healing functions
performed previously by the hero of old.⁷⁹ I have already mentioned the
remark of Zosimus about a statue of Achilles that saved Athens from an
earthquake in 375. As we learn from the same author, the appearance of
Achilles and Athena was believed to have stopped the Gothic troops led by
Alaric from taking that city in 395.⁸⁰ Finally, at the end of the fourth century,
Servius claims that the Roman pignora, or sacred and powerful objects which
protected the city, included the ashes of Orestes.⁸¹ Still, we need to be cautious
about making far-reaching extrapolations based on this evidence. First, the
survival of the cult of heroes in Late Antiquity is poorly documented; in fact,
all sources on this topic put together do not stand comparison with those
available for the study of the cult of saints. Secondly, the cult of heroes was, at
best, a marginal phenomenon in the West, where the idea of saint protectors
appeared at an early date. Thus, if a direct borrowing is not impossible, in most
⁷⁷ Miracula Theclae 4.39–40 and 6.2–3.

⁷⁸ Ambrose, Epistula 77.11 and Expositio evangelii secundum Lucam 10.12; also Prudentius,
Peristephanon 1.10–12; 2.577–80; 6.142–5; 10.831–5; 13.105–6; see Palmer 1989, 222–3.
⁷⁹ Miracula Theclae 1, 11.10–23, 18.28–32, 40. ⁸⁰ Zosimus, Historia nova 5.6.1–3.
⁸¹ Servius, In Aeneidos 7.188; see Ando 2008, 182–3.

cases we are probably dealing with a parallel and largely independent
development.
In all, the belief in the help of saint protectors should be distinguished from
the belief in the effectiveness of talisman-like objects. However, it would be
simplistic to make a clear-cut distinction between the late antique pagan
statues or talismans on the one hand, supposed to create impassable barriers
against enemies, wild beasts, natural disasters, and plagues, and the Christian
saints on the other, who cared for their cities, regardless of whether their relics
were kept there or not. In fact, pagans and Christians alike believed in both the
help of supernatural defenders, only tangentially related to material objects,
and the power of talismans. Interestingly, Christians also had their city-
protecting talismans, and, even more interestingly, these talismans seem to
have appeared earlier than city-protecting relics. Although these objects are
not directly related to the cult of saints, they must be discussed in this chapter.
CHRISTIAN TALISMANS
AND TALISMAN-LIKE OBJECTS
The earliest Christian object known to us which was believed to be a powerful

protection against the onslaught of enemies was the famous letter of Christ to
King Abgar, enshrined in Edessa. The letter was mentioned already at the
beginning of the fourth century by Eusebius of Caesarea, who devoted a
substantial passage to the correspondence of Jesus with Abgar, but did not
suggest in any way that the letter defended the city.⁸² About 384, however, the
pilgrim Egeria heard from the local bishop the story of a Persian siege of
Edessa which had taken place in the days of King Abgar. The enemy failed to
capture the city thanks to the presence of Christ’s letter. When the Persian
troops approached, the king, holding the letter in his hand, prayed with his
army at the city gate and called on Christ’s promise that no enemy would ever
enter Edessa. Suddenly, darkness fell and made the Persians stop at the third
milestone from the city walls. As we can see, at the time when Egeria visited
Edessa, the letter did contain the promise that the city would never be taken.
This promise is absent from the earlier version of the letter quoted by
Eusebius. Also, Egeria remarked that she had read a version of this letter in
her native land and it differed from the one shown to her in Edessa. It is
probable that the difference consisted in the promise of security, which must
have been added to the text only after the time of Eusebius.⁸³ If that was the
case, we are dealing here with a reinterpretation of history resulting from the
⁸² Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 1.13. ⁸³ Egeria, Itinerarium 19.8–13.

emergence, or growth, of the belief in the protective power of certain sacred
objects—a phenomenon resembling the episode of the statue of Jupiter and
the defence of the Capitol. The letter of Jesus played the same role as the
statues described by Olympiodorus—its very presence created an impene-
trable barrier around the city.
The letter of Jesus to Abgar is the only Christian palladium-like object
mentioned by a fourth-century source. Later authors, however, bear testimony
to a group of such talismans supposedly enshrined by Constantine in his new
capital. The provenance of some of them was undeniably Christian, while
others were evidently of pagan origin, but since their literary histories are
closely intertwined, they should be discussed together. The objects in question
are the Palladium of Troy, the fragments of the True Cross, and the relics of
the Apostles Andrew, Luke, and Timothy. A distinct group is formed by
Marian relics whose transfer to Constantinople is attributed not to Constan-
tine, but to several fifth-century emperors.⁸⁴
The first authors to mention the Palladium, the protective sacred object par
excellence, are Procopius and John Malalas, both writing around the middle of
the sixth century, followed by the seventh-century anonymous author of the
Chronicon Paschale.⁸⁵ All three claim that Constantine transferred the Palla-
dium from Rome and placed it in Constantinople, beneath the porphyry
column on which his own statue was set up. Only Procopius specifies the
source of his information and contends that he learned about this from
Byzantinoi, that is the inhabitants of the new capital. This piece of information
is not trustworthy. It is true that Constantine brought to his city a number of
statues from all over the empire.⁸⁶ It is also true that he had a porphyry
column erected in his forum which was one of the most important landmarks
in the topography of the city from its dedication in 330.⁸⁷ Nevertheless, before
the sixth century no source mentions the presence of the Palladium in
Constantinople or its removal from Rome. Moreover, Procopius did not
know of such a source either, for the only evidence he was able to offer was
based on hearsay. The remark about the transfer of the precious statuette
should therefore be rejected as spurious: the idea that it was placed inside the
column appeared most probably only in the sixth century, although its origin
is difficult to determine. All we can say is that in Procopius’ time the story of
the transfer of the Palladium circulated by word of mouth in Constantinople,
and while it suggests that people were convinced at the time of its protective
power, it does not tell us much about fourth- or fifth-century beliefs.⁸⁸
⁸⁴ Wortley 2005.
⁸⁵ Procopius, Bellum Gothicum 1.15; Malalas, Chronographia 13.7; Chronicon Paschale s.a. 328.
⁸⁶ Eusebius, Vita Constantini 3.54.3–7; Mango 1963; Dagron 1974, 139–40.
⁸⁷ Dagron 1974, 37–40.
⁸⁸ Dagron 1974, 373–4 draws attention to a passage in Zosimus, Historia nova 2.31.2–3,
mentioning the temple and statue of Tyche of Rome erected by Constantine in the new capital.

Another sacred and protective object is mentioned in the 440s by the
church historian Socrates, who claims that in the very statue of Constantine
placed on the top of the porphyry column discussed above a fragment of
the True Cross was enshrined.⁸⁹ The first author to mention that Constantine
received a piece of this relic is Rufinus, who writes that Helena ‘brought a part
of the salutary wood to her son’, but does not specify where the relic was
deposited.⁹⁰ Also two other church historians, Sozomen and Theodoret of
Cyrrhus, both writing not much later than Socrates, mention a fragment of the
Cross brought to Constantinople, but the former does not specify the precise
place of its deposition, while the latter claims that it was kept in the imperial
palace.⁹¹ None of the four historians directly attributes the power of protecting
the city to the Cross, but Rufinus and Socrates evoke in the adjacent passages
the nails of Christ which were fastened in the helmet of Constantine, appar-
ently in order to protect him. It seems then that both authors credited the
fragments of the Cross with similar power. Moreover, Socrates, in his version
of the story of the sudden God-sent death of Arius, says that the heretic felt
suddenly ill when ‘he came near to the Forum of Constantine, in which the
porphyry column stands’,⁹² which suggests that the historian considered the
column to be an object endowed with power. Interestingly, another church
historian, Philostorgius, who wrote about a decade earlier than Socrates and
slightly later than Rufinus, ascribed protective power not to the fragment of
the Cross, but to the very statue of the emperor. This part of Philostorgius’
history is known from the summary made by the eighth-century patriarch
Photius, who presents it in the following way:
Our impious enemy of God [Philostorgius was an Arian] also accuses the
Christians of propitiating with sacrifice the image of Constantine standing on
the porphyry column, of honouring it with lights and incense, of offering vows to
it as though it were a god, and of offering prayers and intercession to avert
impending disasters.⁹³
According to Philostorgius, the statue was thus evidently a talisman, but
nothing indicates that any special object was placed inside. Considering that
the discovery of the Cross by Helena is almost certainly fabricated,⁹⁴ it seems
sensible to conclude that Philostorgius was right and that initially the power
I cannot assess whether this fact gave rise to the story of the transfer of the Palladium. See also
Ando 2008, 187–9.
⁸⁹ Socrates, Historia ecclesiastica 1.17.8. For discussion and review of the entire evidence, see
Klein 2004a, 33–9.
⁹⁰ Rufinus, Historia ecclesiastica 10.8.
⁹¹ Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 2.1.9; Theodoret, Historia ecclesiastica 1.18.6.
⁹² Socrates, Historia ecclesiastica 1.38.7.
⁹³ Philostorgius, Historia ecclesiastica 2.17 (trans. Ph. Amidon). ⁹⁴ See pp. 114–16.
was attributed to the effigy of the city’s founder, not anything within it.⁹⁵ The
talisman was Christianized later, when it was connected with a piece of the
‘salutary wood’. The story about placing a fragment of the Cross in the statue is
probably of local origin. It circulated in Constantinople around 440, when
Socrates heard it. It was obviously unknown to Rufinus and Philostorgius, and
had not yet reached Theodoret, who, though a contemporary of Sozomen,
lived in Syria. It is more than probable that actually neither Constantine nor
his successors ever placed any fragments of the True Cross in the statue, for
such an important event would have left a trace in the sources.
But in the middle of the fifth century people already believed that the relic
was there and guarded the city.⁹⁶ The fact that the authors named above
located the protective objects either in the column or in the statue suggests
that there was no firmly established opinion concerning the place of their
deposition. Medieval authors usually claim that several relics were stored in
the column. But the column, including its base, has survived to the present day
and it does not have any room or niche in which the relics could have been
kept. Thus a chapel in which relics were deposited was not a integral part of
the column’s design; possibly it was built close to it only in a later period.⁹⁷
Another place, whose role as a centre of special power in fourth-century
Constantinople should be discussed, is the imperial complex of Constantine’s
Mausoleum and the Church of the Holy Apostles. There is nothing to suggest
that they were considered powerful objects before the end of the fourth
century. The question is whether they were believed to have a protective
function at a slightly later date. Such a belief is expressed by a single author,
Paulinus of Nola, who claims that:
Indeed, when Constantine was founding the city named after himself and was the
first of the Roman kings to bear the Christian name, the god-sent idea came to
him that since he was embarking on the splendid enterprise of building a city that
would rival Rome, he should also emulate Romulus’ city with further endowment,
by gladly defending his walls with the bodies of the Apostles. He then removed
Andrew from the Achaeans and Timothy from Asia. And so Constantinople now
stands with twin towers, vying with the eminence of great Rome, or rather
resembling the defences of Rome; in that God has counterbalanced Peter and
Paul with a protection as great, since Constantinople has gained the disciple of
Paul, and brother of Peter.⁹⁸
These verses hardly tell us anything about the actual intention of the emperor,
or emperors, who ordered these two translations. It is also highly doubtful that
⁹⁵ Later on a similar part was played by the giant equestrian statue of Justinian: Raby 1987.
⁹⁶ Although the first specific mention of its role in the defence concerns only the Arab siege in
711: Klein 2004a.
⁹⁷ Majeska 1984, 260–3.
⁹⁸ Paulinus of Nola, Carmen 19.329–42 (written in 405; trans. P. G. Walsh).

they reflect beliefs of people living in Constantinople at the beginning of the
fifth century. Paulinus never visited that city, but, as we have seen, believed
that Nola was protected by Felix, and Rome by Peter, Paul, and a host of other
martyrs. Thus, it was probably his own idea that the relics of other Apostles,
believed to be present in several places in the West, and particularly in the
Italian city of Fundi, where Paulinus himself had deposited Andrew’s ‘ashes’
(cineres),⁹⁹ should have played the same role in Constantinople. No other late
antique author bears witness to this conviction. It is difficult to estimate how
important the Apostles’ relics were for the inhabitants of Constantinople in
this period. It is intriguing that, while evoked by numerous Western authors,
their relics are not mentioned in the Greek sources, with the sole exception of
Gregory of Nazianzus.¹⁰⁰ None of the ancient church historians tells us
anything about their transfers, and by the middle of the sixth century the
relics of the Apostles seem to have been forgotten. Procopius suggests that in
the time of Justinian the specific place of their deposition was unknown; they
were rediscovered by surprised workers only during the reconstruction of the
Holy Apostles’ church.¹⁰¹ Both the silence of the Greek writers and the
amazement of the builders would be difficult to explain if the Apostles’ bodies
had been treated beforehand as a guarantee of the city’s security. Of course, the
relics could not have been discovered if actually no one knew about their
existence, but they could hardly have been considered to be essential, or even
important, for the security of Constantinople.
In a later period the best-known holy objects which protected Constantin-
ople were the Marian relics, but they started to play this role well beyond the
chronological limits of this book. True, the garments of the Holy Virgin Mary
were brought to the city already in the fifth century, during the reign of
Arcadius or Leo I, but the dependable evidence that they were indeed con-
sidered to protect the capital comes only from the tenth century. The earliest
sources which refer to Mary as bringing help to Constantinople against
enemies are the seventh-century epigram of George Pisides and the Chronicon
Paschale. They both claim that, during the siege of 626, the Avars were
frightened by the apparition of the Virgin on the walls. Neither of these
sources, however, mentions any specific object protecting the city.¹⁰²
In all, the only sacred objects which guaranteed the security of the city in the
chronological scope of this book were, first, the statue and column of Con-
stantine, the fragment of the Cross, and finally the Palladium, supposedly
⁹⁹ Paulinus of Nola, Epistula 32.17.

¹⁰⁰ Gregory of Nazianzus, Contra Iulianum I 69 mentions relics but not the place where they
are deposited.
¹⁰¹ Procopius, De aedificiis 1.4.18–21.
¹⁰² George Pisides: Anthologia Graeca 1.120–1; Chronicon Paschale s.a. 626; see Pentcheva
2006, 37–59. According to late ninth-century authors, the icon of Hodogetria was carried along
the rampart during the siege of 717, but this is very uncertain: see Wortley 2005, 173 and 183.
enshrined beneath the column. It is difficult to determine when exactly the
conviction of the protective power of the statue appeared for the first time, but
it happened probably not long before Philostorgius, as there is no evidence
that such a belief manifested itself during two dramatic events in which
Constantinople was believed to be saved only thanks to an intervention
from above, namely the catastrophe of Adrianople in 378 and the revolt of
the Gothic troops of Gainas in 399. None of the authors who describe the
approach of the Goths to the city in 378 suggests that it was protected by the
statue, the Cross, or the Palladium, although Ammianus, a pagan, suggests an
supernatural help when he evokes some caeleste numen which repulsed the
invaders.¹⁰³ Nor is the salvation of the city and the imperial palace from being
burnt by the Goths in 399 associated with the power of the statue. Fifth-
century church historians attributed it to the apparition of an angelic host.¹⁰⁴
To sum up, while Constantinople was considered a city defended by a
heavenly power already at the end of the fourth century, during the Gothic
invasion and the revolt of Gainas, the material guarantee of this protection
appears in the evidence only slightly later, at the beginning of the fifth century,
first as Constantine’s statue, then as the fragment of the True Cross deposited
in it, and, much later, in the sixth century, as the Palladium, enshrined in the
very same column. There is no proof that the relics of the Apostles ever played
such a role.
¹⁰³ Ammianus, Res gestae 31.16.4.

¹⁰⁴ Philostorgius, Historia ecclesiastica 11.8; Socrates, Historia ecclesiastica 6.6.18; Sozomen,
Historia ecclesiastica 8.4.10–18. None of the authors suggests that the city was protected by any
divine power against Alaric in 395; see Claudian, In Rufinum 2.54–8, although Zosimus, Historia
nova 5.6.1–3, ascribes the salvation of Athens attacked by the Goths to the apparition of Athena
Promachos in a ‘statue-like’ shape.
Relics and Divination
The late antique authors who tell us about the power of relics refer mostly to
their efficient use in healing, chasing away demons, and protecting commu-
nities or individuals. Yet there was also one other intriguing aspect of this
power, which consisted in revealing hidden knowledge about the past, present,
and future. This particular aspect appears in the evidence only rarely, which
does not necessarily mean that it was marginal or unimportant.
In 364, in his invective against Julian, Gregory of Nazianzus addressed the
deceased emperor in the following words:
Did you have no respect for the victims slain for Christ’s sake? Did you not fear
those mighty champions, that John, Peter, Paul, James, Stephen, Luke, Andrew,
and Thecla? And those who after them and before them faced danger in the cause
of Truth, and who joyfully faced fire, sword, wild beasts, tyrants, and evils both
real and threatening to come, as though they were in the bodies of others, or
rather bodiless! And what for? In order that they might not betray the true faith,
even by word. Theirs are the great honours and festivals. By them demons are cast
out and diseases healed. Theirs are manifestations (epiphaneiai), and theirs are
prophecies (prorēseis). Their mere bodies can do the same things as their holy
souls, when touched or venerated. Even drops of their blood and little signs of
their passion, produce equal effect with their bodies!¹
This passage is probably the earliest testimony to the belief in some sort of
prophetic or divinatory power of relics, and one has to ask whether Gregory
had in mind just a theoretical possibility or an actual custom already practised
in specific places.² At first sight, the list of the saints quoted in this passage
suggests the latter. By the year 364, the graves of John the Baptist, John the
Evangelist, Peter, Paul, James, Luke, Andrew, and, up to a point, Thecla had
been identified and were widely known; some of them had already become
¹ Gregory of Nazianzus, Contra Iulianum I 69 (trans. E. Rizos, CSLA E01904).

² See also Gregory of Nazianzus, In sanctum Cyprianum 18 (on the divinatory power of St
Cyprian’s relics).
Relics and Divination 71

famous for their miracles.³ Thus, one could think that Gregory simply named
the most famous centres of martyrial cult of his time. Yet on the list there is
also a name which should not be there: the grave of Stephen the First Martyr
was discovered only fifty years later, in 415.⁴ It is possible, therefore, that just
as Gregory added to the list of martyrs’ tombs one which had not been found
yet, but was potentially very important, so he placed among the manifestations
of the power of these graves one which in fact did not exist yet, but perfectly
fitted into the New Testament pattern of a miracle-worker able to expel
demons, heal the sick, and foretell the future. Thus, this passage does not
prove that relics were actually used in divination, but it can be understood as
an intellectual acknowledgement that they have power to predict the future.
When did Christians begin practising this sort of divination? What forms
did it take and what were their origins? How strongly were Christian oracular
practices linked to the cult of relics? These are the questions which will be
addressed in this chapter.
Before getting down to specific divinatory practices connected with relics, it
should be noted that such methods are difficult to observe in the evidence.
This does not mean that the phenomenon in question was negligible, but
results from the general attitude of ancient Christianity towards divination. In
the literary sources, religious practices normally appear either when they are
praised or when they are condemned. Now, ecclesiastical authors, who always
fervently denounced pagan divination, were usually much more moderate as
far as its Christian forms were concerned. They were reluctant to approve or
institutionalize them, but they rarely censured them either. In consequence,
they seldom wrote about them at all.
ENFORCED CONFESSIONS
Ancient divination was not limited to prognosticating on the future. It also

served to uncover the present and the past which for some reason was
unknown to other people. Of course, it was often difficult to differentiate
between these three types of hidden knowledge. For instance, one could ask a
question such as this: ‘Will I get back the money which has been stolen from
me?’, which clearly refers to the future. But the same person could put this
question in a different way: ‘Where is my money now?’ (present) or ‘Who stole
my money?’ (past). I propose to focus first on this last aspect of Christian
³ For these tombs and the evidence which mentions them, see Maraval 1985, passim; see also
Chapter 2.
⁴ For the Revelatio s. Stephani and the dating of this discovery, see pp. 104–7.

divination, namely revealing the truth about things that have already
happened.
In 404 Augustine had to settle a case of two clerics who accused each other
of sexual misconduct. He did it in the following way:
Hence, I chose a middle path, namely, that both of them should bind themselves
by a firm agreement to go to a holy place where the awesome acts of God might
more readily disclose the bad conscience of anyone and might compel him to
confession because of fear of punishment . . . For the holiness of the place where
Blessed Felix of Nola’s body is buried, where I wanted them to go, is very well
known to many. For whatever God made manifest there about one of them could
more easily and more faithfully be recorded for us.⁵
Augustine does not explain with any precision what made the guilty confess
the truth in this specific place or how the power of the saint manifested itself.
We may only suppose that the suspects were brought to the tomb and their
behaviour was attentively observed. Such a method could have been efficient
only in a milieu in which the conviction of the power of relics was already
strong enough to make the suspects fear what would befall them if they lied.
That was most probably the case of St Felix’s tomb. We know also of other
people who came to his sanctuary in order to avow their crimes, not neces-
sarily because they had been forced to do so by others, but because they had
already felt the punishing power of the saint. Paulinus of Nola tells us about a
greedy man, who, fulfilling his vow, brought a pig to the shrine, but kept most
of the meat for himself. Thus, when later on he fell from his horse, he
immediately realized why it had happened, turned back, and hurried to the
shrine to confess his sin. Even more interestingly, Paulinus mentions people
who expected that crimes committed by other people, not by themselves,
would be revealed by St Felix. A guard of the sanctuary once implored the
saint to point out who had stolen a precious cross from the shrine in Cimitile
and a peasant asked him to find his ox.⁶
Epigraphical evidence shows that praying for the discovery and punishment
of the guilty was also practised in certain non-Christian shrines. This phe-
nomenon is attested by lead tablets asking a god to reveal the wrongdoer
which can be found in sanctuaries in Britain, the so-called ‘confessional
inscriptions’ from temples in Lydia and Phrygia, and prayers asking gods to
reveal the identity of various culprits known from several region of the Roman
world.⁷ Christians apparently did not imitate specific techniques used in pagan
sanctuaries and so the practice attested in martyrs’ shrines probably developed
independently. But it was based on the same conviction, namely that the
⁵ Augustine, Epistula 78.3 (trans. R. Teske, slightly adapted).

⁶ Paulinus of Nola, Carmen 18.219–468 (ox), 20.62–300 (pig), and 19.468–603 (cross).
⁷ See Versnel 1991; Schnabel 2003; Gordon 2004; Adams 2006; and Chaniotis 2007.

power dwelling in the sanctuary will punish the guilty and the perjurer if he
does not avow his sin. Among Christians this conviction was founded upon
the belief in the power of relics, which started to develop in the newly built
martyria in the middle of the fourth century. As the rise of this phenomenon
was described in Chapter 2, here I shall only emphasize that initially the power
of relics did not manifest itself in exorcisms, to say nothing of physical
healings. It was seen in the ‘confessions’ made by evil spirits by the mouths
of demoniacs. And we are dealing here with a belief which was most probably
founded upon observation of the actual behaviour of people considered to be
possessed by evil spirits. Hilary of Poitiers, Athanasius, and shortly after other
authors as well bear witness to the conviction that the relics of saints are able
to force demons to tell the truth. It was not a stretch to assume that they could
do the same with people.⁸ That might well have been the beginning of the
belief in the divinatory power of the tombs of saints.
DEMO NS UNDER I NTERROGATIO N
It was difficult to expect from people anything other than a confession of their
wrongdoings, but one could reasonably hope to learn more from demons,
who, as was commonly believed, knew a lot about the past, the present, and,
even more interestingly, the future. In Late Antiquity some Christians tried to
make use of this knowledge, even if they themselves knew that this was
difficult for at least two reasons. First, it was morally questionable, secondly
it was hazardous, because demons were notorious liars, and, as a result,
eliciting any sort of information from them was viewed as both sinful and
silly. However, it was possible to compel demons to reveal what they knew.
The scenes in which demons, tortured by the saints, disclose their identity,
avow their crimes, but also inform about diverse events are quite common in
hagiographical literature.⁹ These avowals were obtained through the mouths
of energumens (people possessed by demons), owing to the power of the holy
monks and bishops who exorcized evil spirits. But also ordinary people
resorted at times to the knowledge of demons by using a practice which
consisted in interrogating energumens at a source of miraculous power. The
role of the source of power was obviously played by relics. We do not know
with any precision what such consultations looked like, but it was probably
⁸ See Chapter 2.
⁹ See Sulpicius Severus, Vita Martini 18.1–2; Constantius, Vita Germani 7; Vita patrum
Jurensium 42; Theodoret, Historia religiosa 9.9–10; 13.10–12; Vita Danielis Stylitae 59.

not difficult to organize them, for, as has already been said, in the late antique
martyrial shrines energumens were easy to find and often willing to talk.¹⁰
The earliest testimony of such consultations can be found in Athanasius’
Festal Letter 42, written in 370. It stigmatizes this practice in the following
words:
When they say that many people who had unclean spirits have been healed in the
martyr shrines, these are their excuses. Let them listen, and I will answer them by
saying that they are not healed by the martyrs coming upon the demons, but they
are healed by the Saviour, the one whom the martyrs confessed. And the demons
cry out because they are being tortured by him, just as those in the gospel cried
saying: ‘I beg you, do not torture us!’ But they seek to see the demons that are
destroying them. These people give glory to them and ask them about what will
happen. After these words will they dare to question the unclean spirits? Yes, they
will dare, for they are shameless lovers of pleasure.¹¹
The text is not entirely clear, and at first sight it is difficult to say whether
questions were asked of saints or demons. Some light on this can be shed,
however, by a story from the sixth-century collection of the Miracles of
St Demetrius. The story in question is about a man who, eager to learn who
St Demetrius was, ‘went to the martyrium of St Isidore to ask this saint that he
would reveal him the truth’.¹² The saint satisfied his curiosity, for ‘the ener-
gumens who abided in the sanctuary and through whom the demons who
were in them spoke—against their will and under the strain of the power from
above—revealed him the truth’. As we can see, the method required the
presence of both demons (in the energumens) and martyrs (in their relics).
The former had the knowledge; the latter, the power necessary to extract it.
The testimonies of this practice are scattered through time and space. The
possessed who answer divinatory questions are referred to as pythōnes, engas-
trimythoi, or ventriloqui (belly-talkers), and simply arrepticii (possessed). They
appear in fifth-century Africa and Gaul.¹³ In the seventh-century collection of
the Miracles of St Artemios we find a story, set in Constantinople, about a man
whose house was robbed when he was away keeping the vigil of St John the
Baptist. His neighbours claimed that they had not heard anything suspicious,
but advised him to go to the shrine of St Pantaleon in Rouphinianai, ‘saying
that someone there was dispensing information who would tell him the
burglar. For it happened at that time that there were a very large number of
possessed in many churches.’¹⁴ All this suggests that the phenomenon, if noted
seldom in the evidence for the reasons given above, was not uncommon. The
passage in Athanasius’ festal letter implies that it appeared early and was
¹⁰ On this method, see Wiśniewski 2005. ¹¹ Athanasius, Epistula festalis 42.

¹² Miracula S. Demetrii 9/76. ¹³ See Wiśniewski 2005, 135–44.
¹⁴ Miracula S. Artemii 18 (trans. V. S. Crisafulli).

important enough to be mentioned in one of the annual missives for Easter
from the bishop of Alexandria addressed to all the Christians in Egypt.
THROWING LOTS AT THE TOMBS OF SAINTS
The evidence from Egypt bears witness also to another divinatory practice,
namely a type of divination by lot. It usually consisted in writing down the
same question on two tickets, or scraps of papyrus, one with ‘yes’ and the
other with ‘no’. The questions concerned diverse spheres of life: travel,
marriage, monastic life, business, health. They followed a more or less fixed
pattern, which can be illustrated by an oracular ticket from Antinoe: ‘God of
my Lord, saint Kollouthos, the true physician, if you command that your
servant Rouphinos go today to the bath, bring this ticket.’¹⁵ Both scraps were
rolled up into a ball. As no literary sources from Egypt describe this practice,
we do not know how and where the lots were drawn and may only conjecture
that it was done at the altar or at the tomb of a saint. The archaeological
context in which the lots were discovered is not particularly helpful, since all
the tickets come from waste dumps adjacent to sanctuaries. We have several
hundred of them (of which only a few dozen have been published), coming
mostly from the churches of St Kollouthos in Antinoe and St Philoxenos in
Oxyrhynchus.¹⁶
The purpose of this practice was of course not to find out the answer at
random, but to receive it from God. As was the case with consulting energu-
mens, the problem was how to be sure that His power was really involved.
One way of securing this was to start the question with an invocation. Those
who used this method usually invoked ‘God of St Kollouthos’ or ‘God of
St Philoxenos’. A mediation of the saint was evidently needed, but this
was probably not enough. The fact that the lots have been found in sanctu-
aries proves that the consultation had to be carried out in a place where the
presence of the saint was at its most intense, which probably usually meant
close to his bones: St Kollouthos’ grave was certainly in Antinoe. It is less
certain whether the sanctuary in Oxyrhynchus contained the tomb of
St Philoxenos,¹⁷ but evidence from outside Egypt suggests that the procedure
actually took place in close proximity to relics. Gregory of Tours, the only
literary witness of a similar practice, tells us about a monk who wanted to
know whether it would be better for him to live in a community or in a
hermitage, and after a long prayer drew one of two lots that he had placed on
¹⁵ This papyrus was edited by Delattre 2008, who is preparing a substantial study on the
divinatory tickets from Egyptian martyrs’ shrines.
¹⁶ Papini 1992. ¹⁷ Papaconstantinou 2001, 286 and 295–6.

the altar.¹⁸ At the end of the sixth century, the altar almost certainly con-
tained relics. Also, the eighth-century Law Code of the Frisians ordered that
the guilt or innocence of a man suspected of murder was to be established by
drawing lots at an altar or relics.¹⁹ It does not seem probable that there was a
genetic link between these practices and those attested in Egypt. We are
dealing here with a parallel conviction that lots could be trusted only if a
divine hand was involved in the process: in order to make sure that it was
involved, one had to carry out the consultation in a place which guaranteed
its presence.²⁰
When and how did oracular tickets begin to be used by Christians? When
trying to answer this question, one has to bear in mind that in Egypt this
method had well-known parallels in pharaonic, Hellenistic, and Roman
times.²¹ It is not evident, however, that its Christian form was borrowed
directly from pagan shrines. First, the fact that divinatory tickets were used
in distant places and periods demonstrates that the idea of divination by lot
could have emerged independently. Secondly, there is a disturbing gap
between the latest pre-Christian lots (dated to the third century) and the
earliest tickets found in martyrs’ shrines (sixth century). Of course, this gap
does not necessarily mean that the practice was abandoned at some point only
to be resurrected later on; it may simply reflect the fragmentary character of
our evidence. Nevertheless, the gap is intriguing. Be that as it may, it is hardly
possible that Christians started to use oracular lots before the second half of
the fourth century. The main reason for this is that the evidence quoted above
shows that ticket divination required holy places or objects, and before the
fourth-century emergence of the idea of the Holy Land and the belief in the
power of relics, Christians had neither.
INCUBATION
The best-attested late antique Christian divinatory practice was certainly that
of incubation, or waiting for a healing or divinatory dream in a holy place.
Recently Gil H. Renberg argued that the word ‘incubation’, absent from the
late antique evidence, is somehow misleadingly used in scholarship in refer-
ence to a set of diverse Christian practices (or isolated episodes) which are not
connected genetically with traditional Greek habit and often significantly
¹⁸ Gregory of Tours, Liber vitae patrum 9.2; see also Historiarum libri 4.16.
¹⁹ Lex Frisonum 14.1; see Papaconstantinou 1994.
²⁰ I am not as convinced as Modzelewski 2015, 325, that the Lex Frisonum reflects the same
old German custom which was mentioned by Tacitus, Germania 10, and not a new Christian
practice, but this could be the case: see the evidence collected by Wood 1995, 60.
²¹ D. Valbelle & G. Husson 1998; Champeaux 1990.

differ from it.²² I will use the term, because it conveniently covers these diverse
practices, but I fully agree that it should be neither understood in a strictly
technical sense nor taken as a sign of a direct continuation of the practice
known from old Greek temples.
Admittedly, dealing with incubation in this chapter requires some explan-
ation, as our evidence for sleeping in shrines puts emphasis on its healing
aspect. Still, in Antiquity incubation was also qualified as a divinatory method.
Servius, in his fourth-century Commentary on the Aeneid, claims that ‘strictly
speaking, “to incubate” means “to sleep in order to obtain answers”’.²³ Most
often, people looked for answers concerning health issues, but this method was
used also to ask questions about other matters. Nevertheless, it is probably
owing to the fact that the main purpose of incubation was healing and not
divination that this practice is frequently mentioned in a specific kind of
hagiographical literature, the collections of miracles. Divination, even if not
directly at odds with the rules of Christian piety, was a thorny issue for most
ecclesiastical writers, for they thought that a Christian should never inquire
into hidden things.²⁴ Looking for a healing, however, was not viewed as
problematic at all, and this particular sort of divination is a matter discussed
with undisguised delight by several authors. That is why we can study today
several collections of miracles from incubatory shrines, of which the best
known are those in Seleucia in Isauria, Menouthis, Constantinople, and
Thessalonica.²⁵ The oldest of these collections was written in the 470s, but
incubation was possibly practised in Seleucia as early as the second quarter of
the fifth century, because the earliest episodes in the collection are dated to this
period. Yet it probably did not begin much before then, as Egeria, who visited
that town in 384, did not mention this custom in her account of her pilgrim-
age.²⁶ In the middle of the fifth century, incubation is attested also in Egypt:
the famous monastic leader Shenoute condemned in one of his sermons those
‘who sleep in tombs expecting dreams and who interrogate the dead about
the living’.²⁷
Can we move back even further? Some modern scholars believe that there
are places where Christian incubation was practised as early as the fourth
century; among these, they mention Anaplous near Constantinople, Mamre
and Dor, both in Palestine, and Ibora in Cappadocia. It is doubtful, however,
²² See now Renberg 2016, 745–807. ²³ Servius, In Aeneidos 7.88.

²⁴ See Wiśniewski 2016, 556–7. Healing: Daunton-Fear 2009.
²⁵ For an overview of the entire literary genre, see Efthymiadis 1999; for the study of the
practice, see Renberg 2016.
²⁶ For the dating of the collection, see Dagron, in his introduction to Miracula Theclae, 13–19;
Egeria, Itinerarium 23.1–6.
²⁷ Shenoute, Œuvres de Schenoudi, p. 220. The dating of this sermon is not certain. Shenoute
died in 466. See also another sermon extant in the Codex Vindobonensis K 9040: Young 1993,
23–5; see also Lefort 1954, 230.

whether people were really looking for healing or divinatory dreams in these
places at that time. In fact, evidence is tenuous at best. The reason to suppose
that they did so in Mamre is Sozomen’s remark that men and women who
visited that place for a feast avoided sexual intercourse, though they set up
their tents and slept close to each other.²⁸ Yet sleeping in a tent close to a
sanctuary can be hardly classified as incubation. Renberg is certainly right that
the definition of this practice is often much too extended. In this particular
case our evidence mentions neither dreams nor healings. More important is
Sozomen’s testimony on the shrine of St Michael the Archangel in Anaplous.
This is how he describes the miraculous healing of a certain Aquilinos:
Finding that he was already half dead, he commanded his servant to carry him to
the house of prayer [i.e. Michaelion]; for he affirmed earnestly that there he would
either die or be freed from his disease. While he was lying there, a Divine Power
appeared to him by night, and commanded him to dip his foot in a confection
made of honey, wine, and pepper. The man did so, and was freed from his
complaint, although the prescription was contrary to the professional rules of
the physicians.²⁹
The nocturnal epiphany of the lord of the shrine revealing a cure for the
disease is indeed typical of both Asklepieia and Christian incubatory sanctu-
aries. It is, however, unclear when the practice began to be used in Anaplous.
Sozomen claims that the shrine was built by Constantine, while John Malalas
says that it was constructed on the site of a pagan place of worship.³⁰ Should
we assume then that an old divinatory or healing practice survived the change
of the religious denomination of the sanctuary in the first half of the fourth
century? That is by no means certain. The account of Malalas is barely
credible, and even if we accept it, it is still doubtful whether incubation was
actually practised in that hypothetical pagan temple of old. We do not know
either when it started in Michaelion. The only thing which is certain is that it
was already known when Sozomen was writing his Church History in the 440s,
that is, at about the same time when incubation was attested in Egypt by
Shenoute and in Seleucia by the Miracles of St Thecla.
The third incubatory place possibly dating back to the fourth century is the
martyrium of the Forty Martyrs of Sebaste, located on the family estate of
Gregory of Nyssa, near Ibora in Cappadocia. Gregory mentions it in one of his
sermons:
²⁸ Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 2.4.4. This interpretation was proposed by Lipiński

2006, 60.
²⁹ Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 2.3.11.
³⁰ John Malalas, Chronographia 4.13. See also comments of Renberg 2016, 800–1, although
I think that he is too reluctant to accept that Sozomen’s evidence proves the practice of
intentional incubation in Anaplous.

Being in the martyrs’ resting place, he [a sick soldier] earnestly beseeched God
and prayed for the intercession of the saints. One night there appeared a man of
venerable appearance in the company of others who said, ‘Soldier, do you want to
be healed of your infirmity? Give me your foot so that I may touch it.’ And
although he did it in a nocturnal vision, a sound was heard which usually
accompanies pulling a bone out of joint and restoring it. At this moment those
who were sleeping with him woke up and the soldier walked healed in body.³¹
It does not look as if the sick soldier and his companions simply fell asleep
while praying. Gregory’s account seems to imply an intentional incubation.
This is an important piece of evidence, even if we are dealing here with a
private martyrium, and Gregory is referring to this event as something out of
the ordinary, certainly not a common practice.
The last of the alleged fourth-century incubatory places to be discussed here
is the basilica in Dor, near Haifa. Claudine Dauphin, who conducted excava-
tions on the site, argues that the sick incubated in the peristyle of the church,
and then gathered around the grave of two anonymous saints in the southern
nave.³² If that is a priori possible, everything is possible, as there is no trace of
such practice in the archaeological evidence. The mere existence of a peristyle
and the saints’ grave does not suffice to state that incubation was practised in
that particular church. Both elements are commonly found in late antique
basilicas. Another argument supporting this claim would be that the church
was built over a pagan temple, which in its turn was constructed around an
adytum cut in the rock, and that there was a spring close to it. The two
elements are suggestive of natural settings of such ancient sanctuaries as those
in Claros and Didyma, which leads Dauphin to conclude that the deity
worshipped in Dor must have been related to Apollo, to whom those two
temples in Asia Minor were dedicated. And since Apollo was Asklepios’ father,
the temple in Dor should be identified as an Asklepieion; and since it was an
Asklepieion, incubation must have been practised there; quod erat demon-
strandum. Needless to say, this multilayered reasoning is hardly convincing.³³
Eventually, Christian incubation in Dor is considered proven by the pre-
sumption that pagan incubation was practised there before, but the problem is
that there is no evidence whatsoever to substantiate this claim. In fact, there is
not a single place about which we can be certain that pagan practices of
incubation were continued by Christians. Recently, Jean Gascou has demon-
strated that the idea of continuity does not really work even in the case of the
famous sanctuary in Menouthis close to Alexandria, which is often referred to
³¹ Gregory of Nyssa, In XL martyres II, pp. 166–7. ³² Dauphin 1999.

³³ See also the critical assessment of the evidence from Dor in Graf 2013, 130–1. For the
criteria for identifying incubatory shrines on archaeological grounds, see Grossmann 2007 and
Ehrenheim 2009.

as a classic example of the taking over of this practice by Christians.³⁴ An even
more flagrant example of the erroneous belief in the continuity of the incu-
batory practice was exposed by Hugo Brandenburg’s article about the Askle-
pieion on the Isola Tiberina in Rome. The incubatory tradition of that place
was supposedly continued in the church of St Bartholomew erected on the site
of the pagan shrine.³⁵ Now, this church, originally dedicated to St Wojciech, or
Adalbert, was actually only built by the Emperor Otto III c.1000, and the
earliest trace of healing or medical activity in it dates back to the late sixteenth
century, when the Brothers Hospitallers of Saint John of God settled there.³⁶
The fact that we cannot easily locate a regular Christian incubatory practice
in the fourth century and that there are no places where continuity of the
practice is firmly attested casts doubt on the view that Christian incubation
was based on pagan models. This doubt can be further justified by a number of
elements of the Christian religion, some of which may have provided fertile
ground for the practice to develop independently.³⁷ First, like Jews and pagans,
Christians considered dreams a possible, if suspicious method of receiving
messages from God, and indeed used to look for such dreams. We can see that
in the second- and third-century martyr stories, and again from the fourth
century among the Messalians, Donatists, and, probably, Egyptian monks.
These testimonies pre-date the earliest evidence of Christian incubation.³⁸
Secondly, Christians believed that the dead could communicate with the
living. In 414, Bishop Evodius of Uzalis in North Africa consulted his friend
Augustine about this issue in the following words:
I have heard this more than once . . . that at a certain moment of the night
disturbances and prayers are made in places where bodies are buried, especially
in basilicas . . . In that way, then, our friends whom we have sent on ahead
sometimes come; they appear in dreams and speak. For I remember that I saw
Profuturus and Privatus and Servilius, holy men from the monastery, whom
I remember went on ahead, and they spoke to me, and things happened as
they said.³⁹
There are two particularly interesting elements in this text: first, the dead
predict the future; and second, they appear in funeral basilicas. The
³⁴ Gascou 2007. ³⁵ Brandenburg 2007.

³⁶ Renberg 2016, 762–82 comments upon other supposedly incubatory shrines (most of them
attested only later), showing that the intentional, regular, and technical character of sleeping and
dreaming in them is hardly evident.
³⁷ The paragraphs that follow mostly repeat my argument presented in Wiśniewski 2013,
strongly convergent with that of Graf 2013.
³⁸ See e.g. Passio Perpetuae 4.1–2, 7.3–8.3; Epiphanius, Panarion 49.1–2; Hermas, Pastor 9.2
and 25.1; Gregory of Nyssa, De virginitate 23.3; Athanasius, Vita Antonii 34.1–2; Passio Marculi
8 (a vision after a fast and prayer) and Passio Isaac et Maximiani 8, and also Augustine’s polemic
in Ad catholicos de secta Donatistarum 19.49.
³⁹ Epistula inter Aug. 158.8–9 (trans. R. Teske).

phenomenon mentioned by Evodius is not yet incubation, but something
quite close to it.
Thirdly, and this is certainly the key issue, the emergence of Christian
incubation is preceded by the emerging belief in the power of the saints’ relics
over demons and diseases. This might have been a natural expansion of this
belief, for—one could have reasoned—if Christ expelled demons, healed the
sick, and foretold future events, the martyrs, who evidently had power over
evil spirits and illnesses, should be able to reveal hidden things as well, all the
more as martyrs were considered to have a gift of prophecy before their death,
which we can see in the second- and third-century literature.⁴⁰
Fourthly, there was in the fourth century another religious practice which
must have provided a fitting setting for pious dreaming in martyrs’ shrines,
namely vigils dedicated to martyrs. Gregory of Nyssa recalls that once, in his
youth, he fell asleep during a vigil of the Forty Martyrs, who subsequently
appeared to him in his dream and whipped him for his slothfulness. He was
certainly not the only one who dozed off during such nocturnal celebrations.⁴¹
Fifthly, the conviction that martyrs could appear to people could have been
strengthened by literary accounts of revelations, many of which describe
revelations in which saints indicated the location of their graves, as we shall
see in Chapter 6.
I am not claiming that there was no link between pagan and Christian
incubation, but it seems to me that the elements presented above must have
played a role in the development of the Christian practice. And even if they do
not prove that Christian incubation emerged entirely independently of pagan
models, they explain at least why Christians were not reluctant to accept this
custom.
What was the role of relics in incubation? Most incubatory sanctuaries
possessed the body of a saint. So it was in Menouthis, where the martyrs Cyrus
and John were deposited, in Antinoe (St Kollouthos), and in Constantinople
(St Artemios and, at a later date, Cosmas and Damian). However, the sanctu-
ary in Seleucia did not have St Thecla’s body, to say nothing of that in
Anaplous dedicated to the Archangel Michael—and these are the earliest
incubatory sanctuaries that we know of. It seems, therefore, that the bones
of a saint were not really indispensable. What was necessary was a place which
would guarantee that a dream vision would not be a mere figment of the
imagination or a product of demonic phantasmata. It does not mean that
every church was suitable for incubation; incidentally, not every church was
suitable for drawing lots or consulting energumens either. Actually, we can
hardly find an example of the use of any of these practices in a church not
associated with saints. For it was always the presence of a saint that assured the
⁴⁰ See p. 38. For the prophetic gift of the martyrs, see Waldner 2007.
⁴¹ Gregory of Nyssa, In XL Martyres II, pp. 167–8; see Miracula Theclae 33.

truthfulness of the message. This presence was best warranted by the relics of a
saint, but there were other possibilities too. The martyrium of St Thecla was
built over the site where the earth had supposedly swallowed her body and the
sanctuary in Anaplous, where St Michael used to appear.
HOLY BODIES AND DIVINATION
What conclusions can be drawn from this survey? First, the divinatory prac-
tices presented here appear in the evidence after the rise of the cult of relics.
Does this mean that before the middle of the fourth century Christians did not
use any oracular methods? It is difficult to answer this question categorically.
Nevertheless, it is hard to imagine that they were able to use the methods
named above, because—and this is the second point—these techniques
required a material guarantee of the presence of saints, the best of which
was their bodies. Thus the coincidence between the emergence of the cult of
relics and Christian divination is not accidental. Third, parallels between
Christian and pagan divinatory practices are evident, but the genetic link
between them usually is not, and, even if we accept its existence, we have to
remember that the taking over of the practice was always of secondary
importance in relation to the belief that the saints, present in their remains,
were able to expel demons, heal diseases, and reveal hidden things.
To be exact, we should add that Christians could avail themselves of other
forms of divinatory consultations in addition to those carried out with relics.
A well-known alternative was to use the Bible, opened at a random page, or
special divinatory books with collections of oracular answers.⁴² This particular
practice is first attested at about the same time as the earliest instances of the
methods described above, namely in the late fourth century. But interestingly,
even book divination, which in principle could take place anywhere, was
normally carried out in the sanctuaries of saints.⁴³ This shows that relics
also attracted methods which were developed without any relation to them.
⁴² See Van der Horst 2002, 187–9, and polemically Wiśniewski 2016.
⁴³ Papini 1998; Frankfurter 2005.
Burials ad Sanctos
In the three previous chapters we have seen the ways in which people had
recourse to relics when their health was faltering, security was lacking, or
knowledge was failing—all of this matters when one is alive. This chapter aims
to discuss how relics were believed to be of help when life was over. It will be
dealing with the practice, known as tumulatio ad sanctos, which—at least in
part—had to do with the life to come. It consisted in burying the dead close to
the tombs of saints or their relics. Unlike most beliefs and practices described
in this book, this custom is attested in both textual and archaeological evi-
dence. The latter type of evidence is obvious. In the archaeological context
burying the dead has left probably more traces than any other human activity;
first, because it is so common a practice; secondly, because the graves, usually
dug in the ground, stood a much greater chance of surviving to this day than
whatever was constructed above ground level. The textual evidence consists of
mostly short remarks found in diverse narrative texts, pieces of funerary
poetry, and other epitaphs, some of them preserved in inscriptions, others
thanks to the manuscript tradition. This kind of fragmentary evidence is what
we usually use for the study of the cult of relics. But with regard to the question
of burials we may avail ourselves of a unique literary source, a treatise devoted
almost entirely to the practice of tumulatio ad sanctos. The treatise in question,
entitled De cura gerenda pro mortuis, or On the care for the dead, deserves a
short introduction. It was written by Augustine, bishop of Hippo, about 421, at
the request of Paulinus, then bishop of Nola, who was approached by a woman
named Flora with a request to bury her son at the tomb of Felix, the famous
saint of Nola.¹ The request was granted, but Paulinus, although convinced that
he did this in accordance with the custom of the Church, was looking for a
theological justification for this practice and for this reason wanted to know
Augustine’s opinion on the matter. Augustine acknowledged, albeit without
much enthusiasm, that this practice could be justified for two reasons. First, it
comforted the survivors, because it secured their conviction that they had
¹ Augustine, De cura pro mortuis 1. For the dating, see Combès 1948.

properly fulfilled the duty of burying their dead. Secondly, it could be
beneficial to the dead, but only due to the living, who, calling to mind the resting
places of their loved ones, would offer prayers for the repose of their souls.² Yet
Augustine firmly rejected the idea that physical proximity to the tombs of the
saints in itself should have any impact on what would happen to either the body
or the soul, for the simple reason, he argued, that the bodies of the dead could not
feel or hear anything and there was no link whatsoever between them and the
souls, wherever those souls dwelt. In consequence, neither do the bodies of the
saints have any inherent power after death nor can the souls of other people be
affected by whatever happens to their earthly remains.
The practice of burial ad sanctos was studied by Yvette Duval, whose book
Auprès des saints: corps et âme, published in 1988, collected the literary,
epigraphic, and archaeological evidence for this phenomenon. This book
provides a thorough study of Augustine’s views, shows the diverse forms of
interments at the tombs of saints, and studies the reasons why people desired
to be buried in this way. Nevertheless, some shortcomings of this study should
be recognized. First, it draws a strong and not entirely justified distinction
between the views of the hierarchy, identified with Augustine, and those of the
‘people’.³ Strangely enough, Duval does not consider the writings of such
eminent bishops as Damasus of Rome, Ambrose of Milan, and Gregory of
Nazianzus, whose views were different from those of Augustine, as illustrating
the stance of the hierarchy. Secondly, the study is focused on Latin evidence,
literary and epigraphic, which at least in one important case is not securely
dated, whereas the Eastern evidence is represented mostly by hagiography and
the writings of the Cappadocian Fathers. Thirdly, it does not always take into
account the full context against which the practice can be set, especially with
regard to other funerary customs, and other practices related to the cult of
relics. In consequence, Duval’s study, although important, is not fully convin-
cing as far as the early chronology of tumulatio ad sanctos is concerned and
the question of its popularity is examined only cursorily. The book also leaves
some space to reflect upon the ways in which the need for physical closeness
with the tombs of saints was satisfied, and upon the intentions of those who
buried their dead close to the saints.
EARLY CHRONOLOGY
I will start with chronology. The literary, epigraphic, and archaeological

evidence for burials ad sanctos becomes abundant only in the second half of
² Augustine, De cura pro mortuis 6–7. ³ See e.g. Y. Duval 1988, 204–23.
Burials ad Sanctos 85
the fourth century. However, for a long time it was widely accepted that the
practice started as early as the end of the third century.⁴ This conviction was
based upon a single piece of evidence, namely the final passage of the Acts of
Maximilian. The text presents itself as the minutes of a court session at which
Maximilian, a young man from Theveste in Roman Africa who refused
military service, was sentenced to death. It ends with the following passage:
Soon afterwards he [Maximilian] died. A woman named Pompeiana obtained his
body from the magistrate and, after placing it in her own chamber, later brought
it to Carthage. There she buried it at the foot of a hill near the governor’s palace
next to the body of the martyr Cyprian. Thirteen days later the woman herself
passed away and was buried in the same spot. But Victor, the boy’s father,
returned to his home in great joy. Giving thanks to God that he sent ahead
such a gift to the Lord, since he himself was to follow.⁵
The Acts of Maximilian used to be classed as so-called acta sincera, or the
authentic record of the trial, and his death was believed to be securely dated.
The account places it on 12 March 295, in Theveste, during the reign of
Diocletian and Maximianus, and the governorship of the proconsul Dio.
A proconsul by that name is indeed attested in Africa in 291, the consular
date given at the beginning of the Acts is correct, and the historical circum-
stances fit, at least up to a point, the period preceding the Great Persecution:
Maximilian is sentenced to death not because he is a Christian, but because he
refuses to be conscripted into the army. Yet some elements in the story should
advise against accepting it at face value. In recent years, first Constantin
Zuckerman and then David Woods and Timothy Barnes raised serious doubts
about the authenticity of this text, pointing to a detail of conscription or tax
procedure named in the Acts, but otherwise known only from a much later
period.⁶ Moreover, even if we assume that the main body of the text follows
the official stenographic pattern of trial records, its final part, which deals with
the execution and burial, is obviously a Christian addition, which did not have
to be written immediately after Maximilian’s death. And some elements
suggest that it was not. What is strange in the first place is the role of the
two dramatis personae, Pompeiana and Maximilian’s father. During the trial
the father is at risk of being accused of inspiring his son’s refusal and seems
eager to show that he did not sympathize with Maximilian’s decision. In this
context, his ‘returning to his home in great joy, giving thanks to God’ does not
look plausible. Also the fact that he handed over the body of his son to a lady
from Carthage, whether he supported his choice or not, is astonishing, all the
more so as according to the text the body was taken far away: Carthage is over
⁴ See e.g. Saxer 1980, 108; Tilley 1996, 59 n. 13; Y. Duval 1988, 52–4; Bartlett 2013, 14–15.
⁵ Acta Maximiliani 3.4 (trans. H. Musurillo).
⁶ Zuckerman 1998, 136–9; Woods 2003; Barnes 2010, 380–5.

300 km from Theveste. It is also hardly understandable why Pompeiana would
have transferred the body that far, for at the end of the third century martyrs
are normally still buried where they died. Finally, a pious matron who takes
care of the body of a martyr is a literary topos quite frequently found in late
antique hagiography.⁷ All of the above is not entirely impossible, but definitely
very unusual. In consequence, we can hardly accept the reliability of the Acts
of Maximilian as the earliest testimony of burial ad sanctos. As David Woods
pointed out, the Acts are known only from fairly late manuscripts,⁸ Maximil-
ian does not appear in the early sixth-century calendar of Carthage, which
contained the names of a number of local martyrs, and is unattested by any
source before the ninth century, including the very comprehensive Martyr-
ologium Hieronymianum.⁹ And yet I think that this text should not be
dismissed as completely worthless for the study of this phenomenon. There
are reasonable grounds to believe that the addition may have been written in
Africa. Maximilian’s exact age, 21 years, 3 months, and 18 days, given at the
end of the story, could have been invented by the author, but the fact that he
provided this piece of data is interesting, for it was by no means a standard
element of martyr narratives. But it was a standard element of funerary
inscriptions, and so I am inclined to think that the author of the ending of
the Acta Maximiliani actually saw the tombs of the bishop, the matrona, and
the young martyr, who by that time might have been buried close to the grave
of St Cyprian. The question of when and why this happened remains
unanswered, which is all the more regrettable given that we should very
much like to know whether Pompeiana was interred there before or after
Maximilian.
Be that as it may, the case of Maximilian does not prove that burials ad
sanctos were practised already at the end of the third century. In consequence,
if we omit the uncertain testimony of an early fourth-century inscription from
Altava (Mauretania) in which the link between the burial to which it attests
and the tomb of the saint is highly hypothetical, the earliest dated evidence of
this custom can be found only in the writings of three bishops who started
their episcopate in the years 360–70, namely Damasus of Rome, Gregory of
Nazianzus, and Gregory of Nyssa.¹⁰ The burials they mention were possibly
organized a few years earlier, at about the same time as the relics of the
⁷ See Cooper 1999, 314, who also warns against taking Pompeiana’s episode at face value.
⁸ The earliest dates from the eleventh/twelfth century; see A. A. R. Bastiaensen, in Acta
Maximiliani, p. 236.
⁹ Woods 2003, 266–7.
¹⁰ Inscription from Altava (Africa): Y. Duval 1982, vol. 1, No. 195, pp. 412–17; Damasus
(perhaps critically on this phenomenon): Ferrua, Epigrammata Damasiana 16 = ILChV 1986:
‘Here, I confess, I Damasus wished to set my limbs | but I feared to disturb the holy ashes of the
pious’ (trans. D. Trout); Gregory of Nazianzus, Epigrammata 33, 76, 99, 118, 165 (all in
Anthologia Graeca 8). Gregory of Nyssa, In sanctos XL martyres II, p. 166.
Apostles were deposited in the church of the Holy Apostles adjacent to
Constantine’s Mausoleum (356/7),¹¹ which leads to the question of the role
this momentous event played in the development of the practice. Interestingly,
the rescript of Theodosius I addressed to the prefect of Constantinople,
Pancratius, in 381 forbids burials in urbe, including interments close to the
martyrs and Apostles.¹² The law does not specify to which urbs it referred, but
at that time Constantinople was the only city which had relics of the Apostles
within the walls, and that means that some people buried their dead at the
Holy Apostles between c.357 and 381 or at least wanted to do so. We cannot be
sure if the practice we are interested in actually started in that particular
church in Constantinople, but we can say at least that this is its earliest certain
and safely dated testimony.
The fact that we do not have evidence of burials ad sanctos before the mid-
fourth century is important, because it suggests that this practice has to be
understood in the context of the rise of the cult of relics, and strengthens
the impression that this wider phenomenon was developing very swiftly in the
second half of the fourth century—none of its elements is attested before
the 350s.
POPULARITY
The fact that the practice is attested in several sources dating from the late
fourth and early fifth century and in different parts of the Mediterranean
suggests that it was developing at a fast pace, but it also raises the question of
how common that practice was. When studying the cult of relics, and many
other religious customs too, we are often at risk of misjudging their popularity.
It is very difficult to say how many of those who were ill were looking for
healing at relics, how many besieged cities put their trust in the power of a
local saint, or how often people who had a difficult decision to make threw lots
at the tomb of a saint. These questions are problematic because we know little
about the ways in which those who were ill, besieged, or anxious about the
future behaved normally, and so we usually cannot say if the phenomenon
under study, even if well attested in the evidence, was rare, specific to a single
region, or entirely common. In the case of interment ad sanctos we have a
chance of estimating its spread with more accuracy, because obviously in Late
Antiquity most people were buried, and their burials, unlike miraculous
healings, exorcisms, kisses given to relics, etc., usually left material traces.
Even if only a small fraction of late antique graves is extant and excavated,
¹¹ See p. 23. ¹² Codex Theodosianus 9.17.6; 30 July 381.


we are dealing with tens of thousands, and even if the archaeological
documentation of most of them is imperfect, this evidence can give us an
idea of how common and how evenly distributed interments ad sanctos were.¹³
Now, while in this chapter I refer mostly to graves which bear testimony to this
custom, it has to be emphasized that the number of Christians who were not
buried close to saints was many, many times higher. As the paragraphs that
follow will show, the extant evidence suggests that the phenomenon, though
widespread, was not very common, certainly less common than it seems to
have been at first sight, because in modern scholarship burials ad sanctos make
a capacious category and diverse interments are too readily classified as
examples of the same practice.
The risk of making the category of burials ad sanctos too wide concerns
both literary and archaeological evidence. As for the former, the problem is
that there was a custom, frequently mentioned by late antique authors, which
was a sort of burial ad sanctos, but should be analysed separately. The custom
consisted in burying saints ad sanctos, or just burying saints together. As we
have seen, the martyr Maximilian was supposedly buried close to St Cyprian.
Theodoret of Cyrrhus names monks whose bodies were deposited in shrines
which also contained the relics of martyrs and Apostles. The fifth-century Life
of Daniel the Stylite claims that he was interred in Constantinople under the
relics of the Three Youths.¹⁴ According to the History of the Albanians, dating
probably from the sixth or seventh century, Grigoris, katholikos and martyr in
Caucasian Albania, was buried together with flasks containing the blood of the
martyr Pantaleon and Zechariah, John the Baptist’s father, supposedly at the
beginning of the fourth century.¹⁵ The fifth-century Armenian Epic Histories
names bishops and martyrs who were deposited together and close to relics of
the Apostles and John the Baptist.¹⁶ According to the Liber Pontificalis, several
martyred bishops of Rome were buried close to the body of St Peter on the
Vatican Hill.¹⁷ Even if some of these passages describe purely imaginary
burials, their authors apparently thought that interring the saints close to
their likes was a proper thing to do. One can hardly interpret this custom as
aimed at providing freshly buried martyrs with the support of those who had
suffered before them, for they did not need it. The intention was rather to bury
them in a place which they merited, that is, among their equals. The idea that
the saints should rest together was expressed especially strongly with respect to
groups of martyrs who died together, like the Forty Martyrs of Sebaste or the
¹³ See e.g. Demolon, 1986, 57.

¹⁴ Theodoret, Historia religiosa 10.8, 21.30, 24.2; Vita Danielis Stylitae 92.
¹⁵ History of the Albanians 1.14; see N. Aleksidze, CSLA E00132.
¹⁶ Gregory the Illuminator and the martyrs: The Epic Histories 3.14; see N. Aleksidze CSLA
E00148.
¹⁷ Liber Pontificalis 2.2, 3.2, 5.2, 6.3, 8.3, 9.2, 10.2, 11.5, 14.3, 15.4b.
clergy of Bishop Fructuosus of Tarragona.¹⁸ Yet we can see it also on other
occasions. In 397, Victricius of Rouen, when welcoming in his city the relics of
various saints sent to him from Milan, insisted that the saints, who are
perfectly united in God, find delight in serving together at the same altar.¹⁹
Of course, a collection of relics brought glory to the new church which held
them, and Victricius states this explicitly, but the motif of the perfect ‘concord
of saints’ who act together and should rest together is by no means accidental
in his sermon, or rather a treatise based upon it. It also appears, about the same
time, in Gaudentius of Brescia’s sermon, preached at the dedication of the
church known as the Council of Saints, Concilium sanctorum.²⁰ It is difficult to
say if the idea of the unity of saints only justified the existing habit or actually
resulted in making collections of relics, but the link between this idea and the
practice seems obvious. This practice, however, differed from the burials
aimed at securing saints’ help for people anxious about their fate after death.
Admittedly, the two types of burials should not be separated too strictly. For
instance, the burial of Satyrus, Ambrose of Milan’s brother, in a sarcophagus
adjacent to that of the martyr Victor was certainly viewed as advantageous.
His epitaph says:
To Uranius Satyrus, his brother Ambrose
Accorded the distinction of burial at the martyr’s side.
This the reward for his goodness, that the holy blood
Should seep through and wash his remains, which lie beside.²¹
This obviously granted Satyrus Victor’s intercession, but the advantage of such
burial might also have been to present Ambrose’s brother as a saint, worthy of
being laid next to his equal. That is even clearer in the case of the burial place
which Ambrose prepared for himself between the martyrs Gervasius and
Protasius, looking not so much for their protection, but rather adding a new
element to his self-portrait as bishop and martyr.²² In our evidence we can find
many other clerics who were buried close to saints not necessarily because they
sought such burials more eagerly, but because they were considered to be more
appropriate neighbours for the saints than laypeople. We can see this in an
interesting episode from the collection of miracles of St Thecla. It tells of a
rhetor Eusebios who wanted to inter a talented and virtuous man named
Hyperechios in the sanctuary of the saint. He asked Bishop Maximos for
permission and received it. But when the diggers started their job, Thecla
appeared to them in a visible form, frightening them almost to death and
¹⁸ Acta Fructuosi 6; Testamentum XL Martyrum 1.

¹⁹ Victricius, De laude sanctorum 6. ²⁰ Gaudentius, Tractatus 17.37.
²¹ ILChV 2165, trans. McLynn 1994, 79.
²² Ambrose, Epistula 77.13; the link is also emphasized in Hymnus 11.9–13.

forbidding them to continue their work. Shortly after she appeared also to
Maximos:
She exhorted him that he should not have been so disdainful of her church as to
introduce into it the foul smell of burials and tombs. There was nothing in
common, she said, between tombs and houses of prayer, unless someone who
has died is not really dead but is alive to God, and is worthy to dwell together
under the same roof as the martyrs, such as the divine Symposios or Samos, the
famous holy man, or someone else of the same quality as they.²³
Needless to say, both Symposios and Samos were bishops. The same idea,
namely that access to the saints should be reserved for saints or at least saintly
people, which usually meant clerics of proven orthodoxy, is expressed in other
texts, such as the Encomium of Macarius of Tkow. Its author claims that
[Timothy] Salophakiolos, Chalcedonian patriarch of Alexandria, protested
against burying Macarius, the ‘unclean Egyptian’ (Macarius was anti-
Chalcedonian) at the tombs of John the Baptist and the prophet Elijah.²⁴
As for the material evidence, to identify a burial ad sanctum on purely
archaeological ground, without inscription, is sometimes perfectly possible. In
the apse of the church in rue Malaval (Marseilles), for instance, twin decorated
sarcophagi were recently discovered (Fig. 5.1). They were equipped with pipes
which served to pour in and then collect the oil, once it was sanctified by the
contact with the bones. This system, known from a number of reliquaries in
Syria, does not leave any doubt that the sarcophagus contained the bones of
saints. Around this sarcophagus there is a cluster of graves, which must have
been located ad sanctum.²⁵ But in many cases such identification is risky. First,
because it is often difficult to say if a tomb or bones beside which someone was
buried actually belonged to a person considered a saint. In most regions there
was no single pattern of depositing saints in churches or cemeteries. They could
be laid in the nave, chancel, or apse. Yet in the very same places we find tombs of
other people, and so indeed very often we have trouble distinguishing the
former from the latter. A skeleton buried in the middle of the chancel could
have been that of a martyr, or of the founder of the church, or of a local cleric, or
of another prominent person. Also, bones deposited in a small receptacle in one
of those places did not have to be relics. In Late Antiquity few reliquaries had a
specific form; they were often made of stone or clay and did not necessarily
differ from caskets or vessels which were used for secondary burials of ordinary
people organized after total decomposition of the body.²⁶ Thus the bones which
are found in a stone box could, but did not have to, belong to a saint. In the
²³ Miracula Theclae 30.

²⁴ Encomium of Macarius of Tkow 16; see F. Schenke, CSLA E05275. The presence of relics of
Elijah in Alexandria is puzzling, since, according to 2 Kings 2:11, he was taken to heaven on a
chariot of fire.
²⁵ Moliner 2006, 132–4. ²⁶ Février 1986, 16–17.
Fig. 5.1. A tomb of unnamed saints in the church of the rue Malaval (Marseilles),
encircled by individual graves. Photo courtesy of Manuel Moliner.
church in Kherbet Salah (modern Algeria), for instance, five ‘cavities’ of diverse
size were found in front of the apse. The largest of them was a sarcophagus
which contained a complete skeleton, the four others had just mingled bones.
This was interpreted as a place of deposition of five saints, or as the burial of one
man with the relics of four saints, but actually it could also have been the place
of five burials, four of them secondary, and none of a saint.²⁷ All this does not
make the identification of the tomb of a saint impossible, but shows that those
who were buried in a church, even close to an apparently important tomb, were
not necessarily buried ad sanctum.
Even if a saint can be identified, we have to ask what conclusions can be
drawn from the fact that several burials took place next to his or her tomb.
One cannot forget that early suburban basilicas, martyrial or not, were usually
built in cemeteries, which kept their original function.²⁸ The very fact that
other people were interred in these places does not prove then that their
families wanted to bury them by the tombs of martyrs. In Tipasa (Algeria) a
number of burials were discovered around the basilica which contained a
monumental tomb of St Salsa, an important local martyr. Yet, as Paul-Albert
²⁷ Five reliquaries: Berthier 1943, 151–2; burial ad sanctos: Février 1986, 19.
²⁸ See for instance Trier: Gauthier 1986, 28, and above all Yasin 2009, 69–91.

Février soberly remarked, since some of these graves had been there before
Salsa’s interment, they were not really intended as ad sanctam.²⁹ One may add
that we can go further with this argument and state that it is also risky to say
that even later burials were drawn to this place by the presence of the saint:
people could simply continue to bury their dead in the same place in which
they had formerly done so.
In all, one has to check conscientiously what is the basis of qualifying a
grave as a burial ad sanctos, understood as an interment aimed to secure for
the dead the help of the holy neighbour. We certainly should resist the
temptation of recognizing it in every burial found in a church. The safest
criterion for burials ad sanctos is of course an inscription which explicitly says
who was interred close to whom, and why. Such inscriptions, however, are
rare and very unevenly distributed. We can see a great number of them in
Rome. In Ernest Diehl’s Inscriptiones Christianae Latinae Veteres, out of sixty-
one inscriptions of this kind almost two-thirds come from Rome, and the rest
mostly from Italy.³⁰ There are over a dozen of them from Africa, collected by
Duval,³¹ but very few from Spain and Gaul. In the Balkans only a few
inscriptions of this kind have been found in Sirmium.³² In the East they are
exceptional. In the Aegean Islands there are only hypothetical burials ad
sanctos.³³ In Syria some graves are identified as such, but no inscription reveals
the intentions of those who made them.³⁴ In Egypt the situation is similar.³⁵
It is interesting to take a closer look at Anatolia, part of the late antique
world which is important for both the epigraphist and the student of the cult
of saints.³⁶ In the evidence from this vast region we can find just a handful of
epitaphs suggesting that those at whose tombs they were engraved were buried
ad sanctos, and in most cases their interpretation is far from certain. A man
whose fifth-century epitaph from Tavium (Galatia) says that he ‘found a place
of relief, having run to the Apostles’, was interred in a church dedicated to
them rather than near their relics, and certainly not at their tomb, for none of
the Apostles was buried in Galatia. Moreover, the ‘place of relief ’ mentioned in
this inscription can also be interpreted as referring simply to heaven.³⁷ There
is also a group of inscriptions from around Tyana which mention specific
saints. A certain Theodosius prays,saying ‘Saint Konon, you are my refuge’
(fifth–sixth century). This certainly expresses the belief in the saint’s help, but
this help did not have to result from the proximity of the saint’s body.³⁸ A few
²⁹ Février 1986, 15.

³⁰ Chapter Tituli depositionem ad martyres et in locis sanctis inlustrantes, nos 2126–87.
³¹ Y. Duval 1982, vol. 2, 501–16.
³² CIL III 10232 and 10233, possibly also Popović 2013.
³³ See Inscriptiones Graecae XII 2, no 525; see also P. Nowakowski CSLA E01230 and CSLA
E01246.; Dunant & Pouilloux 1958, vol. 2, 193–8.
³⁴ Sodini 1986. ³⁵ Dunand 2007, 177–8. ³⁶ See Nowakowski 2018.
³⁷ P. Nowakowski, CSLA E01009. ³⁸ P. Nowakowski, CSLA E01017: σὲ κατέφυγα.
other inscriptions are more specific about the place of burial. The virgin
Kelsina, interred in the same region, says: ‘My sweetest mother Theoprepis
built this tomb of mine inside the holy place of John.’³⁹ Here, there is no doubt
about the physical closeness to the saint’s topos, but still not necessarily to his
relics. A bilingual inscription from Nicomedia, however, mentions a boy who
was deposited ‘at the martyrs’, which strongly suggests their relics.⁴⁰ Also, a
certain Karteria, known from a fifth- or sixth-century epitaph, claims that she
and her husband lie ‘close to the Baptist’. Thus, we can name two or three
inscriptions which safely attest a burial which was physically connected with a
saint, possibly with his relics, but, strikingly, this is almost all that we can find
in the whole of Asia Minor.
Of course, epigraphic material is not the only type of evidence preserved
from that region. Besides the archaeological evidence, which can be difficult to
interpret, there are the writings of Gregory of Nazianzus and Gregory of
Nyssa, which do not leave any doubts that burials ad sanctos were practised
in Cappadocia. The former wrote several epigrams for the tombs of his friends
and family members, some of them mentioning explicitly this type of inter-
ment. A good example is the epitaph for his mother:
The soul of Nonna left on its wings for heaven, and from the temple we took her
body and laid it beside the martyrs. Martyrs, accept this great offering, her long
toiling flesh which followed [the example of] your blood. Your blood indeed, for
she extinguished the great might of the destroyer of souls, by her immense
labours.⁴¹
Gregory of Nyssa, whose family lived in the same region, writes that his
parents were laid in a place in which relics of the Forty Martyrs had been
deposited.⁴² But all this literary and epigraphical evidence put together
certainly does not suggest a widespread phenomenon. In all, we are dealing
with a custom which can, admittedly, be found in several parts of Christen-
dom, but certainly not everywhere and not very frequently. In this respect,
Rome was definitely unlike any other place.
H O W CL O S E T O T H E S A I N T S ?
It is interesting to ask the question of how the burials ad sanctos looked in

practice, how close to the saints were those who were looking for their
³⁹ P. Nowakowski, CSLA E01022. ⁴⁰ P. Nowakowski, CSLA E00940.

⁴¹ Gregory of Nazianzus, Epigramma 33; see E. Rizos; see also CSLA E00340. For other
epitaphs attesting burials ad sanctos, see n. 10.
⁴² Gregory of Nyssa, In XL martyres II, p. 167.

proximity buried. The most straightforward way to secure such proximity was
to bury the dead close to the tomb of a saint. The inscription on the tomb of
Satyrus quoted above suggests that the proximity was even closer: he was laid
in a tomb which was connected with the grave of Victor, permitting the holy
blood of the martyr to ‘seep through and wash his [Satyrus’] remains’.
In Rome traces of the practice of interring the dead close to the tomb of a
saint are certainly visible at St Peter’s on the Vatican and at several catacombs
along the Via Appia.⁴³ This custom is well attested, although, as has been said,
such burials are not always easy to identify, and what seems to be a funerary
complex centred around the tomb of a saint may well turn out to be an
ordinary burial cluster.
Less evident are traces of the practice of burying the dead with relics
deposited in the tomb. Archaeological evidence of such burials is ambiguous.
Little boxes and flasks containing only dust or traces of some substance, which
can be found in some late antique graves, certainly cannot be taken as reli-
quaries if there is no other proof of such identification. Literary evidence,
however, suggests that such a practice did exist. Sozomen tells us the story of
Eusebia, a woman belonging to the sect of the Macedonians,⁴⁴ who lived in
Constantinople and had herself interred in a sarcophagus which also contained
some relics of the Forty Martyrs of Sebaste, placed in a separate compartment.
Duval argues that this episode does not reflect a real practice.⁴⁵ She thinks that
we are dealing here with an isolated episode which occurred in a marginal
community rather than with a mainstream custom: Sozomen emphasizes that
the woman buried cum sanctis belonged to the sect of the Macedonians and
claims that later on the relics were deposited in another place by Nicene
Christians. This argument, however, is not entirely convincing. Of course, it
is true that Sozomen does not seem to be enthusiastic about this way of dealing
with relics. Yet he does not condemn it either; he does not stigmatize Eusebia in
any way, and there is no reason to think that she was the only person to have
had the idea of taking relics into her tomb, or that it was a specifically
Macedonian practice. In fact, there is other evidence of such a custom in
mainstream Christianity. The body of Melania the Younger, according to her
Life, was buried dressed in garments belonging to various saints.⁴⁶ Grigoris,
bishop of Caucasian Albania, was interred with flasks containing the blood of
the saints Pantaleon and Zechariah.⁴⁷ Thus, the practice of burying people with
relics did exist, though, admittedly, it was probably rare and in most cases the
physical contact between the dead and the relics was probably indirect. This,
after all, reflects the practices of the living. We will see in Chapter 7, for example
in the case of a woman who inserted her head into a niche containing
St Stephen’s relics, that as early as the beginning of the fifth century, many
⁴³ McEvoy 2013, 100–31; Ghilardi 2002, 205–7. ⁴⁴ Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 9.2.
⁴⁵ Y. Duval 1988, 112–18. ⁴⁶ Gerontius, Vita Melaniae 69.
⁴⁷ History of the Albanians 1.14.
people desired to come as close to the relics as possible, but this desire was rarely
satisfied by direct access to the bones.⁴⁸
Interestingly, the contact with a saint did not have to consist in proximity
with his or her relics at all. Several Christian writers tried to convince their
audience that the saints did not need relics to manifest their power. It is
possible that many people remained unpersuaded, but there were burials
which can be classified as ad sanctos, but not ad reliquias. Of course, it is
usually difficult to prove that a church in which a grave was found did not
contain any relics, but sometimes we can be almost certain. For instance, in a
late inscription, dating probably from the seventh century, found in Ankara, a
certain Andragathios who founded the church of ‘the Lady’, certainly the
Mother of God, claimed that he enjoyed her protection thanks to her closeness
(paroikia).⁴⁹ It is unlikely that any Marian relics were kept in that church.
Similarly, people buried at the sanctuary of St Michael the Archangel in the
Galatian city of Germia were seeking the power of the saint in his sanctuary,
although for obvious reasons it did not have any relics of its patron.⁵⁰
Some people thought that too close a proximity to the tomb of a saint might
be harmful rather than beneficial. The epitaph of an archdeacon Sabinus,
buried on the Via Tiburtina, close to Rome, in the entrance to the church
warns the reader in the following words:
Keeping close to the tombs of the holy ones does not help, but only increases the
burden; good life is closer to the merits of the saints; not through the body but by
the soul we reach for them, which (i.e. the soul) saved firmly can be the sanity of
the body.⁵¹
The archdeacon of the Church of Rome was an extremely important figure in
the clerical hierarchy of the city and Sabinus certainly could have been buried
closer to the bones of the saint if he chose to. Thus, there is no reason to doubt
the sincerity of his declaration.
In all, the need for proximity to the saints, if felt, was satisfied in several
ways. Some people were evidently looking for a very close physical contact,
and probably even took relics to their graves, but others believed that being
buried in a church dedicated to a saint would do as well.
THE P URPOSE
The last and probably the most important point which should be addressed in
this chapter is the purpose of burial ad sanctos. To a modern student of this
⁴⁸ See Chapter 7. ⁴⁹ P. Nowakowski, CSLA E01002.

⁵⁰ Mango 1986, esp. 126–8 (no. 1): see also P. Nowakowski, CSLA E01005.
⁵¹ ICUR VII 1807; see P. Nowakowski, CSLA E05296.

phenomenon it may seem obvious that those who interred their beloved
ones close to holy bones expected that the saints would help their new
neighbours in the afterlife, and, indeed, in the treatise On the care for the
dead we find that some people did cherish such hopes. However, the
specific nature of such expectations could have been fairly complex. Au-
gustine, persuaded that the place of burial does not have any direct impact
on the soul, does not discuss this issue at length, but acknowledges briefly
that people believe that the saints will help them on the Day of Judge-
ment.⁵² We can find traces of this belief in the epigraphic evidence. The
saints are referred to as advocati or patroni, and are asked to accept the
dead person as their foster child (alumnus) or fellow (socius).⁵³ We do not
know much about the people who expressed such hopes, but one should
not think that they were necessarily simple folk. We should bear in mind
that Augustine’s treatise is not a response to the query raised by the
laywoman Flora, but to that of his fellow bishop Paulinus, and there is
no indication in the text that the views in question were characteristic of
the laity or uneducated people. In his Second Homily on the Forty Martyrs
of Sebaste, Gregory of Nyssa, one of the most sophisticated theologians of
that period, explains:
I myself possess a piece of the gift, and have put the bodies of my parents to
rest by the relics (leipsana) of the soldiers, so that they may rise in the
company of highly influential helpers, at the time of the resurrection. Because
I know how powerful they are, and have seen clear proofs of their freedom of
speech before God.⁵⁴
Also in Gregory of Nazianzus’ epigrams the martyrs are asked to accept to

their bosom those whose bodies rested close to their relics,⁵⁵ which also quite
evidently testifies to the belief in their support in the afterlife. These two Greek
bishops, not unlike Ambrose of Milan and Paulinus of Nola in the West,
evidently propagated the belief that Augustine strove to correct.
Another reason why people wanted to be buried ad sanctos was that such
neighbourhood guaranteed the protection of the body. The issue was import-
ant, since whatever Augustine might have thought about it, the integrity of
one’s earthly remains was often considered essential for their future resurrec-
tion. A number of Christian authors writing before and after Augustine felt
compelled to argue that God was capable of resurrecting the bodies of people
who had been eaten by wild animals or burnt to ashes and dispersed in water.
⁵² Augustine, De cura pro mortuis 1–2. ⁵³ Y. Duval 1988, 145–8; 187–9.

⁵⁴ Gregory of Nyssa, In XL martyres II, p. 167; trans. E. Rizos, CSLA E01299.
⁵⁵ Gregory of Nazianzus, Epigramma 99; see also 118 (‘Martyrs of Truth, welcome the rest of
them’); 33 (‘Martyrs, accept this great offering, her long toiling flesh which followed [the example
of ] your blood’); 165 (‘entrusting him to the pure martyrs’; trans. E. Rizos).
The fact that this issue had to be discussed over and over again strongly
suggests that many people thought otherwise. It seems, therefore, that in
having their bodies buried ad sanctos they wished to secure the integrity of
their bodily remains from various sorts of threats. And indeed, threatened
they were.
According to Duval the major threats against which the saints could defend
the bodies of the dead were represented by demons and tomb raiders.⁵⁶ The
omnipresence of the fear of demons in Late Antiquity is sometimes exagger-
ated, but at least in some regions and milieux they were perceived as a real
danger. The dread of their attacks, specifically those directed against the dying,
is manifest in the Apocalypse of Paul, a widely read late antique apocryphal
text, and can also be seen in other writings.⁵⁷ It is also true that some authors
suggest that demons would prey not only on those who were dying but also on
graves and cemeteries.⁵⁸ However, I have not found any evidence of the
conviction that people believed that this interest in demons affected the bodies
or souls of the dead. Inscriptions and literary texts do not suggest that the
saints would defend cadavers against evil spirits. Even more importantly,
burials ad sanctos are best attested in Italy, where the fear of demons is only
scantily attested, and seem almost absent from Egypt and Syria, where it was
much stronger.⁵⁹
I suppose then that usually those who cared for their dead were much
more afraid of people than of demons. Tombs could be violated by tomb
raiders, by magicians seeking to stick curse tablets into them or steal some
body parts for their practices, but also by people who were looking for a
place to bury their dead without paying for a new tomb.⁶⁰ Several funerary
inscriptions bear witness to efforts aiming to prevent the violation of
tombs: they adjure, they beg, they even threaten with a fine or eternal
punishment. An inscription from Rome warns: ‘if someone violates this
tomb, let him perish badly, lie unburied, not rise from the dead, share a fate
with Judas’.⁶¹ Other inscriptions express the belief in divine power able to
protect the tomb:
To the spirits of the dead. Aurelius Niceta made [this grave] for his well-deserving
daughter, Aurelia Aeliana. Gravedigger, beware, do not dig [here]. God has big
eyes. Bear in mind that you also have children.⁶²
⁵⁶ Y. Duval 1988, 173–82. ⁵⁷ Y. Duval 1988, 173–6.

⁵⁸ John Chrysostom, De sancta Droside 2 and In Matthaeum homiliae 28.3.
⁵⁹ Wiśniewski 2015. ⁶⁰ Lafferty 2014.
⁶¹ Male pereat, insepultus iaceat, non resurgat, cum Iuda partem habeat, si quis sepulcrum
hunc violaverit (ILChV 3845).
⁶² D.M. Aurelius Niceta Aureliae Aelianeti, filiae bene merenti, fecit. Fossor, vide ne fodias!
Deus magnu oclu abet, vide, et ut filios abes (ILChV 3877).

In very rare cases the epitaph expresses the belief that the saint will protect the
tomb. A late inscription from Como in northern Italy found in the church of
St Julian addresses readers as follows:
I adjure you all, Christians, and you, the blessed defender Julian, by God and by
the dreadful day of judgment: Let this tomb never be violated, but let it be
preserved until the end of the world, so that I can return to life without any
obstacle when He, who will judge the living and the dead, will come.⁶³
There were certainly others who believed that the power of saints would
protect their graves, but we do not see them in the evidence.
Thus, people hoped for the protection of the grave and believed in the
intercession of saints for the sake of the salvation of their souls. All this
implied a belief in the power of the place in which the dead were buried.
Interestingly, the tombs of saints were not the only sacred places which played
such a role. Some people were buried in apses, close to the altar, which could,
but did not have to contain relics,⁶⁴ and so we cannot suppose that the altar as
such could be considered the source of power. The situation is even clearer in
the case of interments in baptisteries, attested in Africa, Italy, and Gaul,⁶⁵ for
baptisteries did not have any relics. Apparently, the places where the Eucharist
and Baptism were celebrated were powerful and suitable for burials irrespect-
ive of whether relics were deposited in them or not.
Not all the hopes of those interred ad sanctos had to do with the resurrec-
tion of the dead. Those who prepared graves for themselves or who cared for
the burial of their kin often had more secular intentions. First of all, they did
not want the graves to be violated, whether it affected the soul or not. The
authors of pagan funeral inscriptions, who did not expect the resurrection of
the body, were no less preoccupied by the security of their tombs than
Christians. Also, the concentration of graves around the tomb of a saintly
figure does not necessarily prove that people believed in a direct impact of the
place on the posthumous fate of the body or soul. In Antiquity, the tomb, both
of a saint and of an ordinary person, was often referred to as a memoria (in
Latin) or mnēmē (in Greek), a place of memory. And the tombs did serve to
keep this memory alive. The tomb of a saint was obviously a very important
point in a basilica and so burials adjacent to it were more conspicuous and
prestigious, and probably also more expensive than those in other places. The
ostentatiousness of burials is a well-attested phenomenon in Antiquity.⁶⁶ And
if we do not limit the examination of burial places to the closest vicinity of the
⁶³ Adiuro vus omnes, Xpiani, et te, custude beati Iuliani, per deo et per tremenda die iudicii, ut
hunc sepulcrum nunquam ullo tempore violetur, sed coservetur ad finem mundi, ut posim sine
impedimento in vita redire, cum venerit qui iudicaturus est vivos et mortuos (ILChV 3863).
⁶⁴ Wieland 1912.
⁶⁵ Potthoff 2016, 179–82; Jensen 2011, 242; Synodus Autissiodorensis a. 561–605, c. 14.
⁶⁶ See Wood 1996, 21–3 and Effros 2002, 130–1.
tomb of a saint, the need for ostentation is easily noticeable. People could be
interred in several different places inside a church. The gate and atrium, for
instance, were most probably chosen as the place of burial because everyone
going inside would have to have passed through them and seen the graves
situated there.⁶⁷ This conspicuousness was important and often alluded to.
A funerary inscription from Tyana, dated to the fifth or sixth century, ad-
dresses the passer-by: ‘O stranger, you behold the tomb of Karteria. In front of
it her deceased husband lies concealed, near the Baptist, by the door-way of
[his] house [i.e. church], bringing tears to all inhabitants looking at it.’⁶⁸ The
sixth-century Nestorian historian Barḥadbešabbā ‘Arbāyā claimed that the
famous theologian Theodore of Mopsuestia ‘was laid next to the bones of
the blessed Thecla, the one who went round with the Apostles, as if by the
operation of God, so that even when the evil ones [i.e. his theological oppon-
ents] did not want to, they would honour his bones together with those of
Thecla’.⁶⁹ Even if the place for this burial was most probably not selected so as
to make those who opposed Theodore’s doctrine see and venerate his tomb,
the author evidently liked this idea. Of course, it can be supposed that some
people who were buried close to saints hoped that upon seeing their tombs
passers-by would also pray for their souls; Augustine would have certainly
approved of that. But there must have been others who most probably wanted
to be remembered for more worldly reasons.
It is also worth noting that the saints were not the only special dead whose
burials attracted further interments. Emperors or members of their family
could do so as well. The suburban basilica of St Sebastian in Rome is tightly
encircled by funeral chapels, and this is certainly a place devoted to the cult of
this famous saint. But the mausoleum of Helena, Constantine’s mother, and
the adjacent funeral basilica in the place known as ‘At the Two Laurels’ were
equally popular as places of interment, and the belt of chapels around this
basilica is very similar to that at St Sebastian’s.⁷⁰ That basilica was dedicated to
the martyrs Peter and Marcellinus, but they were not buried in it, or directly
underneath, but at some distance from it and their cult developed only
gradually. Thus, those who were interred around the basilica were probably
not looking for the saints’ help, and certainly did not expect to find it at their
bodies. Instead, they were looking for a pious, but above all prestigious
location, close to a deceased member of the imperial family. And Helena’s
mausoleum was not the only tomb of a prominent layperson which attracted
other burials.⁷¹
⁶⁷ See N. Duval 1986, 31 and generally about the visibility of burials Yasin 2009, 69–97.
⁶⁸ See P. Nowakowski, CSLA E01023.
⁶⁹ Barḥadbešabbā ‘Arbāyā, Ecclesiastical History 19, trans. S. Minov, CSLA 01288.
⁷⁰ Guyon 1987, 273–87 and 361–7.
⁷¹ Ament 1986 (a number of graves clustered around an obviously secular tomb).

What does all of this tell us about burials ad sanctos? First, it demonstrates
that we are dealing with a complex phenomenon. Bringing saints together
certainly did not serve the same purpose as burying ordinary people close to
martyrs, and even the latter type of interment had diverse functions: it could
secure the body for the resurrection of the dead and help directly on the Day of
Judgement, but also make a display of the importance, wealth, and piety of the
dead and their families. Secondly, it shows that those who were looking for
burials ad sanctos were not necessarily uneducated or misguided. Bishops and
other clerics were overrepresented among them. If indeed the church hier-
archy was reluctant to accept this belief, they did everything to hide this
feeling. Thirdly, burials ad sanctos are attested in several places, but in none
of them can they be seen as entirely common. In most regions this practice is
poorly attested; it does not seem to be really widespread outside Italy, and even
there the number of those who were buried ad sanctos was small, which, at a
more general level, probably should advise us against overestimating the
popularity of the cult of relics.
Finding Relics
In the mid-fourth century, when the cult of relics started to develop, most
saints whose bodies were to be venerated over the centuries lay deeply hidden
under the earth. By that time Christian communities were probably able to
locate many graves of the victims of the Great Persecution of the early fourth
century and possibly, but only possibly, also some of those who had been killed
in the mid-third century, in the time of the emperors Decius and Valerian.
Marianne Sághy argues that by the time Damasus, bishop of Rome in 366–84,
started writing his epigrammatic poems on Roman martyrs, they had been
almost forgotten by their community.¹ The extent of this oblivion is not easy
to assess, but in several regions the situation was even worse. In Gaul or
northern Italy, for instance, there was not much to forget, since local martyrs
were few. The churches of such regions had either to import relics of foreign
saints from other places or somehow to discover their own martyrs, whose
very existence usually had to be invented.
With the biblical saints, the situation was equally complicated. Some tombs
of Old Testament figures, it is difficult to say how many, were already
identified by Jewish tradition.² As for the New Testament heroes, however,
the location of the graves of most of them was lost.³ At the beginning of the
Constantinian era, Christians were able to name only a few burial places of
the Apostles. Peter and Paul were known to rest in Rome, John the Evangelist
in Ephesus, Philip in Hierapolis, and James in Jerusalem.⁴ As I have already
said, it is doubtful whether the body of Thomas was in Edessa before the
second half of the fourth century. The three ‘Apostles’, Andrew, Luke, and
Timothy, were brought to Constantinople in the 350s from the cities or
regions associated with their death, but there is no evidence whatsoever
that their tombs had been venerated or even identified before.⁵ Those of
¹ Sághy 2012. ² Wilkinson 1995, 452–5. ³ Taylor 1993.

⁴ See Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 2.25.5–8 (Peter and Paul); 3.31.3–4 (Philip and John);
2.23.18 (James).
⁵ Mango 1990, 59.

other New Testament personages, including other Apostles and St Stephen the
First Martyr, were still to be discovered.
More accessible were the bones of the new saints, namely monks, but the
cult of their relics was slow to appear. Athanasius’ testimony concerning the
secret burial of St Antony’s body⁶ might suggest that the bodies of the holy
eremites came to be viewed as relics from the very moment of death, and so
there was no need to look for them. This, however, in the early history of the
cult of relics happened at best very rarely.⁷ In most regions, very few monks of
the fourth and fifth centuries were venerated after their deaths, which obvi-
ously was not because their tombs had been well hidden. The only part of
Christendom where the graves of monks attracted interest was Syria and
Palestine; there the posthumous cult of holy monks, such as Hilarion of
Gaza and Euthymios, is attested since the end of the fourth century.⁸ In
Egypt, the cradle of monasticism, however, the bodies of monks were not
venerated before the sixth century. Thus, it is no wonder that it was only at
that time, in AD 561, that the body of St Antony was finally discovered and
translated to Alexandria.⁹
In all, in the fourth century, the graves of the new saints (monks) attracted
only limited attention, and the graves of most old saints (martyrs and biblical
heroes) had to be discovered. As for Old and New Testament figures, their list
was preserved in Scripture. Christians had to identify some of their graves, but
they knew whose graves they were looking for. As for the martyrs, the problem
they faced was not so much of finding the grave, but constructing the story
behind it. The process of identification of the graves of both biblical saints and
martyrs was probably under way as early as the first half of the fourth century.
We have no idea what it looked like, even in the case of such important saints
as Andrew and Luke, brought to Constantinople from Achaea in the 350s. We
cannot say who found their graves and how the identification was proved. In
the last quarter of the fourth century, however, a new and well-attested
phenomenon appears in our evidence, that of miraculous discoveries, pre-
ceded by visions and followed by signs demonstrating the power of the relics.
EARLY DISCOVERIES
The earliest allusion to relics revealed probably owing to a vision can be found
in Pope Damasus’ (366–84) epigram on the martyr Eutychius:
⁶ Athanasius, Vita Antonii 90–2; see p. 23. ⁷ For the later evolution, see Kaplan 1999.
⁸ See Jerome, Vita Hilarionis 33; Cyril of Scythopolis, Vita Euthymii—from chapter 47 (68)
on. On the slow development of the cult of the holy monks, see Wiśniewski 2018.
⁹ Victor of Tunnuna, Chronica s.a. 561.
Finding Relics 103

In sleep-bringing night a dream stirs the mind.
It reveals the hiding place that contains the guiltless man’s limbs.
He is sought; discovered he is venerated; he offers support; he furnishes all things.¹⁰
The Latin text is not entirely clear about who had the vision and when, but it
certainly mentions a dream, a search, and a discovery. In 379, Damasus’
contemporary Gregory of Nazianzus mentioned the discovery of the body of
St Cyprian, again by a revelation (di’ apokalypseōs) received by a certain
woman.¹¹ Neither of these authors provides any details about the discovery.
Only slightly later, in 384, the pilgrim Egeria heard a story about the finding of
the grave of Job in the city of Carneas, in the province of Palaestina Secunda.¹²
As this chapter of Egeria’s diary is partly lost, the very beginning of the story is
missing, but the rest relates that a monk living in the desert saw the grave in a
vision and was told to communicate its location to the local bishop and clergy.
He did so and shortly after a cave was found, at the end of which, a hundred
steps in, the excavators saw a stone on which the name ‘Job’ was carved. Egeria
emphasizes that the body and the stone were not moved, but an altar and a
church were built over it. We do not know when exactly all this happened. In
his Onomasticon Eusebius claimed that the city of Job was called Dannaba, but
did not write anything about the tomb of Job in this place, while the Pilgrim of
Bordeaux located it, c.333, at a different place, close to Bethlehem.¹³ Thus, the
events described by Egeria must have occurred only later. Also, the fact that
the vision was sent to a monk points rather to times closer to her pilgrimage
than to the beginning of the fourth century, when monasticism was unknown
in Palestine.
In 386, Ambrose of Milan found the grave of the two then unknown
martyrs Gervasius and Protasius. This event, mentioned already several
times in this book, was described for the first time by Ambrose himself, in a
letter written shortly after.¹⁴ The finding of Gervasius and Protasius was
followed by two others, apparently also organized by Ambrose: that of the
martyrs Agricola and Vitalis in Bologna and that of Nazarius in Milan, both in
the first half of the 390s.¹⁵
It is possible that in the same years, on the other side of the Alps, Bishop
Theodore of Octodurum (modern Martigny in Switzerland) discovered the
relics of the soldier martyrs belonging to the Theban Legion, supposedly killed
at the end of the third century. We know about this discovery only from the
¹⁰ Nocte soporifera turbant insomnia mentem, / Ostendit latebra insontis quae membra teneret /
quaeritur, inuentus colitur, fouet, omnia prestat (Epigrammata Damasiana 21.10–11). For the
translation and discussion, see Trout 2015, 123–4.
¹¹ Gregory of Nazianzus, In sanctum Cyprianum 18. For localizing and dating this sermon,
see Mossay in SC 284, 27. I am grateful to Estelle Cronnier for this reference.
¹² Egeria, Itinerarium 16.5–6.
¹³ Eusebius, Onomasticon 370; Itinerarium Burdigalense 598; see Cronnier 2016, 28–31.
¹⁴ Ambrose, Epistula 77. ¹⁵ Paulinus of Milan, Vita Ambrosii 29.1 and 32–3.

Passion of the Agaunian Martyrs, written in the 430s by Eucherius, bishop of
Lyons, according to whom the bodies of the martyrs were ‘revealed’ to
Theodore.¹⁶ The story of the Theban Legion is certainly fictitious, but from
our point of view this is not important. What is important is the reality of the
discovery. This cannot be proven, but the finding seems to fit well with the
political situation and religious atmosphere of the 390s.¹⁷
Then, we move back to the East. According to Sozomen, relics of three Old
Testament prophets, Habakkuk, Micah, and Zechariah, were revealed, as we
will see later, in the vicinity of Eleutheropolis during the reign of Theodosius
I and Theodosius II, possibly in the early 390s and c.415.¹⁸
Probably in the same period, the grave of the prophet Samuel was found
close to Jerusalem. No source mentions the finding itself, but Jerome notes the
transfer of Samuel’s body to Constantinople during the reign of the Emperor
Arcadius (395–408), and since no earlier author refers to this tomb, we can
suppose that it was found shortly before the translation.¹⁹
The next safely dated discovery is that of St Stephen the First Martyr. It took
place in the village of Caphargamala in Palestine in December 415, and
because of the subsequent spread of his relics and the popularity of its literary
account, which gave rise to the new literary genre of inventio, it was probably
the most important discovery of this kind in Late Antiquity. This account was
written in the year following the event by the priest Lucian of Caphargamala,
to whom the location of the tomb of Stephen was revealed in a series of
visions.²⁰
These are the first stories about inventiones, or the miraculous discoveries of
relics. They appear in the evidence in the 370s and describe almost contem-
porary events; they also come from different regions, namely Italy, Asia
Minor, and above all Palestine.²¹
If we make a list of biblical saints whose relics were identified in this early
period, we can instantly notice that the list is incomplete. Of the Twelve
Apostles, relics of Matthew, Matthias, and Simon do not appear in the
evidence. Only a few of the prophets of the Old Testament had identified
tombs, and the same can be said of other biblical figures. In the fifth century
this situation remained largely unchanged; only St Barnabas, Paul the Apos-
tle’s companion, was found in Cyprus in 488.²² There was apparently no plan
and no need to find all the major biblical heroes. Moreover, while the graves of
some of them were discovered at a relatively early date, others had to wait
¹⁶ Passio Acaunensium martyrum 16. ¹⁷ See Woods 1996 and Wermelinger 2005.
¹⁸ Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 7.29.1–2 and 9.17.1–6.
¹⁹ Jerome, Adversus Vigilantium 5; see Cronnier 2016, 53.
²⁰ For the composition of this text, see Vanderlinden 1946.
²¹ Other discoveries from this period appear in later evidence; their reliability is, however, at
best difficult to establish.
²² See p. 108.
Finding Relics 105

surprisingly long. A good example of a late discovery is that of St Stephen. If
the discovery of Job took place already in the 380s or earlier, why did the First
Martyr need to wait until 415? Interestingly, his cult did develop earlier. His
feast on 26 December was celebrated in Cappadocia already in the 380s.²³ The
same date is attested in the Syriac Calendar of Edessa, preserved in a manu-
script dated to 411, and so preceding by four years the discovery in Caphar-
gamala.²⁴ Even more intriguingly, already in the 360s, Gregory of Nazianzus
names Stephen in his sermon Against Julian, when enumerating powerful
Apostles and martyrs. The tombs of all of them, except Stephen, were already
identified and renowned as healing places.²⁵ All this suggests that this discovery
was much expected, and yet it happened only half a century after Gregory of
Nazianzus had referred to the power of St Stephen’s grave.
On the other hand, there were a number of minor or at least not obvious
biblical heroes whose graves were found quite early in this period. Job, though
an important biblical personage, does not seem to be an evident candidate for
the first saint to be looked for. It is understandable that on Egeria’s list we can
see the graves of Moses or Thomas the Apostle, but those of Abraham’s
nephew Nahor and his son Bethuel (in Haran) or that of Laban, Jacob’s
father-in-law (in Fadana), can hardly be classified as tombs of saints at all.²⁶
W H Y L O O K F O R RE L I C S ?
The somewhat puzzling list of the saints whose graves were discovered or
identified in the fourth and early fifth century leads to the question of the
motives behind this phenomenon. I argued in Chapter 2 that what gave
momentum to the cult of relics was the belief in their power. There is no
doubt that this belief resulted in a high demand for relics, and this in some
cases was sufficient reason to search for and find them. In his acerbic remark
about the Melitians stealing the bodies of martyrs from cemeteries, Athanasius
of Alexandria clearly states that they were looking for the power of the saints’
bodies over demons.²⁷ We also know that some relics discovered in the fourth
and fifth centuries, such as those of Gervasius, Protasius, and Stephen,
instantly gained a reputation for their miracles. But, as we will see, in none
of these cases was the desire to get hold of miraculous power really a driving
force behind the discovery.
²³ Gregory of Nyssa, In sanctum Stephanum I, p. 75; see also, slightly later, Asterius of
Amasea, Homilia 12.1; see Rizos, CSLA E02145.
²⁴ Martyrologium Syriacum, p. 11.
²⁵ Gregory of Nazianzus, Contra Iulianum 1.69; see p. 70.
²⁶ Egeria, Itinerarium 12.1–2 (Moses), 20.8–10 (Nahor and Bethuel) and 21.4 (Laban).
²⁷ Athanasius, Epistula 42; see pp. 35–6.

Also, very few graves of Old Testament personages became miraculous
places, and it seems unlikely that they were looked for because of the expected
power of their relics. We may understand better the motivation behind their
discoveries if we take a look at other sites and objects which Egeria saw in the
Holy Land. She did not really set out to find miracle-working places, but rather
material testimonies of biblical history which would demonstrate that this
history was true. Even in Carneas she visited not just Job’s grave, but also the
place where he had sat on a dunghill, and she was interested in both the former
and the latter, the two being essential places in the story of this biblical figure.
Several discoveries which took place in Palestine can thus be seen as part of the
process of identifying biblical places rather than hunting for relics of saints.
Even more importantly, relics were needed to enhance the status of the
churches which possessed them and rekindle the religious zeal of Christians,
and in some cases they were evidently sought with this purpose in mind. This
can be seen in a few discoveries which took place in Milan in 386, in Jerusalem
and Eleutheropolis at the turn of the fourth century, and in Cyprus in 488.
The cases of Eleutheropolis and Jerusalem should be analysed together,
because the series of discoveries on their territory was linked with the rivalry of
these two Palestinian episcopal sees. The role of these discoveries was analysed
by Estelle Cronnier and in the paragraph that follows I am essentially following
her argument and conclusions.²⁸
As has already been said, according to Sozomen, the graves of the prophets
Habakkuk and Micah were found in the territory of Eleutheropolis, an im-
portant city and bishopric about 50 km south-west of Jerusalem, during the
reign of Theodosius I (378–95).²⁹ If this information is true, the period in
which the discovery took place can probably be narrowed down to the years
384–95, for Egeria, who visited this region c.384, did not yet know about the
vision and the discovery. Sozomen claims that the location of both tombs was
revealed in a dream vision to Bishop Zebennos of Eleutheropolis. At that time
the dominant role of Jerusalem on the ecclesiastical map of Palestine was still
far from being firmly established. At the beginning of the fourth century,
Aelia, as Jerusalem was then officially called, was a minor episcopal see. It
became important thanks to the imperial foundations at Golgotha, the Holy
Sepulchre, and the Mount of Olives, and thanks to the discovery of the
Holy Cross. The city also had tombs of some Old Testament saints and that
of St James, Brother of the Lord, but its location was disputed.³⁰ As regards
ecclesiastical administration, Jerusalem was subject to Caesarea, the metro-
politan see of Palestine, and the bishop of Eleutheropolis could consider
²⁸ Cronnier 2016, 291–8. ²⁹ Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 7.29.1–2.

³⁰ Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 2.23.18; Jerome, De viris inlustribus 2 (rejecting the tradition
of the burial at the Mount of Olives, which is also reflected in Apparitio sancti Jacobi apostoli; see
Cronnier 2016, 55–68).
Finding Relics 107

himself as being on a par with his colleague from Aelia. Eleutheropolis’
weakness consisted in the fact that this large and old city did not have a
biblical history or holy places. Since 387 the bishop of Jerusalem was John,
whose relations with Eleutheropolis in the 390s were quite tense, partly
because he had to defend his sympathy for Origen, who had been fiercely
attacked by Epiphanius, bishop of Salamis in Cyprus. That sharp-tongued
ecclesiastic, a Palestinian by birth who originated from Eleutheropolis, found-
ed a monastery close to this city, often resided there, and evidently received at
least the tacit approval of Bishop Zebennos.³¹ It is during this conflict that
Zebennos discovered the graves of Habakkuk and Micah. It is tempting to link
this discovery with Epiphanius, for Jerome calls Epiphanius’ monastery, if the
conjecture of the corrupted text in one of his letters is correct, Becos Abacus,
the place of Habakkuk.³² The discovery was arguably aimed at strengthening
the position of Zebennos, and probably also that of Epiphanius, against John.
By acquiring holy relics, Eleutheropolis could, at least to some extent, aspire to
a status equal to that of Jerusalem.
The second act of the conflict between these two Palestinian bishoprics took
place two decades later. In December 415, Eulogios, bishop of Caesarea, the
metropolitan see whose status Jerusalem contested, convoked a council in
Diospolis (Lydda).³³ At this council, John of Jerusalem had to defend his
lenient position toward Pelagius, an ascetic from Britain stigmatized as a
heretic by several Western and some Eastern bishops. It was during this
council that the relics of St Stephen were found in Caphargamala.³⁴ This
discovery, made in the territory of John’s diocese and under his auspices, the
subsequent solemn transfer of the relics to Jerusalem, as well as the ensuing
miracles, evidently enhanced the position of John in relation to both Caesarea
and other Palestinian sees, including Eleutheropolis, whose bishop, still the
same Zebennos, participated in the council.³⁵
Interestingly, in Sozomen’s account, the finding of the tomb of St Stephen is
mentioned in the same chapter in which he describes another discovery, that
of the prophet Zechariah, in a place called Caphar-Zechariah, again very close
to Eleutheropolis.³⁶ It is not certain whether the two events actually took place
in the same year and which happened earlier, but it is very probable that they
were not distant in time. If so, either John organized the discovery of Stephen
³¹ See Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 6.32.1–3 and Epiphanius’ letter to John of Jerusalem,
preserved in the collection of Jerome’s letters as Epistula 51, about his activity in Palestine.
³² Jerome, Epistula 82.8. The manuscripts have Besos adhuc or vetus adduci. The conjecture
was proposed by Hilberg in the CSEL edition of Jerome’s letters.
³³ Drijvers 2004, 178–9. ³⁴ Revelatio s. Stephani A 44 and B 42.
³⁵ The acts of these council are not extant, but the list of the participants is given by
Augustine, Contra Iulianum 1.19 and 32, who spells his name as Zoboennus.
³⁶ Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 9.17.1–6.

in order to respond to that of Zechariah or Zebennos organized the discovery
of Zechariah in order to respond to that of Stephen.
The rivalry between Jerusalem and Eleutheropolis can be detected only if we
carefully examine a variety of sources. No late antique author presents the
finding of any of the relics mentioned above as an element in the game of
power between the two sees. Sometimes, however, the role of such discoveries
in church politics is more evident. The best example of it, openly presented as
such by the author who described this event, is the discovery of the grave of
St Barnabas in Cyprus. His relics are mentioned by a few sixth-century writers.
One of them, Victor of Tunnuna, dates their finding, quite reliably, to AD 488,
and his contemporary, the Cypriot monk Alexander, presents in detail the
circumstances of this event.³⁷
According to Alexander, Bishop Anthemios of Salamis was much troubled
by the actions of Peter the Fuller, patriarch of Antioch, who tried to submit
the Church of Cyprus to his power. One night, Anthemios saw in a dream
St Barnabas, who revealed to him the place of his burial and, importantly, said
explicitly that its discovery would help to reject the claims of Antioch, since
Cyprus, having been converted by him and in possession of his body, was fully
entitled to the title of an apostolic see (Barnabas is consistently presented as an
Apostle). The tomb containing Barnabas’ body with the Gospel of Matthew on
his breast was indeed found in the place indicated in the vision. The news was
reported to Constantinople, to which the book was also transferred, and in
consequence Cyprus retained its independent position. Alexander does not
cover up the underlying motive for the discovery of the relics; on the contrary,
he expressly states that they were found in order to protect the status of the
island as an autonomous ecclesiastical province.
In 386, Bishop Ambrose discovered the bodies of the martyrs Gervasius and
Protasius in a suburban cemetery in Milan, close to the tomb of the saints
Nabor and Felix. Earlier that year, he was in a serious conflict with the imperial
court, then residing in Milan, and especially with the Empress Justina,
Valentinian II’s mother, who tried to force the bishop to give over one of
the city basilicas, then held by the Nicene Christians, to the Homoian com-
munity. The conflict started in January 386, but its further chronology is not
entirely clear. It is certain that at the very beginning of April, during Easter,
some basilicas, or a basilica, were besieged by troops sent by the emperor.
Almost certainly there was also another siege, but it is debatable whether it
took place before or after Easter. The exact sequence of these events is
important for the understanding of the link between the strife with the
³⁷ The earliest evidence: Severus of Antioch, Epistula 108 and Theodore Lector, Historia
ecclesiastica, epitome 436; Victor of Tunnuna, Chronica, s.a. 488; Alexander of Cyprus, Laudatio
Barnabae.
Finding Relics 109

Arianizing court and the discovery of the grave of Gervasius and Protasius,
which took place on 19 June 386.³⁸ If the second siege was lifted in April, in
June the tensions in the city may have abated over the course of several weeks.
But if the second siege came later, in May or early June, then the finding of
Gervasius and Protasius took place in the acute phase of the conflict and was
meant to improve the position of Ambrose.³⁹ In his own account, the discov-
ery is presented as a response to a request of the people of the city, who asked
him to dedicate a newly built basilica by depositing in it some relics.⁴⁰ He does
not connect it directly with the affair of the basilicas, but shows that the event
took place in the context of the conflict between the Nicenes and their
enemies, who rejected both the doctrine that Ambrose preached and the
authenticity of the relics that he found.⁴¹ For Augustine, who about ten
years later refers to these events in which he participated, the link between
the discovery and the strife is even closer, for he claims that God revealed the
bodies of Gervasius and Protasius for no other reason than ‘to repress the
feminine but royal fury’.⁴² Also Paulinus of Milan, in his Life of Ambrose,
mentions soldiers, who, driven by the ‘woman’s fury and the insane Arians’
madness’, endeavoured to break into one of the Milanese churches, an inci-
dent which in his account is immediately followed by the story of the
discovery of the relics: ‘Around the same time the holy martyrs Protasius
and Gervasius revealed themselves to the bishop.’⁴³ All this suggests that even
if the discovery was not Ambrose’s direct answer to the demands to hand over
a basilica, it played an important role in the Nicene–Homoian conflict from
the very beginning, and soon Ambrosian propaganda made the link between
the dramatic defence of the churches and the discovery of the martyrs
even closer.
We should not place discoveries resulting from the desires of people who
craved the miraculous power of relics in opposition to those organized by
bishops who used them in church politics. In fact, a successful discovery
usually required some sort of cooperation between the bishop and his com-
munity, and the intentions of clerics and laypeople were in most cases
complex and varied. However, necessities of ecclesiastical politics better
explain the very fact of discovery, and also the particular moment at which
it took place. In several cases this politics may also have caused the specific way
in which relics were found or rather in which discoveries were described.
³⁸ The date is provided by the Calendarium Carthaginense (XIII Kal. Iul). It simply mentions
the feast of Gervasius and Protasius, but Augustine, in Sermo 286.4, says that the feast specifically
celebrated the discovery of their relics.
³⁹ McLynn 1994, 177–82. ⁴⁰ Ambrose, Epistula 77.1.
⁴¹ Ambrose, Epistula 77.16–20 (see also 77.1–2). ⁴² Augustine, Confessiones 9.7.
⁴³ Paulinus of Milan, Vita Ambrosii 13.1 and 14.1.
THE P ATTERN AND ACCOUNTS OF DISCOVERY
The finding of relics is usually presented as resulting from the desire of the
saint himself, who decided to reveal the presence of his grave (to the best of my
knowledge, there is no early evidence of such discoveries in the case of female
saints). This desire is fulfilled by an unsolicited vision, typically seen by a
reliable witness, a monk or a cleric, preferably a bishop.⁴⁴ It can be a day or
night vision; if the latter, it is often repeated, in most cases as many as three
times.⁴⁵ The saint usually reveals not only the position of his tomb, but also his
identity.⁴⁶ If it is not the local bishop who has the vision, its content is duly
reported to him.⁴⁷ It is also the bishop who, after proper examination, orders
digging to start and attends it with his clergy.⁴⁸ When the tomb is found,
additional elements confirm the authenticity of the relics. In some cases an
inscription with the name of the saint is discovered, even with an account of
his martyrdom.⁴⁹ When the grave is opened, the peculiar character of the body
becomes evident. The heads of martyrs are found separated from their corpses,
showing that the people buried in the tomb were executed.⁵⁰ Various elements
signal the sanctity of the body: the blood, still visible in the graves of those who
died a long time ago, integrity or incorruptibility of the flesh, freshness of the
skin, lack of any signs of decay, wonderful fragrance, etc.⁵¹ After the discovery,
the relics are solemnly transferred to a new place of deposition, within the
same city or beyond.⁵² The ceremony is attended by clergy, monks, nobles,
⁴⁴ Monks: Egeria, Itinerarium 16.5; Lucian, Revelatio s. Stephani AB 36–41; Marcellinus

Comes, Chronicon s.a. 453; Gregory of Tours, Liber in gloria martyrum 72; History of the
Albanians 1.19; Movsēs Xorenac’i, History of Armenia 2.91; Vita Cornelii 5; see Cronnier
2016, 198–209. Bishop: see e.g. Passio Acaunensium martyrum 16; Paulinus of Milan, Vita
Ambrosii 14.1, 29.1, and 33.1; Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 7.29.
⁴⁵ Triple vision: Lucian, Revelatio s. Stephani AB 3–35; Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 9.2.7
(St Thyrsus and the Forty Martyrs in Constantinople); Apparitio s. Iacobi Apostoli, pp. 123–4; see
Cronnier 2016, 196.
⁴⁶ Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 9.2.7; Inventio Gervasii et Protasii 4; Alexander of Cyprus,
Laudatio Barnabae, p. 114; Cronnier 2016, 198–201.
⁴⁷ Message for the bishop: Egeria, Itinerarium 16.5; Revelatio s. Stephani A 6 and 18, B 6; John
Rufus, Vita Petri Iberi 142.
⁴⁸ Egeria, Itinerarium 16.5–6; Alexander of Cyprus, Laudatio Barnabae, p. 116; Historia Gesii
et Isidori, p. 67; see Cronnier 2016, 215–16.
⁴⁹ Egeria, Itinerarium 16.6; Revelatio s. Stephani AB 43; Historia Gesii et Isidori, p. 68; History
of the Albanians 1.19; see Cronnier 2016, 218–20. For a similar situation with the relics of
Montanus, see Michael the Syrian, Chronica 9.33.
⁵⁰ Ambrose, Epistula 77.12; Paulinus of Milan, Vita Ambrosii 32.3 (Nazarius); see also
Gregory of Tours: Liber de passione et virtutibus sancti Iuliani martyris 2.
⁵¹ Revelatio s. Stephani AB 45; Alexander of Cyprus, Laudatio Barnabae, p. 116; Passio et
inventio Gervasii et Protasii (BHL 3514) 18; Gregory of Tours, Liber de passione et virtutibus
sancti Iuliani martyris 2.
⁵² Revelatio s. Stephani AB 48; Procopius, De aedificiis 1.4.22 (Apostles in Constantinople);
John Rufus, Vita Petri Iberi 145.
Finding Relics 111

and a number of laypeople, in some cases even the emperor or his family.⁵³
There follows a series of miracles. Demons are chased away and the sick are
healed.⁵⁴ In some cases, the cart which carries the relics moves miraculously or
stops at a certain place and cannot be moved any further, thus either suggest-
ing that the transfer is accepted by the saint or indicating in this way the place
where the relics should be deposited.⁵⁵ Finally, the deposition is preceded with
prolonged vigils or other ceremonies in a church.⁵⁶
This catalogue contains elements found in different stories and one can
hardly name a text containing them all.⁵⁷ Three elements, however—the
vision, the bishop, and the miracles—are very common. In most cases it is
very difficult to find out what those who witnessed the discovery really saw or
believed they had seen after the opening of a tomb, but the texts referred to in
the notes show what people could read about the relics deposited in the
churches they visited. Whatever the actual discovery looked like, these stories
were an essential element of the cult of the respective relics.
WHY MIRACULOUS I N V E N T I O?
Why did the pattern of the miraculous discovery of relics become so popular?
Of course, the graves which were forgotten had to be somehow identified, but
graves were not the only sacred places which needed identification. It was also
the case of most biblical sites in Palestine, which started to be visited in the
fourth century. It is possible that the location of the grave of Christ was known
in Jerusalem before the Constantinian era. The same, although with even less
certainty, can be said about the cave of the Nativity in Bethlehem. But it is
highly unlikely that the column of flagellation, the house of Caiaphas, or the
palm tree with the branches of which the people of Jerusalem hailed Jesus, and
several other minor biblical places were identified before the fourth century.
They had to be somehow discovered and recognized. And yet it seems that the
process of their identification went without visions and miracles, or at least the
⁵³ Ambrose, Epistula 77.2; Victricius, De laude sanctorum 2–3; Jerome, Adversus Vigilantium
5; John Chrysostom, In s. Phocam 1; John Chrysostom, Homilia dicta postquam 1.
⁵⁴ Ambrose, Epistula 77 passim; Paulinus of Milan, Vita Ambrosii 14–16, 29, and 33; Revelatio
s. Stephani A 46; this motif also appears in the accounts of martyrdom, e.g. Passio Nazarii et Celsi
(BHL 6043) 12 (see M. Pignot, CSLA E02034).
⁵⁵ Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 7.21.2–3; Agathangelos, The History of Armenia 811;
Ps.-Sebeos, Armenian History 14/85–6.
⁵⁶ John Chrysostom, Homilia dicta postquam 1–3; Revelatio s. Stephani B 48; Passio s. Dometii
22; John Rufus, Vita Petri Iberi 145; see Cronnier 2016, 239–51.
⁵⁷ For the evidence, see Cronnier 2016, 189–237.

sources are silent about this. Why was this not the case with the graves of
biblical saints and martyrs?
Certainly, several stories say that their bones were simply hidden under-
ground and so a sign was needed for the narrative purpose of explaining why
the excavation started in one place and not another. The graves found in the
early period, those of Job, Gervasius and Protasius, and Stephen, the discovery
of which created the pattern of inventio, were apparently unmarked at the
surface. Ambrose, writing about his own discovery, suggests that the sign he
obtained was very vague,⁵⁸ but a sign was indeed necessary to make the story
convincing. A revelatory dream in which saints appeared to the faithful seems
to have been a natural solution. First, because the saints were considered to be
present in their tombs, at least from the moment when the belief in miracles
occurring at them developed. Secondly, because unlike most holy places,
corporeal relics were personified: they were not just linked with saints, but
were saints. Thirdly, because the conviction that the dead communicated with
the living by means of dreams was widespread in the Mediterranean. In Greek
and Latin literature we find many examples of that belief, and the message
which those dreams conveyed often concerned burial.⁵⁹ Most Christians took
such apparitions for granted.⁶⁰ Perpetua saw in a dream her dead brother, the
soldier Basilides saw in a night vision the martyr Potamiena at whose execu-
tion he had assisted; and the ghosts of brigands executed in a house kept
haunting passers-by and were appeased only when St Germanus of Auxerre
properly buried their bodies.⁶¹
All that justifies up to a point dream revelations, but not other elements of
the story, particularly the miracles following the discovery. In order to explain
why they came to be an indispensable element of the pattern, it is important to
note that the uncertainty or open contestation of the finding is the point in
common for almost all early tales in which the motif of miraculous discovery
appears. I am not thinking only about the level of narrative; we have already
seen that in many cases the newly discovered relics were powerful instruments
in the fight against ecclesiastical rivals. There is no doubt that these rivals,
though probably not only them, often challenged the authenticity of the find.
Sometimes we can see this in the text, as in the case of Milan. Ambrose, and
then his hagiographer, repeatedly point to the disbelief of the ‘Arians’, who
questioned the bishop’s honesty and the identity of the corpses. Other authors
⁵⁸ Ambrose, Epistula 77.2, where he simply says: Dominus gratiam dedit . . . inveni signa
convenientia. The story in which Gervasius and Protasius themselves appeared to Ambrose is
attested only later: Paulinus of Milan, Vita Ambrosii 14.1.
⁵⁹ Iliad 23.62–76; Odyssey 11.51–4; Cicero, De divinatione 1.57; Tertullian, De anima 46–7;
Lucian, Philopseudes 30–1; see Ogden 2001.
⁶⁰ Wiśniewski 2013.
⁶¹ Perpetua and Dinocrates: Passio Perpetuae 7.3; Basilides and Potamiena: Eusebius, Historia
ecclesiastica 6.5.6; Germanus and the ghosts: Constantius, Vita Germani 10.
Finding Relics 113

also refer to the doubts and hesitation of the local community, and there is no
reason to think that these doubts were not sincere.⁶² Hesitation may have
appeared among clerics as well.⁶³ Consequently, an essential literary function
of the miracles accompanying the discovery was to demonstrate that the relics
were true.⁶⁴
The doubts and contestation did not have to be motivated doctrinally or
politically. As we will see in Chapter 10, some people were simply afraid of
mistaken attributions, all the more so as they knew that errors happened. The
story about miraculous discoveries might have been very helpful to allay such
fears. Consequently, sometimes the fact that the location of relics was already
known did not preclude their subsequent miraculous discovery. That was the
case of the tomb of Moses on Mount Nebo. It was shown to Egeria in the 380s.
Surprisingly, the grave of this most important Old Testament saint was very
modest and located in a small church. Egeria does not mention its discovery;
the monks who lived there told her that they knew about this place from their
predecessors.⁶⁵ Yet about a hundred years later, these relics had already a story
of their discovery. John Rufus, in his Life of Peter the Iberian, written c.500,
included an episode about a shepherd who discovered, owing to a vision,
a cave in which he saw ‘a venerable old man whose face was shining and full of
all grace, reclining as it were on a bed, bright and flashing with glory and
grace’, in whom he recognized Moses. The vision swiftly faded away and the
cave became invisible again, but local villagers built a church on this site.
Interestingly, in John Rufus’ time the site, renowned for its miracles, seems
much more important than at the end of the fourth century when it was visited
by Egeria.⁶⁶ In this case, then, the story of the vision and miraculous discovery
was almost certainly invented in order to affirm the veracity of the tomb, and
apparently achieved this aim.
In some instances, the reasons to disbelieve appeared to be all the more
justified; I refer here to the cases where another grave of the same saint was
discovered in a different location from the one previously known and vener-
ated. This was the case of Job, whose grave was located by the Pilgrim of
Bordeaux close to Bethlehem, far away from Carneas.⁶⁷ The same phenom-
enon can be observed in the case of Habakkuk, who was to be discovered
⁶² Ambrose, Epistula 77.16 and 22; Paulinus of Milan, Vita Ambrosii 15–16; Liber de miraculis
s. Stephani 1.1; Basil of Caesarea, Epistula 197; John Chrysostom, In ascensionem 1; Vita Marcelli
Acoemeti 29 (St Ursicinus) and Theodoret, Historia religiosa 21.20 (John the Baptist).
⁶³ See an interesting account in Gregory of Tours, Historiarum libri 9.6, in which, unlike in
the cases named above, the relics finally are described as false; see K. Wojtalik, CSLA E02332.
⁶⁴ Maraval 1989, 589–90. ⁶⁵ Egeria, Itinerarium 12.2.
⁶⁶ John Rufus, Vita Petri Iberi 120–1. See Cronnier 2016, 31–5.
⁶⁷ It is difficult to say whether this discovery had an impact on the development of the cult of
Job, but he did have a cult. Two churches were dedicated to him in Bostra, one of them by
Justinian; see P. Nowakowski CSLA E02237 and CSLA E02238.

thanks to a dream revelation of Bishop Zebennos in the 380s or early 390s. Yet
the grave of this prophet is attested already at the beginning of the fourth
century by Eusebius, interestingly in two distinct places, both of them in the
territory of Eleutheropolis, in Gabaas and Kela.⁶⁸ The miraculous discovery
was probably partly aimed at strengthening the claims of the former. There is
no direct evidence that the grave of Zechariah, also discovered by Zebennos,
was also known earlier, but this is quite probable.⁶⁹
It is not unlikely that such competing claims to some extent overlapped
with religious division, for old graves of Old Testament prophets were most
probably identified by the Jews and might have been still in their hands.
Nevertheless, local identities or the rivalries between towns or villages might
have been more important than religious allegiance.
DISCOVERIES O F REL ICS AND THE FINDING

OF THE TRUE CROSS
The emergence of the inventio story can be explained by its persuasive aims.
However, relics of martyrs and biblical heroes were neither the earliest nor the
most famous sacred finding which came to light in the Holy Land in the fourth
century. Probably all the discoveries of saints’ graves were preceded by the
finding of the Holy Cross, and since the accounts of that event contain
elements parallel to those which we come across in the stories about saintly
relics, we should investigate the relationship between them.
Since the end of the fourth century, the Invention of the Cross was attrib-
uted to Helena, Constantine’s mother, who indeed visited Palestine in 327/8.
Yet it is very unlikely that the Cross was actually found at that time. The main
argument against it is that this discovery is not referred to by two early,
important, and well-informed authors. The first of them is Eusebius of
Caesarea, who in 338 or 339 wrote the Life of Constantine, describing with a
fair amount of detail his pious deeds, including the discovery of the Holy
Sepulchre.⁷⁰ The second author is the anonymous Pilgrim of Bordeaux, who
visited the Holy Land in 333 and listed many places and objects that he saw
there, some of them of evidently secondary importance.⁷¹ Neither of these
authors mentions the Cross; this fact would be hard to explain had they heard
of this relic.
The finding of this precious relic is mentioned for the first time in 351 by
Bishop Cyril of Jerusalem. He dates it back to the reign of Constantine, but
⁶⁸ Eusebius, Onomasticon 339 and 594. ⁶⁹ Cronnier 2016, 37.

⁷⁰ Eusebius, Vita Constantini 3.25–46. ⁷¹ See p. 21.
Finding Relics 115

does not say how it happened, does not name Helena, and does not suggest
that the discovery was preceded by or led to any miracles.⁷² The story of
Helena appeared only later.⁷³ It was certainly told in the Church History of
Gelasios, bishop of Caesarea and Cyril’s nephew. This text, composed c.390, is
not extant, but its content can be partly reconstructed on the basis of Book 11
of Rufinus’ Church History, written c.403, which used Gelasios’ account.⁷⁴
According to Rufinus, Helena found three crosses at Golgotha. The one of
Christ was identified thanks to Bishop Macarius of Jerusalem, who brought all
three pieces of wood to a certain sick woman, touched her with each of them,
and recognized Christ’s gibbet when the woman was healed.
Another author who attributes the discovery of the Cross to Helena is
Ambrose of Milan. He refers to this event in his sermon on the funeral of
the Emperor Theodosius, delivered in 395, that is between Gelasios’ and
Rufinus’ accounts. Ambrose presents a significantly different version of this
event, in which Helena was inspired by the Holy Spirit, but recognized the
True Cross because it was found at Golgotha between two other crosses, and
had the titulus, or inscribed board placed on it at the order of Pilate.⁷⁵ No
bishop is mentioned as attending the event, nor is there a hint of any miracles.
The chronological sequence of these accounts proves important when we
compare it with the literary history of the discoveries of relics. The Cross
probably was identified earlier than all the relics mentioned above, but the
common narrative elements appear first in the relics stories. In 379, Gregory of
Nazianzus is the first to name a vision; in 384, Egeria does the same and also
emphasizes the role of the bishop; in 386, Ambrose writes about a bishop and a
healing. Only a few years later, around 390 at the earliest, the vision, the
bishop, and the healing can be found in the story of the Cross. Strangely
enough, still in 395, they are absent from Ambrose’s account of its finding, in
spite of the fact that he used these very elements ten years earlier when
describing the discovery of Gervasius and Protasius. Of course, we cannot
exclude the possibility that an earlier, oral version of the story of the Cross
actually preceded and influenced the accounts of the discoveries of the relics.
Still, nothing proves that this was the case, and it is quite possible that the
influence worked the other way round, though the resemblance can be
explained rather by a similar persuasive function of the stories. At least in
the case of Ambrose, it is almost certain that his account of the discovery of the
Milanese relics was independent of the story of Helena.
⁷² Cyril of Jerusalem, Ad Constantium 3 and Catecheses 13.4.

⁷³ See Drijvers 2011, 151–2.
⁷⁴ Rufinus, Historia ecclesiastica 10.7–8. For the Church History of Gelasius, see Winkelmann
1966.
⁷⁵ Ambrose, De obitu Theodosii 40–50.
BEHIND THE L ITERARY IMAGE
We have already seen that in the accounts of discoveries an essential role is

played by bishops. The bishops have the visions (or assess their credibility),
order the digging, and preside over transfers and depositions. That was
certainly a desirable procedure, and there is no doubt that in many cases the
bishops organized and carried out the discoveries. But, thanks to other types of
evidence, it is sometimes possible to see that it was not always the case. No
bishop is mentioned in Sozomen’s account of the discovery of the prophet
Zechariah. It is, still according to Sozomen, the Emperor Theodosius who
organizes the transfer of the head of St John the Baptist to Constantinople and
it is the Empress Pulcheria who receives a vision which leads to the discovery
of the relics of the Forty Martyrs in Constantinople and who orders the
unearthing of the crypt in which they were deposited.⁷⁶ Bishops are entirely
absent from these episodes. Also in Procopius’ De aedificiis the discoveries of
the relics of the Apostles and, again, those of the Forty Martyrs, both taking
place in Constantinople, are reported to the Emperor Justinian, not to the local
bishop.⁷⁷ Of course, both Sozomen and Procopius focus on the imperial city
and the latter writes specifically about the buildings constructed by the
Emperor Justinian. Still, the absence of bishops is puzzling.
In the discovery of Zechariah, the vision is revealed to a simple, unjust, and
harsh man called Celemerus, who also uncovers the tomb. A private or non-
clerical initiative, which subsequently either gained the approval of the bishop
or not, was probably at the origin of several other discoveries, though the
evidence usually does not mention it explicitly. Athanasius, for instance,
suggests it in his festal letter, quoted above, in which he mentions Melitians
carrying bodies of martyrs away from cemeteries.⁷⁸ Had these people been
Melitian clerics, Athanasius would have certainly pointed this out, in order to
stigmatize the rival clergy. Several decades later, but still in Egypt, Shenoute
condemns those who claim that martyrs came to them in a dream and ordered
the unearthing of their bodies. He does not claim that these people were
clerics.⁷⁹ A canon of the Council of Carthage held in 401 preserved in
the so-called Carthage Register deals directly with the people’s initiative.
It encourages local bishops to destroy altars, which were erected following
‘dreams or inane and alleged revelations’, but at which no bodies or relics of
martyrs were actually deposited. The canon acknowledges that destroying them
may be impossible because of the ‘commotion of the people’, but the bishops are
⁷⁶ Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 7.21.4 (Theodosius and the head of John the Baptist); 9.2.12
(Pulcheria and the Forty Martyrs); 9.16.3–9.17.6 (Honorius and the prophet Zechariah). Bishop
Zebennos was, however, the discoverer of the relics of Habakkuk and Micah (7.29.2).
⁷⁷ Procopius, De aedificiis 1.4.18–24; 1.7.1–16. ⁷⁸ Athanasius, Epistula festalis 41.
⁷⁹ See Shenoute, Those Who Work Evil, pp. 212 and 219.
Finding Relics 117

required at least to admonish against frequenting such places.⁸⁰ We should not
imagine the non-clerical finders of relics as simple people. Aristocrats, whose
desires were essential for the development of the cult of saints,⁸¹ also played a
role in the search for relics. According to a fifth-century story of the garments of
Mary, these relics were found and brought to Constantinople by two aristocrats
close to the imperial court, Galbios and Candidos.⁸²
Another group which took part in discoveries of relics were monks. The
tombs of Job, the head of John the Baptist in Jerusalem, and yet another head
of the same saint in Emesa were discovered by monks.⁸³ According to the late
account of Movsēs Xorenac’i, the relics of Gregory the Illuminator, Apostle of
Armenia, also were found thanks to a revelation to a monk.⁸⁴ Monks were in a
way destined to have dreams revealing the location of relics, because they were
generally expected to have visions and their visions were considered to be
trustworthy. Martin of Tours, for instance, whose prophetic and miraculous
power is presented in his Life as due to his monastic vocation, was visited by
Mary, Agnes, and Thecla.⁸⁵ Also monks were keen to find relics, because they
were interested in possessing them, for reasons of piety or the prestige of their
communities. In the account of Egeria we can see that monasteries in the Holy
Land were often founded close to biblical places (or perhaps various biblical
places were identified nearby in order to enhance their status) and it was their
location that helped them to attract pilgrims. Outside Palestine relics could
have played a very similar role.⁸⁶ A strong interest of monks in relics can be
observed in many places, and especially in Constantinople.⁸⁷
In all, there were many actors involved in the discoveries and transfers of
relics. Bishops, lower clergy, monks, aristocrats, and other laypeople could not
only participate in these events, but also spark them off. The objectives of these
groups were different, but not necessarily contradictory. And in order to make
a discovery successful, that is, to gain recognition of the authenticity of the
relics, they usually had to collaborate.
There is one more thing that we can see if, when studying the discoveries
and transfers of relics, we look beyond the translation accounts. We can see
how popular and frequent these transfers were, which in turn helps us to
⁸⁰ Registri ecclesiae Carthaginsensi excerpta 83 (Can. 15 of the Council of Carthage in 401).

⁸¹ Brown 1981, passim.
⁸² All the versions of this late fifth-century story are collected by Wenger 1955. See also the
transfer of the relics of the Anaunian martyrs by the dux Jacobus: Vigilius of Trent, Epistula 2.1.
⁸³ Egeria, Itinerarium 16.5; Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 7.21.1; De inventione capitis
Ioannis Baptistae.
⁸⁴ Movsēs Xorenac’i, History of Armenia 2.91. ⁸⁵ Sulpicius Severus, Dialogi 2.13.4.
⁸⁶ Egeria, Itinerarium 3–99 passim; see also Pilgrim of Piacenza, Itinerarium 12, 23, 46. For
the cult of relics and monasticism as two elements of the same religiosity, see Hunter 1999.
⁸⁷ See e.g. the Macedonian monks in Constantinople: Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 9.2.1–2
and the activity of Marcellus Akoimetes: Vita Marcelli 29; see Dagron 1970, 243 and 272–3, and
Cronnier 2016, 329–32.

assess the strength of the cult of relics as a historical phenomenon. This is an
important issue. In Chapter 5 we have seen that such assessment can be done
only in part on the basis of material evidence: very few practices could leave
material traces. Similarly, literary evidence rarely permits us to assess how
strong or widespread the cult of relics was. On the one hand, it consists
mostly of hagiographical writings, which were written in order to promote a
cult; as such they can hardly be used to measure the real importance of that
cult. In collections of miracles, for instance, even modest shrines visited by
some locals may have been presented as famous sanctuaries gathering people
from all over the Mediterranean, because the authors wanted to promote the
cult centres in which they served. On the other hand, we can hardly build
anything upon the fact that late antique historiographers rarely mention relics
or the sanctuaries which held them. Pilgrimages, cures, vigils, and prayers did
not have to be noted by the chroniclers and ecclesiastical historians, since the
day-to-day routine of a sanctuary did not make an event worth noting. But
the discoveries and transfers of relics, which happened at specific, datable
moments, and engaged entire communities with their bishops, public offi-
cials, even emperors, could hardly go unnoticed. And so they can be used as a
litmus paper, showing the degree of attachment to relics in late antique
society. Now, the discoveries of relics are unevenly attested in major historio-
graphical accounts. Of all the church historians of the fifth century, only
Sozomen mentions several such events.⁸⁸ Socrates, who wrote in the same
period and whose account Sozomen used, mentions none. Certainly, Sozo-
men tells us mostly about relics found in Palestine, his native land, and one
can argue that his interest lies in this region rather than in saints’ graves. Still,
Socrates’ silence is puzzling. Another non-hagiographical author who men-
tions discoveries of relics is Procopius, in his Buildings, but since he writes
about several saints’ sanctuaries, it would have been extremely strange had he
omitted relics. In all, we have an impression that the phenomenon was
important, but certainly not as much as the account of doscoveries would
have us believe.
A CASE S TUDY
At the end of this chapter I will discuss in detail one of the best-documented
discoveries of relics, which belongs to the very early phase of the development
⁸⁸ They appear also only very occasionally in the chronicles. Jerome mentions two transfers of
the relics of the Apostles to Constantinople (s.a. 356/7 and 357/8), but does not name any
discovery; only Victor of Tunnuna later in the sixth century notes the finding of the body of St
Antony (s.a. 561).
Finding Relics 119

of this phenomenon, namely the dossier of the martyrs Gervasius and Protasius,
whose bodies were found in Milan in 386. The story of this event is told for
the first time by the finder himself, Ambrose, in a letter which he wrote to
his sister shortly after the discovery, though it was perhaps edited later,⁸⁹ and
in Hymn 11, which he possibly composed in the same year.⁹⁰ The discovery
is also briefly recounted by Augustine, who was in Milan when the grave was
found, in his Confessions (written in 397), and finally in the Life of Ambrose,
written at the request of Augustine by Paulinus of Milan in 422. The
accounts of Augustine and Paulinus do not bring much factual evidence
to the study of the situation in 386, but show how the perception of the
discovery evolved.
In his letter, Ambrose wants to demonstrate that the discovery resulted
from a general demand of the people, who asked him to dedicate a new
basilica, later known as the Basilica Ambrosiana or Sant’Ambrogio, in the
same way in which he had dedicated the Basilica at the Porta Romana, that is,
with the use of relics. Ambrose promised to do so if any relics were found.
‘And’, he says, ‘at once it seemed to me that I had a kind of ardour of
foreknowledge (ardor praesagii). Why should I say more? God gave his
grace (Dominus gratiam dedit).’⁹¹ Interestingly, this vague God-sent hint
becomes more specific in Augustine, according to whom God revealed to
Ambrose the place of the burial of Gervasius and Protasius in a vision (per
visum aperuisti).⁹² But only over a generation later does Paulinus of Milan
claim that the martyrs appeared in person to the bishop.⁹³ It is important
to emphasize that Paulinus almost certainly wrote his story in Africa, early
in the 420s,⁹⁴ just after the relics of St Stephen had arrived in this region.
These relics were accompanied by a written account of their finding in 415,
according to which Rabbi Gamaliel revealed the position of his own and
Stephen’s tomb in repeated visions experienced by the local priest Lucian
who found the relics.⁹⁵ It seems then that the description of the discovery
at Caphargamala, written in Greek but instantly also translated into Latin
and then other languages,⁹⁶ created or at least strengthened the pattern
of the nocturnal apparitions of saints which was to be followed by later
authors, even if, like Paulinus, they described events which had taken place
before 415.⁹⁷
⁸⁹ See Nauroy 2017. ⁹⁰ Ambrose, Hymnus 11. ⁹¹ Ambrose, Epistula 77.2.

⁹² Augustine, Confessiones 9.7. ⁹³ Paulinus of Milan, Vita Ambrosii 14.1.
⁹⁴ Paredi 1963, 213.
⁹⁵ Revelatio s. Stephani AB 3–35 (three visions of Lucian) and 36–9 (a vision of the monk
Migetius).
⁹⁶ Vanderlinden 1946, 180–7.
⁹⁷ This is probably the case of the discovery of the relics of St James, Brother of the Lord, in
Jerusalem: Apparitio Iacobi; see Cronnier 2016, 58.

Having obtained the premonition, Ambrose, accompanied by his clergy,
ordered excavation in a spot before the chancel screen of the tomb of the
martyrs Nabor and Felix, and found there ‘fitting signs’ (signa convenientia).
He brought to the place some demoniacs, one of whom instantly fell to the
ground. When the grave was opened, the witnesses saw ‘two men of stupen-
dous stature, such as those of ancient days. All the bones were intact, and there
was much blood.’ Later on, Ambrose adds that the heads of the martyrs were
cut off.⁹⁸ The meaning of the integrity of the bones and of the blood is clear.
Both elements suggested an unusually good state of preservation of the bodies,
which had somehow avoided the normal process of decay.⁹⁹ The heads
separated from the bodies were decisive proof of martyrdom. The ‘stupendous
stature’ (mira magnitudo) is more puzzling. Ambrose says that it resembled
people of old. This can refer either to the biblical account of antediluvian
giants or to stories about Greek heroes.¹⁰⁰ The closest parallel from the latter
context would be the episode of the discovery of the grave of Orestes, whose
enormous skeleton was found, according to Herodotus, following a counsel of
the Delphic oracle.¹⁰¹ Both types of parallels, however, would have suggested
an extreme antiquity of the bones, which, even if Ambrose did not know the
exact date when Gervasius and Protasius had been killed, is odd. Perhaps the
only thing that Ambrose wanted to say was that the bones were really old and
so the blood which had been found in the tomb was miraculous. Interestingly,
this motif of the size of the bones does not appear in the account of Augustine
nor in that of Paulinus of Milan; perhaps for them it was no longer
understandable.
The bodies, once taken out of the grave, were anointed and transferred, first
to the neighbouring Basilica of Fausta, in which they were displayed for two
days, and then to the Basilica Ambrosiana where Ambrose deposited them
under the altar in the place which he had prepared for his own resting place.
He says that the following night was spent in vigil accompanied by the ‘laying
on of hands’ on demoniacs. During the transfer of the bodies to the Basilica
Ambrosiana a blind man was healed. This healing is singled out also by
Augustine and Paulinus of Milan.¹⁰² The latter also claims that some other
people were healed on this occasion.¹⁰³ This part of the dossier is extremely
interesting, because it shows that the healings obtained through the power of
relics were contested. As early as 386, Ambrose says that according to the
Arians in Milan both the blind and demoniacs only pretended to be ill or
⁹⁸ Ambrose, Epistula 77.2 and 12. ⁹⁹ See Angenendt 1994. ¹⁰⁰ Genesis 6:4.
¹⁰¹ Herodotus, Historiae 1.68. It is difficult to say whether Ambrose knew the history of
Orestes’ bones, but he certainly knew about this hero (De officiis 1.41); also, the bones of Orestes
were to be deposited in Rome, which was certainly remembered in Ambrose’s time: Servius, In
Aeneidos 7.188; see Green 2007, 41–8.
¹⁰² Augustine, Confessiones 9.7; Sermo 286.4; Paulinus of Milan, Vita Ambrosii 14.2.
¹⁰³ Paulinus of Milan, Vita Ambrosii 14.2.
Finding Relics 121

possessed, and so the healings were fake.¹⁰⁴ This suggests that opinions on
these ‘healings’ and ‘exorcisms’ diverged, but it also shows that some events
which were subject to these interpretations really happened. Everybody knew
that some people were, or pretended to be, healed by the power of the saints.
This is the earliest attestation of the belief that the power of saints should
become manifest during the discovery and transfer.
¹⁰⁴ Ambrose, Epistula 77.16–17. See also Paulinus of Milan, Vita Ambrosii 15–16.
Touching Relics
At the very beginning of the fifth century the Gallic priest Vigilantius wrote a
treatise against new customs spreading in the Church of his day, which he
presented thus:
Under the cloak of religion we see a heathen ceremony introduced into the
churches: while the sun is still shining, heaps of tapers are lighted, and everywhere
a paltry bit of powder, wrapped up in a costly cloth, is kissed and worshipped.
Great honour do men of this sort pay to the blessed martyrs! Who, they think, are
to be made glorious by trumpery tapers, when the Lamb who is in the midst of the
throne, with all the brightness of His majesty, gives them light.¹
Vigilantius lived in southern Gaul, near Toulouse, but he was familiar with
practices of piety in other parts of Christendom, at least in Italy and Palestine,
which he had visited a few years earlier.² Kissing and venerating ashes, encased
in gold or shrouded in silk cloth, transferring them with utmost care from one
place to another, all these practices he considered unacceptable and, more
importantly, new. In this chapter I will focus on the material aspect of the cult
of relics and address the questions of when, why, and how Christians, who
lived in a society which feared and avoided any contact with dead bodies, came
to touch, rub, and kiss the bones of those whom they considered saints. I will
also seek to find out how, and how often, the various forms of contact were
possible.
A UNIVERSAL CUSTOM?
When answering these questions, one is tempted to refer to the profound need
of direct physical contact with the holy, supposedly deeply rooted in human
nature and visible in religions developing without a direct link with
¹ Jerome, Adversus Vigilantium 4. ² See Hunter 1999, 403–9.

Touching Relics 123

Christianity, particularly in Buddhism.³ But looking at parallels, which do
exist, can be misleading if one forgets the differences. The custom of touching
corporeal remains of the ‘special dead’ is not a universal phenomenon.
Nowadays, forms of physical contact with relics are quite diverse even in
Catholic countries. In Europe, the South touches them more often than the
North, which of course reflects more general habits. In the South, people
embrace, kiss, or pat each other on the back more frequently and affectionately
than in the North. In some countries, like Japan, they hardly touch each other
at all. In the modern Low Countries, reconciled enemies usually do not kiss
each other on the mouth as they used to do in the Middle Ages.⁴ I do not want
to build too much on this, but it is important to say that the need for touching
what one loves, venerates, and respects is not the same everywhere and can be
expressed in diverse ways. And it evolves. This evolution calls for an
explanation.
In Graeco-Roman civilization physical contact between people was quite
close, although it changed over time. At the beginning of the second century,
Plutarch tells a story about Cato the Elder who, in the second century BC,
supposedly expelled from the senate a man who had embraced his wife in the
presence of his daughter.⁵ This anecdote probably should not be taken at face
value, but it does demonstrate that Plutarch thought that in the distant
Republican past the norms of physical contact had been different from those
of his own day. In imperial Rome, touch, at least between people of equal
status, expressed respect and love and could take place publicly. On late
antique sarcophagi and funerary stelae we can often see married couples
who embrace or hold each other by the hand or hold their children lovingly.⁶
Among Christians this physical closeness was possibly even stronger. The kiss
of peace was considered to be a specifically Christian gesture. The Martyrdom
of Polycarp shows that people sought physical contact with the saintly bishop
on a daily basis.⁷ Later on, John Chrysostom, in his sermon on Bishop
Meletius of Antioch, says that on the latter’s return from exile people touched
his feet and kissed his hands. The sermon, preached several years after that
event, does not have to be a faithful record, but it shows how the author
imagined the welcome for a man of God.⁸
Yet touching dead bodies and human remains was quite unlike touching
living people, and the testimony of Vigilantius suggests that he considered the
former practice to be a recent phenomenon. Thus, its origins demand an
explanation; all the more so as we are dealing here with a custom unattested in
³ See Crook 2000, 36; for parallels in Buddhism, see Strong 2004. ⁴ Petkov 2003, 122.
⁵ Plutarch, Cato Maior 17.7.
⁶ Huskinson 2011, 534–6; Schade 2009, 222–5. For the social context of the touch, see Tonner
2009, 134–6.
⁷ Passio Polycarpi 13. ⁸ John Chrysostom, De sancto Meletio 2.

any other major religious group in the late antique Mediterranean. If the
chronology presented in Chapter 1 is correct, the phenomenon is attested
from the 360s. In the ending of the apocryphal Acts of Thomas we can see
people touching bones, collecting the healing dust from the empty grave of the
Apostle, and transferring his relics. In a more safely dated passage, Optatus of
Milevis (after 363) portrays Lucilla of Carthage, who embraces or kisses
(libare) the bone of a martyr.⁹ Around the third quarter of the fourth century,
physical contact with relics was already looked for. We have thus returned to
the years which saw the first recorded transfers of relics and the emergence of
the belief in their miraculous power.
THE NEED
It is no coincidence that belief in the power of relics and the practice of

touching them appeared almost at the same time. An early piece of evidence
which shows people actually seeking physical contact with specific relics, those
of Gervasius and Protasius in Milan, illustrates a close link between healing
and touching:
You know—nay, you have yourselves seen [says Ambrose in his sermon]—that
many are cleansed from evil spirits, that very many also, having touched with
their hands the robe of the saints, are freed from those ailments which oppressed
them; you see that the miracles of old time are renewed, when through the
coming of the Lord Jesus grace was more largely shed forth upon the earth, and
that many bodies are healed as it were by the shadow of the holy bodies. How
many napkins are passed about! How many garments, laid upon the holy relics
and endowed with healing power, are claimed! All are glad to touch even the
outside thread, and whosoever touches will be made whole.¹⁰
In the decades that followed we can see many other descriptions of the sick
swarming around relics and trying to touch them, sometimes very vigorously.
The anonymous author of the Miracles of St Stephen, written in North Africa
in the 420s, tells the story of a woman suffering from facial paralysis who
looked for a cure from St Stephen’s relics in Uzalis:
Twelve days after she [Megetia] and her mother had come to the friend of God
[i.e. Stephen], Megetia was praying at the place of the holy memoria, and driven
by the power of her faith she was knocking, not only by affection of her heart, but
also by the movements of her body, and she finally threw open the little door of
⁹ See pp. 12–13 and 17–20. ¹⁰ Ambrose, Epistula 77.9.

Touching Relics 125

the memoria against which she had pushed. And doing violence to the Kingdom
of God, she inserted her head inside and put it on the place of rest of the holy
relics, and she rinsed and damped all with her tears.¹¹
This passage illustrates that the point was not just to touch relics, but also to
touch them with the ailing part of the body. In the seventh-century Miracles of
St Artemios there is a scene in which a deacon with an inguinal hernia rubs his
private parts against the angle of the sarcophagus containing the remains of
the saint.¹² The contact had to be as close as possible. The little door in Uzalis
was probably not installed in order to facilitate such contact, but for the author
of the text quoted above, Megetia’s behaviour was perfectly understandable.
The need for physical contact with powerful objects or people seems
natural, but interestingly, there is not much evidence for it outside the
Christian milieu. A rare testimony comes from Cicero’s fourth oration against
Verres, which mentions a bronze statue of Hercules in Agrigentum whose lips
and chin were a little worn away, because those who addressed their prayers to
the god used to kiss them.¹³ Yet it is not obvious that the statue itself was
considered to be a source of power. Cicero claims that the slaves sent by Verres
to take it away from the temple were unable to move it, but this was due to its
weight, and not any miraculous resistance. A closer parallel to healing prac-
tices comes from the story of two men in Alexandria who were brought to
health by Vespasian, then pretender to the principate. One was cured by his
touch, the other by his spit.¹⁴ Nevertheless, nothing suggests that his or any
other emperor’s body was expected to have any power constantly accessible
through direct contact. An interesting passage can be found in the Life of
Apollonius of Tyana in which Philostratus claims that his hero brought back to
life a girl by touching her and whispering something in her ear.¹⁵
This episode might have been inspired by biblical stories. Elijah, Elisha,
Christ, and the Apostles usually healed by touching, or being touched.¹⁶ Late
antique hagiography, in which holy monks perform miracles in the same way,
shows that this pattern was imitated from the second half of the fourth
century. But even before that, in the third and early fourth centuries, when
Christians generally did not expect miracles to occur, touch was an essential
element of baptism, exorcism, and priestly ordination, and as such was
considered to transfer a certain power.¹⁷
It can also be said that physical contact, by swallowing or anointing, was a
usual element of both medical and magical treatment. Medical, magical, and
¹¹ Liber de miraculis s. Stephani 2.4.6. ¹² Miracula s. Artemii 21.

¹³ Cicero, In Verrem 4.94. ¹⁴ Suetonius, De vita Caesarum. Vespasianus 7.2–3.
¹⁵ Philostratus, Vita Apollonii 4.45.
¹⁶ 1 Kings 17:17–22; 2 Kings 4:29–35; Matthew 8:1–3 and 14–15; 9:23–5 and 27–9, and
parallel passages in Mark and Luke.
¹⁷ See Coopens 1925.

miraculous healings certainly belong to distinct spheres of ritual activity, but
they are not unrelated to each other. This can be seen, for instance, in the
Itinerary of the Pilgrim of Bordeaux. As we have seen, in his generation people
were not yet interested in relics and tombs of saints, but he did mention two
healing springs: one in Jericho and another in the vicinity of Caesarea, the
water of which ‘makes women pregnant’.¹⁸ It is difficult to say whether the
belief in the healing power of these springs emerged in a Christian, Jewish, or
pagan milieu. It is also difficult to determine whether the author attributed this
virtue to divine power or natural causes, but in any case physical contact was
necessary.
TH E TABOO
A need to be as close as possible to the source of healing power answers the

question of why people began to touch the bodies of saints. But, as has already
been said, touching dead bodies was not like touching anything else. With the
Jews, Greeks, and Romans the very thought of touching a corpse engendered
fear, for different reasons.¹⁹ Many people avoided contact with dead bodies
simply out of anxiety, horror, and disgust, which resulted from the very sight
of a dead body and its decomposition. But the fear of approaching the dead
was also linked to the belief that the bodies maintained some connection with
the spirits of the dead, or daimones, who rambled around their corporeal
remains and could be dangerous to the living. This belief, which lay at the root
of various magical practices, concerned above all those who died an untimely,
violent, or sudden death, or whose bodies remained unburied, but was not
limited to this category.²⁰ According to John Chrysostom, in late fourth-
century Antioch not only pagans, but also Christians thought that the souls
of the dead became demons and dwelt at tombs. The proscription of touching
dead bodies was known in several societies of the Mediterranean and, except
for undertakers, the only people who disturbed the rest of the dead were tomb
raiders, magicians, and demoniacs.²¹ Thus, the question arises of how the new
Christian practice managed to break through this barrier of fear and custom
which in Late Antiquity prevented decent people from touching human
remains.
It is possible that overcoming the taboo was not as difficult as we often
assume, and it happened for a few reasons. First of all, the taboo was not
¹⁸ Itinerarium Burdigalense 586 and 596; see p. 21. ¹⁹ See Garland 1985, 45–7.
²⁰ See for instance Constantius, Vita Germani 10; see p. 187.
²¹ Magic: Apuleius, Metamorphoses 2.21 and 3.17; see Jordan (1983/1984), 273. Demoniacs:
John Chrysostom, In Matthaeum homiliae 28.2 (quoted below on p. 200); see Lafferty 2014.
Touching Relics 127

absolute. It is true that the Greeks, Romans, and Jews generally considered the
corpse to be a source of pollution.²² Yet the strength and character of the
prohibition of touching dead bodies was very diverse and we should not
imagine the customs and sensibilities of the late antique Mediterranean as
perfectly uniform. The Romans themselves were aware of the variety of burial
habits.²³ In Egypt, which had specific funerary customs, the body, submitted to
mummification and placed in a sarcophagus, could probably be kept at
home.²⁴ In Sparta, according to Plutarch, Lycurgus had lifted the ban of
intra-urban burials, and ordered that young people be taught that contact
with dead bodies did not entail impurity.²⁵ In Jewish evidence we find strict
prohibitions on contact with the cadaver, but also an interesting story of a man
who was brought to life because his body was accidentally thrown into the
grave of Elisha and touched his bones.²⁶ It is also interesting to note that,
according to the Talmud, if the bones were devoid of flesh, only direct contact
with them caused impurity.²⁷ A deposit of bones placed under the threshold of
the synagogue in Dura Europos built in the first half of the third century shows
that at least for some Jews indirect contact with bones could be beneficial, and
not polluting.²⁸ It can be argued that all these testimonies show specific
situations. The Romans considered Egyptian customs to be exceptional, Plu-
tarch’s anecdote could be just another story about the strange customs of the
Lacedaemonians, and Dura Europos was a cultural melting pot, the customs of
which do not necessarily represent those of other Jewish communities. Yet
these testimonies show that closer contact with corporeal remains, if unusual,
was not unthinkable.
Some forms of physical contact with the dead were always possible even in
Roman society. The body used to be displayed and touched before burial when
it was being washed and dressed.²⁹ Even more importantly, the body was not
entirely out of reach after burial. Several tomb slabs found in different parts of
the Mediterranean have shallow circular recesses with small holes which
served to give food and drink to the dead (Fig. 7.1).³⁰ This form of contact
was of course indirect and one-way only (it was impossible to take anything
out of the grave), but the physical separation between the living and the dead
was not complete.
²² Athenians: Winter 1982; Romans: Toynbee 1971, 48–9; De Visscher 1963, 34–5; Jews:
Kraemer, 2000, 25–9.
²³ Cicero, Tusculanae disputationes 1.45.108 (Egyptian customs); Petronius, Satyricon 111.2
(Greek customs).
²⁴ Borg 1997. ²⁵ Plutarch, Lycurgus 27.1.
²⁶ Numbers 19:11–13; Leviticus 21:1; Mishnah: Oholot 1.1; Elisha: 2 Kings 13:20–1.
²⁷ Mishnah: Oholot 1.8; similarly in the Babylonian Talmud: Herubin 4a and in Tosefta:
Oholot 2.7.
²⁸ Magness 2012, 235–6. ²⁹ Garland 1985, 23–31.
³⁰ Toynbee 1971, 51–2. For a possible link between these libation holes and later relic shafts,
see Crook 2000, 63–4.
Fig. 7.1. Tomb slab with libation holes (Rome). Marble, second century (CIL
06.07010/1). Drawing by Magda Różycka.
Moreover, it seems that Greeks and Romans alike considered the bodies of
some special dead to be less repulsive than those of other people. Greek heroes
could be buried inside the city. Trajan’s body, after his deification, was
cremated and buried within the walls. Intramural burial was also a privilege
given to Vestal Virgins.³¹ According to Suetonius, Augustus opened the grave
of Alexander, and Cassius Dio claims that he also touched his body and broke
off his nose.³² The attitude toward corporeal remains of heroes, kings, and
emperors does not tell us much about customs concerning ordinary people,
but it certainly can help us to understand the attitude toward the special dead.
Also, some traits of Christianity itself helped to mitigate the horror of
touching human remains. The most important of them was obviously the
belief in the resurrection of the body.³³ Although its character was hotly
debated, according to the prevailing conviction it was the very same body
which was decomposing in the grave that would be raised from the dead. In
the second century, the apologist Athenagoras, in his treatise On the
³¹ Trajan: Davies 1999, 33; Vestals: Schultz 2012, 133. Other exceptions: Toynbee 1971, 48.
³² Suetonius, De vitae Caesarum. Augustus 18.1; Dio, Historia Romana 51.16.5.
³³ See Bynum 1995, 19–114.
Touching Relics 129

Resurrection of the Dead, earnestly endeavoured to solve a technical conun-
drum: what will happen at the final resurrection with the body of a man
who had been devoured by an animal which in its turn was eaten by another
man?³⁴ Such speculations, which can also be found in late antique literature,³⁵
show how seriously and literally the idea of the resurrection was taken. And
this belief had an obvious consequence for the attitude toward bodies: their
decay was considered to be merely temporary, preceding, especially in the case
of the bodies of saints, their glorious revival. On the aesthetic level, corporeal
remains might have still engendered disgust, but on the theological level, their
status was greatly enhanced. Moreover, also on theological grounds, Chris-
tians should not share the widespread belief that some souls of the dead turned
into dangerous demons, or at least they were not supposed to.³⁶
Another factor which helped to lift, at least in part, the taboo surrounding
dead bodies was the opposition to the idea of ritual impurity openly expressed
by early Christians. This opposition was stated very explicitly already in the
New Testament writings. It was also shown, if implicitly, in the scene of the
raising the son of the widow of Nain, which Jesus performed by touching his
dead body. And even if later on Christians developed the idea of pollution
caused by sexual intercourse or menstruation, contact with the dead was never
considered religiously hazardous.³⁷
Another specifically Christian feature was the fact that the martyrs (and
there is little evidence of touching relics of other saints in this early period)
were venerated because they had suffered a violent and cruel death. Their dead
bodies were their trophies (trophaea), the signs of their victory.³⁸ Interestingly,
in Christian literature the fascination with martyrs’ tortured and dismembered
bodies appears at the same time as the custom of touching them.³⁹
Still another factor which certainly helped to break the taboo was the lapse
of time. Relics of martyrs started to be taken out of graves, transferred, and
touched only in the second half of the fourth century, about two generations
after the persecutions ended. By that time, those remains had lost much of
their fleshiness. Touching ashes and dry bones, especially when they were
wrapped in silk or encased in gold, must have been less revolting than
touching bodies still decomposing in graves.
Finally, some forms of contact with corporeal remains might have developed
in imitation of those which initially were reserved for non-bodily relics, such as
pieces of cloth sanctified by the touch of the bodies of saints, or the relics of the
Passion, which could be freely touched, kissed, and divided from the very
³⁴ Athenagoras, De resurrectione 4–8.

³⁵ Augustine, De civitate Dei 22.29; Gregory of Tours, Historiarum libri 10.13.
³⁶ The sermon of John Chrysostom mentioned above suggests that it was not always the case.
See p. 200.
³⁷ See Brakke 1995. ³⁸ Victricius, De laude sanctorum 1. ³⁹ Grig 2002.

beginning. Fragments of the True Cross were spread through the Mediterra-
nean already by c.350 and in 384 the pilgrim Egeria claimed that during the
Good Friday adoration in Jerusalem deacons had to keep a close eye on the
major part of the True Cross, because some time earlier a fragment of the holy
wood had been bitten away and in this way stolen by one of the faithful.⁴⁰
All these elements helped to overcome the taboo of touching dead bodies,
but we should not think that the taboo disappeared altogether. Gregory of
Nyssa, who venerated relics on several occasions, claims that he was terrified at
the very sight of the bones of his parents when their tomb was opened in order
to bury his sister Macrina.⁴¹ Considering this, we may conclude that it was not
so much the disappearance of the barrier which made people touch the
remains of saints. It was the emergence of a need.
THE P RACTICE
So far I have been dealing with the growing need for physical contact with
relics and the weakening of the barrier that prevented it. We shall now turn to
the question of how the real practice looked. What exactly did people do in
order to come closer to relics? Were they touched frequently or, to put this
question the other way round, how often did the average Christian have an
opportunity to touch them?
These questions are not easy to answer. We have some literary descriptions
of people approaching relics, but they are few and usually refer to special cases.
The most obvious exceptions are the bodies of saints who had just died and
whom people apparently tried to touch more eagerly than in their lifetimes.
Hilary, bishop of Arles, in his sermon preached at the anniversary of his
predecessor’s death, claims that:
There was no one who did not see himself as afflicted with great loss if he had no
sight of the body [of Honoratus], if he did not, as either reverence or love had
urged, place a kiss either on the mouth or on one of the other limbs, or on the bier
(osculum aut ori aut quibuscumque membris ipsius impressit aut feretro). The
holy body, clothed with the magnificence of great faith, through greater faith is
afterwards taken to the tomb stripped almost naked. Faith did not even spare his
clothing in the vestments of sanctity; it held any thread pulled from his coverings
to be as valuable as the most precious gift.⁴²
⁴⁰ Egeria, Itinerarium 37.2; the practice of kissing the Holy Cross, displayed once a week, is
attested by John Rufus, Vita Petri Iberi 57–8. See the evidence collected by Frolow 1961.
⁴¹ Gregory of Nyssa, Vita Macrinae 35.
⁴² Hilary of Arles, Vita Honorati 34 (trans. D. Lambert, CSLA 00727). For other episodes of
this kind, see p. 164 n. 30.
Touching Relics 131

The attitude toward the uninterred body was, however, always different from
that toward the unearthed bones, and so burials of famous saints do not
necessarily reflect the approach to those of long-dead saints. More interest-
ingly, Ambrose of Milan relates that during the transfer of the relics of
Gervasius and Protasius the sick pushed their way to touch the cloths covering
the bodies of the martyrs.⁴³ The finding of the body of a saint, taking it out of
the grave, and transferring to another place usually made direct contact
possible. But even then not everyone was authorized to come close. Other
fourth- and fifth-century translation accounts do not mention ordinary people
touching relics. Antonius, the author of the Greek Life of Simeon Stylites,
written sometime after his death in 459, claims that when the saint’s body was
taken off the column, it was kissed, but only by bishops, and it was only the
patriarch of Antioch who dared to pluck a hair from Simeon’s beard as a relic
(and this was a mistake, because his hand withered in the attempt).⁴⁴ Faithful
or not, this account shows the author’s opinion that access to the body should
be limited and its integrity protected. The situation in Milan mentioned above
was undoubtedly out of the ordinary. Ambrose organized the solemn transfer
because, as we remember, he greatly needed popular support at that time and
because the authenticity of the relics he had discovered was contested. Thus, it
was in his interest to make people come, see (this issue will be discussed in
Chapter 8) and touch the bodies covered with blood, their heads cut off. He
wanted to make his congregation believe in the veracity of the martyrs and
trust the bishop who found them.⁴⁵ This, of course, was not the only case when
relics were found precisely at the moment when they were badly needed, so a
similar scheme could have occurred in other places as well, but we are dealing
here with special occasions, and not a daily practice.⁴⁶
Once the relics were deposited in their place, what was the routine of
veneration? Were the bones periodically taken out of reliquaries? Were the
reliquaries reopened in order to facilitate contact? The literary evidence
suggests this did happen, although rather exceptionally. Interestingly, most
of this evidence comes from the same early period (late fourth century), the
same region (Cappadocia), and from the writings of the three closely related
authors, namely Gregory of Nazianzus, Basil the Great, and Gregory of Nyssa.
The first two mention the practice of touching relics in a vague and
casual way. Basil, in one of his Homilies on the Psalms, claims that a man
who touches the bones of a martyr partakes in the grace and sanctity
which dwell in the body.⁴⁷ Gregory of Nazianzus, in his first sermon Against
Julian, says that the bodies of martyrs, whether touched or venerated, have
⁴³ Ambrose, Epistula 77.9 and Hymnus 11.21–2.

⁴⁴ Antonius, Symeonis Stylitae Vita Graeca 29.
⁴⁵ N. McLynn 1994, 186–207. See pp. 112–23.
⁴⁶ See Cronnier 2016, 291–332. ⁴⁷ Basil, In Psalmum 115 4.

equal power to their souls.⁴⁸ Both remarks suggest physical contact with
corporeal relics, but the character of this contact is not obvious. Basil rhet-
orically juxtaposes the attitude of Jews, according to whom contact with any
dead body caused impurity, with that of Christians, for whom the contact with
the bodies of martyrs was a source of blessing. Had he suggested that this
contact had been indirect, the rhetorical device would not work. Neither from
Basil nor from Gregory can we infer how close this contact really was.
Gregory of Nyssa, however, is more specific. In his Homily on Theodore the
Recruit, preached around 380 in the saint’s sanctuary in Euchaïta, he claims
that people who venerate the martyr are usually allowed to take no more than
some dust from the outside of his grave, and that this is already a powerful
relic. But then he makes the following remark:
Should a person have both the good fortune and permission to touch the relics,
this experience is a highly valued prize and seems like a dream both to those who
were cured and whose wish was fulfilled. The body appears as if it were alive and
healthy: the eyes, mouth, ears as well as the other senses are a cause for pouring
out tears of reverence and emotion.⁴⁹
This text clearly states the bodily remains were touched and refers to specific
relics in a specific place. We do not know what exactly this ceremony looked
like. Where was the reliquary placed? Were the bones touched directly or were
there objects introduced into the reliquary? And finally, who could touch them
and how often? These questions remain unanswered. Gregory suggests that
the opportunity for direct contact was rare, but we cannot say what this exactly
means. It is probable that the reliquary was opened on Theodore’s feast day.
There is some evidence suggesting that relics were more accessible during
festival celebrations and those who were assembled in the church on that
particular day were allowed to approach them more closely than normally.⁵⁰ It
is also possible that the reliquaries were opened at the request of important
guests who visited the sanctuary: aristocrats, magistrates, or bishops. Megetia,
who was healed in Uzalis, was a noblewoman, and perhaps that was why she
was allowed to put her head into the shrine of St Stephen. Also, in incubatory
sanctuaries the rich slept closer to the tomb of the saint.⁵¹ They were not able
to touch the relics themselves, but the rule was similar: those who had higher
social status had closer access to relics.
We have much less evidence for the practice of touching relics from other
regions. It does not necessarily mean that Cappadocia had specific customs,
because for most parts of the late antique world we simply do not have a
⁴⁸ Gregory of Nazianzus, Contra Iulianum I 69.

⁴⁹ Gregory of Nyssa, De sancto Theodoro, p. 63 (trans. C. McCambly).
⁵⁰ See e.g. Theophylact Simocatta, Historia 8.14 (St Euphemia’s relics in Chalcedon).
⁵¹ Miracula Artemii 17; Sophronius, Miracula Cyri et Iohannis 24.3–4; Miracula Cosmae et
Damiani III 24.
Touching Relics 133

dossier comparable to that provided by the three authors named above. Still,
this lack of evidence is worth noting. In Syria and later in Constantinople John
Chrysostom referred to the practice of touching relics on several occasions, but
he always referred to indirect contact. In his sermon On Saints Berenike,
Prosdoke, and Domnina, for instance, he encourages people in Antioch to
venerate the three martyrs in the following words:
So then, with this ardour let us throw ourselves on their relics (προσπέσωμεν
αὐτῶν τοῖς λειψάνοις). Let us embrace their chests (συμπλακῶμεν αὐτῶν ταῖς
θήκαις). For the martyrs’ chests too contain much power, just as the martyrs’
bones, then, too hold great strength.⁵²
In the Homily on Saints Juventinus and Maximus he addresses his audience in
the same vein: ‘And so, let’s constantly spend time visiting them, and touch
their coffin (λάρνακος ἁπτώμεθα) and embrace their relics (λειψάνοις αὐτῶν
περιπλεκώμεθα) with faith, so that we might gain some blessing from them.’⁵³
On both occasions the preacher evidently tries to convince his audience that
the reliquaries transfer rather than constrain the power of relics, but it does
not necessarily mean that people in Antioch normally thought otherwise and
sought to touch the bones themselves.
There is also other evidence of people touching tombs, although in other
regions this form of contact is not as well attested as in Syria. Gregory of Tours
remarks that the grave of Vitalis and Agricola in Bononia was placed above the
ground and so was touched by many people.⁵⁴ This emphasis strongly suggests
that in his times most graves of saints in Gaul, where Gregory lived, still
remained hidden and were not freely accessible. This is confirmed by arch-
aeological evidence showing that access to several tombs of saints or reliquar-
ies containing their remains was limited. Many tombs were placed in crypts
and could be seen only through little openings (fenestellae), which did not
permit them to be touched directly. In several places tombs were fenced off by
chancel screens (cancelli), mentioned also in textual evidence datable to the
fourth century.⁵⁵ These devices served most probably both to mark and
protect the holy space, which was, or was supposed to be, inaccessible to
ordinary people. These balustrades were low and certainly could not to keep
away those who were determined to come closer to the place where the relics
were deposited (as we have seen in the case of Megetia). Their message,
however, was clear: you must not go any farther! And there is no reason to
think that they failed altogether to keep people at bay. According to Augustine,
⁵² John Chrystostom, De sanctis Berenice et Prosdoce 7/24.

⁵³ John Chrystostom, De sanctis Iuventino et Maximino 3/10; trans. Mayer). See also Theo-
doret, Historia ecclesiastica 5.39.1 (the emperor touches the coffin of John Chrysostom).
⁵⁴ Gregory of Tours, Liber in gloria martyrum 43.
⁵⁵ See Iwaszkiewicz-Wronikowska 2013 (cancelli); and more generally on the organization of
space, see Crook 2000, 40–79 and Yasin 2009, 151–89.

a certain Paul from Cappadocia who was looking for healing at the relics of
St Stephen in Hippo prayed when holding the cancelli, which suggests that he
did not try to come closer.⁵⁶
It has already been remarked that when studying the issue of physical
contact with relics in Late Antiquity, we do not have to rely exclusively on
textual evidence. There are several hundred reliquaries dating from this period
made of various materials and produced in many parts of the Mediterranean.
Many of them were found in the places where they were deposited in the
fourth, fifth, or sixth centuries.⁵⁷ Yet the problem is that the significance of
such findings is often difficult to interpret. First, if some reliquaries were
publicly displayed and easily accessible, they were also at risk of being stolen
or destroyed and so had little chance to survive until our day. It is mostly the
reliquaries which had been deeply buried, and for some reason forgotten, that
are found during excavations. Thus, the extant material evidence does not
necessarily reflect real customs. Secondly, it is usually difficult to determine
whether a reliquary was designed to be reopened. In a later period some
reliquaries were sealed, while others obviously gave access to their contents.⁵⁸
In Late Antiquity the situation was less clear: the most common type of
reliquary had the form of a rectangular box. Such reliquaries differed greatly
in size, ranging from miniature boxes measuring less than 20 cm in length to
full-size coffins. These box reliquaries consisted of a cavity and a lid. They
certainly could be opened, but were they made for this, and, if so, how often
would it happen? Unfortunately, we cannot answer these questions. More
interestingly, some reliquaries, usually small ones, were fitted with a lock
(Fig. 7.2). This suggests that they were destined to be reopened, and there is
textual evidence which supports this impression. Gregory of Tours recounts
that one day when he visited an oratory dedicated to St Stephen near Tours, he
discovered that the place in which the relics should have been deposited was
empty. Thus, he sent a deacon back to town and asked him to fetch relics of
St Stephen, but he forgot to give him the key to the chest (capsa) which
contained them.⁵⁹ Admittedly, this was not an entirely usual situation, but
Gregory says that the key was hanging all the time on his belt. This strongly
suggests that the reliquary was opened from time to time, although of course it
is impossible to say how often. More importantly, it is probable that the large
chest of which the bishop held the key contained smaller reliquaries, and not
bare bones (Fig. 7.3).
⁵⁶ Augustine, De civitate Dei 22.8.426–30 and 22.8.466–9 and Sermo 322; see also Paulinus of
Nola, Carmina 21.586–9 and 620–3; 23.82–7; 28.10–19; Ambrose, Epistula 77.2.
⁵⁷ See Buschhausen 1971; Mintschev 2003; Noga-Banai 2008; Kalinowski 2011; and particu-
larly Comte 2012. The last catalogue contains a number of reliquaries discovered in their original
locations. For Gaul and the depositions under the altar, see Narasawa 2015, 499–505; more
generally, see N. Duval 2005, 15–16.
⁵⁸ Hahn 1997b, 244. ⁵⁹ Gregory of Tours, Liber in gloria martyrum 33.
Fig. 7.2. Reliquary casket with the traces of a lock. Eastern Mediterranean, sixth
century. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, public domain.
Fig. 7.3. Stone reliquary found in the apse of the southern nave of the church in
Hippos, Palestine (inv. St 00.14). The interior is divided into three compartments, one
of which contained a glass phial with tiny particles of bones (inv. G 1008.01). Photo
courtesy of Jolanta Młynarczyk.

In all, direct contact with relics, if not impossible, was at best occasional.
Both textual and archaeological evidence illustrate better diverse forms of
indirect contact. A form of such contact is mentioned late in the sixth century
by Gregory the Great. While responding to the Empress Constantina who
desired to receive corporeal relics of St Paul, he said that he would not dare to
open the Apostle’s tomb, but reminded her of the custom of the Roman
Church which used to distribute the brandea, or strips of cloth, sanctified by
contact with his grave.⁶⁰ The procedure of producing this type of contact relic,
which consisted in placing them on the tomb and weighing them before
and after that to prove they became heavier, ‘soaked with divine power’, is
described by Gregory of Tours, writing in the same period as his namesake.⁶¹
The slab covering the tomb of St Paul has indeed an opening through which
the brandea may have been lowered to touch the coffin of the Apostle
(Fig. 7.4). Even if the term brandea is attested in Gregory the Great, some
forms of indirect access to the Apostles’ relics were practised much earlier. We
know from the Greek Life of Hypatios that around the year 390 the praetorian
prefect Flavius Rufinus deposited some relics of Peter and Paul in the
Fig. 7.4. Marble slab over the tomb of St Paul in San Paulo fuori le Mura (Rome), with
openings leading to the sarcophagus. Drawing by Magda Różycka.
⁶⁰ Gregory the Great, Epistulae IV 30. ⁶¹ Gregory of Tours, Liber in gloria martyrum 27.
Touching Relics 137

Apostoleion that he had founded in the place later known as Rouphinianai.⁶²
In a church in Carthage a plate has been found with the inscription: Reliquias
Petri et Pauli Amen; it is dated to the fourth or fifth century.⁶³ Hence one has
to assume either that at the end of the fourth century Rome was more
generous than in the time of Gregory and did distribute corporeal relics of
the Apostles, which seems unlikely, or that the relics deposited in the churches
in Rouphinianai and Carthage were produced by contact.
Other ways of establishing indirect contact with bodies included collecting
dust from the outside of the tomb, oil from the lamps which were lit over it,
bark or leaves of the trees which grew close to them, and a variety of other
objects. By the end of the sixth century all these methods are attested in the
writings of Gregory of Tours.⁶⁴ In some cases indirect contact with the body
was very distant, with a number of material intermediaries between the relics
and the person entering into that contact. Gregory of Tours tells us about a
fragment of the True Cross, thus already a non-corporeal relic, wrapped in a
cloth. This cloth was dipped in water and the water was given to the sick to
drink.⁶⁵ From Gregory the Great we know of golden keys (fourth degree)
which opened the railing (third degree) which opened access to the ciborium
(second degree) over the tomb itself (first degree) in which St Peter lay.⁶⁶
It seems that the more important the relic was, the less direct the contact had
to be.
Indirect contact, however, could be closer. This can be illustrated by
reliquaries equipped with a system of pipes which permitted circulation of
the oil which was poured inside through a hole in the lid, flowed over the
bones, and was collected at an outlet below. Such reliquaries were most
popular in the Limestone Massif in northern Syria, renowned for oil produc-
tion, but can be also found elsewhere.⁶⁷ Another method of indirect but quite
close contact with the contents of a reliquary consisted in touching it with a
stick inserted by an aperture in the lid. One such stick was discovered in
Hippos in Palestine, still stuck in the opening (Fig. 7.5).⁶⁸ We know also that in
Chalcedon, on certain days, the local bishop approached the sarcophagus of
St Euphemia, inserted a sponge through an aperture, collected the blood which
was still miraculously oozing from her body, and distributed its dried clots to
⁶² Callinicus, Vita Hypatii 8.4. ⁶³ Y. Duval 1982, vol. 1, 5 (No. 1).

⁶⁴ Gregory of Tours, Liber vitae patrum 8.6 (tomb of Nicetius).
⁶⁵ Gregory of Tours, Liber in gloria martyrum 5.
⁶⁶ Gregory the Great, Epistulae I 25, 29, 30, III 47, VI 6, VII 23, 25, VIII 33, IX 229, XI 43,
XII 2; see also the evidence collected by Richards 1980, 23 n. 73.
⁶⁷ Canivet 1978.
⁶⁸ Młynarczyk & Burdajewicz 2013, 212. See also a literary description of this practice:
Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 9.2.14, and, possibly, Gregory of Tours, Liber in gloria confes-
sorum 103.
Fig. 7.5. Stone reliquary with an opening in the lid, discovered in the southern
pastophorium of the church in Hippos, Palestine (inv. St 03.08). When found, the
stick was still stuck in the opening. Photo courtesy of Jolanta Młynarczyk.
the faithful.⁶⁹ In this case, though the body of the saint was not touched
directly, people received something more than a contact relic, but it is worth
noting that close access to the tomb still remained the prerogative of the clergy.
This custom is attested by the church historian Evagrius only at the end of the
sixth century, but it possibly started much earlier, for, as we will see, some
relics of St Euphemia arrived in the West already in the fourth century.⁷⁰ Of
course, it is possible that this and some other forms of indirect contact
mentioned above developed only in the time of Gregory of Tours and
Evagrius, when they appear in our evidence, but the very idea of such contact
was certainly known already in the fourth century.
TOUCHING PRIVATE RELIC S
Not all relics were deposited in churches. Some remained in private hands,
possibly many more than our sources permit us to see. Most of our authors
preferred relics to remain firmly under ecclesiastical control. In some cases we
⁶⁹ Evagrius, Historia ecclesiastica 2.3; see also Theophylact Simocatta, Historia 8.14.
⁷⁰ See p. 162.
Touching Relics 139

hear about private relics only because they finally found their way to a church
or martyrium. Such is, for instance, the case of some of the ashes of the Forty
Martyrs of Sebaste, which at the end the fourth century Gaudentius of Brescia
received from the nieces of Basil of Caesarea, or some Eastern relics which
were about to be brought to Paulinus of Nola by a pious woman named
Silvia.⁷¹ Bishops usually thought that those relics which for some reason
were deposited in lay houses should be transferred to churches. Already in
the late fourth century, Gregory of Nazianzus argued that relics should not be
kept by individuals, but should serve the entire community.⁷² In Syriac
evidence we can see a formal ban on the private possession of relics. The
canons attributed to the early fifth-century bishop Marutha of Maipherqat
explicitly state that they must not be placed in the houses of the laity, only in
churches and monasteries. The same prohibition is repeated in the canons of
the synod of Ctesiphon in 585.⁷³
Nevertheless, many laypeople preferred not to give over their relics to
churches controlled by bishops. Some kept them in private martyria.⁷⁴
A memoria on the estate of Victoriana, over 40 km from Hippo, for instance,
had some relics of Gervasius and Protasius which otherwise we can see
distributed by Ambrose only to his fellow bishops. Another estate in Africa
Proconsularis, that of Audurus, received some relics of St Stephen, which were
brought there in the early 420s, when they arrived in Africa. A martyrium
located on the family estate of Gregory of Nyssa, close to Ibora, possessed
another portion of the ashes of the Forty Martyrs of Sebaste.⁷⁵ Of course, the
private character of these places should not be exaggerated. They were also
visited by people who did not belong to the family of the owner. More
importantly, access to the relics which were deposited there was not necessarily
much easier than to those directly controlled by bishops.
But there were also other relics which were kept at home or even worn on
the person. This is probably the kind of private relic that the Syriac canons
mentioned above refer to, but we find them in several regions, not just in Syria.
This kind of private possession of relics is criticized, for instance, in Optatus of
Milevis’ story of Lucilla, who used to kiss a bone of a martyr before partaking
of the Eucharist.⁷⁶ Yet the context in which such personal relics appear in the
evidence is not always negative. According to Augustine, a military tribune
named Hesperius hung some dust from the Holy Land in his bedroom—to
⁷¹ Paulinus of Nola, Epistula 31.1.

⁷² Gregory of Nazianzus, In sanctum Cyprianum 17.
⁷³ Canons of Marutha 63; Acts of the Synod of 585, can. 14; see also the Gallic Concilium
Epaonense a. 517, can. 25.
⁷⁴ See Bowes 2008, 84–96 and 130–5.
⁷⁵ Augustine, De civitate Dei 22.8.215–17 (Victoriana) and 310–11 (Audurus); Gregory of
Nyssa, Vita Macrinae 35 (Ibora).
⁷⁶ Optatus, Contra Parmenianum 1.16.1; see pp. 17–20.

protect himself against attacks by demons.⁷⁷ Admittedly, this was not a
corporeal relic, but Augustine places this episode among others in which he
speaks of bodily relics. He does not criticize Hesperius’ action. Still, at the end
of the story Augustine and another bishop transfer the relic from the bedroom
and deposit it in a place of prayer (locus orationis) which is accessible for other
people and, perhaps, controlled by the clergy. In the fifth century we find, in
both Eastern and Western sources, evidence of small portable reliquaries
which served to keep relics constantly on the person, and this practice is
presented as a sign of piety. In the Life of Germanus of Auxerre, Constantius of
Lyons claims that his hero used to wear a belt with a casket containing relics of
saints.⁷⁸ Peter the Iberian, active in Palestine in the same period, and his
companions:
carried their [martyrs’] precious bones in a little gold reliquary [just] as the great
Moses [carried] the ark of God with the cherubim. Besides this, they carried only
the little book of John the Evangelist, in which was fastened a part of the wood of
the holy, precious, and saving cross, by which they were guarded.⁷⁹
The behaviour of both Germanus and Peter is praised and not condemned. Of
course, this may partly result from the fact that they were bishops, and not
laypeople. But this difference is not evident, and the distinction between
privately owned and church-owned relics was often blurred. Gregory of
Tours, for instance, had a golden medallion with ashes of some saints whose
names he did not know. He wore it on his neck when he was a bishop, but had
obtained it earlier. The medallion belonged to his mother, and before that to
his father, who had received the precious ashes from a cleric.⁸⁰ This episode
shows that in some cases relics could pass not only from lay to clerical hands,
but also the other way round. According to the canons of Marutha mentioned
above, relics could be placed in a monastery, which was a partly, but not
entirely ecclesiastical building, but the Syriac evidence from the sixth century
onwards shows that relics were often in the hands of individual monks, not a
community.⁸¹
Personal relics could be more accessible to their owners than those which
remained in churches and martyria. People possibly touched, kissed, or
rubbed relics that they wore on themselves; this is at least what the story of
Lucilla suggests. Gregory tells of a finger-bone of St Sergius, the famous martyr
⁷⁷ Augustine, De civitate Dei 22.8.199–205. ⁷⁸ Constantius, Vita Germani 4 and 15.

⁷⁹ John Rufus, Vita Petri Iberi 34; see also 144 (trans. C. B. Horn & R. R. Phenix).
⁸⁰ Gregory of Tours, Liber in gloria martyrum 83; see also Historiarum libri 8.15
⁸¹ See e.g. relics of Persian martyrs held by Peter the Iberian and given by him to Melania the
Younger, and then deposited in her monastery on the Mount of Olives: John Rufus, Vita Petri
Iberi 49. For more early medieval evidence and further development of this phenomenon, see
Smith 2014.
Touching Relics 141

venerated in Resapha, which was in the possession of a Syrian merchant who
placed it in a niche in his house in Bordeaux. In Gregory’s story the owner
took the precious relic out of the cache, although unwillingly, at the request of
his guests.⁸² These episodes may suggest that privately owned relics could be
touched more freely, but because of the scarcity of evidence concerning such
relics, it is difficult to say how often it actually happened.
An important part of the evidence presented above shows us relics being
touched, kissed, and transferred by women. And if we focus only on lay
Christians, we have an impression that women had equal access to relics to
that of men, but were more active in this field. Interestingly, their position as
holders or carriers of relics was fully accepted by clerics. We have seen that
Paulinus, then presbyter in Nola, received relics of the True Cross from
Melania the Elder, and expected to receive ashes of some Eastern martyrs
from saintly Silvia. Augustine, writing to his fellow bishop Quintilianus,
commended to him a widow Galla, who, together with her daughter, carried
relics of St Stephen which Augustine duly honoured.⁸³ Also relics deposited in
churches were probably accessible to men and women alike. Megetia, who
inserted her head into a shrine of St Stephen in Hippo, was by no means an
exception. It is only in the later period, around the seventh century, when
relics started to be deposited within closed monasteries, that they ceased to be
equally accessible to people of both genders.⁸⁴
D R A WI N G CL O S E R ?
The evidence presented above shows that while the desire for touching relics
was strong, it was usually satisfied by various forms of indirect contact. We
suspect that people were able to touch privately owned relics more freely, but
we do not know this for sure. In some places, close physical contact with relics
deposited in churches was possible, but such situations were rare.
It is possible, however, that in time touching might have developed into a
habit. That can be seen in the following remark of the anonymous author of
the early seventh-century Notitia ecclesiarum Urbis Romae:
There, on the via Tiburtina, rests St Habundius and the martyr Herenius. And in
this place there is also this stone which many people touch with their fingers
without knowing what they do.⁸⁵
In this case the object of veneration was not a corporeal relic, but the passage
suggests that touching was then an obvious act of devotion. Does it mean that
⁸² Gregory of Tours, Historiarum libri 7.31. ⁸³ Augustine, Epistula 212.

⁸⁴ Smith 2002, 163–72. ⁸⁵ Notitia ecclesiarum Urbis Romae 14.

the distance to bodily relics shrank as well? There is evidence which may
suggest that this was so. Around the 570s the anonymous pilgrim from
Piacenza mentions a practice that he came across in the basilica of Zion in
Jerusalem in the following way:
There I saw a human skull enclosed in a golden case, adorned with precious
stones, which they say is that of the martyr Theodota, from which many drink for
a blessing, and I drank.⁸⁶
This is indeed intriguing. The Pilgrim of Piacenza is an important witness
whose testimony is sometimes puzzling (We will have at least one other
occasion to see this!), but cannot be easily dismissed. If the story is true, the
contact was very close, for people not only touched the corporeal relic, but also
drank the sanctified liquid (part of the manuscript tradition identifies it as
water). Even more importantly, we are dealing here with an established and
daily custom, not an act of fervent or excessive piety, and the custom is
practised in an important sanctuary, controlled by the bishop of Jerusalem.
Access to the relic does not seem to be restricted to any special group, and not
limited to any special moment.
It is interesting to ask whether the custom presented above was a local or
wider habit. The question of regional and universal customs in the cult of
relics will be discussed in Chapter 11, but it is worth noting now that, in the
same period in which the Piacenza Pilgrim visited Jerusalem, Pope Gregory
the Great wrote to the Empress Constantina that: ‘in the Roman and all the
western parts it is unendurable and sacrilegious for anyone by any chance to
desire to touch the bodies’.⁸⁷ This may suggest that the customs of the East and
the West differed in this respect. The view of Gregory the Great seems to be
confirmed by the writings of Gregory of Tours, another contemporary of the
Piacenza Pilgrim. In the episode dealing with a robbery in the basilica of
St Martin, he claims that he himself hesitates to touch the tomb of St Martin
even with his lips. This is certainly a rhetorical exaggeration. Gregory aimed to
emphasize how horrendous an act had been committed by the thieves who
trampled on the tomb of the saint when stealing precious objects from the
shrine. Still, it shows that the physical contact remained indirect.⁸⁸ Admitted-
ly, in Gaul in the sixth century, relics seem to be more accessible than they
used to be. Both clerics and laypeople travel with them, deposit them over-
night in a local church, display and sell them, keep them at home, and
sometimes even divide them, but these are very rarely bodily relics. Physical
⁸⁶ Pilgrim of Piacenza, Itinerarium 22 (trans. A. Stewart).

⁸⁷ Gregory the Great, Epistulae IV 30 (trans. J. Barmby).
⁸⁸ Gregory of Tours, Historiarum libri 6.10.
Touching Relics 143

contact with corporeal remains, if it happened, was often unintentional; and,
if too direct, it was frowned upon or condemned outright.⁸⁹
And yet it is far from evident whether Gregory the Great was right in
emphasizing the difference between the East and West. This specific issue
will be discussed at length in Chapter 9, but it is important to say that Pope
Gregory’s aim was to justify in a convincing and polite way why he did not
comply with the empress’s request, and so an argument founded upon a
profound difference in the customs was useful to him. Actually, as for Eastern
practice, between Gregory of Nazianzus’ remark quoted above and the testi-
mony of the Piacenza Pilgrim, there are very few examples of close and regular
contact with corporeal relics. Even the latter author does not give any other
example of it. Nor does his almost contemporary Procopius, who mentions in
his De aedificiis several relics deposited in various churches in Constantinople,
suggest that direct contact with them was possible. Thus the testimony quoted
above, though important, does not necessarily mirror a common Eastern
practice.
It is also important to note that Western travellers to the East were by no
means shocked, or even surprised, by the supposedly Eastern customs. If we
are to believe the Piacenza Pilgrim that people drank from the skull of St
Theodota, we must also believe that he did it as well. And even if the physical
distance to relics shortened faster in some parts of the world, we have to
remember that the need to be close to them was still everywhere satisfied
mostly by indirect contact. This contact could have diverse forms and local
peculiarities like the reliquaries with the oil-flowing system in the Limestone
Massif or the brandea (strips of cloth) in Rome. Yet the principle, in Rome and
in Syria, was the same: people can and should be close to relics, but some
distance is to be maintained.
⁸⁹ Gregory of Tours, Liber in gloria martyrum 13 (thumb), 47, 100 (possibly bodily relics), 54,
89 (ashes).
Displaying and Seeing Relics
In recent years, scholarship has seen a growing interest in the significance of

the sense of sight in early Christianity. Seeing would have allowed people to
come into contact with the divine presence; the character of this presence was
often difficult to grasp intellectually, but it was believed to dwell in some
special places, objects, and people.¹ The role of seeing is indeed emphasized
already in the New Testament, although its importance there does not consist
in creating a contact between the viewer and the object. At the beginning of the
First Letter of St John we read what follows:
That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen
with our eyes, which we have looked upon, and our hands have handled,
concerning the Word of life—the life was manifested, and we have seen, and
bear witness, and declare to you that eternal life which was with the Father and
was manifested to us—that which we have seen and heard we declare to you.²
The fact of having seen, touched, and heard is essential for the credibility of
the Christian message. However, Christian culture of the second and third
centuries was more a culture of reading, or listening, than seeing or touching.³
Only in Late Antiquity, with the emergence of holy places and holy people,
living and dead, can we notice a growing desire to see the holy city of
Jerusalem, the saintly monks of Egypt, and the shrines of martyrs.
There is no doubt that visual contact played a role in the development of
the cult of saints on several levels. Seeing holy ascetics served to confirm
stories about them, satisfy pious curiosity, enter into contact with a holy
man, learn about his life, and turn a spectator into a witness.⁴ Also, people
wanted to see beautiful and richly decorated shrines of martyrs, the visual
message of which helped to shape and spread their cults. Gregory of Nyssa,
Basil of Caesarea, Asterius of Amasea, Paulinus of Nola, and Prudentius took
care to describe martyria and paintings or mosaics representing saints. These
¹ Peers 2012 and Jensen 2013. ² 1 John 1:1.

³ See Stroumsa 2016. ⁴ Frank 2000.
Displaying and Seeing Relics 145

lengthy descriptions, or ekphraseis, prove that for Christians of Late Antiquity
seeing mattered.⁵
In this chapter on with visual contact with relics, I am not going to discuss
at length the role of the sense of vision in the cult of saints. I will focus rather
on the very basic issue of what specifically people were able, or unable, to see,
although I will also ask the question whether seeing relics was important, and
if so, why. When starting this research, I expected to find the practice of
showing and seeing relics to be very important and widespread; partly because
of later developments of the cult of relics, in which their public display often
took spectacular forms;⁶ partly because physical contact being so limited, as we
have seen in Chapter 7, seeing could have been a substitute for touching.
Georgia Frank, in her book The Memory of the Eyes,⁷ claims that for pilgrims
who visited the holy monks of Egypt, vision was considered just a kind of
touch, and so the function of the two senses was similar. I will try to examine
whether this thesis is valid in the case of the cult of relics.
HIDDEN RELICS
Let us start with the essential question: what kinds of relics were displayed in
late antique churches? It has already been said in Chapter 7 that although the
bodies of several saints were unearthed and moved to new places, this was by
no means the fate of all of them.⁸ This concerns not only those martyrs who
were just forgotten or unpopular, but also many of those who were remem-
bered and venerated. Many of them remained in their graves, over which
subsequently more or less sumptuous martyria were built. Quite often these
graves remained hidden and hardly visible for visitors. In Gaul for instance,
the process of transferring the sarcophagi of saintly bishops from subterranean
and hardly accessible crypts to the floor level of the church started only in the
sixth century.⁹ Yet customs in this matter were diverse. In Syria, access to
tomb reliquaries, often placed in pastophoria, little rooms adjacent to the
chancel, was not very restricted. In many places, including Rome, tombs
could be seen, but only through little windows called fenestellae.¹⁰ The very
bodies, however, which remained in their graves, remained invisible.
It is more important, therefore, to focus on those remains which were taken
out of their original places of burial and started to circulate, either locally or
throughout the Mediterranean. Several transfers of important relics are
described or referred to in late antique literature. These accounts, which are
usually classified as a specific hagiographical subgenre, translationes, may
⁵ Miller 2009; Limberis 2011, 53–96. ⁶ See A. Brown 2007. ⁷ Frank 2000, 123–33.
⁸ See p. 132. ⁹ Crook 2000, 71–3. ¹⁰ Jeličić-Radonić 1999, 136–7.

suggest that the bodies of saints were routinely transferred to other places,
which is misleading. Actually, if we take into account the number of saints
venerated in Christendom, those who were transferred to other places do not
seem that numerous,¹¹ and only relics of these saints could have been put
on display.
The unearthed remains of saints could be of two kinds. First, there were
entire bodies, like those of Babylas in Antioch, Gervasius, Protasius and other
martyrs discovered in northern Italy by Ambrose, Stephen, Samuel, Habak-
kuk, and Zecharias found in Palestine early in the fifth century, or Barnabas
discovered in Cyprus in 488.¹² As I will show later on, in some cases these
unearthed bodies could have been seen when they were being taken out of
their graves, but that was not self-evident. Usually, our evidence is not specific
about it, but in some cases we do know whether the body was shown to
anybody at all. John Chrysostom, for instance, says explicitly that the remains
of St Babylas were transferred from Daphne in a sealed coffin.¹³ Even more
importantly, after the translation the bodies of saints were never put on
permanent display. It is obvious that there were no glass coffins in this period,
because there was no technique for producing large glass panes, but there is no
evidence either of coffins or sarcophagi containing relics that were furnished
with little windows or peepholes, even if such objects, produced for ‘secular’
use, did exist in the Roman world.¹⁴ True, Athanasius of Alexandria claims
that the bodies of martyrs which the Melitians carried out of cemeteries were
not properly buried, but put ‘on stretchers and pieces of wood, so that those
who want to can view them’. This, however, is a polemical description of the
customs of opponents, and it would be rash to take it as proof of the actual
display of the bodies.¹⁵
The second type of transferred relics was composed of a wide range of
objects, from entire body parts, which were very rare, to less solid, but still
corporeal relics, like blood or ashes, to contact relics. Of course, displaying
pieces of cloth or similar material objects is hardly comparable to displaying
corpses or their fragments, but one has to remember that the frontier between
corporeal, quasi-corporeal, and contact relics was very blurred. In people’s
perception dust was easily transformable into ashes, and, as we will see later
on, a stone supposedly used during St Stephen’s execution, kept in Ancona, at
some point started to be venerated as his elbow.¹⁶
¹¹ This is based on preliminary estimations of the Oxford and Warsaw-based Cult of Saints in
Late Antiquity Project, the aim of which is to complete an extensive database including the entire
literary and epigraphic evidence of the cult of saints up to 700 (<http://csla.history.ox.ac.uk>, to
be completed by 2019). We assume that the number of saints or groups of saints venerated in late
antique Christendom, most of whom are known from a single inscription, calendar entry, or
mention in a literary texts, may reach or even exceed 3,000.
¹² See p. 108. ¹³ John Chrysostom, In Babylam 87–90.
¹⁴ The only extant sarcophagus of this kind dates to the first century and was discovered in
Ostia; three others have been found, but are lost: see Borg 2013, 239.
¹⁵ Athanasius, Epistula 41. See Brakke 1998, 465–6. ¹⁶ Augustine, Sermo 323.2.

It seems that most of these small relics, once deposited in a church,
remained hidden from touch and sight as well. In the case of foundation relics
deposited in a newly built church, nobody could even see the reliquary, which
remained buried under the pavement. The fact that in several churches in
Africa we find inscriptions saying Hic sunt reliquiae, or ‘Here are the relics’,
strongly suggests that people could not see them and needed to be informed of
their presence.¹⁷ We have seen, however, in Chapter 7 that there is textual and
archaeological evidence for other reliquaries which were not meant to be
concealed and were quite easily accessible. It is interesting to ask whether
people were ever able to see their contents.
RELIQUARIES AND THEIR CONTENTS
Some late antique authors seem to suggest so, although what they say usually
sounds quite vague.¹⁸ Victricius of Rouen, for instance, in his sermon
preached around 396 on the arrival of relics of a number of saints in his
city, says the following:
Why, then, do we call them ‘relics’? Because words are images and signs of things.
Before our eyes are blood and clay . . . We see small relics and a little blood. But
truth perceives that these tiny things are brighter than the sun.¹⁹
Does this passage prove that people in Rouen in 396 could see the relics
themselves? It is doubtful. In the passage above Victricius is juxtaposing what
is visible to the bodily eyes and what can be seen only by the sight of faith, and
does not necessarily refer to what people actually saw. Be that as it may, it was a
special occasion, for the new relics had just been brought to the city, and it does
not tell us anything about how they were displayed later on. More interestingly,
Gregory of Nyssa’s Homily on Theodore the Recruit, quoted in Chapter 7, tells
us of an occasion of seeing the body of the saint and embracing it with the eyes,
mouth, and ears,²⁰ and seems to be more explicit than the testimony of
Victricius. The occasion which Gregory is talking about was apparently rare,
but these relics could be seen, although seeing seems to have been a supple-
mentary activity, for the emphasis is evidently put on touching, which served to
establish contact with a source of power.
In the Middle Ages relics could be seen owing to the use of reliquaries which
were either openable or constructed in such a way as to make it possible to take
a look inside without opening. Given that there are several hundred extant late
antique reliquaries, in principle it should not be difficult to find out whether
¹⁷ See e.g. the inscriptions with the following IF in the Trismegistos Database: 199094; 356310;
200247; 361976; 364973 (Africa Proconsularis); 205333 (Numidia); 431776 (Gallia Narbonen-
sis); 258869 (Liguria); 197630 (Thracia).
¹⁸ See Miller 2005. ¹⁹ Victricius, De laude sanctorum 10.
²⁰ Gregory of Nyssa, De sancto Theodoro, p. 62.

they displayed their contents in the fourth, fifth, or sixth centuries. The
problem is that this evidence is not easy to interpret. It is difficult to decide
whether a reliquary was designed to be systematically or periodically
reopened. We have already seen that the most common type of reliquary,
that resembling a sarcophagus, consisted of a cavity and a lid, sometimes,
though rarely, equipped with a lock (Fig. 7.2).²¹ Such reliquaries could cer-
tainly be opened, but were they made for this? And, if so, how often did it
happen? Usually we cannot say and have at best only hints which suggest that
a given reliquary was meant to show its contents, and even such hints appear
only very occasionally. We know, for instance, of a sixth-century wooden box
containing a collection of stones from the Holy Land and long kept in the
Sancta Sanctorum, the papal relic treasury (Fig. 8.1).²² Its particular character
consists in the fact that each stone has an inscription naming its origin. But to
see these inscriptions one had to open the lid. We do not know, however, of
any other objects of this kind; moreover, this particular box contained stones,
and not corporeal relics. Another hint of occasional visibility is relic labels, or
strips of fabric or papyrus with names of saints attached to their relics. The
oldest extant relic labels come from the Cathedral of Sens and from the Abbey
of Saint-Maurice d’Agaune and are dated palaeographically to the sixth
Fig. 8.1. Box with stones from the Holy Land (Vatican, Museo Sacro 61883 ab). Photo
© Governatorato SCV—Direzione dei Musei.
²¹ A hundred and seventy-seven out of 267 reliquaries from Syria, Palestine, and Cyprus
collected by Comte belong to this category: Comte 2012, 64. See also p. 133 n. 57. There are no
comparable catalogues of Western reliquaries.
²² See Bagnoli 2010, 36–7, no. 13.

century. However, they were also attached either to stones brought from the
Holy Land or to relics the nature of which is unclear; corporeal remains
are explicitly mentioned only as late as in ninth-century labels.²³ But the
practice of attaching labels to relics certainly appeared earlier. It must have
been the case especially in churches which had relics of a number of saints
which it would otherwise be impossible to distinguish between, as we can see
in a letter from Bishop Braulio of Saragossa to a priest Iactatus:
As for the relics of the most revered apostles, which you have asked me to send,
I truthfully reply that I have not a single martyr’s relic so preserved that I can
know whose they are. My lords and predecessors were of the opinion that the
labels should be removed from all of them to make them indistinguishable, and
that they should all be put in a single room, since, in many ways, either by theft or
against their wills or by the coercion of the piety of many, they were being forced
either to give away or to lose what they had. Some seventy were set apart,
however, and are in common use, but among them are to be found none of
those which you requested.²⁴
The labels implied a degree of visibility. Still, they did not imply permanent
display, and more importantly, they were probably attached to bags contain-
ing relics and not to bones themselves.
As for reliquaries designed in such a way as to display their contents
without opening, neither monstrances for relics resembling those which are
still in use for the Eucharist nor reliquaries with a peephole existed at this time.
However, there was a type of receptacle which possibly permitted one to look
inside. In a few churches, in various parts of the Mediterranean, archaeologists
have found little glass flasks. They look no different from those which were
used as flacons for perfumes, but they were used to store relics. It is neither
their shape nor their contents which suggests this. The shape is banal and the
contents are usually described in archaeological reports as traces of a brownish
substance.²⁵ It is the context in which they were found, buried under the
church’s pavement or inside a larger reliquary, that reveals their function
(Fig. 7.3). Those still extant date only from the sixth and seventh centuries,
but they have been discovered in Greece, Syria, and Tunisia, which suggests
that they were used quite widely.²⁶ Glass flasks showed what they had inside,
but at least those which were found during archaeological excavations stuck
under the floor were not destined to be displayed. This suggests that some
relics were put into glass receptacles simply because the latter were relatively
²³ Smith 2012, 150; for the oldest relics from Saint-Maurice d’Agaune, see Smith 2015,
232–57, esp. etiquettes 1–9, 11–14.
²⁴ Braulio, Epistula 9 (trans. C. W. Barlowe); see M. Szada, CSLA E00579.
²⁵ See Comte 2012, catalogue: Bassit 4 (p. 352).
²⁶ Khirbet es-Samra: Comte 2012, catalogue: Samra St-Jean 1a (p. 237), Hippos NO 1a
(containing bones, p. 169) and Basit 4 (p. 352). For Sbeïtla and Cincari, see N. Duval 2002, 55.

good-looking and, more importantly, well adapted for holding very small objects
and liquids. Their transparency was not essential. Thus, objects of this kind do
not imply the visibility of relics, even if occasionally they could have been used
for their display, as I will show below. In all, there is no certain archaeological
evidence for reliquaries destined to show their contents. Reliquaries with a
peephole appeared on a large scale only in the High Middle Ages.²⁷
VISIBILITY OF RELIQUARIES
It is interesting to ask whether those who were not allowed to see the relics
themselves could at least look at their reliquaries. Sometimes it was possible.
Large reliquaries found in several churches in Syria were placed either in
pastophoria or between the chancel and the nave, where everybody could
see them. John Chrysostom in his sermon on St Drosis, preached at the end of
the fourth century in Antioch, encouraged his audience to look at such
reliquaries, because the sight of them made people ‘think philosophically’.²⁸
Yet many reliquaries were hidden, and some of them were concealed so well
that they were eventually forgotten. This had perhaps been the case even with
such important relics as those of the Apostles in Constantinople.²⁹ Certainly,
sumptuous silver or ivory reliquaries were presumably made to be seen. But
the archaeological context in which they are found shows that they also could
be permanently inaccessible. The famous ivory reliquary which was found
immured in a church near Pola in Istria, for instance, is beautifully decorated
and has a sophisticated theological programme, which, however, could not be
studied for centuries until its discovery in 1906.³⁰ This does not mean that
precious reliquaries were commissioned only to be interred forever. The fact
that these reliquaries mostly come from well-hidden places is understandable,
for golden or ivory boxes which were not hidden had little chance of survival.
But this evidence does show that a rich and beautiful reliquary was not always
displayed.³¹
It is also interesting to note that late antique reliquaries, unlike those which
we know from the High Middle Ages³² usually kept their contents secret. This
secrecy manifests itself not only in the impossibility of seeing the contents,
but also in the absence of inscriptions which are very rare on reliquaries.³³
²⁷ Diedrichs 2001, 59–140. ²⁸ John Chrysostom, De sancta Droside 4.

²⁹ Procopius, De aedificiis 1.4.18–20; see p. 68. ³⁰ For this programme, see Elsner 2013.
³¹ This is a wider issue. Also the visibility of several richly decorated sarcophagi cannot be
taken for granted: Borg 2013, 237.
³² Hahn 1997a and 1997b.
³³ Inscriptions are very rare on stone reliquaries, but slightly more frequent on metal
reliquaries: see Comte 2012, 99–108 (mostly for the former) and Noga-Banai (passim, for the
latter); more generally: Jastrzębowska & Heydasch-Lehmann 2018, 1164–5.

Their figurative iconography is usually also poor, and their shape is not very
revealing. The form of sarcophagus reliquaries, for instance, suggests that they
contained corporeal remains, but nothing more. It gives no hint as to what
kinds of relics and, more importantly, whose relics were deposited inside.³⁴
Other forms, such as stelae or cuboid, oval, or round boxes, were not specific at
all, and it is not always easy to distinguish a small ivory reliquary from a
jewellery box.³⁵ Reliquaries shaped as body parts, heads, arms, or hands
appeared only in the ninth century.³⁶
Most stone reliquaries, which are far more numerous than those made of
other materials, are devoid of any iconographic programme; the only motif
that we can often find on them is the sign of the Cross. Admittedly, since
most reliquaries remained hidden, their look was not particularly important.
Yet, interestingly, even if the iconography was more developed, it was
normally focused on biblical scenes. On the fifth-century silver reliquary
of Brivio, for instance, we can see the raising of Lazarus, the adoration of
the Magi, and the three youths in the furnace (Fig. 8.2).³⁷ Saints appear
only rarely.
Fig. 8.2. Silver casket, known as the Capsella of Brivio, with the representation of the
raising of Lazarus from the Musée du Louvre. Photo © RMN-Grand Palais (Musée du
Louvre)/Gérard Blot.
³⁴ Interestingly, the shape and iconography of and the inscriptions on sarcophagi are usually
more revealing: Elsner 2012.
³⁵ See Duffy & Vikan 1983. ³⁶ Bynum & Gerson 1997, 4.
³⁷ Noga-Banai 2008, 38–61.

There are some exceptions, like the so-called capsella Africana dating from
the fourth or fifth century discovered in Ain Zirara in modern Algeria.³⁸ On its
lid a young man holding a wreath is being crowned by the hand of God
(Fig. 8.3). He is certainly a martyr, but his identity (Stephen or Januarius?) is
not clear. Actually, we do not know if he was meant to represent any specific
martyr at all and I doubt that in Late Antiquity people were able to recognize
him just by looking at this image. Another exception is perhaps a sixth-
century pyxis with St Menas, on which the saint, standing between two camels,
is easy to recognize, but we are not entirely sure if this object was a reliquary.³⁹
On other reliquaries, saints—if they appear at all—do not occupy a central
position. Moreover, again unlike in many medieval reliquaries, their likenesses
do not seem to be related to their contents, for most frequently they represent
just two personages, Peter and Paul (Fig. 8.4), who can also be found on
Fig. 8.3. Capsella Africana. Vatican, Museo Sacro della Biblioteca Apostolica (inv. no.
60859). Photo © Governatorato SCV—Direzione dei Musei.
³⁸ Noga-Banai 2008, 64–95. ³⁹ See Weitzmann 1979, 575–6 (no. 514).

Fig. 8.4. Silver casket with the Cross flanked by Peter and Paul. Photo © Toronto,
Royal Ontario Museum.
frescos, mosaics, sarcophagi, and vessels. Needless to say, not every box with St
Peter on its lid contained his relics.⁴⁰
Generally speaking, the iconographic programme and shape of reliquaries
reflected the wider patterns of late antique Christian art and are similar to
what we can find on other objects, for instance on Roman sarcophagi.⁴¹
Reliquaries certainly carried a message of death and resurrection, could engage
the viewer in a play of concealment and revelation,⁴² but rarely said anything
specific about the saint, his or her martyrdom, or relics. Still, their beauty,
craftsmanship, and the use of precious materials carried a message about the
value of their contents, and so guaranteed that the ashes or other objects which
the reliquary held were truly the remains of martyrs, and that was an import-
ant function.⁴³
Of course, all this does not mean that someone entering a church was
unable to learn whose relics it contained. Thanks to inscriptions, frescos,
and mosaics representing martyrs, their relics were not really anonymous.⁴⁴
Moreover, the place of their deposition was often marked by architectural
devices. Inscriptions saying Hic reliquiae or Hic sunt reliquiae served the same
purpose.⁴⁵ It was important to show that relics were placed there, since it
was, at least in part, their presence that drew people to specific sanctuaries.
It was also important to be close to relics and, sometimes, to touch them, even
indirectly, because this was how their power was transmitted. But touching
⁴⁰ For reliquaries with Peter, Paul, and other saints (including the capsella Africana), see
Noga-Banai & Safran 2011, and especially Noga-Banai 2008, 63–120. For the link between
contents and representation in later reliquaries, see Hahn 2010.
⁴¹ For the catalogue of iconographic motifs on early Christian sarcophagi, see Lange 1996 (the
only volume published).
⁴² Elsner 2015, 14–21. ⁴³ Hahn 2010, 291.
⁴⁴ Yasin 2009, 151–209; see also Thacker 2002. ⁴⁵ See n. 17.

could often be done without seeing. People introduced strips of cloth, sticks,
sponges, or oil into the reliquary without actually looking inside.⁴⁶
It is somehow puzzling that people did not want to see them, because relics
were actually considered to be trophies, or signs of the triumph, of martyrs.
The martyrs were venerated because they had suffered violent deaths and they
bodies were injured and distorted, and late antique Christians were accus-
tomed to pictorial descriptions of flesh being ripped apart by tortures.⁴⁷ The
fourth- or fifth-century Syriac Martyrdom of Candida, for instance, tells of her
being forced to walk around the city holding her cut-off breasts in her hands.⁴⁸
Several other martyrs display their wounds and mutilated limbs in their
passiones. And yet their actual earthly remains with traces of the torment
and execution were not really shown or admired. It is interesting to ask why
this was the case. The simplest answer seems to be that the taboo of displaying
dead bodies did not disappear altogether.⁴⁹ One could also suppose that
keeping relics hidden from sight served well to protect their air of mystery,
which could have been lost had they been put on regular public display. This,
however, is difficult to prove, all the more so as such a result did not have to be
intentional. Also, this does not explain why the iconography of martyrdom,
with saints displaying their wounds, developed only much later than literary
descriptions of the same kind. The story of Candida brings to mind the images
of St Agatha of Sicily, holding her cut-off breasts on a platter, but such scenes
are absent from late antique iconography, which evidently did not reflect the
images created by hagiographical literature.
Thinking about the wounds of martyrs as their trophies could, however, be
at the origin of the idea that the very sight of relics could chase away evil
spirits. In his sermon on St Julian of Antioch, John Chrysostom claims that
‘the sight of his wounds is unbearable to the demons. Even now, possessed
people cannot stand being near the saint’s tomb. The saint’s wounds are
brighter than the stars of heaven.’⁵⁰ In the sixth century, a further step was
made and the images of saints became powerful objects, like relics. In the
collection of the Miracles of Cosmas and Damian we find an episode in which
a woman scrapes off some plaster on which an image of the two saints was
painted, drinks it diluted in water, and is healed.⁵¹ The historian Theophanes
claims that in the year 610 the ships of Heraclius sailing to Constantinople had
on their masts reliquaries and icons of the Mother of God.⁵² Evidently, both
⁴⁶ See pp. 134–6. ⁴⁷ Grig 2004, 111–17. ⁴⁸ See S. Minov, CSLA E03175.
⁴⁹ Gregory of Nyssa, Vita Macrinae 35; see p. 129. It is not impossible, though, that some
bodies in the fourth century were deposited outside sarcophagi and remained visible in burial
crypts: see Borg 2013, 238.
⁵⁰ John Chrysostom, In sanctum Iulianum 2, CSLA E02544.
⁵¹ Miracula Cosmae et Damiani II 15.
⁵² Theophanes, Chronographia 6102 (AD 609/10). Theophanes’ information comes from the
early seventh-century poet George of Pisidia.

types of objects had a similar function and became equivalent.⁵³ This, how-
ever, cannot be seen in the earlier period.
In all, the evidence does not suggest that the custom of displaying and
looking at relics developed in any part of the late antique world on a wide
scale. Some reliquaries could have been opened, but nothing proves that they
really were; some reliquaries made it possible to look at their contents, but
remained hidden. Those which could be seen rarely suggested what they had
inside. That was a general rule. Below, I will present a study of four exceptional
cases of relics which were displayed and I will seek to explain them.
FOUR EXCEPTIONS
In the first of these cases the relics were displayed after their discovery, in the
second, during the translation, in the third, they seem to have been exhibited
permanently, while in the fourth the situation is not clear. Since in this chapter
we are interested in real practices, it has to be noted that in all these cases we
will be focusing on what ancient authors wanted us to see. None of them
simply happened to mention the display of relics accidentally. They all wanted
readers to know that the relics were shown publicly. That is why we learn from
these three episodes, not so much why some relics were put on display, but
why those who wrote about them thought that they should be.
The first episode tells of the discovery of the bodies of Gervasius and
Protasius. This event has already been referred to in this book several times.
It took place in Milan in 386 and its earliest description comes from the letter
which Bishop Ambrose wrote to his sister, and which he himself subsequently
published. It runs as follows:
I ordered the ground to be opened before the railings of the church of Saints Felix
and Nabor. I found the appropriate signs . . . We found two men of stupendous
size, such as belonged to ancient days. All their bones were intact, and there was
much blood. The people thronged the place in crowds throughout the whole of
those two days.
Further on, Ambrose quotes a sermon that he preached standing in front of
the two bodies, which were temporarily deposited in the basilica, before their
final burial under its altar:
Look at the holy relics at my right hand and at my left, see men of heavenly
conversation, behold the trophies of a heavenly mind . . . These noble relics are
dug out of an ignoble sepulchre; these trophies are displayed in the face of day.
⁵³ See Peers 2012, 971.


The tomb is moist with blood, the tokens of a triumphant death are displayed, the
uninjured relics are found in their proper place and order, the head separated
from the body.’⁵⁴
The visual contact with the relics is clear. The bodies, heads, skeletons, and all,
were displayed publicly, and Ambrose encouraged his flock to look at them.
Of course, it has to be repeated: we can see here what Ambrose wanted us to
see. It cannot be said with any certainty what those who gathered in the
Basilica Ambrosiana were actually able to observe, but Ambrose’s message is
unequivocal: people were shown the martyrs’ bodies. Still, it was only for a
short period of two days, and then the corpses were hidden under the altar.
The modern arrangement of Sant’Ambrogio, in which the bodies of Gervasius
and Protasius, flanking that of Ambrose himself, can be seen in a glass coffin,
dates back to the nineteenth century and has nothing to do with what the
grave looked like in Late Antiquity.⁵⁵
The second case comes from the first chapter of the Book of Miracles of
St Stephen, which tells of the arrival of his relics in Uzalis in North Africa, c.418:
Even before any rumour could start that the relics of St Stephen, the first witness
of Christ in martyrdom, were about to arrive to us the unworthy (for we could
neither think about or suspect that they may come), lo, the glorious [Stephen] had
started to reveal himself to certain saintly souls among us. One day, in a certain
place, the servants of God who had with them these relics sent from the East
(which we were not aware of ) were talking about them. And a woman, holy
servant of God, came in the middle of their talk. When she heard it, she was not
ready to believe (as it usually happens), but started to talk silently to herself: ‘And
who knows whether those are really the relics of martyrs?’ And without any delay,
the following night, an ampoule was shown to her in a dream, and its inside
looked as if it had been sprinkled with blood and had something like traces of tiny
straws which seemed to be particles of bones. A presbyter who kept it in hand was
talking to a monk, his brother, and said in her presence: ‘Do you want to know
how the relics of martyrs are verified?’ This said, he put the ampoule into his
mouth, and immediately a flame of fire started to go out through his mouth and
ears. Now, listen trustfully how the truth became manifest. For later on, [the
truth] was revealed by the fact that the ampoule which the bishop of God took in
his hands was just like the one which the servant of God had seen in her dream
revelation.⁵⁶
This interesting passage is difficult to interpret. The contents of the flask, the
blood and splinters of bones, are perfectly visible, but only in a dream vision.
Still, the argument about the veracity of relics is constructed upon the identity
of the ampoule seen in a dream and the ampoule actually brought to Uzalis.
We have to remember again that showing these relics in a glass flask is a
⁵⁴ Ambrose, Epistula 77.4 and 12; (trans. H. de Romestin et al., slightly changed).
⁵⁵ Selvafolta 1999. ⁵⁶ Liber de miraculis s. Stephani 1.1.

rhetorical device—we cannot be sure what the actual ampoule looked like. Yet
the author wanted his readers to think about it as a transparent flask, showing
its contents. This was not a permanent arrangement either. The relics were
placed in the church and hidden from sight behind a little door, which could
be opened, as we have seen in Chapter 7 in the story of Megetia, but in the
entire collection of the Miracles of St Stephen there is no suggestion of their
further public display.
The third case study is much later than the first two. In the Itinerary of the
anonymous Pilgrim of Piacenza, who visited the Holy Land in the second half
of the sixth century, another glass reliquary is mentioned:
Thence we came to Heliopolis, and thence to Emesa, where there is the head of
John the Baptist in a glass jar. And we saw it with our own eyes in the jar and
adored it.⁵⁷
Here we can see an important relic held in a glass receptacle which seems to
have been permanently on display. The presence of the head of John the
Baptist in Emesa is also attested by other sources. We also know that there
were glass recipients large enough to hold a skull. Interestingly, they were used
in a funerary context, but in an earlier period: in the first and second centuries
they served as urns for ashes. In Late Antiquity, however, when inhumation
replaced incineration, they disappeared.⁵⁸ Thus it would be risky to look for
any direct link between them and the vessel described by the Pilgrim of
Piacenza.
The last case study comes from the Church History of Evagrius, who claims
that he had an opportunity to see the head of Simeon Stylites when it was sent
from Antioch to the general Philippicus, then commander-in-chief of the
army of the East. Evagrius describes in detail the Stylite’s skull, still covered
by the dried skin, with hair intact and most teeth still in place. The author saw
the skull with many clerics, but it is difficult to say whether it was put on
display or simply repacked in order to be sent from the city.⁵⁹
The last two cases in which the skull of the saint is displayed seem to be
more spectacular than the first two and may suggest that in the sixth century
visual contact with relics was closer than in the earlier period. But our evidence
suggests that even then it was quite rare and so the exceptions quoted above
demand an explanation. Why were the bodies of Gervasius and Protasius in
Milan, and some blood and bones of St Stephen in Uzalis, the head of John
the Baptist in Emesa, and the skull of Simeon Stylites in Antioch put on
display? It seems that what was really exposed in these cases was the proof of
the authenticity of the relics and martyrdom. This is most evident in Milan,
where the veracity of the relics was cast into doubt. The cut-off heads proved
⁵⁷ Pilgrim of Piacenza, Itinerarium 46 (trans. A. Stewart).

⁵⁸ See Toynbee 1971, 39–42; Philpott 1991, 27. ⁵⁹ Evagrius, Historia ecclesiastica 1.13.

that the men whose tomb had just been opened had actually been executed,
the size of their bodies showed that they were not people like others, and the
miraculously preserved blood demonstrated that their remains still held
power. The situation in Uzalis was similar. Some new relics had just been
brought to the city by some clerics or monks. Most probably they were not the
first relics whose origin raised doubts; a few years earlier Augustine, writing in
nearby Hippo, denounced wandering monks who used to sell spurious relics
of alleged martyrs.⁶⁰ It is no wonder that people were not sure what to think
about Stephen’s relics, and this is clearly stated in the passage quoted. In the
case of Emesa, the text itself does not offer an explanation. But we know that
the head displayed in this city was the second head of John the Baptist. His first
head was brought to Constantinople in the 380s and deposited in the import-
ant sanctuary of Hebdomon.⁶¹ Thus, visitors could be sceptical as to whether
Emesa really possessed the relic it claimed to have. In Antioch the situation was
not dissimilar—Evagrius writes about the dispute over the body of the Stylite,
which the emperor wanted to take to Constantinople. He strives to convince his
readers that ‘most of the body’ remained in Antioch. While it is not certain
whether the bishop of the city displayed the skull to prove it, it is very probable
that Evagrius described the relic with this purpose in mind.
The cases studied above suggest, then, that the temporary or, very rarely,
permanent display of relics served in the first place as proof. To a modern
student of the cult of relics such proofs may seem unconvincing. One can
certainly ask why a bone in a glass should imply martyrdom. Yet in Late
Antiquity this sort of proof was appreciated, as can be clearly seen in contem-
porary pilgrim stories. The very same Pilgrim of Piacenza, for instance,
admired the saw with which the prophet Isaiah had been killed and which
was shown pro testimonio, as a proof, that this story was true.⁶² Thus, one can
conclude that if relics were publicly displayed, it was to show not so much the
corpses holding divine power, as the testimonia of their passion: the heads cut
off, the blood spilled, the saw which killed the prophet. But it was done only
when the passion or the relics were contested. This, in turn, leads to the
conclusion that showing relics usually had a different function from that of
touching them. The latter aimed at establishing a contact with thaumaturgical
power, the former at proving the veracity of martyrdom and the authenticity
of relics.
⁶⁰ Augustine, De opere monachorum 28.36; see also Geary 1978, 42.

⁶¹ See pp. 36–7. ⁶² Pilgrim of Piacenza, Itinerarium 32.
Dividing Relics
At the beginning of the twentieth century Hippolyte Delehaye published an

important study on the beginnings of the cult of martyrs which is still quoted,
and justly so, in most books and articles concerning this phenomenon. While
Delehaye studied the cult of the saints with a most scholarly eye, he also looked
at them with deep respect and affection, and he considered certain develop-
ments of their cult as highly unsuitable. In his view, two closely connected
practices were particularly embarrassing: first of all, the custom of taking the
bodies of saints from their graves and placing them elsewhere, and secondly,
that of dividing them. Delehaye had no doubt that the responsibility for these
developments lay with the Greeks.¹ In his opinion, the process of disinterring
and dividing martyrs’ bodies began in the East in the second half of the fourth
century, while Rome, identified with the West, was immune from such
practices at least until the end of the sixth century. The fact that in the last
decade of the fourth century Bishop Ambrose sent out the relics of Milanese
saints to some of his colleagues did not change Delehaye’s opinion about the
profound difference in the Western customs: his conclusion was that Ambrose
simply followed Eastern practice.
The conviction that the process of dismembering saints’ bodies began in
the East in the fourth century is generally accepted in scholarship.² Any
doubts concern rather the ‘purity’ of Western customs, i.e. the non-existence
of the practice in Italy, Gaul, Spain, and Africa.³ Admittedly, in 1990 Cyril
Mango asked in this context the question ‘Are the Greeks to blame?’, but it
has not been satisfactorily answered.⁴ John Wortley, in his interesting article
about the origins of the veneration of body parts, suggested what mechan-
isms could have given rise to this phenomenon, but did not question the
traditional conviction of where and when it started.⁵ My purpose in this
chapter is to find out what the late ancient practice of dividing relics
¹ Delehaye 1933, 53–61.

² See McCulloh 1976, 145; Heinzelmann 1979, 20–2; Hunt 1981, 174–5; Legner 1995, 11–15;
Beaujard 2000, 283; Clark 2001, 167.
³ Grabar 1946, vol. 1, 40–1. ⁴ Mango 1990, 61. ⁵ Wortley 2006b.

consisted in, when it appeared, and whether Western and Eastern customs in
this matter were really different.
The strongest evidence to support the thesis that the East and West differed
in this respect comes from two well-known documents from sixth-century
papal correspondence. The first of these is a letter sent to Pope Hormisdas by
his legates in 519.⁶ It concerns the request of the future Emperor Justinian,
who wanted to bring from Rome to Constantinople relics of the Apostles and
of St Laurence. Before writing to the Pope, the legates explained to Justinian
that his demand had been made ‘according to the custom of the Greeks’
(secundum morem Graecorum) and was contrary to the ‘practice of the Holy
See’ (consuetudo Sedis Apostolicae). As Justinian accepted this argument, the
legates, seeing his religious zeal, asked Hormisdas to send to Constantinople
what they called sanctuaria apostolorum (the context makes it clear that these
were contact relics sanctified by being laid on the graves of the Apostles) as
well as fragments of the chains of Sts Peter and Paul, and of the gridiron of
St Laurence.
The second classic testimony to the difference between Western and East-
ern practices is the letter of Gregory the Great, written in 594 to Constantina,
wife of the Emperor Maurice. The Pope, from whom she had sought ‘the head
of St Paul or some other part of his body’ (caput eiusdem sancti Pauli, aut aliud
quid de corpore ipsius), answers that he neither could nor dared to disclose the
Apostle’s sepulchre.⁷ And to strengthen his argument he related how, by
divine intervention, an attempt made centuries earlier to carry away from
Rome the bodies of the Apostles had ended in failure, and how in recent times
all the witnesses of the opening of the tomb of St Laurence had lost their lives
shortly after the event, even though the tomb was opened in order to repair the
grave not to take the body out of it. Gregory reminded the empress that
according to the custom of the Roman Church, suppliants received strips of
cloth (brandea) sanctified by contact with the grave which were as sufficient
both to heal and to consecrate a church as the bodies themselves. He promised
too to send to Constantina some filings of the chains of St Paul, if he could
only manage to file them off, which was not necessarily achievable, because for
one supplicant the filings were obtained swiftly and easily, whereas for others
even prolonged efforts did not produce any success.
In both letters, the mos Graecorum, the custom of opening graves, is
contrasted with the mos Romanorum, which leaves them intact. Both letters
are usually considered to prove that the West for a long time opposed the
Eastern practice. However, two questions arise. First, what did the difference
between Western and Eastern attitudes towards the relics precisely consist in?
Secondly, can we refer the state of affairs described in the sixth-century
⁶ Collectio Avellana 218. ⁷ Gregory the Great, Epistulae IV 30; see p. 141.
Dividing Relics 161

correspondence to the earlier period? Briefly, do these two testimonies suffice
to assert that the customs of the two parts of the Mediterranean world in the
fourth and fifth centuries really differed?
As to the first question, one should note that what is discussed in both
letters is rather the problem of transferring than that of dividing relics. Only
Constantina expressly asked the Pope for the head of St Paul (which, it is
worth noting, had already been separated from the torso at the moment of
martyrdom) or ‘for some other part of his body’. If the empress had actually
expressed her request in such a way, the difference between Western and
Eastern practices would have been significant: the Romans did not allow
dismembering bodies; the Greeks accepted it. But it is interesting to note
that in his answer Gregory suggests that the difference was of another kind.
According to the Pope, the divergence lay in the fact that the Greeks permitted
the opening of tombs, not dividing bodies. When he quotes a negative example
of some Eastern monks plundering one of the Roman cemeteries, he refers to
people who wanted to take away entire bodies, not their fragments. I do not
want to deny firmly that in the sixth century attitudes towards dividing relics
in different parts of Christendom were really different, but I propose not to
take it for granted, and to examine instead the earlier customs more carefully.
All the testimonies which I will adduce are fairly well known, but I think that
the common interpretation of this material, that it demonstrates the practice
of dismembering bodies, is too hasty.
A good starting point for studying this issue will be an imperial edict
directly forbidding the practice we are dealing with. This law, issued on
26 May 386 in the name of Valentinian II and Theodosius I, stated that:
No person shall transfer a buried body to another place. No person shall sell [or
divide?] a martyr. No person shall traffic in them (nemo martyrem distrahat,
nemo mercetur). But if anyone of the saints has been buried in any place whatever,
persons shall have in their power to add whatever building they may wish in
veneration of such place, and such a building must be called a martyrium.⁸
If the prohibition on moving bodies from their tombs is simply a reiteration of
established Roman law,⁹ the rest of the edict regards a new practice which did
not exist before the fourth century. What kind of practice was it? The verb
distrahere is ambiguous. It can mean ‘to sell’, just like mercari in the following
sentence, but also ‘to tear into pieces’.¹⁰ Both meanings make sense in this
context. However, even if we choose the latter translation, we should remem-
ber that in late antique penal legislation, especially in the religious domain, the
⁸ Codex Theodosianus 9.17.7 (27 February 386). The edict is erroneously attributed to
Gratian as well.
⁹ Herrmann-Mascard 1979, 31–2.
¹⁰ Seneca, Epistulae morales ad Lucillum 30.14 (magna vi distraheretur a corpore).

choice of a specific term served rather to express the outrage of the emperor
and his strong disapproval of the stigmatized custom than to describe it
precisely.¹¹ The legislator who condemned those who opened the graves
could easily have qualified every act of taking bones out of the tomb as ripping
the body to pieces, even if this did not reflect exact reality. That is why, in
order to learn what actual practice was, it is necessary to go further, and study
the fate of specific saints’ bodies which were displaced in the course of the
fourth and the fifth centuries.
ONE SAINT IN MANY P LACES
The three earliest known translations of relics which took place in the 350s
were certainly not accompanied by dividing them. The contemporary evi-
dence does not say how the transfers of Timothy, Luke, and Andrew to
Constantinople occurred precisely,¹² but we know that Babylas was transported
to Daphne in a well-closed metal coffin.¹³
More interesting is the story of the relics of John the Baptist. According to
Rufinus, in 362 pagans destroyed his tomb in Sebaste in Palestine, burnt his
bones, and dispersed the ashes over fields. Some pious monks, however,
quickly collected those remains, and took them to Jerusalem, whence, during
the episcopate of Athanasius (i.e. before 373), they arrived in Alexandria. Later
on, Bishop Theophilus deposited them in the church built at the site of the
ancient temple of Serapis, which had just been closed on the emperor’s
orders.¹⁴ In the same period the Emperor Theodosius brought to Constantin-
ople the head of the saint, which had before been kept in Cilicia, and before
that in Jerusalem. We have already seen that another head was discovered in
the mid-fifth century in Emesa.¹⁵
Another case of dispersed relics is that of the ashes of the Forty Martyrs of
Sebaste in Cappadocia. In the 370s, Basil of Caesarea and Gregory of Nyssa
spoke about their relics, venerated in various places in their country.¹⁶ In the
Testament of the Forty Martyrs, whose date of origin is not easy to determine,
¹¹ Harries 1999.
¹² The transfer of Luke and Andrew is described in the Passio Artemii, but the text is not
trustworthy: see Burgess 2003.
¹³ Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 5.19.13. It was transported in the same way in 362, when it
was carried out of Daphne on the orders of Julian: see John Chrysostom, In Babylam 87–90.
¹⁴ Rufinus, Historia ecclesiastica 11.28. Similar attacks on Christian martyria in other towns
are mentioned by Julian, Misopogon 357C and 361A–B.
¹⁵ The first head: Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 7.21.4–5; Chronicon Paschale s.a. 391; the
second head: Chronicon Paschale s.a. 453; Marcellinus Comes, Chronicon s.a. 453.
¹⁶ Basil of Caesarea, In sanctos XL martyres 8; Gregory of Nyssa, In XL martyres I, p. 137 and
In XL martyres II, p. 166. For the dating of Basil’s sermon, see Bernardi 1968, 83–4 (370s); for
Dividing Relics 163

but which possibly dates from the fourth century, the martyrs forbid the
distribution of their ashes;¹⁷ so the text testifies that some discussion about
the practice of dividing relics was taking place. In the early fifth century we
find relics of the Forty Martyrs also in Constantinople, Jerusalem, and
Brescia.¹⁸
The Forty Martyrs were not the first Eastern saints whose relics arrived in
the West. Before 386, a group of relics was brought to Milan, most probably
from Constantinople. The dating of this event is founded on Ambrose’s Letter
77, written in the same year, in which he describes the discovery of the grave of
Gervasius and Protasius. Ambrose claims that in that year the people of Milan
asked him to dedicate a new church in the same way as he had dedicated the
basilica at Porta Romana, that is, with the use of relics.¹⁹ He does not state,
though, when exactly, and with what relics, he consecrated the latter church.
As for the relics, the answer can probably be found in the Martyrologium
Hieronymianum. Under the date of 9 May (without mentioning a year, as
would be useless in a liturgical calendar) the Martyrologium notes the ingres-
sus of the relics of the Apostles John, Andrew, and Thomas into the basilica at
Porta Romana. On 27 November the Church of Milan celebrated the ingressus
of the relics of the Apostles Luke, Andrew, John, the martyr Euphemia, and a
less well-known St Severus (the specific church is not mentioned).²⁰ It is
difficult to determine which of these sets came to the city before 386, but it
is quite certain that both had arrived before 396, when relics of all these saints
(except Severus) were sent by Ambrose to Victricius of Rouen.²¹ Some relics of
the same saints are attested soon after in other cities in Italy: in Brescia, in
Fundi close to Nola, and probably also in Lodi.²² At about the same time,
Paulinus of Nola hoped to receive some relics of Eastern martyrs from a
‘saintly Silvia’ who was coming back home from the East.²³ Finally, shortly
after 415, St Stephen’s relics were brought to several places in the West,
particularly in Africa.
Gregory’s sermon, Leemans 2001, argues for c.375 (against traditional dating to the 380s). For
the testimonies to this cult, see Limberis 2011, 137–40.
¹⁷ Testamentum XL Martyrum 1.
¹⁸ Brescia: Gaudentius, Tractatus 17.11–37; Jerusalem: Gerontius, Vita Melaniae 48; Con-
stantinople: Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 9.2.
¹⁹ Ambrose, Epistula 77.1.
²⁰ Martyrologium Hieronymianum, VII Id. Mai, V Kal. Dec.
²¹ Victricius, De laude sanctorum 6.
²² Brescia: John the Baptist, Andrew, Thomas, Luke (Gaudentius, Tractatus 17.3–11: after
397); Concordia: John the Baptist, John the Evangelist, Andrew, Thomas (Chromatius of
Aquileia, Sermo 26: after 388); Fundi: Andrew, Luke (Paulinus of Nola, Epistula 32.17: 402); a
basilica apostolorum was dedicated, during Ambrose’s episcopate, in Lodi as well, but we do not
know whose relics were deposited in it (Ambrose, Epistula 4.1). For chronological problems with
identifying these relics and dating their transfers, see Y.-M. Duval 1977, 303–18.
²³ Paulinus of Nola, Epistula 31.1.

All this shows that the relics of certain saints could be found in several
places and in the second quarter of the fifth century Theodoret of Cyrrhus in
his Cure for the maladies of the Greeks seems to consider the division of saints’
bodies a normal practice:
The bodies of individual saints are not interred in the same tomb. Towns and
villages divide them amongst themselves, because they worship them as saviours
and physicians of souls and bodies, and venerate them as patrons and protectors
of the town; they use them as envoys to the Lord of all things, and they receive
through them divine gifts. And in spite of the fact that the body is divided, the
grace remains undivided and the smallest particle of relics has the power equal to
that of an undivided martyr.²⁴
Theodoret repeats the same in two of his letters in which he claims that many
people say that a saint is buried in their church, whereas in fact they have only
small particles (smikrotata leipsana) of his body.²⁵ The Martyrdom of Nikethas
the Goth, possibly dating from the same period, tells us about a failed attempt
to divide this saint’s body, which might suggest that the author knew about
other attempts of this kind.²⁶
With these seemingly obvious proofs that the bodies of saints used to be
divided in the early fifth century we can conclude the survey of literary
testimonies and move on to the archaeological evidence. Among the late
antique reliquaries discovered in several churches of the Mediterranean,
some were found unopened since their deposition, thus giving us a chance
to see what their contents looked like. Unfortunately, many of these finds have
not been carefully examined. In earlier times, archaeologists were often more
interested in the containers than in the relics themselves, and so their reports
often just say that a given reliquary contained ashes, which, however, were not
analysed by laboratory methods. It is therefore difficult to say whether the dust
found inside was placed there as relics in the form of ashes or was the residue
of the disintegration of body fragments or some other objects. There are,
however, a few reliquaries, both from the East and from the West, which
contain small bone fragments deposited in them probably before the sixth
century.²⁷
Briefly, there are three arguments for the early dating of the practice of
dividing saints’ bodies. First, as early as the end of the fourth century, there is
literary evidence of relics of the same saints deposited in various places of the
²⁴ Theodoret, Graecorum affectionum curatio 8.10–11.

²⁵ Theodoret, Epistula 131 (CXXX), p. 121, and 145 (CXLIV), p. 169.
²⁶ Passio Nicetae Gothi 8.
²⁷ See Buschhausen 1971. In this catalogue of ancient reliquaries few were found with bone
fragments inside: B 20 (Pula), C 1 (neighbourhood of Varna); C 6 (Lopud near Dubrovnik, but
Buschhausen’s dating is probably too early); C 10 (Chur, Switzerland); C 23 (Çoban Dere,
Bulgaria); C 60 (Synnada).
Dividing Relics 165

Christian world. Secondly, Theodoret explicitly says that the distribution of
one martyr’s relics among many churches is common. Thirdly, some late
antique reliquaries contain little bone fragments, material proof of the dis-
membering of a human body.
These arguments leave no doubt that relics of many saints were dispersed
already in the fourth and earlier fifth centuries and that this caused no
amazement. The question is whether this fact allows the conclusion that the
actual practice of dismembering bodies existed at that time. I think there are
reasons to give a negative answer to this question.
First, literary sources never talk about specific body parts which would have
been separated from the other parts. In fourth- and fifth-century texts we find
no mention of the veneration of a hand, a digit, or a foot of a martyr. The only
credible exceptions are the two heads of St John the Baptist and the head of
St Phocas (dispatched to Rome, according to Asterius of Amasea, while the
rest of his body remained in the East).²⁸ But these are specific cases, because
both martyrs had been beheaded, and so the separation resulted from the
action of persecutors, not worshippers.²⁹ Secondly, the early accounts of
discoveries and translations of relics never describe the act of dismembering
a body. Admittedly, there are passages in hagiographical writings which show
the burial of a saint thronged by a crowd of people wanting to touch the body
during the ceremony; they collect pieces of his garments, and press so much
on the bier that it looks as if they want to tear the body itself into pieces. But all
these scenes are highly rhetorical and one can doubt if in any of these cases the
integrity of the corpse was really in danger.³⁰ One may suggest of course that
the practice of dismembering bodies existed, but was embarrassing to such a
degree that no one was eager to describe it. The practice would thus be placed
in the grey zone of late antique religiosity which has left no traces in the
sources. Such a zone certainly did exist, but it is quite unlikely that practices
associated with the cult of relics were lost in it. The reason for arguing this—
and this is my third argument—is that at the end of the fourth and the
beginning of the fifth century the cult of relics as such was not unanimously
accepted by all Christians. More about this will be said in Chapter 10; here it is
sufficient to point out that although the writings of the adversaries of this cult
²⁸ For the heads of John the Baptist, see n. 15; for the head of Phocas, see Asterius of Amasea,
Homilia 9.10; in the later fifth century that was also the case for the head of St Julian in Gaul: see
Sidonius Apollinaris, Epistulae VII 1.
²⁹ A case apart is two testimonies to specific fragments of St Stephen’s body. Augustine claims
that in Ancona people believed that they had an arm of the Protomartyr, but this, he says, is
untrue (Sermo 323.2); see n. 36. According to Theophanes, Chronographia 5920 (AD 427/8), the
arm of St Stephen was transferred in 427 from Jerusalem to Constantinople. This testimony,
however, is not trustworthy: Mango 2004.
³⁰ See Antonius, Symeonis Stylitae vita Graeca 29; Callinicus, Vita Hypatii 51.10; Hilary, Vita
Honorati 35.2; Honoratus, Vita Hilarii 29; Vita Danielis Stylitae 100.

have perished, the arguments of at least one of them are well preserved in
Jerome’s Against Vigilantius. Jerome refutes his adversary’s accusations one by
one, and there is no mention of the dismembering of bodies. As has already
been said, Vigilantius knew a variety of regional customs. If he had come
across the practice of dismembering, he would certainly have referred to it,
with a view to discrediting the worshippers of relics. Fourthly, numerous
literary testimonies to the Eastern cult of relics in the fourth and fifth centuries
come from Western authors who should have been sensitive to differences
between the practices of the Romans and the Greeks. Surprisingly, none of
them notices any peculiarity about Eastern customs in this field.
DIVISION WITHOUT P ARTITION
The four reasons named above make me seriously doubt that the process of
dividing bodies began before the sixth century or, to be more cautious, that it
was a regular practice. Of course, the question arises how, after having argued
that the phenomenon did not exist, one can explain its alleged consequence,
namely the fact that the relics of the same saints were enshrined in various
places, a fact seemingly attested by both literary and archaeological evidence.
Let us examine first the group of Eastern relics which appeared in Milan,
and then in other cities in the West, in the last two decades of the fourth century,
namely those of saints Andrew, Luke, Timothy, Thomas, and Euphemia. We
know that since 358 at the latest, the bodies of the first three of them rested in
the church of the Holy Apostles adjacent to Constantine’s mausoleum in
Constantinople. According to Procopius, during Justinian’s restoration of
this church they were discovered under the pavement.³¹ Thus, once laid in
the earth, they evidently remained hidden and it seems improbable that they
were accessible to anybody. When in 359 Bishop Macedonius ordered the
removal of Constantine’s body from his mausoleum, which had been damaged
by an earthquake, riots broke out in the city.³² One can hardly believe that
afterwards anyone would have dared to take from the imperial sanctuary any
fragments of the Apostles’ bodies.³³ It seems equally unlikely that the body of
Thomas the Apostle was dismembered and some part of it brought to Italy.
³¹ Procopius, De aedificiis 1.4.17–21. The problem of the original place of the deposition of
these relics (Constantine’s mausoleum or the church of the Holy Apostles) was discussed by
Mango 1990, 58, who convincingly argues for the latter solution.
³² Socrates, Historia ecclesiastica 2.38.35–42; Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 4.21.3–5; see
Wortley 2006a.
³³ McLynn 1994, 192–3, aware of the importance of these relics and of the riots in Constan-
tinople in 359, concluded that the fragments of the Apostles’ bodies could have been transferred
to Milan only by the emperor, namely Theodosius I. Subsequently, McLynn’s views have
Dividing Relics 167

Anyway, in 384 the pilgrim Egeria says that his corpus integrum (complete
body) was enshrined in Edessa. As for the martyr Euphemia, her body lay in a
sarcophagus in Chalcedon up to the seventh century.³⁴ Thus, the relics which
Ambrose imported to Milan were certainly not body parts.
What kind of relics were they? The answer is not easy, but it is interesting to
note that in the basilica at Porta Romana Ambrose deposited relics from places
which were then highly popular with Western pilgrims travelling through the
eastern Mediterranean. While those pilgrims could hardly obtain body parts,
they certainly could bring home some non-corporeal relics. Such relics were
indeed known in that period: an inscription found in Spoleto, for example,
testifies to the presence of fragments of St Peter’s chains in that town,³⁵ and
Augustine asserts that the relic venerated in Ancona was in fact, whatever
some inhabitants of the town maintained, a stone from St Stephen’s stoning.³⁶
Certainly, one can wonder if contact relics could have been used at the
dedication of a church, as the Milanese relics were. Ambrose claimed that in
order to dedicate the new basilica he had to ‘discover martyrs’, which would
suggest that contact relics were unsuitable for this purpose. Furthermore, we
know that, when asked by bishops desiring to dedicate new churches, he
offered them blood of the freshly discovered martyrs, Gervasius and Protasius,
that is a kind of corporeal relic,³⁷ and he did not send to anybody relics of
Nabor and Felix, the two well-known Milanese martyrs, whose tombs
remained unopened. The same desire for corporeal relics for dedications is
attested by a letter of Paulinus of Nola, who informs Sulpicius Severus that he
is awaiting the arrival of ashes (cineres) of some Eastern martyrs, but for the
moment has nothing to offer his friend, who is going to dedicate a new
basilica.³⁸ Had contact relics been good enough for this purpose, he would
not have hesitated to send to Sulpicius relics obtained by touching the grave of
Felix of Nola, whose cult he zealously promoted. Both these cases are, how-
ever, quite easy to explain. Ambrose wanted to share with other bishops the
famous relics which he personally had discovered; that is why he offered them
Gervasius and Protasius and not Nabor and Felix. Paulinus in turn planned to
give Sulpicius something better than he had been asked for: eventually, he sent
him a fragment of the True Cross. Moreover, we have some clear evidence of
contact relics being deposited in churches, probably for their dedication. Some
of this has already been adduced in Chapter 7. Here, it is worth mentioning an
interesting piece of evidence from Milan. In 1578, Carlo Borromeo discovered
changed and now he thinks that these were simply contact relics, which I find a much better
solution, more economic and acceptable from the chronological point of view.
³⁴ Thomas’s body: Egeria, Itinerarium 17.1; its transfer: Chronicle of Edessa s.a. 394; Euphe-
mia’s sarcophagus: Asterius of Amasea, Homilia 11; further history of these relics: Berger 1988.
³⁵ Thacker 2012, 398–403; see John Chrysostom, In Babylam 63 (fetters of Babylas).
³⁶ Augustine, Sermo 323.2. ³⁷ See n. 55. ³⁸ Paulinus of Nola, Epistula 31.1.

in the church of San Nazaro (identified with the Ambrosian Basilica Aposto-
lorum or the basilica at Porta Romana) an ancient reliquary offered by Manlia
Daedalia, sister of Manlius Daedalius, consul of 399. The reliquary represented
Christ with two figures, evidently Peter and Paul. It contained only pieces of
fabric.³⁹
To sum up, corporeal relics were probably preferable for dedications, but
certainly not strictly necessary. I think that Ambrose’s envoys or just some
Westerners visiting the East received in famous shrines in Constantinople,
Chalcedon, or Edessa no more than other pilgrims did, namely some dust,
which perhaps in Milan was recognized as the ashes of the Apostles.⁴⁰ Dust can
quite easily be interpreted as ashes and in the case of any powdered remains the
distinction between contact and corporeal relics surely was very fine, all the
more so as the Latin word (cineres) was used more frequently in a poetical than
a technical sense. The only relic of a different kind which arrived in Milan was
perhaps the blood of St Euphemia, miraculously produced and distributed in
her sanctuary in Chalcedon.⁴¹ If so, it was a corporeal relic, yet obtained
without violating the body’s integrity. Be that as it may, the presence of these
Eastern relics in the West is not proof of the practice of dividing corpses.
In the East, however, the presence of one saint’s remains in different
churches certainly cannot be explained by classifying them as contact relics.
The Greeks also believed in the power of objects physically linked to saints in
one way or another,⁴² but they called them eulogia, whereas the term leipsana
was reserved for the corporeal fragments or entire bodies.⁴³ We know then
that the same martyrs’ leipsana were deposited in various places.⁴⁴ But does it
prove that these saints’ bodies were intentionally divided at some point?
I think that it does not, because relics could multiply in other ways as well.
The first of these has been studied by John Wortley,⁴⁵ who draws our
attention to the fact that some bodies of martyrs had already disintegrated
³⁹ Palestra 1969; Zovatto 1956.

⁴⁰ This custom is attested by Gregory of Nyssa, De sancto Theodoro, p. 64.
⁴¹ Evagrius, Historia ecclesiastica 2.3; see p. 137.
⁴² Their thaumaturgical power is described by Gregory of Nyssa, De sancto Theodoro, p. 63
(dust collected from outside the grave); Theodoret, Historia religiosa 21.16 (oil of martyrs and
garments); Gerontius, Vita Melaniae 60 (oil); Vita Symeonis Stylitae Iunioris 50, 80, 81, 101, 111,
136, 220, 227, 252 (sticks); 115, 152, 163, 194, 235 (dust), 43, 49 (fragments of garments). There
are numerous archaeological testimonies of such objects: olive oil ampoules, clay tokens con-
taining dust from a holy place: see e.g. Bagatti 1949; Mabert & Demeglio 1994. On their religious
function, see Elsner 1997. They were also considered to be efficient protection in the afterlife:
Gerontius, Vita Melaniae 69.
⁴³ See p. 3.
⁴⁴ I will not deal here with the interesting, but difficult problem of whether in the East leipsana
were necessary for the dedication of a church. Regardless of the answer to this question, it is
certain that in Syria, Cappadocia, and other regions leipsana of one saint could be enshrined in a
number of churches.
⁴⁵ Wortley 2006b, 12–14; see also Heinzelmann 1979, 21–2.
Dividing Relics 169

when the cult of relics began to grow. This applies particularly to the victims of
persecutions whose corpses were burnt to ashes. A good example is the case
of the Forty Martyrs of Sebaste. According to their Martyrdom, the bodies of
these soldiers were burnt to ashes after their death, but some Christians
collected them and took them to different places. It is possible that the story
of the Forty Martyrs and their relics is legendary, all the more so since turning
human bones into fine ash requires very much higher temperatures than an
ordinary pyre ever reaches. But we know that the relics which were venerated
as those of the Forty Martyrs in the second half of the fourth century were
ashes.⁴⁶ Thus, in this case, Christians certainly did not carry out the dismem-
berment. Divided relics of this category can also be found in the West. In
addition to the Acts of Fructuosus of Tarragona (which is difficult to date),⁴⁷
we can read about the bishop and his two deacons who were martyred and
their bodies burnt. A group of Christians came and collected their ashes and
distributed them among themselves. Soon, however, they were admonished in
a vision in which the saint ordered them to bring all the relics back and bury
them all together. The relics of three Anaunian martyrs killed in 397 in one of
the Alpine valleys were, in their turn, distributed without protests; their ashes
found their way to Brescia, Turin, Milan, and Constantinople (possibly to the
sanctuary in Drypia).⁴⁸ In all three cases, the division of ashes was probably
easier because they belonged to a group of martyrs and not to a single person.
Interestingly, it seems that once deposited in one or many receptacles, these
ashes were not divided any more. Gaudentius of Brescia says directly in one of
his sermons that when he was in Cappadocia, the nieces of Basil of Caesarea
offered him relics of the Forty Martyrs and that they gave him all that they
had.⁴⁹ So the ashes were not divided, but were passed on ‘in the whole’.
Sozomen’s Church History and Gerontius’ Life of Melania, two other sources
which mention transfers of these relics, do not suggest their further division
either.⁵⁰
It is important to observe a note of criticism with regard to the dividing of
relics, in the case of both the Forty Martyrs and the group of Fructuosus. There
is no doubt that such criticism proves the existence of the censured phenom-
enon. But, if dividing the ashes of a number of saints was frowned upon, then
⁴⁶ Testamentum XL martyrum 1; Gregory of Nyssa, In XL martyres II, p. 166. See Van Dam
2003, 136–7.
⁴⁷ Acta Fructuosi 6; Passio XL martyrum 12.
⁴⁸ Burning of the bodies: Vigilius of Trent, Epistula 2.7 and 11; Brescia: Gaudentius, Tractatus
17.13; Turin: Maximus of Turin, Sermones 105–6; Milan: Paulinus of Milan, Vita Ambrosii 52.1;
cf. Vigilius of Trent, Epistula 1 (the letter addressed to Bishop Simplicianus, Ambrose’s succes-
sor); Constantinople: Vigilius of Trent, Epistula 2 (to John Chrysostom); Drypia: see
Vanderspoel 1986, 248–9.
⁴⁹ Gaudentius, Tractatus 17.16–17.
⁵⁰ Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 9.2; Gerontius, Vita Melaniae 48.

it must have been all the more unthinkable to dismember the complete body of
a single saint.⁵¹
The second type of ‘non-invasive division’ consisted in finding and opening
the grave of a saint and taking his body to another place. The evidence for this
can be found in the accounts of the discoveries of the relics of Gervasius and
Protasius and those of St Stephen.⁵² In both cases the bodies had been laid in a
church, but shortly after some relics of those saints spread throughout the
empire. And they were certainly considered to be bodily relics. As for the
martyrs of Milan, Victricius of Rouen received some tiny particles (minutiae)
and their blood, which were offered also to Gaudentius of Brescia and prob-
ably to Paulinus of Nola as well.⁵³ It seems that blood relics were quite popular
in the West in these years. In Italian sources they appear for the first time in
Naples, just a few years before the discovery of Gervasius and Protasius.⁵⁴ We
know from the account of Ambrose that when he opened the grave of the
saints, everybody saw a large amount of blood. It is impossible to say what, if
anything, was behind this literary image. But in this image the blood is
described as being separate from the bodies.⁵⁵
In the case of the relics of St Stephen, the author of the story of their
discovery, Lucian of Caphargamala, claims that:
Then, with psalms and hymns, they brought the body of the most blessed Stephen
to the holy church of Zion, where he had been ordained archdeacon. Out of his
limbs they left us small particles, but great relics: soil with dust, where his entire
body had been decomposed; the rest they took away.⁵⁶
As in Milan, all the bones are deposited in one place, but some tiny objects,
which the author wanted to believe were (almost) corporeal, became inde-
pendent relics. In both situations, the physical remains of the saints, or what
⁵¹ The same could be seen in Liber de miraculis s. Stephani 1.7.

⁵² Ambrose, Epistula 77 and Hymnus 11. See also Augustine, Confessiones 9.7; Paulinus of
Milan, Vita Ambrosii 13–16. The latter also describes the discoveries of the relics of Vitalis and
Agricola in Bologna (29.1) and that of Nazarius in Milan (32–3); Revelatio s. Stephani B 48.
⁵³ Victricius, De laude sanctorum 10 (minutiae), 9–10 (sanguis), 10 (cruor); Gaudentius,
Tractatus 17.12 (sanguinem tenemus gypso collectum); Paulinus of Nola, Epistula 32.17 (Hic . . .
inlustris sanguine Nazarius).
⁵⁴ Libellus precum 26, written in 383/4, mentions the blood of St Rufininus, which performed
miracles in Naples; for the epigraphical evidence, see Y. Duval 1982, vol. 2, 549. Forearlier traces
of a special attitude toward the blood of martyrs, see Passio Perpetuae 21.5; Pontius, Vita
Cypriani 16.6; see also Prudentius, Peristephanon 5.341–4. The East seems to have been less
concerned about collecting martyrs’ blood in this period, but see Gregory of Nazianzus, Contra
Iulianum I 69; Hilary of Poitiers, Contra Constantium 8. For a later period, see n. 41.
⁵⁵ Gervasius and Protasius: Ambrose, Epistula 77.2 (sanguinis plurimum) and 12 (sanguine
tumulus madet); similarly Nazarius: Paulinus, Vita Ambrosii 32.3.
⁵⁶ Et tunc cum psalmis et hymnis portaverunt reliquias beatissimi Stephani in sanctam
ecclesiam Sion, ubi et archidiaconus fuerat ordinatus: derelinquentes nobis de membris Sancti
parvos articulos, imo maximas reliquias, terram cum pulvere, ubi omnis eius caro absumpta est,
caetera asportaverunt (Revelatio s. Stephani B 48).
Dividing Relics 171

was considered to be their physical remains, were indeed distributed, but these
were only small particles already separated from the body.
Apart from this, we can observe two other ways of ‘dividing’ relics, which
consisted in distributing body parts which in fact had never belonged to the
same corpse. First, it did happen that an alleged grave of the same saint was
found independently in two different places. The best example is the two
heads of John the Baptist, the first one probably discovered in Jerusalem before
the 370s, and the second in 453 in Emesa.⁵⁷ It is not certain whether either of
them had ever belonged to the body deposited in Sebaste. Also, a few biblical
saints had more than one grave.⁵⁸ This is hardly surprising: as we have seen in
Chapter 6, the resting places of most biblical saints had to be discovered in the
fourth and fifth centuries and an old grave of any John could easily have been
identified as the tomb of one of his great New Testament namesakes. Some-
times such identification posed a problem, as we can see in an episode in the
Religious History of Theodoret. When relics of St John arrived in Cyrrhus,
a monk Jacob prayed to God to reveal to him which John exactly it was.⁵⁹
Many a time, relics taken from their original resting place multiplied in the
successive stages of their journey. Let us return to John the Baptist. As has
been said, according to Rufinus, his bones, burnt in 362 in Sebaste, were
collected by monks and brought to Jerusalem and from there to Alexandria.
However, at the end of the fourth century, each of these three cities boasted
having the saint’s body. Jerome, who mentions the tomb of John in Sebaste
several times in his writings, never suggested that it was empty or that it
contained only a part of the remains of the saint: ‘There lie the prophets Elisha
and Obadiah and John the Baptist,’ Jerome says in one of his letters.⁶⁰ This
example shows that relics which spent some time in one place and then were
taken away tended to reappear in the same location.⁶¹
Another example of this phenomenon is provided by the dossier of the
relics of St Stephen. It contains several texts written in the space of about ten
years after the discovery of the tomb of the Protomartyr. The first of these is
the Revelatio sancti Stephani composed by Lucian shortly after the event,
⁵⁷ See n. 16.
⁵⁸ Peter and Paul (pp. 14–17), Habakkuk (p. 113), Job (p. 103), James (p. 106).
⁵⁹ Theodoret, Historia religiosa 21.20. According to Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 7.10.4,
when the body of Paul the bishop of Constantinople was brought back to the city, many people
thought that it was the corpse of Paul the Apostle.
⁶⁰ Jerome, Epistula 108.13; see also Epistula 46.13; Commentarii in prophetas minores: In Osee
1.1; In Abdiam 1; In Micheam 1.1.
⁶¹ A good analogy is provided by the pillar of salt identified with the wife of Lot, which was
not strictly a relic, but one of the wonders of the Holy Land. In 384 Egeria did not see it, because
of recent flooding by the sea (Itinerarium 12.6–7), but about 570 an anonymous pilgrim of
Piacenza saw the pillar intact again and wondered why some people talked about its disappear-
ance (Pilgrim of Piacenza, Itinerarium 15). See also the story of the transfer of St Hilarion’s body
described by Jerome, Vita Hilarionis 32–3.

immediately translated into Latin by Avitus of Braga, and sent, together with
some of Stephen’s relics, to Spain, via Orosius, who was just coming back
home from the Holy Land. Orosius also took a letter from Avitus to Bishop
Palchonius of Braga, but he did not reach Spain, which was being ravaged by
the Visigoths. He stopped at Minorca,⁶² whence the relics arrived in Africa.⁶³
Shortly after, Augustine mentions their presence in Hippo and other African
cities (and Ancona), as does Quodvultdeus in relation to Carthage.⁶⁴ In the
East, according to the lives of Melania the Younger and Peter the Iberian,
some relics of Stephen were deposited on the Mount of Olives, and Marcelli-
nus Comes mentions their transfer to Constantinople.⁶⁵ The Greek sources
speak vaguely of leipsana, without defining their character with any preci-
sion.⁶⁶ The Latin texts, however, are more specific. Lucian, in the passage
already quoted, claims that he was left only with small particles of the body:
‘little body parts . . . earth and dust’ (parvos articulos . . . terram cum pulvere),⁶⁷
but Avitus, the translator of the Revelatio, writes in his letter to the bishop of
Braga that he is sending him something more:
Wherefore I have sent to you, by my saintly son and co-presbyter Orosius, relics
from the body of the blessed Stephen the first martyr, that is some dust of the
flesh and sinews (pulverem carnis atque nervorum), and—in order to make it even
more trustworthy—some solid bones (ossa solida) which, by their manifest
sanctity, are more precious than a new pigment or perfume.⁶⁸
One has the impression that the earth and dust mentioned by Lucian began to
solidify. We do not know anything about the kinds of relics brought to
Minorca (Severus of Minorca, who tells the story of the relics’ arrival on the
island, just mentions reliquiae),⁶⁹ but we do know that in Uzalis there arrived
an ampoule the inside of which looked as if it was ‘sprinkled with blood and
had something like traces of tiny straws which seemed to be particles of
bones’⁷⁰ Finally, Augustine talks about ashes which arrived in Hippo.⁷¹ Even
more interestingly, he also knows a story about the arm of St Stephen
deposited in Ancona, which, however, he considers to be untrue, claiming
⁶² Severus, Epistula 4. ⁶³ See Gauge 1998.

⁶⁴ Augustine, De civitate Dei 22.8 (several places in Africa); Sermones 317.1 (several places);
318.1 (Hippo) and 323.2 (Ancona); Quodvultdeus, Liber promissionum et praedictorum Dei.
Dimidium temporis 9 (Carthage).
⁶⁵ Vita Melaniae 48 (Mount of Olives); John Rufus, Vita Petri Iberi 49; Marcellinus Comes,
Chronica s.a. 439 (transferred to Constantinople); Cyril of Scythopolis, Vita s. Euthymii 35 (54.1)
(dedication of the basilica in Jerusalem in 460).
⁶⁶ The only exception is the untrustworthy testimony of Theophanes: see n. 29.
⁶⁷ Revelatio s. Stephani B 48. ⁶⁸ Avitus, Epistola ad Palchonium 8.
⁶⁹ Severus of Minorca, Epistula 4.
⁷⁰ Liber de miraculis s. Stephani 1.1: see pp. 155–6. In the following century ampoules of
St Stephen’s blood were to be found in several other places, like Naples, Tours, and Biturges; see
Bovon 2003, 304–5.
⁷¹ Augustine, Sermo 317.1 and 318.1.
Dividing Relics 173

that the relic of Ancona is actually a stone used at the stoning of St Stephen.
As we can see, the dust which had been left to Lucian changed into bones,
blood, and, eventually, an arm. Certainly, Augustine knew that the latter was
actually simply a stone, which only after the discovery in 415 had started to be
venerated as a corporeal relic, but we may doubt whether the inhabitants of
Ancona shared this opinion.⁷² Thus, our sources demonstrate that relics do
multiply and change their form when travelling. Even if a part of them is left at
every stage of the journey, the rest does not seem diminished, quite the
contrary. This could have occurred through three different means. Sometimes
it was an entirely literary phenomenon, just an author’s amplification—it
seems, for example, that Avitus’ ‘solid bones’ were the ‘very little body parts’
that had been left to Lucian. Sometimes people reinterpreted the nature of the
relics they possessed—that is what probably happened in Ancona. Finally, the
multiplication could have resulted from a forgery, pious or not. The news
about the discovery of an illustrious saint both created demand for his relics
and helped to convince potential ‘customers’ about the authenticity of offered
objects—because people knew that the grave of the saint in question really had
been opened. Incidentally, Augustine knew of monks who sold suspect mar-
tyrs’ relics at the very beginning of the fifth century.⁷³
The evidence presented above does not prove beyond all doubt that in the
fourth and fifth centuries the actual practice of dismembering bodies did not
exist at all. It does, however, permit an explanation of the well-documented
dispersion of relics without appeal to the practice of dismembering bodies,
a practice which, we have to remember, has left no direct traces in the sources.
The lack of evidence does not necessarily exclude the very existence of the
practice, and acts of division may have happened. But if it was the case, in Late
Antiquity it was at most a marginal phenomenon, as it has left no record of
praise, criticism, or commentary on the part of either group, the advocates and
the adversaries of the cult of relics alike. Thus the Greeks are not to blame, not
because the Romans are guilty, but because the offence was not committed.
F U R T H E R D E VE LOP M EN T
What changed this attitude? What made Gregory the Great defend, without
much success, the remains of the saints against the new practice?⁷⁴ An
essential role was probably played by the growing demand for relics. Certainly,
the fundamental reason for this craving appeared already in the second half of
the fourth century, when the belief in their power emerged. The demand,
⁷² Augustine, Sermo 323.2. ⁷³ Augustine, De opere monachorum 28.36.

⁷⁴ McCulloh 1980.

however, grew stronger in the centuries that followed. Suffice it to mention the
practice of depositing relics under altars, which appeared already in the fourth
century, became common in the sixth century, and was decreed obligatory at
the second Council of Nicaea (787).⁷⁵ Moreover, the number of communities
which needed relics steadily increased. Even if the frontiers of the Christian
world did not shift dramatically between the fourth and sixth centuries, the
degree of Christianization of several regions, especially in the West, consider-
ably changed, and new churches were built almost everywhere, and especially
in rural areas. This process would gain even greater momentum in the
Carolingian and Ottonian periods, with the Christianization of the countries
west of the Rhine and north of the Danube, which imported relics on
a large scale.⁷⁶
In most cases, this growing need could have been satisfied either by relics of
new saints or in the ways discussed above: by contact relics which were often
recognized to be corporeal, by the miraculously found bodies of saints known
or unknown before, by dust collected inside or outside renowned graves. It
seems, however, that these very methods played a role in the development of
the practice of dividing bodies. There are two reasons behind this develop-
ment. First, these methods promoted a view that corporeal relics were better
than others, which is clearly visible in the case of the stone from Ancona which
at some point came to be recognized as a bone of St Stephen. Secondly, they
made people think that the partition of saints’ corpses was a norm, as
Theodoret already wrote in the second quarter of the fifth century.
It seems that this conviction did not meet with any theological opposition,
although it could have had at least some potentially difficult doctrinal impli-
cations. In the first place, there was the question of what would happen to
divided bodies at the resurrection of the dead. This problem was already
discussed in the treatise On the Resurrection of the Dead, traditionally attrib-
uted to the second-century apologist Athenagoras. Even if this attribution is
inaccurate and the text was actually written later, its conclusions do not differ
from those of such second-century authors as Justin the Martyr and Theo-
philus of Antioch.⁷⁷ And the answer which the text gives is clear enough: all
bodies, even those eaten by cannibals, will easily be resurrected, for God is able
to recognize and reunite all the particles belonging to every single body.⁷⁸
Certainly, in spite of this answer common people could have been anxious
about the fate of disintegrated corpses. At the beginning of the fifth century,
Augustine still felt obliged to emphasize in his sermons that the martyrs do not
⁷⁵ For the early evidence, see Ambrose, Epistula 77.13; Victricius, De laude sanctorum 6;
Sulpicius Severus, Vita Martini 11; Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 5.9.9; and Ephrem, Testament
117–24 (see S. Minov, CSLA E03510), who condemns this custom. For the eighth century, see
Council of Nicaea II (787), can. 7; see also Jensen 2014.
⁷⁶ Röckelein 2002. ⁷⁷ See Barnard 1984 and Bynum 1995, 28–34.
⁷⁸ Athenagoras, De resurrectione 8; for the authorship of this text, see Barnard 1984.
Dividing Relics 175

care about any misfortunes that may befall their bodies. For him, however, it
was merely an issue that he had to explain to his congregation, not a real
theological conundrum.⁷⁹
The second theological problem lay in the belief in the power which
lingered in relics. People often doubted whether a saint could have many
abodes on earth and be active in all of them simultaneously. For the healing
sanctuaries it was not a purely academic problem. Those which possessed the
entire bodies of saints tended to emphasize that their power was concentrated
at their graves, but minor shrines claimed that a saint could be permanently
present also in other places or at least visit them occasionally.⁸⁰ The multi-
location of saints was not taken for granted. The author of the Miracles of
St Thecla, written c.480, mentions a garden which the saint used to visit more
often than other places and says that every year she would leave her sanctuary
in Seleucia to participate in her feast in Dalisandos.⁸¹ It seems that even if
Thecla was able to move without her relics, she was supposed to be only in one
place at any one time. Later on, Gregory of Tours tells a story about a meeting
of saints convened in a church for which St Stephen arrived late because he
was busy saving a ship in a storm.⁸² And we can also detect some traces of
anxiety concerning the possibility that the distribution of a saint’s remains
might diminish their power. This could happen even when a given church
did not possess the entire body. When the rumour spread in Uzalis that the
local bishop was going to take a part of St Stephen’s relics enshrined in
the local church and deposit it elsewhere, a crowd of inhabitants assembled
to prevent the division.⁸³ Such sentiments were probably not uncommon.
But they were not founded on theological considerations. Actually, from the
doctrinal point of view, the question did not raise serious doubts. On the one
hand, already Gregory of Nazianzus emphasized that the tiniest particle of a
saint’s remains had power equal to that of the entire body; this particular view
was developed shortly after by Victricius of Rouen in his treatise De laude
sanctorum.⁸⁴ On the other hand, several writers emphasized that if the saints
wanted to heal, expel demons, or protect towns, they could do so without their
relics.⁸⁵ In either case, division did not change anything.
Thus, it does not seem that any of these issues got in the way of translating
and dividing relics. We will see in Chapter 10 that the arguments put forward
⁷⁹ Augustine, Sermo 335F; Sermo 334.1; De civitate Dei 22.19; De cura pro mortuis 4–5.
⁸⁰ e.g. Passio Sergii et Bacchi Graeca 30 (see E. Rizos, CSLA E02791); see Ward-Perkins 2018.
⁸¹ Miracula Theclae 23 (garden) and 26 (Dalisandos).
⁸² Gregory of Tours, Liber in gloria martyrum 33. ⁸³ Liber de miraculis s. Stephani 1.7.
⁸⁴ Gregory of Nazianzus, Contra Iulianum I 69; for Victricius, see pp. 191–3.
⁸⁵ This was expressed in the strongest way by Gregory the Great, Dialogi 2.38, who claimed
that actually the saints performed more miracles in places which did not have their bodies. Even
if this remark did not necessarily express a commonly shared opinion, it was perfectly acceptable
from the theological point of view.

against these practices were rather of a biblical and historical character. Such
things had not happened in ancient times; the saints of the Old and New
Testaments were not taken out of their graves, claims Athanasius.⁸⁶
The growing need for relics, the growing and widely shared conviction that
saints’ bodies could (and almost ought to) be divided, and the at least silent
theological consent to this fact finally led to the practice of dividing bodies. Its
start, however, was by no means sudden; all the more so as there were factors
which retarded this process. One of them was certainly the fact that the division
of bodies, including those of the saints, was prohibited by law.⁸⁷ There was
moral or aesthetic resistance as well. At the end of the fourth century and the
beginning of the fifth, touching and even seeing a decomposed body aroused
horror, among Christians and pagans alike.⁸⁸ It seems that this aesthetic
sensibility changed very slowly. It is true that the newly discovered saints’
bodies happened to be displayed uncovered in public already at the end of the
fourth century. It was almost certainly the case in Milan in 386, when people
were allowed to admire the bodies of Gervasius and Protasius for two days.⁸⁹
We have seen, however, in Chapter 8 that such moments were exceptional.
Once deposited under altars, relics were rarely shown again, and if so, they were
closed in reliquaries which did not permit their contents to be seen. Reliquaries
with a peephole appeared on a large scale only in the thirteenth century, when
the practice of dividing bodies was already a well-established custom.⁹⁰
The mental shift which slowly led to the acceptance of the new custom was
not a dramatic change, but a long and gradual process of getting used to the
practice, probably stimulated by a few events and factors which gave it
momentum. The first step was taken by those who organized the fourth-
century translations, which—and here Delehaye is surely right—were essen-
tially an Eastern phenomenon. The key role might have been played by the
first initiatives of the emperors and by the translocations of relics during the
reign of Julian which resulted from the attacks on Christian martyria (the case
of John the Baptist in Sebaste was not isolated). The next step was distributing
already disintegrated bodily or quasi-bodily remains, such as ashes, dust, and
‘blood’ which were found in the graves. An important factor was that non-
corporeal relics had been divided since the fourth century without any
restraint, as was the wood of the Cross.⁹¹ All these practices can be observed
in both parts of the empire. If they are actually more noticeable in the East, this
results not necessarily from the hypothetical otherness of the Greeks, but from
⁸⁶ Athanasius, Epistula festalis 41. ⁸⁷ See Herrmann-Mascard 1979, 26–41.

⁸⁸ Gregory of Nyssa, Vita Macrinae 35; Eunapius, Vitae philosophorum 472.
⁸⁹ Ambrose, Epistula 77.4 and 11.
⁹⁰ A useful catalogue of late antique reliquaries (with photos) can be found in Buschhausen
1971. For reliquaries with a peephole, see Diedrichs 2001, 59–140.
⁹¹ It began already in the middle of the fourth century, as is attested by both literary and
epigraphical evidence: Frolow 1961, 158–9.
Dividing Relics 177

historical conditions: the main category of graves miraculously found in the
fourth and fifth centuries was the tombs of great biblical figures and it was self-
explanatory that in order to find them one should look in the East. After all,
who would expect to find graves of Samuel, Abdias, or Andrew in Gaul, Spain,
or Italy?
The earliest testimonies of specific separate body parts, apart from the heads
of decapitated martyrs, appeared, slowly, only in the sixth century. There is a
very fine line between taking out of the tomb some particles which are already
detached from the corpse and those which are barely attached to it. The
transition from plucking a dead monk’s hair to snapping off his arm was
gradual. It is symptomatic that in both the East and the West the earliest
body parts detached from corpses seem to have been fingers. According to
Theodore Lector, Emperor Anastasius received a finger of St Sergius of
Resapha, and Gregory of Tours mentions another finger of the same saint
kept hidden in the house of a Syrian merchant in Bordeaux. He claims that a
Merovingian aristocrat cut this relic into pieces with his knife, but the saint
disapproved of this act and punished the perpetrator.⁹² An instructive de-
scription of how a relic could be detached in an acceptable way can be found in
the almost contemporary Life of St Radegond by Baudonivia.⁹³ The episode
tells of a finger of St Mammas: Queen Radegond requested a relic of this saint
from the patriarch of Jerusalem. The patriarch, with his clergy, prayed to the
saint and only then did he open the tomb and proceed to examine the saint’s
body parts. He touched them one by one, and finally one of the fingers came
off and stayed in his hand. It is difficult to say if the description is truthful, but
it certainly showed readers how the act of division, an exceptional thing,
should look. Gregory of Tours is even more cautious in this respect. The
only act of dividing a body that he finds acceptable is the case of a finger of St
John the Baptist which miraculously appeared on the altar in order to comply
with the request of a woman who had spent two years at the saint’s tomb
praying for this favour.
Probably this sixth-century change really was slightly faster in the East, as
the letters of Hormisdas’ legates and Constantina quoted at the beginning of
this chapter seem to suggest. The East, however, should not be considered
uniform in respect of customs relating to the cult of relics. Attitudes towards
the dead body and burial practices differed among the peoples of this vast and
diverse region. It seems, for instance, that in Egypt the opening of saints’
graves was favoured by the old indigenous practice of keeping the sarcophagi
of the ‘important dead’ in a special room at home. As already noted, as early as
369 Athanasius condemned those who laid the corpses of martyrs on wooden
tables instead of burying them. He also said that Antony had instructed his
⁹² Theodore Lector, Historia ecclesiastica, epitome 554; Gregory of Tours, Historiarum libri 7.31.
⁹³ Baudonivia, Vita Radegundis 2.14.

disciples to hide his body lest it be taken ‘to Egypt’. A century later the practice
of transferring bodies was vigorously disapproved of by Shenoute.⁹⁴ John
Wortley sees in this local custom one of the factors which gave rise to the
practice of dividing bodies. This could have been the case, but its influence was
quite indirect and delayed, for, as far as we can see, the earliest officially
approved translations of relics, as well as the instances of dividing the saints’
bodies, had nothing to do with Egypt. I wonder whether it could have been
northern Mesopotamia and the neighbouring parts of Syria and Armenia that
played a major role in the development of both practices. I have already
discussed the Edessene tradition of transferring the body of St Thomas the
Apostle from India to that city. Even if the story is almost certainly untrue, it
shows that in the Syrian milieu already in the fourth century the act of
removing a body from the grave and taking it to another place did not raise
anxiety. At the beginning of the fifth century, bones of a number of Persian
martyrs were brought by Bishop Marutha to Maipherqat, later known as
Martyropolis (modern Silvan), in the region of Sophene situated between
Armenia and Osrhoene.⁹⁵ About the same time in the northern Syrian town
of Resapha the body of St Sergius was stolen from his original tomb, and then
transferred three times to different churches inside the walls, while some relics
of this martyr found their way to other places.⁹⁶ It is worth remembering that
it was in the Syriac context as well that Theodoret wrote about saints’ remains
laid in diverse churches. Certainly, all this does not diverge much from the
fifth-century testimonies which can be found in other parts of the Christian
world. But Syrian testimonies are quite numerous. More importantly, the
sixth-century evidence points to this region as being deeply involved in the
very start of the actual practice of dividing of body parts. The fingers of
St Sergius attested in Constantinople and Bordeaux came from Resapha, the
latter finger being brought to Gaul by a Syrian merchant. The strongest
witness to the new customs comes from two late sixth-century church histor-
ians. In his Lives of the Eastern Saints, John of Ephesus, another contemporary
of Gregory of Tours, born in Amida in Sophene, says, without any embar-
rassment or a justificatory tone, that in his days the holy bones of St Paul the
Anchorite were taken round the region and wherever his skull or right hand
appeared, it saved the surrounding territory from hail, storm, and plague.⁹⁷
In the same period Evagrius claims that in the skull of Simeon Stylites the
⁹⁴ Athanasius, Epistula festalis 41; Vita Antonii 92.2; Shenoute, Those Who Work Evil,
pp. 212–20; see also Lefort 1954.
⁹⁵ See the Greek Vita Maruthae 8 and its Armenian version (30).
⁹⁶ See Passio S. Sergii et Bacchi Syriaca, p. 320 and Passio S. Sergii et Bacchi Graeca 30. Some
relics of St Sergius were probably deposited in his martyrium in Yukarı Söğütlü, c.50 km east of
Theodosiopolis in Armenia (modern Erzurum), dedicated in 431. A dedicatory inscription was
published in Candemir & Wagner 1978, 231.
⁹⁷ John of Ephesus, Vitae sanctorum orientalium 6.
Dividing Relics 179

Elder, which was kept in Antioch, only some of the teeth were still in place,
because others were brutally pulled out by the faithful.⁹⁸
But let us repeat once again—the West was not that slow to follow. In the
mid-seventh century, Clovis II opened the tomb of St Denis and tore off the
saint’s arm.⁹⁹ Admittedly, this act was considered outrageous, but not neces-
sarily because of its violent character, but because snatching off the arm of a
saint worshipped in a famous abbey without the consent of the monks was still
a step too far.
⁹⁸ Evagrius, Historia ecclesiastica 1.13.

⁹⁹ Gesta Dagoberti 52; Fredegar, Liber historiae Francorum 44.
10
Discussions and Theology
It has been emphasized several times in this book that the cult of relics was
developing at an astonishing speed. Before the mid-fourth century we cannot
see it anywhere, and at the beginning of the fifth century it is documented in
almost all parts of Christendom. The pace of this development seems even
faster if we abandon the Mediterranean-wide perspective and focus on a
specific region like Latin Africa, where the new cultic practices appeared and
developed within a single generation. If we zoom in even further and focus
upon a specific town where the bones of a saint were brought one day, the
change will appear even swifter.
There is no doubt that this novelty produced not only enthusiastic, but also
hostile attitudes, not only among non-Christians, who still constituted an
important part, and in some regions a majority, of the population, but also
among Christians. Sometimes the reluctance or outright hostility toward the
new phenomenon forced adherents of the cult of relics to justify and defend it,
thus partly giving rise to a theology of relics. This theology was then evidently
secondary to the phenomenon itself. This chapter will deal with intellectual
reflection on relics and their veneration, with the ways in which this reflection
developed, and with the ensuing controversies it had to face.
THE JEWISH ATTITUDE TOWARD

THE CULT OF RELICS
Let us start with non-Christian attitudes. We may suspect that they were
considerably different, depending especially on local funerary traditions and
beliefs concerning the afterlife. Yet since the voices of those who expressed
their aversion to the cult of relics had little chance to survive, our knowledge of
this issue is limited. In the first place, we know very little about Jewish
reactions to the veneration of human bones. The cult of relics, like most
Christian pious practices, is not referred to directly in the Talmud. Also,
Discussions and Theology 181

Christian evidence very rarely makes it possible to learn about Jewish views on
this phenomenon. The late antique Christian stories relating the discoveries of
relics in several places in Palestine, which still had a substantial Jewish
population at that time, usually do not say anything about the attitude of
Jews to the opening of the graves and transfer of the bodies. There is of course
an early Western account in which both Jews and relics play an essential role,
namely the long encyclical letter of Severus, bishop of Minorca, written in or
shortly after the year 416. It tells the story of the relations between the Jewish
and Christian communities on the island, and especially of the forced conver-
sion of the former. The story begins with the arrival of the relics of St Stephen,
brought by a priest returning from the East, whom we can identify as Orosius.¹
However, in Severus’ account the relics and the Jews never appear in the same
episode, and so we cannot see the Jewish reaction to the arrival of the relics
even through the eyes of a Christian bishop. We may only suppose that the
author did not find it important enough to be included in the letter. The
Jewish attitude toward this form of piety is discussed only in some polemical
writings in the seventh and eighth centuries, such as Leontius of Neapolis’
Apology against the Jews and the anonymous Disputation of Sergios the Stylite
against a Jew. These texts defend the cult of relics against the charges of
idolatry and impurity and they show at least how Christians thought the
Jews perceived this phenomenon.²
Interestingly, we know more about general Jewish attitudes toward human
bones. They certainly should not be viewed merely as subject to a set of strict
rules which debarred Jews from any form of contact with dead bodies and
evoked a horror of the ritual impurity associated with it. I have already
mentioned the strange deposit of bones in the synagogue in Dura Europos
which suggests that the proximity of bones could have had a ritual function.³
In Palestine we can see the well-evidenced Jewish custom of burying the dead,
often transferred from very distant places, close to the tomb of Rabbi Judah ha
Nasi in Beth She’arim. It is not evident what the function of these burials was,
but they were evidently considered to be in some way beneficial for the dead.⁴
It is also possible that in rabbinic Judaism the tombs of biblical prophets were
seen as important and powerful places, although, unfortunately, our evidence is
not conclusive as to when this belief developed. Pieter Van der Horst suggests
that the phenomenon can be traced to the beginning of the post-biblical period,
but admits that the evidence comes only from the Byzantine era.⁵ Ra’anan
Boustan argues that a truly new attitude toward ‘special dead’ developed in
Judaism only in the sixth and seventh centuries, when their bodies were
considered powerful objects and contact with them did not inflict impurity.⁶
¹ Severus of Minorca, Epistula 4. ² Déroche 1991, 291–2, and Déroche 1993.

³ See p. 126. More generally: Hachlili 2005, 22–3. ⁴ See Rajak 2001.
⁵ See Van der Horst 2002, 119–37. ⁶ Boustan 2015.

This new attitude clearly resembled the Christian cult of relics, but almost
certainly developed under its influence. Christian sources do not allow us to
determine when this change took place. In some narratives we do find stories
which talk not simply about tombs, but also relics which were kept by Jews at
home for generations, but they are utterly unreliable. For instance, such is the
case of the relics of the biblical Three Young Men, whose bones were allegedly
kept in a Jewish house in Mesopotamia still in the 420s. In this story, extant in
Georgian and Armenian versions, the ‘Jewish house’ was simply a literary
device which served to authenticate the newly found bones.⁷ In all, in the
Jewish milieu we can see some practices and beliefs which are fairly similar to
those which developed in Christianity. We cannot say, however, whether these
parallels, most of which are attested only in a later period, had any impact on
the way in which Jews perceived the Christian cult of relics.
PAGAN I NTELLECTUALS
We know much more about what ‘pagans’ thought about the cult of relics. Of
course, it cannot be emphasized enough that the notion of ‘pagans’ is an
artificial construct. Owing to differences with regard to funeral customs and
attitudes toward dead bodies in the various regions of the late antique world
(for instance between Italy, Egypt, and Persia), reactions to the new Christian
practice could, and most probably did, vary. However, we know very little
about most of these regional attitudes, if anything at all. What our evidence
shows best is the opinions of a few Greek intellectuals, of which the most
virulent was expressed at the very end of the fourth century by Eunapius of
Sardis in his life of the Neoplatonic philosopher Antoninus:
Next, into the sacred places, they [Christians] imported monks, as they called
them, who were men in appearance but led the lives of swine, and openly did and
allowed countless unspeakable crimes . . . They settled these monks at Canopus
also, and thus they fettered the human race to the worship of slaves, and those not
even honest slaves, instead of true gods. For they collected the bones and skulls of
criminals who had been put to death for numerous crimes, men whom the law
courts of the city had condemned to punishment, made them out to be gods,
haunted their sepulchres, and thought that they became better by defiling them-
selves at their graves. ‘Martyrs’ the dead men were called and ‘ministers’ of a sort,
and ‘ambassadors’ from the gods to carry men’s prayers; these slaves in vilest
servitude, who had been consumed by stripes and carried on their phantom
forms the scars of their villainy. However these are the gods that earth produces!
⁷ Cronnier 2016, 47–52; for the text of the Invention of the The Three Young Men, see Garitte
1959 and Garitte 1961.

This, then, greatly increased the reputation of Antoninus also for foresight, in that
he had foretold to all that the temples would become tombs.⁸
These words were written in the late 390s, shortly after the destruction of the
Serapeum in Alexandria, one of the best-known and most admired temples of
the empire which came to be replaced by a church dedicated to John the
Baptist built on its site by Bishop Theophilus, a church containing some relics
of the saint. This partly explains Eunapius’ vehement reaction. But his disgust
at the transferring and venerating of the bones of ‘criminals’ was actually very
close to that of the Emperor Julian, whose reign pre-dated the work of
Eunapius by over a generation. Julian knew Christianity very well, having
been brought up as a Christian. Importantly, we know his views on Christian
customs better than those of any other of his contemporaries, since he wrote a
lengthy treatise entitled Against the Galileans dealing with many aspects of
Christian theology and practice. This treatise survives in large part thanks to a
detailed refutation written by Cyril, bishop of Alexandria, who quoted exten-
sive passages from Julian’s work. Here is the passage devoted to the cult of
relics:
However this evil doctrine [of the divinity of Christ] did originate with John; but
who could detest as they deserve all those doctrines that you have invented as a
sequel, while you keep adding many corpses newly dead to the corpse of long ago?
You have filled the whole world with tombs and sepulchres, and yet nowhere in
your scriptures is it said that you must grovel among tombs and pay them
honour. But you have gone so far in iniquity that you think you need not listen
even to the words of Jesus of Nazareth on this matter. Listen then to what he says
about sepulchres: ‘Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For ye are
like unto whited sepulchres; outward the tomb appears beautiful, but within it is
full of dead men’s bones, and of all uncleanness.’ If, then, Jesus said that
sepulchres are full of uncleanness, how can you invoke God at them? . . . There-
fore, since this is so, why do you grovel among tombs? Do you wish to hear the
reason? It is not I who will tell you, but the prophet Isaiah: ‘They lodge among
tombs and in caves for the sake of dream visions.’ You observe, then, how ancient
among the Jews was this work of witchcraft, namely, sleeping among tombs for
the sake of dream visions. And indeed it is likely that your Apostles, after their
teacher’s death, practised this and handed it down to you from the beginning,
I mean to those who first adopted your faith, and that they themselves performed
their spells more skilfully than you do, and displayed openly to those who came
after them the places in which they performed this witchcraft and abomination.⁹
To these two tirades one can add a remark of Ammianus Marcellinus, who,
writing at the end of the fourth century, derided the count Sabinianus,
loitering among the tombs at Edessa in 359 instead of preparing for the war
⁸ Eunapius, Vitae philosophorum 472 (trans. W. C. Wright).

⁹ Julian, Contra Galileos 335B–C (trans. W. C. Wright).

against Persia, and Claudian’s sarcastic remarks about dux Jacobus, addicted
to the cult of relics.¹⁰
How strong and widespread was that sentiment of repulsion, apparent in
the writings of Julian and Eunapius, toward this new phenomenon? Both
authors certainly found this aspect of Christianity particularly disgusting
and, perhaps more importantly, easy to attack, but they did not necessarily
consider it equally important. In Julian’s lengthy treatise, devoted entirely to
polemic against Christianity, the cult of relics is ridiculed in just one passage.
In Eunapius’ Lives of the Sophists, the diatribe quoted above is the longest
passage concerning Christianity, and so for this author the cult of relics, along
with monasticism, seems to be the most hideous feature of this religion. The
stronger feelings of Eunapius can certainly be explained by the lapse of time
and the growing prominence of the phenomenon which both authors disliked,
but Julian saw only the early phase of its development. Still, already in Julian’s
day hostility to the new phenomenon gave rise to attacks on several places of
the cult of saints in Syria, attacks which were only partly inspired by the
emperor.¹¹ Of course, we have to remember that it was not the relics kept in
churches which fell victim to anti-Christian reaction in the early 360s, but
rather the entire bodies of martyrs which lay buried in tombs. It is not
impossible that pagan zealots were ready to attack Christian churches as
well; they chose tombs simply because they were unprotected and so easier
to destroy. But the fact that all these attacks occurred at the same time, when
Julian not only ridiculed the Christians who venerated the dead, but also
ordered the exhumation of some bodies that they venerated, suggests that
the tombs of saints were particularly irritating for many people. And this leads
us to the question of why this was the case.
R E A S O N S : VI O LATI ON OF TOM B S
That irritation was probably for several reasons. First of all, the Christian
practice could be qualified as the violation of tombs, which was severely
punished by law and condemned by custom. Serious offence as it was, the
prospect of punishment was no obstacle, and crimes of this sort were fairly
often perpetrated. Graves were opened not only by tomb raiders, but also by
people seeking a place to bury their dead free of charge. All this is well attested
by literary evidence and especially by the formulae of malediction found on a
number of graves in several regions of the Mediterranean.¹² The issue was
taken seriously by law, which forbade opening tombs for any reason, even if
¹⁰ Ammianus, Res gestae 18.7.7; Claudian, Carmina Minora 50 (see Chapter 3 n. 16).
¹¹ See p. 25. ¹² Strubbe 1991.

the intentions of those who did it were benign. In Rome, the body, once
deposited in the grave, was supposed to remain in it for ever.¹³ Certainly, this
rule was not without exceptions. In some circumstances, such as the poor
condition of the tomb, transfer was considered necessary. But in Italy permis-
sion to move the bones from one place to another had to be given by the
college of the pontiffs, and in the provinces by the governor, who might feel
obliged to consult the emperor.¹⁴ Under the Christian emperors, the legal
situation did not change. In a constitution of Constantine, the crime of
violation of tombs, along with murder and sorcery, was one of only three
reasons which permitted a wife to divorce her husband.¹⁵ The law issued by
Theodosius I, already quoted in this book,¹⁶ forbade any transfer of the buried,
including martyrs. But the fact that the bodies of martyrs were explicitly
mentioned suggests that the phenomenon of unearthing and transferring the
remains of these particular dead was already widespread enough to attract the
attention of the emperor; and if so it could have hardly escaped the notice of
non-Christians.
Admittedly, we should not think that in the time of Julian and Eunapius the
bodies of the saints travelled freely through the Mediterranean. It has to be
repeated that most of them remained in their tombs and, as I have shown
when discussing the issue of the touching of relics,¹⁷ the taboo of opening
graves did not disappear altogether. Still, the remarks of Athanasius of Alex-
andria about Melitians rummaging for the bodies of martyrs, written just a few
years after the reign of Julian,¹⁸ suggests that digging through cemeteries in the
search for relics and transferring them to other places was not that rare either.
Of course, Athanasius, and later Shenoute,¹⁹ did not try to offer a faithful
description of the practices of their contemporaries, but rather sought to
ridicule them. But Eunapius apparently knew about such transfers, which
made him cringe with disgust and horror. And certainly this sentiment was
shared by many.
REASONS: P OLLUTION
The aversion toward the cult of relics could have been reinforced by the fact
that this new phenomenon brought the dead to holy places, temples, and
cities, and, as a result, defiled them. The extant evidence suggests that the
¹³ Rebillard 2009, 58–68. ¹⁴ Pliny, Epistulae X 68 and 69; see Thomas 2004, 59–66.
¹⁵ Codex Theodosianus 3.16.1 (AD 331).
¹⁶ Codex Theodosianus 9.17.7 (AD 386); see p. 160. ¹⁷ See Chapter 7.
¹⁸ Athanasius, Epistula festalis 41.
¹⁹ Shenoute, Those Who Work Evil, pp. 212–21; on this sermon, see Lefort 1954.

sacredness of the city was still important in Late Antiquity. The Life of
Porphyrios of Gaza tells us about the indignation of pagans who thought
that Christians had brought the cadaver of a deacon named Barochas within
the walls, for ‘they [pagans] considered sacrilegious bringing the dead to the
city’.²⁰ A passage from the Historia Augusta, written at the very end of the
fourth century and so contemporary to Eunapius, firmly objects to the custom
of burying the dead in cities. In the Life of Marcus Aurelius, its anonymous
author says the following:
And there was a pestilence so grave that dead bodies were removed in carts and
waggons. About this time the two emperors [Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus]
ratified some very stringent laws on burial and tombs, in which they also forbade
people to build a tomb where they wanted, a law still in force.²¹
It already has been said that the Historia Augusta is a specific source. Its author
hides his identity behind the names of six fictitious writers and pretends to
write at the beginning of the fourth century, while actually is active almost a
century later. He also criticizes Christianity, but usually indirectly, through
allusions.²² Thus the above passage can probably be read as a memento: good
emperors, and Marcus Aurelius was a good emperor par excellence, forbade
intramural burials, and this ban is still valid! Incidentally, this was true, since
Theodosius repeated the same ban in 381,²³ but the author evidently felt it was
worth reminding his audience about it.
The fact that Theodosius’ law refers specifically to the graves of the Apostles
and martyrs may suggest that Christians introduced entirely new customs, but
in fact it was not that much of a novelty. On the one hand, the old ban on
burying the dead within the city was not unqualified. Even if we forget about
the archaic Greek city-founders, many of whom were buried in the agora, the
intramural burials of benefactors of Greek cities are attested in epigraphic
evidence from the imperial period.²⁴ In the very city of Rome at least one
imperial burial, that of Trajan, was designed as intramural, and in Late
Antiquity the mausoleum of Augustus was also included within the city
precincts. When Constantine decided to build a tomb for himself within the
boundaries of Constantinople, he followed imperial tradition, and not a
Christian custom of burial, for at that time Christians simply did not have
such a habit. Also, it is not evident if the relics deposited within the boundaries
of cities by the time of Eunapius were numerous enough to elicit strong
reactions. Most martyrial churches, usually referred to as basilicae, not eccle-
siae, were built outside the city. The earliest intraurban transfer was that of the
²⁰ Mark the Deacon, Vita Porphyrii 23. ²¹ Historia Augusta. Marcus Aurelius 13.3–4.
²² See Cracco Ruggini 2016 and Nardelli & Ratti 2014.
²³ Codex Theodosianus 9.17.6 (30 July 381).
²⁴ See e.g. Schwertheim 1978; Sève 1979; SEG 28.953.

relics of the Apostles, which probably arrived in Constantinople c.356/7; and
these were the only saints whose bodies crossed the walls of this city for a long
time.²⁵ In 394 the body of St Thomas the Apostle was transferred to a ‘great
church’ in Edessa.²⁶ Also, at the very end of the fourth century, the ashes of
John the Baptist were placed in the new church in Alexandria built in the
complex of the just-destroyed Serapeum.²⁷ Later on, in 415, the body of
St Stephen, discovered in Caphargamala, was brought to Jerusalem by Bishop
John and deposited in the intramural church of Zion, while some relics of the
same saint which travelled to the West were enshrined in memoriae within
Hippo and other cities in Africa.²⁸ All this certainly shows the changing
custom, but we should not forget that most relics, even if they were transferred
from one place to another, remained outside the city walls. The relics of
Gervasius, Protasius, and Nazarius brought by Ambrose to his basilica, the
remains of St Saturninus transferred to a new church at Toulouse by Bishop
Exuperius, the relics of martyrs deposited in Drypia, and the head of John the
Baptist in Hebdomon, both close to Constantinople, were deposited in sub-
urban shrines.²⁹ In the city of Rome, the process of transferring the martyrs
into the city began only in the seventh century. Also the martyria which fell
victim to the anti-Christian reaction in the early 360s were extramural. In sum,
that some of the Christian ‘special dead’ crossed the frontiers of the cities was
being noticed, but when taken on its own, it can hardly explain the hostility
toward the cult of relics. It is worth noting that neither Julian nor Eunapius
touches upon this issue.
As for the bones of martyrs deposited close to temples, as in the case of
Daphne, Didyma, and Canopus, pagan critics spoke directly of outrageous
pollution. It is, likely, though that this issue was more important to intellec-
tuals than to other people. In 362 Julian ordered the removal of St Babylas’
body from Daphne, having learnt that the oracle of Apollo in that place had
fallen silent because of the cadavers buried close to it. It is quite probable that
Julian, in his archaizing piety, wanted to play a role similar to that of the sixth-
century Athenian tyrant Peisistratus, who, also following the order of an
oracle, purified the holy island of Delos by removing the graves from the
neighbourhood of the temple of Apollo. Julian certainly knew this story from
Herodotus.³⁰ But in Antioch his action was met with no enthusiasm.³¹ Also,
there is no proof that people who attacked martyria in Syria or destroyed the
tomb of John the Baptist at Sebaste cared about the pollution that they caused.
²⁵ See Wortley 2009, 207–25. ²⁶ Chronicle of Edessa s.a. 394.

²⁷ Rufinus, Historia ecclesiastica 11.28.
²⁸ Revelatio s. Stephani A 48 and B 48; Liber de Miraculis s. Stephani 1.1; Augustine, De
civitate Dei 22.8 (several cities).
²⁹ Ambrose, Epistula 77.2; Paulinus, Vita Ambrosii 32.2; John Chrysostom, Homilia dicta
postquam (lemma); Passio s. Saturnini 6; Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 7.21.5.
³⁰ Herodotus, Historiae 1.64.2. ³¹ Julian, Misopogon 361 B–C.

As has already been said, they may have merely attacked easy targets. In all, the
fear of contamination of the cities was probably not a major reason for pagan
hostility toward the cult of relics.
REASONS: M AGIC
A belief in the power of bones taken out of the grave was characteristic not
only of the cult of relics. It was also very closely associated with magic. The
resemblances between these two phenomena are striking. First, the Christian
belief was founded upon the conviction that the souls of certain dead could
operate in the world of the living. The same conviction was fundamental for
the theory which formed the basis for all magical methods involving daimones,
normally identified with the spirits of the dead.³² Secondly, almost all the
special dead whom the Christians invoked were martyrs, that is, people who
died a sudden and violent death, just like the biathanatoi or aōroi, the
untimely dead, whose souls were summoned and conjured up in magical
practices.³³ Thirdly, the Christians thought that the help of saints could be
obtained more securely thanks to access to their relics, that is, usually, the
fragments of their bodies. This, again, resembles practices in which a magician,
in order to make a daimōn obedient, used corporeal remains of the person
whose spirit was summoned (hair and fragments of garment, resembling
contact relics, could do as well).³⁴ Fourthly, the power of relics was often
expected to work in an automatic way, like that of spells; those who were
healed by them did not necessarily have to pray for a cure or even be aware
that they were close to a source of power.³⁵
Christians were often accused of sorcery. Such accusations were most
common in the second and third centuries, but at that time they had nothing
to do with the cult of relics, which simply did not exist yet, or with other
burial-related practices for that matter.³⁶ In a later period Christians were
charged with sorcery less frequently, but accusations of this sort did not
disappear altogether and there is some evidence that they began to be associ-
ated with relics or relic-like objects. In the Life of Hilarion written by Jerome at
the end of the fourth century we find an interesting episode depicting a chariot
race in which a pagan from Gaza supported by a sorcerer ran his horses
against a Christian called Italicus, who sought the help of the holy monk
³² See Flint 1999, 283. ³³ Tertullian, De anima 57. See Nock 1950.
³⁴ Németh 2013.
³⁵ See e.g. a woman who happened to spend a night in a cave in which St Benedict had lived,
and woke up healed: Gregory the Great, Dialogi 2.38.
³⁶ See Donkow & Wypustek 2006.

Hilarion. After some hesitation, the monk ‘ordered an earthenware cup out of
which he was wont to drink to be filled with water and given to Italicus’. The
latter sprinkled his horses with it and won the race. After the race, the defeated
side ‘demanded that Hilarion as a Christian magician (maleficus) should be
dragged to execution’.³⁷ The object used by the Christian in this story is not a
corporeal relic, but the passage deserves attention, for even if most probably
fictitious, it shows that according to Jerome Christian miracle-workers using
objects which transferred some power could be accused of sorcery. Julian’s
claim that Christians, following Jews, performed ‘witchcraft and abomination’
at the tombs of saints proves that such allegations were actually made.
CHRISTIAN CRITICISM: ATHANASIUS

AND SHENOUTE
Eunapius is the last pagan critic of the cult of relics that we know by name.
This does not mean that the adherents of the old cults changed their attitude
toward this aspect of Christianity in the fifth century. It is not impossible that
the hostility became even stronger, but we cannot see it in the evidence,
because in the fifth century pagan literature was disappearing at a rapid
pace. However, in the same period we can observe traces of a discussion on
the cult of relics among Christians. We can name very few of those who were
hostile toward this phenomenon and no major text written by them is
preserved in its original form. This, however, is not surprising given that
their party lost. Moreover, the polemical treatises of the advocates of the cult
of relics are not numerous either. Thus we should not build too much on this
reticence of the sources, especially as several adherents of the cult of relics
distant in space and time from each other were often dealing with strangely
similar questions and doubts, and this suggests that they had to deal with the
same hostility toward the custom they defended. It is difficult to estimate the
force and range of this feeling, but it was evidently there.
In his recent book, Matthew Dal Santo argued that still in the times of
Gregory the Great opponents of the cult of relics were stronger and their
partisans weaker than we usually think.³⁸ Indeed, even if the sixth-century
evidence on the basis of which we can study the strength of the enthusiasts and
critics is unbalanced, and the voices of the latter had much less chance to
survive, there is no doubt that the phenomenon was subject to a vigorous
intellectual debate. Perhaps Dal Santo builds too much on the opinions of
intellectuals, which did not necessarily reflect widely shared convictions, but
³⁷ Jerome, Vita Hilarionis 11.3–13. ³⁸ Dal Santo 2012.


seeing how similar the discussions of the sixth century were to those of the
fourth century, we can assume that in late antique Christianity there was
indeed a constant undercurrent reluctant to accept the cult of relics, only
occasionally emerging to the surface of our evidence.³⁹
Those Christians who criticized the cult of relics were not unanimous in
their judgement. Some authors decried only certain forms of this phenomenon
without condemning it as a whole, but the critique formulated by others could
also be general. Athanasius of Alexandria, for instance, stigmatized ‘Melitians’
who snatched the bodies of martyrs from cemeteries and deposited them in
other places, in order to use them for the purposes of exorcisms and divin-
ation.⁴⁰ Interestingly, he did not deny that demons were tormented at their
graves, but attributed these torments not to the power of the martyrs, but to
that ‘of the Saviour whom the martyrs confessed’.⁴¹ Athanasius disapproved of
the practice of unearthing and translating bodies in general, but what made
him particularly indignant was any form of leaving dead bodies without
customary burial. These views can be seen already in his Life of Antony,
whose grave was to be hidden lest anybody take his corpse home. Athanasius
did not hide the didactic purpose of this story which ends with the following
words: ‘Many therefore having heard this, henceforth buried the dead under-
ground, and gave thanks to the Lord that they had been taught rightly.’⁴²
David Brakke attributed Athanasius’ position to his Christocentric theological
views, which undermined the belief in the power of the martyrs, to criticism of
pagan funerary customs of the Egyptians, who kept sarcophagi in their houses,
and to Athanasius’ political position in Egypt in the 360s, when his control
over the holy places of the saints was not evident.⁴³ The last issue certainly
played a role, but it is worth emphasizing that Athanasius did not change his
views even when he was much more in control of the situation in Egypt. We
can see this if we take a closer look at an episode in Rufinus’ Church History,
already quoted in this book. It says that when Athanasius obtained some ashes
of John the Baptist, ‘he closed them up within a hollowed-out place in the
sacristy wall in the presence of few witnesses, preserving them in prophetic
spirit for the benefit of the next generation, so that now that the remnants of
idolatry had been thrown down flat, golden roofs might rise from them on
temples once unholy’.⁴⁴ This must have happened in the last decade of
Athanasius’ life (c.363–73), when his position in Egypt was stronger and
when he could use the important relic brought to him from Palestine. But as
we can see, he simply hid it, without any ceremony, without crowds, just as he
³⁹ There is still some discussion about whether the iconoclastic emperors were hostile to the
cult of relics: see Wortley 2009, 253–79.
⁴⁰ Athanasius, Epistulae festalis 41 and 42. ⁴¹ Athanasius, Epistula festalis 42.
⁴² Vita Antonii 90.6 (trans. A. Robertson). ⁴³ Brakke 1998, 465–71.
⁴⁴ Rufinus, Historia ecclesiastica 11.28 (trans. Ph. R. Amidon).

caused Antony’s body to be hidden in his story. It was only his successor
Theophilus who constructed a sanctuary for the ashes of John on the ruins of
the Serapeum. All this is not an open frontal attack on the veneration of relics,
but the criticism is serious, and does not concern only one specific aspect of
this phenomenon.
Over a generation later, some aspects of the cult of relics were also con-
demned by Shenoute of Atripe, a charismatic monastic leader, active in Upper
Egypt from the late fourth century until his death early in the second half of
the fifth century. Like Athanasius, he wrote about those who unearthed the
bodies of alleged martyrs and transferred them to churches, and ridiculed the
purported visions by which these actions were justified. His disapproval of
these practices was for two reasons. The first of them was that, as he claimed,
in this way people could bring into churches bones of false martyrs, and even
of animals, and, what was still worse, they did it inspired by demons. In one of
his sermons he explains it in the following way:
Those who adore [martyrs] in some holy place built in their name worship
demons, not God. Those who trust that healing comes to them, or goods, in a
place that they built over some skeletons without knowing whose they
are . . . are no different from those who adored the calves of Jeroboam set up in
Samaria . . . Who among those who fear God will not say, “Woe to those who say,
‘I saw a light in the holy place that was built over some bones of a skeleton in the
church, and I was eased of my illness after I slept there.’ ”⁴⁵
The second reason for Shenoute’s outrage was the festivals of martyrs, or more
exactly the practices accompanying them: ‘it is a wickedness to sing, drink, eat,
laugh, and above all to fornicate and commit a murder out of drunkenness,
debauchery, and insane quarrels’.⁴⁶ There follows a more detailed description of
misdemeanours which took place during the martyrs’ feast days. All this might
look as if aimed only at reprehensible and uncontrolled forms of the cult of
relics. The tirades against drunkenness, dances, and other forms of debauchery
can also be found in sermons by other preachers who otherwise accepted the
cult of relics as such.⁴⁷ But, interestingly, Shenoute, again like Athanasius, does
not propose to venerate relics in a sanctioned way or seek healing in an
approved holy place, and this suggests that his hostility toward the cult of relics
is deeper. The remarks about misdemeanours and about unsaintly bones were
probably intended to ridicule this phenomenon as such. It is probable that
Athanasius’ and Shenoute’s writings bear witness to a wider and more profound
discussion of the cult of relics, but if so, we cannot see it in extant evidence.
⁴⁵ Shenoute, Those Who Work Evil, pp. 216 and 219–20.

⁴⁶ Shenoute, Œuvres, pp. 199–200.
⁴⁷ See e.g. Augustine, Sermo 273.8; 311.5; Confessiones 6.2; Epistula 22.3; 29.5–6; Enarratio in
Psalmum 120.15; Registri Ecclesiae Carthaginensis excerpta 60–1 (for Africa in general, see Saxer
1980, 133–49); Caesarius of Arles, Sermo 47.5.

The remarks of other Eastern authors of this period with regard to the
theory and practice of this cult do not give solid grounds for believing that the
polemic was widespread. It is only in the late sixth century that Eustratios of
Constantinople devoted an entire treatise to the defence of the cult of relics,
apparently in response to mounting criticism. Still later on, in the seventh
century this issue was addressed in the Questions and Answers of Anastasius
of Sinai.⁴⁸
WESTERN DISCUSSIONS
While the remarks of Athanasius and Shenoute are revealing, it is the evidence
from the Latin West which best shows that in its early phase, in the late fourth
century and at the beginning of the fifth century, the cult of relics was
vehemently criticized and discussed. This evidence consists of the writings
of a few authors belonging to the circle of promoters of those two phenomena
about which Eunapius spoke with equal disgust, namely the cult of relics and
monasticism: Victricius of Rouen, Jerome, and Augustine.
The treatise De laude sanctorum, or Praising the saints, which is the earliest
text in this dossier, was composed by Victricius, bishop of Rouen, on the basis
of a sermon which he preached in 396, upon the arrival of a set of relics sent to
him by Bishop Ambrose from Milan. This is the only extant work by Vic-
tricius, but he is also known to us as the addressee of two letters of Paulinus of
Nola and as a partisan of Martin of Tours.⁴⁹ Paulinus presents him as a former
military tribune who abandoned a career in the army.⁵⁰ We know that he
travelled a lot beyond the confines of his bishopric; we can see him in Trier,
Rome, and Britain. In Rouen he built a large basilica. These modest pieces of
information may encourage us to imagine Victricius as a vigorous ex-soldier
who forsook the uniform in order to assume the priestly robe. This vision of
him seems to be corroborated by a number of military metaphors which can
be found in his work.⁵¹ Such a portrait, however, devoid of any further
commentary, would be oversimplified. Victricius was certainly a learned
man. It is true that he can hardly be praised as a master of style and clarity
of discourse. His argument is sometimes adventurous and difficult to follow,
but it still proves Victricius’ rhetorical training. His work does not betray
many traces of extraordinary learnedness, but surprises with a quotation
from Pliny’s Natural History, a work which hardly belonged to canonical
⁴⁸ Dal Santo 2012, 343–56.

⁴⁹ Paulinus of Nola, Epistula 18 and 37; Sulpicius Severus, Dialogi 3.2.4.
⁵⁰ Paulinus of Nola, Epistula 18.7. ⁵¹ See Clark 1999, 372–5.

school readings.⁵² And, as for military phraseology, this has been clearly
present in Christian literature since the letters of St Paul. It is important to
keep all this in mind so as not to think of Victricius as an energetic simpleton.
In order to understand the circumstances of the discussion about relics at
the turn of the fifth century, we have to see the links between Victricius and a
few other ecclesiastical personages, most of them somehow connected with
Gaul, and known to us better than him. Sulpicius Severus mentions Victricius
as a companion of Martin of Tours, a charismatic bishop who nevertheless
evoked a profound antipathy among his Gallic colleagues. This antipathy
resulted from Martin’s adherence to a new model of religiosity which shocked
his contemporaries by its radical ascetism and strong conviction that a servant
of God can dispose of His power to perform miracles and communicate with
saints and angels.⁵³ We do not know whether Martin was an active promoter
of the cult of relics. An episode in his Life could suggest his reserve in this
matter. After his episcopal ordination, Martin supposedly decided to verify
whether a martyr who was venerated in his diocese actually deserved a cult,
and thanks to a revelation, learned that the alleged saint at whose tomb an
altar had been erected was actually a brigand rightly executed for his crimes.⁵⁴
This suggests that Martin cared about the control of cult places, but does not
permit us to assess his general opinion on the cult of relics. In any case, it is
certain that Sulpicius Severus did not want to present Martin’s attitude toward
this phenomenon as altogether critical, for he himself was definitely an
enthusiast of relics. We know that he wanted to dedicate the basilica in
Primuliacum, where his monastic community lived, with some relics which
he hoped to obtain from his friend Paulinus of Nola,⁵⁵ who was also, it is worth
repeating, a friend of Martin and a correspondent of Victricius.⁵⁶ Paulinus,
a grand aristocrat who converted to asceticism and settled in Nola, where he
was first a presbyter and then a bishop, was above all devoted to the cult of
St Felix, but he also sought to obtain ashes of Eastern and Milanese saints and
was on the same list of recipients of relics sent by Ambrose as Victricius. In all,
in Gaul Victricius was attached to the circle of Martin, in Italy to Ambrose and
Paulinus.⁵⁷ This milieu shared an interest in the cult of relics, but also in a new
model of ascetic life which at that time was by no means unanimously
accepted in the West.⁵⁸ They wrote to defend their religiosity, but they wrote
probably mostly for people who thought like themselves.
⁵² See Victricius, De laude sanctorum 8 and Naturalis historia 3.19.1.

⁵³ Stancliffe 1983, esp. 265–77. ⁵⁴ Sulpicius Severus, Vita Martini 11.
⁵⁵ Paulinus of Nola, Epistula 31.1.
⁵⁶ Martin is often mentioned in Paulinus’ letters: Epistula 11.11–13, 17.4, 18.9, 23.3–4, 27.2,
29.6, and 14, 32.1–7, Carmina 19.154. See also Sulpicius Severus, Vita Martini 19.3.
⁵⁷ See Hunter 1999, 418–28.
⁵⁸ For discussion about and opposition to the new model of ascetism, see Y.-M. Duval 2003
and Hunter 2007, 130–69. For the link between the two controversies, see Hunter 1999.

The essential aim of Victricius, who received from Milan no more than
ashes or other tiny relics, was to demonstrate that even the smallest particle of
bone of any saint deserves veneration and is as powerful as the entire body.
This conviction is not exceptional in this period. Gregory of Nazianzus, in his
sermon against Julian, emphasizes that the bodies of the saints have power
equal to their souls, and that little drops of their blood and the tiniest traces of
their sufferings are not inferior to complete bodies.⁵⁹ A similar idea can be
found at the very beginning of the fifth century in Paulinus of Nola,⁶⁰ and a
generation later, in Theodoret of Cyrrhus, in a passage already quoted in this
book: ‘And in spite of the fact that the body is divided, the grace remains
undivided and the smallest particle of relics has the power equal to that of an
undivided martyr.’⁶¹ What is particular for Victricius is a fully developed
argument which serves to justify this opinion. His reasoning runs as follows:
entire mankind, which consists of the descendants of Adam, constitutes one
body. This concerns particularly Christians, who, through baptism and faith,
became the one body of Christ, and especially the martyrs, for their faith is
perfect and through their testimony they have gained a perfect unity with God.
God is indivisible, he is all everywhere (integer et totus in toto), and conse-
quently those who are perfectly united with Him must be indivisible. ‘[Their
bodies] are the same as the highest power and the absolute and ineffable
substance of godhead.’⁶² Human eyes can see only the physical remains of the
saints, but in these fragments the full power of the martyrs dwells, and, in
consequence, the full power of God himself, able to chase away demons, heal
the sick, and forgive sins. To this reasoning, which is presented here in a
simplified form, Victricius adds an appeal to a common experience of Chris-
tians, who should know that relics of the same saints manifest their power in
diverse places, thus showing that their souls are present in all these places as
well. Victricius’ argument may seem puzzling, for while he shared the belief in
the indivisible power of martyrs’ relics with other promoters of their cult, his
putting the corporeal remains of saints on the same level as God is by no
means banal. It is interesting, though, that Victricius does not equate relics
with the Eucharist or suggest any parallel between them.
Did Victricius expect any hostile reactions to the transfer of the relics which
arrived in Rouen and preach this sermon as an apology? The religious current
which he represented had enemies. The Life of Martin, written probably in the
same year as De laude sanctorum, shows that the new ascetic religiosity
represented by Martin, Sulpicius Severus, Paulinus, and Victricius provoked
⁵⁹ Gregory of Nazianzus, Contra Iulianum I 69.

⁶⁰ Paulinus, Carmen 27 (Nat. 9). 445–8.
⁶¹ Theodoret, Graecorum affectionum curatio 8.11.
⁶² Victricius, De laude sanctorum 8.

strong opposition in Gaul.⁶³ An awareness of such opposition can probably be
seen in Victricius’ sermon, which praises the virtues of monks and virgins.⁶⁴
But the sermon does not prove that criticism was also directed against the cult
of relics. Even if the preacher mentions possible objections, he does this so
vaguely that we cannot say if he had to face a real polemic.
While we can doubt that Victricius’ treatise was a response to some
adversaries of the cult of relics, it is quite certain that his firm opinions were
controversial and possibly contributed to the emergence of a polemic. This
polemic is associated with the name of Vigilantius of Calagurris, known as the
addressee, or rather as the target, of a pamphlet written by Jerome of Stridon.
Vigilantius appears in our evidence for the first time in 395. In this year, he
visited Jerome’s monastery in Bethlehem, with a recommendation letter from
Paulinus of Nola in hand. He spent there, however, evidently less time than his
host expected.⁶⁵ This arguably resulted from Jerome’s engagement in the
Origenist controversy which at that time stirred him against Bishop John of
Jerusalem and two important Westerners living in the monastery at the Mount
of Olives, Rufinus of Aquileia, and Melania the Elder, Paulinus’ relative.⁶⁶ In
consequence of the quarrel, the monastery of Jerome was excommunicated,
which could have aroused in Vigilantius at least some embarrassment. There
was also an episode during this visit, the weight of which is difficult to assess,
but which could have deepened the hostility between Jerome and Vigilantius.
One night, an earthquake hit Bethlehem and, according to Jerome, Vigilantius
ran out of the monastery and was praying naked before the eyes of the
disconcerted monks. Jerome described this scene only ten years later, in his
treatise Against Vigilantius, full of spiteful remarks, not necessarily subtle and
true, and so the real behaviour of Vigilantius that night might have been much
less spectacular.⁶⁷ If, however, Vigilantius was really ridiculed, this episode
could have strengthened his antipathy to Jerome. Be this as it may, back in
Italy Vigilantius began to present Jerome in a doubtful light, promulgating the
idea that this zealous anti-Origenist had not long before been a great admirer
of Origen.⁶⁸
Shortly after his return to Italy, Vigilantius departed for Gaul, carrying a
letter from Paulinus to Sulpicius Severus.⁶⁹ He reached him in 396, the same
year in which Sulpicius Severus published the Life of Martin and Victricius
delivered his sermon to welcome the relics from Milan. It is possible that these
two writings, two manifestations of the new religiosity, provoked Vigilantius’
response. He had bad memories from his visit to the monastery of Jerome, an
ardent promoter of monasticism in conflict with Bishop John of Jerusalem.
⁶³ Sulpicius Severus, Vita Martini 9.3–4 and 27.3.

⁶⁴ Victricius, De laude sanctorum 2–3. ⁶⁵ Jerome, Epistula 58.11.
⁶⁶ J. N. D. Kelly 1975, 193. ⁶⁷ Jerome, Adversus Vigilantium 11.
⁶⁸ Jerome, Epistula 61. ⁶⁹ Paulinus of Nola, Epistula 5.11.

Now, in Gaul, he met Sulpicius Severus, another advocate of ascetic life, full of
contempt for ecclesiastical hierarchy. All this may have led Vigilantius to
attack the views and practices of the milieu which up to then had been his
own. This, however, is only a guess, because at this moment Vigilantius
disappears for eight years from our evidence. When he reappears, he is living
close to Toulouse, in the region where he was born. In 404, a presbyter
Riparius from Toulouse informs Jerome about Vigilantius’ critique of the
cult of relics, expressed in a short treatise. We do not know when Vigilantius
started to propagate this opinion. It is tempting to link it either with the events
mentioned above or with an episode which took place in 402 or 403, when the
body of St Saturninus, martyr and bishop of Toulouse, was transferred to a
new church built by Bishop Exuperius, another friend of Jerome. Some
scholars have thought that Vigilantius merely reacted to the event he wit-
nessed, but it is more probable that he had made his views public earlier. We
know that Exuperius obtained an authorization from the emperor to make the
transfer of Saturninus’ body.⁷⁰ In principle, this is not strange, since the
constitution of AD 386 which forbade the transfer of any bodies was still in
force. Yet we do not hear of other bishops bothering the emperor for such
consent. Exuperius’ caution may suggest that he faced some criticism of the
cult of relics, and Vigilantius could have been behind it. The idea that
Vigilantius’ activity preceded the translation of Saturninus was presented by
David Hunter.⁷¹ His thesis is strengthened by the fact that in his treatise
Vigilantius always writes of veneration and transfer of dust, which fits better
the Milanese relics which arrived in 396 in Rouen than the entire body of
Saturninus, which was brought to Toulouse in 402 or 403. Be that as it may,
the treatise in which Vigilantius developed his theses was written between 396
and 406, because in that year it was sent to Jerome. We know this text only
through the quotations and commentaries which can be found in Jerome’s
response entitled Against Vigilantius.
According to Jerome, Vigilantius criticized the cult of relics, belief in their
miraculous power, the vigils held in honour of the martyrs, and the custom of
singing ‘Alleluia’ outside Easter, but also clerical chastity and material support
for monastic communities in Palestine. At first sight these practices do not
seem to be directly linked, but in fact all of them were popular within the same
circle we are dealing with: people with some Eastern relations who tried to
implement new monastic customs in the West, promoted the cult of relics, and
knew each other, at least by correspondence.
Vigilantius’ argument against the cult of relics was the following. What
people call relics are in fact just dust (pulvis, pulvisculum), devoid of life. Those
who kiss them, transfer them solemnly, and place them in costly vessels,
⁷⁰ Passio s. Saturnini 6. ⁷¹ Hunter 1999, 407–9.


wrapped in precious cloth, introduce pagan customs into the Church and are
guilty of idolatry. Vigilantius does not claim that the worshippers of relics
borrowed from pagans a specific practice or attitude toward the dead. The
idolatry consists in the fact that they venerate material objects, whereas the
souls of the martyrs dwell in heaven, in the presence of God, and are not
connected any more to their earthly remains. Jerome, in his Letter 109, written
in 404, shortly after he was informed about the views of his former guest for
the first time, also says that Vigilantius, like the Jews and Samaritans, con-
sidered the remains of saints to be impure (inmundae sunt reliquiae).⁷² Yet
this issue is absent from Jerome’s longer polemical treatise written two years
later. This is a curious omission. The most probable explanation is that in 404,
Jerome, who simply had not read Vigilantius’ work yet and had only vague
information about its contents, attributed to him the views of pagan critics of
the cult of relics, who did consider them unclean. When Jerome finally
received Vigilantius’ work, he did not find in it this reproof, and so he did
not address it in the ampler refutation.
Jerome claims that he wrote his polemic overnight. This is certainly an
exaggeration, but the text is indeed quite short, just a dozen pages in the
edition of the Corpus Christianorum, and a large part of it is devoted to the
issues of chastity and financial support for the monks in the Holy Land, and
not to the cult of relics. The polemic is in a way brilliantly written, but
vehement, and very personal. Jerome mocks Vigilantius’ origins, family,
name, education, and manners. Of course, this conforms up to a point to
the rules of the literary genre of polemical pamphlets, but Jerome keeps using
these motifs right up to the final lines of his treatise, while his substantive
arguments are quite meagre. The tone of the entire treatise can be illustrated
by the following passage:
And you have the audacity to speak of ‘the something or other which you carry
about in a little vessel and worship’. I want to know what it is that you call
‘something or other’. Tell us more clearly (that there may be no restraint on your
blasphemy) what you mean by the phrase ‘a bit of dust, wrapped up in a costly
cloth in a tiny vessel’. It is nothing less than the relics of the martyrs which he is
vexed to see covered with a costly veil, and not bound up with rags or hair-cloth,
or thrown on the midden, so that Vigilantius alone in his drunken slumber may
be worshipped.⁷³
In all, Jerome tries to ridicule Vigilantius’ arguments rather than engage in a
discussion on the subject. Luckily, though, he quotes extensively from his
treatise, which gives us a pretty good idea of its content. We know that
Vigilantius did not limit himself to censuring certain forms of relic-related
piety, but also asked important theological questions. He claimed that the
⁷² Jerome, Epistula 109.1. ⁷³ Jerome, Adversus Vigilantium 5.


souls of the Apostles and martyrs repose in heaven and so cannot wander
about the earth. Although Jerome does not say it directly, this statement most
probably spawned further questions: can dead saints intervene in the affairs of
the living? Do they know at all what happens in this world? These questions
were to be profoundly examined in the sixth century by Eustratios of Con-
stantinople and in the seventh century by Anastasius of Sinai,⁷⁴ but we will see
shortly that they were also asked and addressed by Vigilantius’ contemporaries
in a more serious way than by Jerome. Jerome was not really a profound
theological thinker, and even when he engaged in doctrinal discussions, he
usually remained within the limits of scriptural argumentation. But in Against
Vigilantius even biblical arguments, though present, are few. Jerome uses
above all diverse arguments ad hominem, mentioned above, and arguments
from authority. He claims that if Vigilantius considers partisans of the cult of
relics to be idolaters, he must say the same about the emperors Constantius,
who brought to Constantinople relics of the Apostles, and Arcadius, who
transferred there the body of the prophet Samuel; he must think the same
about a number of bishops who welcomed these translations, and even about
the bishop of Rome, who celebrates the Eucharist at the tombs of Peter and
Paul. Jerome’s argument does not go much beyond that. He devotes as much
space to the problem of burning candles in churches as to the fundamental
issue of the presence of the saints in their corporeal remains.
The overall impression is that Jerome did not really give much thought to
this and other theological implications of the cult of relics. Consequently, one
can wonder how much he was concerned about this phenomenon before
the conflict appeared. He certainly looked at it with some favour. In his
Chronicle (written around 380), he records the first transfers of relics to
Constantinople, and in the Life of Hilarion (early 390s) his belief in the
miraculous power dwelling in the tomb of this saint is evident.⁷⁵ Yet nothing
in the large corpus of Jerome’s letters and other writings suggests that he sent
relics to anybody, obtained, or sought to obtain them, unlike other members of
the network to which he belonged, that is, Sulpicius Severus, Paulinus of Nola,
Victricius, Ambrose, Augustine, and his African colleagues. It was possibly
only the controversy with Vigilantius which turned Jerome into a staunch
defender of the cult of relics, and most probably it was not the question of
relics which really provoked him. He must have been more alarmed by other
statements of his adversary: first, that chastity does not have any special value;
secondly, that people in need of material support are close at hand and it does
not make any sense to send alms to monasteries in the Holy Land. This must
have cut Jerome to the quick, because he was one of the most zealous
⁷⁴ See Dal Santo 2012.

⁷⁵ Jerome, Chronicon XXXV 19 and 20 (AD 356/7 and 357/8); Vita Hilarionis 33.

champions of virginity and monasticism, and particularly of monasticism in
Palestine.⁷⁶ Moreover, he had bad memories of Vigilantius’ visit to Bethlehem
and knew that Vigilantius presented him as an old admirer of Origen. That is
why Jerome, a virulent polemicist notorious for his fiery temper, was probably
only too eager to comply with the request of his Gallic friends, anxious about
Vigilantius’ teaching.
We do not know how contemporaries reacted to Jerome’s treatise. After
406, Vigilantius disappears from our sources and public discussion of the cult
of relics might have stopped at that moment. But we know from Jerome
himself that Vigilantius’ partisans were numerous and that there were bishops
among them. It is unlikely, therefore, that they all gladly accepted Jerome’s
arguments.⁷⁷ But there are grounds for presuming that nobody wanted to
become the next target of Jerome, who ended his pamphlet with the
following words:
But if Dormitantius [i.e. the ‘Sleepy one’, Jerome mocks the name of Vigiliantius]
wakes up that he may again abuse me, and if he thinks fit to disparage me with
that same blasphemous mouth with which he pulls to pieces Apostles, I will spend
upon him something more than this short lucubration. I will keep vigil for a
whole night on his behalf and on behalf of his companions, whether they be
disciples or masters.⁷⁸
The treatises of Victricius and Jerome dealt with two issues at least potentially
difficult for adherents of the cult of relics. Victricius tried to explain why in a
tiny particle of a relic power equal to that of the saint’s entire body and
effectively to that of God dwelt. Jerome defended the conviction that the saints
could operate in this world after death, and even, having direct access to God,
do it more effectively than in their lifetimes. Interestingly, none of them
addressed the questions why and how the souls of the Apostles and martyrs
were attached to their corpses at all. This problem did exist, and Vigilantius
saw it.⁷⁹ Jerome, however, omitted it, explaining only very briefly why the
saints were not detained in heaven. The real question, however, was how they
could be on earth. Slightly later, Augustine addressed this question in his
treatise On the care for the dead. As we have seen in Chapter 5, he rejected the
view that a form of burial, and especially the lack thereof, could have an
influence on the fate of the soul, because after death the soul was not linked
any more to its physical remains.⁸⁰ Yet he was aware of the problem raised by a
number of episodes, reported by many people, in which the dead appeared to
the living, asking them for a proper interment. That is why he strove to prove
that, whatever people can see in their dreams, they cannot see souls, for these
⁷⁶ Y.-M. Duval 2003 and Hunter 2007. ⁷⁷ Jerome, Adversus Vigilantium 2.

⁷⁸ Jerome, Adversus Vigilantium 17 (trans. W. H. Fremantle).
⁷⁹ Jerome, Adversus Vigilantium 6. ⁸⁰ See pp. 83–4.

are no longer involved in or even aware of the affairs of this world. For
Augustine the strongest proof of this was based on his personal experience,
namely on the fact that his mother, who in her lifetime had done everything
she could for the salvation of her son, did not help him any more after death
(which obviously she would have done, had it been possible).⁸¹ Augustine
thought, then, that visions of dead kin and friends were usually a psychological
phenomenon, but he agreed that in some cases it was something more. These
rare cases concerned the apparitions of saints, not necessarily dead ones.
In order to provide an example, he quoted an episode from the Historia
Monachorum, which he read in the translation of Rufinus.⁸² Its hero, John
of Lycopolis, an Egyptian monk renowned for his prophetic gift, appeared in a
dream to a certain pious woman. Augustine acknowledged that he was unable
to explain how it happened and would be happy to ask John if it were
possible.⁸³ But then he went on to discuss a more important problem, that
of the influence of martyrs on what happens in this world, reflecting on it in
the following way:
Hence too is solved the question of how it is that the martyrs, by the very benefits
which are given to those who pray, show their interest in human affairs, if the
dead do not know what the living are doing . . . How this is the case is a question
which surpasses the strength of my understanding. How do the martyrs help
those whom they evidently do help? Do they do it themselves, being present at the
same time in so different and distant places, either in their memorial shrines
(memoriae) or beside their memorial shrines, wherever they are felt to be present?
Or perhaps, while removed from proximity to the mortals, remaining in a place
appropriate to their merits, the martyrs pray in a general way for the needs of
their suppliants, as we pray for the dead, to whom, however, we do not appear,
nor do we know where they are or what they are doing? Perhaps, then, it is God
Almighty, present everywhere, neither bound to us nor remote from us, hearing
the martyrs’ prayers, who grants those solaces to people for whom He finds them
beneficial in the misery of this life. And so, by His marvellous and ineffable power
and goodness God makes the merits of the martyrs honoured, where He will,
when He will, how He will, but mostly at their memorial shrines, because He
knows that it is expedient for us that the faith of Christ for whose confession they
suffered be strengthened. This matter is too high for my understanding and too
secret to search it out. Therefore, which of these two is the case, or whether both
one and the other are the case, that sometimes these things happen by the very
presence of the martyrs, sometimes by Angels taking upon themselves the shape
of the martyrs, I dare not say.⁸⁴
⁸¹ Augustine, De cura pro mortuis 16. ⁸² Rufinus, Historia Monachorum 1.10–17.

⁸³ A few years later, preaching at the feast of St Stephen, Augustine said that his body ‘came to
light, as the bodies of the martyrs usually do come to light, by a revelation of God’ (Sermo 318.1,
c. AD 425); he preferred to attribute the revelation to God, not to the saint.
⁸⁴ Augustine, De cura pro mortuis 19–20.

Apparently, Augustine does not have any obvious explanation of the link
between the souls of martyrs and their bodies. He does not deny that miracles
do occur at the martyrs’ tombs. But he does not know how it is possible.
Augustine’s perplexity is not inexplicable. He read Tertullian’s treatise On the
soul, which rejected the existence of any connection between souls and bodies
after death, and he essentially agreed with this, probably for the reasons to
which I will turn in a moment.⁸⁵
Augustine’s avowal of his ignorance was not the only answer to the question
of what happens to the soul when the body dies. We can leave aside the
thnētopsychitai (or Arabici) who believed that the soul died with the body.
Even though this group was mentioned by writers as distant in time as
Eusebius of Caesarea, Augustine, and John of Damascus, they represented at
best a marginal current of Christian thought.⁸⁶ More interestingly, Gregory of
Nyssa claimed that the soul remained attached to every single particle of the
body, and he was not thinking specifically about martyrs, but about all people.
For if it were not so, he asks, how would the soul recognize the decomposed
and dispersed elements of the body at the resurrection?⁸⁷
I suppose that in the context of the cult of relics the issue of the posthumous
link between the soul and the body was particularly delicate, since, as we have
already seen, this link was implicit in late antique magic.⁸⁸ The problem of
parallels between magic and the use of the power of the corporeal remains of
saints does not appear in the internal Christian discussion of relics, but it may
have been present in the background. There is no doubt that the conviction
that the spirits of those who die prematurely turn into demons was shared by
some Christians. We can see it in the following passage from John Chrysos-
tom’s Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew dealing with an episode about a
demoniac from Gerasa:
But what can be the reason that they [demoniacs] love also to dwell in the tombs?
They would fain suggest to the multitude a pernicious opinion, as though the
souls of the dead become demons, which God forbid we should ever admit into
our conception. But what then will you say, one may ask, when many of the
sorcerers take children and slay them, in order to have the soul afterwards to
assist them? Why, whence is this evident? For of their slaying them, indeed, many
tell us, but as to the souls of the slain being with them, whence do you know it,
I pray you? The possessed themselves, it is replied, cry out, I am the soul of such a
one. But this too is a kind of stage-play, and devilish deceit. For it is not the spirit
of the dead that cries out, but the evil spirit that feigns these things in order to
deceive the hearers.⁸⁹
⁸⁵ Tertullian, De anima 51.

⁸⁶ Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 6.37; John of Damascus, De haeresibus 90; Augustine, De
haeresibus 83.
⁸⁷ Gregory of Nyssa, De anima et resurrectione, pp. 45–8. ⁸⁸ See pp. 187–8.
⁸⁹ John Chrysostom, In Matthaeum homiliae 28.2.

This is not the only sermon in which John Chrysostom strove to persuade his
audience that no soul after death becomes a demon.⁹⁰ People who believed in
such transformation and thought that magicians could control such demons
using the physical remains of their bodie, belonged to his congregation. It is
the strength of this belief that may have impelled Augustine, and other writers,
not to put too much stress on the link between the souls and bodies of saints.
This issue will be discussed at length only in the sixth century, by Eustratios
of Constantinople and Gregory the Great. The latter, in his Dialogues, made
the deacon Peter, his interlocutor, ask the following question:
PETER : How is it that, as a rule, even the martyrs in their care for us do not
grant the same great favours through their bodies (corpora) as they do
through their relics (reliquiae)? We find them so often performing more
outstanding miracles away from their burial places.
GREGORY : There is no doubt, Peter, that the holy martyrs can perform
countless miracles where they rest in their bodies. And they do so on behalf
of all who pray there with a pure intention. In places where their bodies do
not actually lie buried, however, there is a danger that those whose faith is
weak may doubt their presence and their power to answer prayers. Conse-
quently, it is in these places that they must perform still greater miracles.⁹¹
The aim of this passage was probably twofold. It was certainly an apology for
the policy of the Church of Rome, which in Gregory’s day still did not want to
share the corporeal relics it possessed, but was ready to distribute the contact
ones.⁹² But it could also have had another goal, namely to draw a clear
distinction between the miracles performed by the power of saints and
magic, or to present a different vision of the link between the soul and the
body—one that would be at a far remove from the fundamental principle of
magical techniques, which needed bodily remains to bind the spirits of
the dead.
⁹⁰ John Chrysostom, De Lazaro concio secunda 1–2.

⁹¹ Gregory the Great, Dialogi 2.38 (trans. O. J. Zimmerman, slightly changed).
⁹² See pp. 159–69.
11
Eastern, Western, and Local Habits

in the Cult of Relics
Having emerged in the mid-fourth century, the cult of relics swiftly arrived in
regions which differed in language, liturgical customs, and funeral practices.¹
This raises the question whether in this process of spreading through Chris-
tendom the new beliefs, and especially the new customs, remained uniform or
rather evolved locally; whether a Christian from Carthage who entered a
shrine of a martyr somewhere in Egypt felt at home or was shocked; and
especially, whether a general distinction between Eastern and Western habits
is useful in describing the cult of relics.
E A S T A N D WE S T
This last question is a part of a larger issue of how real and important the
distinction between East and West was in Late Antiquity. We are quite
accustomed to perceiving late antique Christianity as consisting of two
major zones, still united, but in many respects different in customs, literary
tradition, liturgy, theological thinking, church structure, monasticism, etc. Of
course, we know that these differences should not be overestimated, that there
is a risk of projecting backwards a division which became real only in the
second millennium.² We are aware that the very distinction between West and
East is often problematic, because, as Edward Gibbon and after him Peter
Brown remarked,³ unlike the natural difference between North and South, it is
arbitrary and not based on natural factors. Perhaps even more importantly,
the administrative, political, and linguistic frontiers overlapped only vaguely
and the simple distinction between the two cultural zones ignores the fact that
¹ This chapter is based on Wiśniewski 2017.

² In the context of the Christian cult, see Av. Cameron 1997; also Bowersock 2005.
³ Brown 1976.

ancient Christendom spoke and wrote in more than two languages. We know
that, but most of us—with the important and understandable exception of
those who work on the Syriac world or the Caucasus—do not react against this
dichotomic vision of ancient Christianity.
This distinction can be useful, but it is interesting to note that it was not as
widely shared by late antique authors as one might expect. It is true that Latin
Christian writers used it sometimes when identifying the West with the Latins
and the East with the Greeks.⁴ Yet they did so rarely, for they were usually at
least vaguely aware that the Christians of the East spoke diverse languages, and
not only Greek.⁵ Latin authors mentioned sometimes in one phrase ecclesiae
orientales and ecclesiae occidentales, but normally they did it rather to signal
that they had in mind the whole of Christendom, and not so as to distinguish
the two parts of it and their distinct customs.⁶ Certainly, it happened that the
Latins referred to a practice as specifically Eastern or Greek. However, they
usually did so for the sake of argument and so overemphasized real differ-
ences. They mentioned ‘Eastern customs’ both to justify a new practice
previously unknown in Gaul or Africa or to stigmatize a habit supposedly
inconsistent with the old Western tradition.⁷ Yet in both cases ‘the East’ was
partly an artificial or imaginary creation, very much like ‘the West’ was for
people in Communist countries in the 1980s. In those years in Warsaw, where
I live, we used to say that in the West people behaved and institutions worked
in such and such a way, and by ‘the West’ we meant variously Norway, the
USA, or Greece, sincerely assuming that they did not differ that much.⁸ And so
when Jerome says that ‘in all Eastern Churches, even when they have no relics
of the martyrs, whenever the Gospel is to be read, the candles are lit, although
the dawn may be reddening the sky’,⁹ we should not necessarily take ‘all
Eastern churches’ at face value and assume that it was actually a custom
which was specific to the entire Eastern part of Christendom.
Not surprisingly, the bipolar vision of Christendom was even weaker in the
East, which was linguistically diverse and multipolar from the perspective of
ecclesiastical power. Those who lived there recognized that the West was
Latin-speaking and dominated by Rome, but they rarely thought about their
⁴ See Augustine, Contra Iulianum 1.34.

⁵ Apponius, In canticum canticorum epil.; Augustine, Sermo 24D (=360A).2 (Aliter loquuntur
Latini, aliter Graeci, aliter Punici, aliter Hebraei, aliter Syri, aliter Indi, aliter Cappadoces, aliter
Aegyptii); Jerome, In Danielem prol.; Julian of Eclanum, Tractatus prophetarum Osee, Iohel et
Amos praef.
⁶ See e.g. Ambrose, Epistulae extra traditionem traditae 8.1; Augustine, Contra duas epistulas
Pelagianorum 4.8.20; Contra Iulianum imperfectum opus 1.106; Gennadius, De viris illustribus
44. The distinction is visible in writings from the times of the Acacian schism and the Three
Chapters controversy.
⁷ Justification of new customs: Augustine, Confessiones 9.7; Jerome, Adversus Vigilantium
2 and 7. Denial: Gregory the Great, Epistulae IV 30; Letter to Hormisdas: Collectio Avellana 218.
⁸ Personal experience. ⁹ Jerome, Adversus Vigilantium 7.
Eastern, Western, and Local Habits 205

own part of the world as a single coherent region. In his Life of Constantine,
Eusebius says that the Council of Nicaea gathered the bishops from ‘all the
churches which filled all Europe, Libya, and Asia’.¹⁰ This does not fit the
dichotomic distinction. Similarly, the church historian Socrates, in a long
passage about the diversity of customs in the Church, mentions several
lands and cities which differ from each other, but does not distinguish between
the East and the West at all.¹¹ From the Syriac, especially Eastern Syriac,
perspective, the Latin West was not very important. Syriac writers who talked
about ‘Rome’ often had in mind Constantinople and already in the sixth
century were scarcely interested in the Christians who lived further west.¹²
All in all, the East/West distinction in late antique writers is not as frequent as
one might suspect and, more importantly, it does not always reflect the reality.
Moreover, this distinction is not the only one that we can see in late antique
authors. The division between the South and the North, mentioned above and
so important in ancient ethnographic and physiognomic literature,¹³ is much
less articulated in ecclesiastical writings, but it does exist. For instance, in
Sulpicius Severus’ Dialogues, Gallic monks are only half-facetiously portrayed
as unable to hold strict fasts, which are easy for those living in the softer
climate of the Mediterranean.¹⁴ From the perspective of Latin African writers
the distinction between the African and overseas (which usually means
Italian) Churches is at least as important as that between the Churches of
the East and West.¹⁵ Augustine, for instance, claims that unlike in Rome
‘amongst a number of Christian peoples in the East and West’ nobody fasts
on Saturdays, thus suggesting that this specific difference of customs does not
overlap at all with that between Western and Eastern Christianity.¹⁶
Needless to say, I am not going to argue that the East/West distinction was
entirely artificial. But it was less evident than we often think. And being
oversensitive to it is dangerous, because if we divide the Mediterranean into
two parts, every phenomenon that we find, say, in Syria becomes ‘Eastern’,
even if we cannot find it in Egypt, Palestine, or Asia Minor. And every new
‘Eastern’ phenomenon identified in this way confirms the reality of the
division. But this method can easily lead to making completely arbitrary, if
not absurd distinctions. For instance, one could draw a line dividing Chris-
tendom from the north-west to the south-east, find a practice attested only on
¹⁰ Eusebius, Vita Constantini 3.7.1.

¹¹ Socrates, Historia ecclesiastica 5.22.30–80; see also Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 7.19.
¹² John of Ephesus, Vitae sanctorum orientalium 2, 7, and 10; see also Payne Smith
1901, 3831.
¹³ See Isaac 2006, passim. ¹⁴ Sulpicius Severus, Dialogi 1.4.5–6.
¹⁵ Optatus, Contra Parmenianum 2.15.3; Augustine, Epistula 128.2; 141.6; Contra Cresconium
3.13; Gesta cum Emerito 5; Possidius, Vita Augustini 8.4.
¹⁶ Augustine, Epistula 36.5.

one side of this line, and take this fact as a proof that this division reflects the
reality, which conclusion obviously would not be true.
REGIONA L AND UNIVERSAL CUSTOMS
We have already seen in Chapter 9 that the conviction that the East and the
West differed in their attitudes toward relics is especially strong when we think
of the custom of dividing the corporeal remains of saints. The general distinc-
tion turned out to be much oversimplified and this issue should serve as
another reminder warning us against a dichotomic vision of the world of
Late Antiquity. But it is still worth asking the question whether diverse regions
of Christendom differed in this respect. The general answer is yes, but the
problem is that in many cases we cannot say if a specific practice was local,
regional, or universal. Our sources rarely claim that a custom was endemic to a
region and, as we have seen, even if they do, they are not always to be trusted.
Moreover, our evidence is not abundant enough to make us sure that a
practice attested only in one place was unknown in others. In Egypt, for
instance, relics were used in a divinatory procedure which consisted in
drawing oracular lots in shrines of martyrs, probably at their tombs. Several
hundred such tickets were found in the sanctuaries of St Philoxenos in
Oxyrhynchus and St Kollouthos in Antinoe.¹⁷ We do not hear of a similar
practice from other parts of the Christian world (the only exception is a single
mention in Gregory of Tours¹⁸). Yet this silence may be due to the general
attitude of ecclesiastical writers toward Christian divination. We have already
seen that, on the one hand, they considered it suspicious and so rarely
advertised it. But on the other hand, they found it less harmful than pagan
oracular methods, and so did not openly condemn it either.¹⁹ And Egypt is the
only region in which scraps of papyri which were thrown on a heap of rubbish
in the sixth century could survive until now. Had they not survived, we would
not know about this practice, for the literary evidence from Egypt does not
mention it. Thus in this case I suspect that the custom, which is attested only
locally, could actually be widespread.
However, it was certainly not always so. The testimony of the Pilgrim of
Piacenza about the head of John the Baptist displayed in a glass jar in Emesa is
a most interesting piece of evidence, because such a practice is not attested in
other parts of the empire. In this case I tend to think that the custom which the
¹⁷ Delattre 2013. ¹⁸ Gregory of Tours, Liber vitae patrum 9.2.

¹⁹ This can be seen also in other Christian divinatory methods such as Bible divination
(Augustine, Epistula 55.20) and the use of sets of divinatory answers: Klingshirn 2002 and
Luijendijk 2014.

pilgrim saw in this specific place was unique. For if in the study of most
practices concerning relics we have to rely on textual evidence, which is often
vague, methods of storing relics are known to us thanks to good archaeological
material. And this material does not show parallels to the skull kept in a glass
receptacle.²⁰ I have tried to explain in Chapter 8 why this particular type of
reliquary appeared in Emesa and not elsewhere. What was displayed in this
city was the second head of John the Baptist, the first being held in Constan-
tinople from the end of the fourth century.²¹ Thus one can suppose that this
specific relic was put into a transparent reliquary because it was necessary to
prove that Emesa really had it. Thus, a custom attested in just one place could
be, but did not have to be, really local, and only the analysis of the context in
which it is mentioned can suggest if it really was.
While it is more interesting to concentrate on regional differences, what our
evidence shows better is striking similarities, particularly of beliefs concerning
relics. Their functions were essentially the same everywhere. The relics were
expected above all to expel demons, heal diseases, and protect places, and the
sources which tell us about this come from every part of the Christian world.
Another belief which was widely shared in diverse parts of Christendom is
the conviction that the power of relics can be transmitted in a physical way.
Already in the fifth century in distant regions of the Mediterranean we can see
the very same need to be as close to the remains of saints as possible in order to
enter into contact with their power. Germanus of Auxerre, who always carried
with him a small chest with relics, a woman who inserted her head into a niche
containing relics of St Stephen in Uzalis, and a deacon with an inguinal
hernia who rubbed his private parts against the angle of the sarcophagus of
St Artemios shared this belief.²²
Thus the need for physical proximity is attested in many places. However,
before the sixth century the old taboo against touching the dead was not
altogether gone, the tombs of saints were not opened at will, and direct access
to relics was limited. In consequence, diverse methods of indirect contact
appeared. For our purposes it is important to note that many of them devel-
oped independently and remained most popular locally, even if subsequently
they were exported to other regions. And here there was a divergence. A good
example of a region in which we can see and sometimes explain the emergence
of local customs, some of which were subsequently adapted elsewhere, is Syria.
In the Limestone Massif in north-western Syria, for instance, many stone
reliquaries were equipped with a system of pipes which permitted the
²⁰ For the reliquaries, see Buschhausen 1971; Mintschev 2003; Comte 2012; Noga-Banai 2008;
Aydin 2011; more generally: Yasin 2009. A good introduction is Jastrzębowska & Heydash-
Lehmann 2018.
²¹ The first head: Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 7.21.5; Chronicon Paschale s.a. 391; the
second head: Chronicon Paschale s.a. 453; Marcellinus Comes, Chronicon s.a. 453.
²² See pp. 123–5.

circulation of oil, as was described in Chapter 7.²³ Such reliquaries were not
unknown in other regions; one of them was discovered recently in Marseilles
(Fig. 11.1).²⁴ But in the Limestone Massif, renowned for its oil production, they
seem to be standard fittings; dozens of them were found in situ during the
excavation of churches in this region. The case of the reliquary found in
Marseilles may be quite special, because this city was a major centre of the
oil trade, and also managed to keep commercial contacts with the East after the
fall of the empire in the West.²⁵ Thus, this case shows both that local practices
proliferated and that their success abroad was often limited.
Another Syriac custom was that of producing the hnana.²⁶ The word means
‘a grace’ in Syriac, but like the Greek term eulogia, that is, ‘a blessing’, it could
be used in reference to a material object.²⁷ Hnana was a mixture of oil, water,
Fig. 11.1. Inside of the tomb of the saints from the church of rue Malaval (Marseilles),
with a bronze pipe through which oil was poured into the tomb. Photo courtesy of
Manuel Moliner.
²³ See Canivet 1978; Comte 2012, 110–12.; see pp. 136–7. ²⁴ Moliner 2006.
²⁵ See Pieri & Bonifay 1995, 106–14 and Loseby 1992, 173–5.
²⁶ John of Ephesus, Vitae sanctorum orientalium 4; Vita Syriaca Symeonis Stylitae 39; Canons
of Marutha 64.
²⁷ For the term eulogia used in a very similar way as hnana, that is, in reference to a contact
relic made out of dust, cf. Vita Symeonis Stylitae Iunioris 163.2; 232.25; 235.16. See also Foskolou
2012.

and dust from the place where a saint lived or was buried which the faithful
received as a healing relic. The habit of collecting dust from a holy place is
attested also in Egypt, Cappadocia, and Gaul,²⁸ but the use of a specific
mixture and the technical term suggests that in Syria, unlike in other regions,
it was a standard way of making contact relics.
LOCAL BACKGROUND
It is interesting to ask whether diverse ways of handling and venerating relics

reflected pre-existing funeral or other local habits. In some cases they almost
certainly did. For instance, in Egypt, where the transfer of bodies of martyrs
from cemeteries to martyria had started already around 370, physical contact
with relics was probably facilitated by the fact that the separation of the living
and the dead was there traditionally less strict than in other regions.²⁹
Some specific customs concerning relics rooted in local tradition are attest-
ed in Persia and neighbouring regions. In his early sixth-century History of
Armenia Łazar Parpetsi tells an interesting story about a curious way of
turning the bodies of St Łewond and his fellow martyrs into relics. It runs as
follows:
Then they cleaned off from the saints’ bones their sweet-smelling flesh which they
wrapped in linen-cloth in a worthy manner and carefully buried with honour in
the desert. Taking the bones they brought them to the capital and kept them in
secret for many days. Then quietly they began to give them to some of the
virtuous Christians who were in the army. Those who received them counted it
a token of salvation for their souls and bodies.³⁰
In this story, which is a very early witness to the practice of dividing and
distributing corporeal relics, the bodies or rather flesh of the martyrs is
properly buried, but only after being separated from the bones, and only the
latter are destined for distribution and further protective use. In another
passage the same author says that Christians venerated bones, teeth, and
nails, that is, only the hard parts of the body.³¹ Was it a local custom? At
first sight it does not seem so, for in Late Antiquity we can hardly find any
mention of soft-tissue relics.³² But normally the bones were obtained after the
natural and long decomposition of the body in the grave. In this case this
²⁸ Gregory of Tours, Liber vitae patrum 8.6; Paphnoutios, Stories of the Monks of the Desert,
fol. 44b–45b (see G. Schenke, CSLA E00144); Gregory of Nazianzus, In sanctum Cyprianum 18.
²⁹ Borg 1997. ³⁰ Łazar Parpetsi, History of Armenia 103 (trans. R. W. Thomson).
³¹ Łazar Parpetsi, History of Armenia 88.
³² Only in the late Martyrdom of Lukianos can we find the relics of his intestines, which were
distributed miraculously among several churches, but this text is known only thanks to a

process was somehow accelerated and since it took place in Armenia, which
switched to Christianity from Zoroastrianism, this practice can be attributed
to the influence of Persian funeral customs. The Zoroastrians exposed the
bodies of the dead to wild animals, carrion birds, and the elements in order to
clean pure bones of unclean flesh.³³ In the episode quoted by Łazar Parpetsi
the custom was Christianized, for the flesh was buried, which was contrary to
the Zoroastrian rules. Still, it was buried somewhere in the desert, was not
taken into the city, and did not become a relic. The influence of Zoroastrian
sensibility can also be found in the seventh-century Syriac story of the Martyrs
of Beit Garmai, who died in the time of King Chosraw II, for according to this
text their final burial took place only a year after death, ‘when the flesh fell off
from the bones’.³⁴
SPREADING NEW CUSTOMS
Local practices certainly could spread through the Christian world, though it is
often difficult to say whether parallel customs found in different regions
should be explained as an import or an independent development based on
the commonly shared convictions. Gregory of Tours, for instance, mentions
diverse contact relics used in sixth-century Lyons. In this city, he says, one
could see:
an immense crowd of people near the tomb [of St Nicetius], buzzing around like a
swarm of happy bees around their familiar hive, some taking from the priest in
attendance pieces of wax for a blessing (pro benedictione), others a little dust, and
others plucked and went away with a few threads from the fringe of the tomb-
covering, all thus carrying off for different purposes the same grace (gratia) of
health.³⁵
In principle, the practice of collecting wax, dust, and pieces of cloth which had
had any contact with relics could have developed in Gaul independently, for
the conviction that relics heal by touch and that whatever touched them was
imbued with their power³⁶ was shared in diverse parts of Christendom.
However, an almost technical use of the words benedictio and gratia in
Georgian translation dating most probably from the eighth century: see N. Aleksidze, CSLA
E01717.
³³ See Huff 2004.
³⁴ Martyrdom of the Ten Martyrs of Beth Garmai, p. 188; see Payne 2011.
³⁵ Gregory of Tours, Liber vitae patrum 8.6.
³⁶ This idea is expressed in Gregory of Tours’s famous description of the weighing of pieces of
cloth before and after placing them on the tomb of St Peter. They got heavier, because they were
soaked with divine power (Liber in gloria martyrum 27).

reference to contact relics, in the same sense as the Greeks used the term
eulogia and the Syriacs hnana, may suggest that these customs were brought to
Gaul directly from over the sea.
New customs could arrive in a region in diverse ways. Sometimes they were
brought together with new relics transferred from distant countries. It is not
easy to assess how frequent these transfers were. On the one hand, the number
of translationes which are known to us is limited. And yet the transfer of relics
was most probably more extensive than it seems to have been, for besides
major corporeal relics transferred solemnly, deposited in churches, and then
immortalized in inscriptions or literary evidence, there was substantial private
and lay importation of lesser—often contact—relics, which is only incidentally
mentioned in the evidence.³⁷ Augustine talks about the dust from the Holy
Land which an ex-military tribune received from his friend and hung on the
wall in order to protect the bedroom in his manor near Hippo.³⁸ Gregory of
Tours mentions a Syriac merchant in Marseilles who hid St Sergius’ finger-
bone in the wall of his house.³⁹ Most small transfers of relics, however, had
little chance of finding their way into late antique texts. Still, they were
probably as important for the spread of new customs as the solemn, official
transfers. We cannot be sure whether the habit of hanging or hiding relics in
one’s house, which was alluded to by both Augustine and Gregory of Tours,
came to Africa and Gaul together with relics brought respectively from
Palestine and Syria, but it is very probable that it did so.
The relics, and customs, obviously travelled mostly westward from the East,
rich in its biblical saints and martyrs, but the opposite direction was not
entirely uncommon.⁴⁰ Gregory of Tours, whose writings are an irreplaceable
source for the study of customs in late antique Gaul, mentions the practice of
making an infusion out of leaves or grass growing at tombs of saints, which
could be a local or regional practice. But he also says that some merchants
exported to the East leaves of the laurel tree growing at the tomb of
St Baudilius in Nîmes.⁴¹ This could be simply an advertisement of the power
of a Gallic saint, but there is no reason to think that Easterners were not
interested in Western relics and practices if they came across them.
New practices could have been brought home also without relics. In a letter
discussing the diversity of liturgical customs in the Church, Augustine says
that some people, when abroad, obstinately follow their own country’s habits,
while others refuse to do so even in their local churches ‘from preference for
that which they have seen abroad, supposing that wisdom is increased in
³⁷ See pp. 138–40.

³⁸ Augustine, De civitate Dei 22.8.199–205. For parallels, see Leyerle 2008.
³⁹ Gregory of Tours, Historiarum libri 7.31. ⁴⁰ Klein 2004b.
⁴¹ Gregory of Tours, Liber in gloria martyrum 77; see also Liber vitae patrum 6.7.

proportion to the distance to which men travel from home’.⁴² Indeed, in late
antique evidence we can find accounts of travellers to distant countries who
described, among other matters, practices relating to the cult of relics. Some of
them seem to have been unknown in the regions from which the travellers
came, and still did not cause outrage, disgust, or shock.⁴³ They incited, rather,
curiosity, if not enthusiasm. The same pilgrim of Piacenza who venerated the
head of John the Baptist placed in a glass jar also refers to the skull of
St Theodota from which many people ‘drink for a blessing’, and adds ‘and
I drank’.⁴⁴ Obviously, we cannot say if he tried to adapt this custom back at
home, but he seems to have been eager to do so—his reaction does not show
any trace of embarrassment or reserve. And that is certainly the spirit which
made diverse practices proliferate in the Mediterranean.
Interestingly, before the sixth century there is not much evidence of the
massive transfer of new customs between diverse parts of the western Medi-
terranean. Rome, the only city which could have played a unifying role in this
respect, did so to a limited degree because it became a pilgrimage centre much
later than the Holy Land, and its relics policy was largely negative.⁴⁵ Rome
kept the bones of its saints hidden and was reluctant to share them for longer
than other cities, and so had less impact on customs concerning at least
corporeal relics than the churches which were more ready to distribute their
saints.⁴⁶ There is also no evidence that Rome tried to impose its habits in this
domain on other Western churches. Neither did Western councils play such a
role, for they rarely dealt with relics. The Council of Carthage (411) permitted
the construction of memoriae sanctorum only in places where relics were
deposited, and the Council of Epaone (517) forbade keeping relics on rural
estates, but this is all that we can find of this kind of evidence before the
seventh century.⁴⁷ If we add to this that the western Mediterranean of Late
Antiquity was not a closed economic area tightly connected by commercial
ties and at the same time separated from the East,⁴⁸ we cannot point out a
mechanism which would have created distinct Western customs in the field of
the cult of relics.
To sum up, the very idea of the cult of relics and the basic beliefs and needs
in this domain were widely shared in the Christian world of Late Antiquity.
⁴² Augustine, Epistula 54.3.

⁴³ Pilgrim of Piacenza, passim; Gregory of Tours, Liber in gloria martyrum 27 (a pilgrim to
Rome); Evagrius, Historia ecclesiastica 2.3 (St Euphemia at Chalcedon).
⁴⁴ Pilgrim of Piacenza, Itinerarium 22.
⁴⁵ Birch 1998, 24–37 suggests that the pilgrimages to Rome had started already in the fourth
century, in parallel with those to the Holy Land, but does not quote any evidence for this earlier
than the sixth century.
⁴⁶ McCulloh 1980.
⁴⁷ Registri ecclesiae Carthaginensis excerpta 83; Concilium Epaonense 25.
⁴⁸ On the complicated patterns of long-distance trade in Late Antiquity, see Ward-Perkins
2000, 369–77.

The ways in which these needs were satisfied were diverse and often developed
locally, sometimes on the basis of earlier regional customs, sometimes in
response to specific needs. Yet people who came across new practices, either
in their own countries or during their travels, often accepted them enthusias-
tically. This helped to spread these practices throughout Christendom and
there were no barriers in this field that were really impossible to cross. The
persistence of local diversity should be attributed, then, to limited contacts and
a lack of interest in making the cult of relics homogeneous rather than to any
profoundly different views on how the remains of saints should be venerated.
Conclusions
This book has tried to explain why the cult of relics appeared and how it
developed. I have argued that this story began just after the end of the Great
Persecution, when Christians suddenly had a sense of an enormous and
unpredictable victory. Their longest and deadliest persecution came to an
end, and the emperor became Christian. This victory was widely attributed
to the martyrs whose faith and sufferings defeated the devil and his followers.
Consequently, in the second quarter of the fourth century the tombs of the
martyrs, heroes of the faith, started to be monumentalized, to a large extent
thanks to imperial initiative and munificence. This happened in various
places, but mostly in the East, where the victims of the Diocletianic persecu-
tions were clearly much more numerous than in the West, where the process
of Christianization was much less advanced, and the persecutions were neither
as violent nor as long as in Anatolia, Syria, Palestine, and Egypt. The new
martyrial shrines attracted pious visitors and pilgrims, who admired their
beauty and also considered them to be proper places to distribute alms.
Subsequently, martyria started to attract the poor, the sick, and demoniacs,
who sought there alms and shelter. Observers probably quickly recognized the
peculiar behaviour of those who were considered to be possessed by evil spirits
as caused by the power of the saints present in their tombs, who tormented the
demons. This happened shortly after the mid-fourth century.
Belief in the power of relics was the main factor thanks to which the cult of
relics developed. The new phenomenon proved to be vigorous and dynamic.
However, even if at first sight its rise indeed looks like an explosion rather than
an evolution, on closer inspection we can see that its rapid spread can be
traced in two aspects. First, the veneration of relics, and several customs
related to this phenomenon, did not appear everywhere at the same moment.
It is impossible to name a place or a precise region in which it emerged. It
certainly can be seen earlier in the eastern Mediterranean than in the Latin-
speaking provinces, but within each of these zones we can see regions in which
it was more or less advanced. In the East, for instance, the cult of relics is more
visible in Syria than in Egypt, and in the West it apparently arrived in Italy
earlier than in Africa. Still, in about two generations it reached all parts of the
Conclusions 215
Christian world. Secondly, the cult of relics did not emerge in all its elements
simultaneously, but evolved. Even if this evolution is often difficult to trace,
since our evidence throws flashes of light only on some regions and periods, like
late fourth-century Cappadocia, early fifth-century Africa, or late sixth-century
Gaul, we can see new forms of contact, new ways of displaying relics, and new
beliefs associated with them appearing in successive generations. This develop-
ment can be followed both in the case of belief in the miraculous power of relics
and in specific practices to which this belief gave rise. At the beginning,
Christians attributed to the bones of saints the power to torment demons,
then to chase them away, and only then to heal physical diseases, protect cities,
and reveal hidden knowledge. By the fifth century all these beliefs are attested in
the evidence and can be found in every part of Christendom. Admittedly, we see
relics which exorcize demons and heal the sick much more frequently than
those which check enemies and reveal the future, but this may be simply due to
the fact that the situation in which a city was besieged but not taken happened
rarely, and that late antique Christian writers were reluctant to advertise any
form of divination. As for practices, Christians very soon began to feel a need for
physical contact with powerful relics, but different types of this contact appeared
only successively. The most dynamic development of the various beliefs and
customs relating to relics took place in the late fourth and early fifth centuries,
but some features of this phenomenon, like the practice of dividing bodily relics,
emerged only at the end of the period studied in this book, that is, in the sixth
century. In that period, in some places physical contact with relics was closer
than in the fourth century, but it seems to have resulted rather from the
widening of the spectrum of methods in which relics were accessed than from
a clear shift from indirect to direct contact. In the same period new forms of
indirect contact and different types of contact relics appeared as well.
This new phenomenon demanded theological reflection. This reflection
followed and tried to justify the new custom rather than gave rise to it, and
was not essential for the development of belief in the power of relics. Still, this
does not mean that theological reflection was superfluous; it was definitely not
superfluous for several bishops. Interestingly, the theology of relics, although
discussed and sometimes rejected, remained quite consistent and widely
shared—the same theological concepts concerning relations between saints,
their relics, and miracles can be found in different moments and different
parts of the Mediterranean, which suggests that in this case at least ideas
spread more easily than practices.
Almost four decades ago, Peter Brown showed how deeply the cult of relics
was rooted in the structures of late antique society and how strongly it was
shaped by late Roman elites. This book does not undermine Brown’s thesis,
but shows, partly in accordance with what Brown himself later admitted, that
the responsibility for the development of the cult of relics did not lie uniquely
with the aristocracy and upper clergy. The role of bishops in the development

of the cult of relics was essential, but because of the clerical character of our
evidence this role is amplified in the sources.¹ On closer examination, we can
see that other clerics, monks, and laymen, not necessarily aristocrats, cared
about relics and played an active role in the spread of their cult.
The cult of relics has always been considered to be a Christendom-wide
phenomenon, and this view is certainly correct. What is not correct is the
conviction that it existed in two versions, that there was a general distinction
between the East and the West. Even if not entirely artificial, this division has
turned out to be of little use for the study of this phenomenon. Admittedly,
there is no doubt that the veneration of relics did not look exactly the same
everywhere. There were many regional differences, sometimes developed
within a local background. Interestingly, they can be observed in practices
rather than in beliefs; the latter remained very similar even in distant parts of
the Mediterranean. Embarrassment about the flesh of martyrs in Persia,
massive use of oil reliquaries and the early emergence of the cult of relics of
holy monks in Syria, and the production of contact relics in Rome are all good
examples of these local particularities. But it has to be emphasized that at the
same time we usually cannot see any disgust or aversion to foreign customs.
Quite the contrary, as the evidence shows that many people were eager to
accept and follow them.
Our evidence usually shows us relics receiving a warm welcome, and there is
no doubt that the cult of relics in most parts of Christendom was met with
wide and sincere enthusiasm. But it also met with opposition among not only
pagans, but also Christians. Among the latter, opposition was possibly stron-
gest in the first decades of the development of this phenomenon, but we come
across it still at the end of the sixth century, and the arguments of its
opponents remain very much the same. This implies that there was a constant
critical undercurrent which only rarely made it to the surface and consequent-
ly left few traces in the extant evidence. Still, the power of this opposition
should not be overestimated. The fact that the texts written by critics had little
chance of surviving implies that the criticism could have been strong and more
widespread than it seems to be, but does not prove that it really was. In all, it is
very difficult to answer the question how popular the cult of relics was; it
certainly had many devoted enthusiasts, some ardent opponents, and those
who simply did not care. The strength of these groups is hard to assess.²
The story summarized above would have looked different, or indeed would
not have happened, in different historical conditions. Yet the rise of the cult of
relics cannot be reduced to a secondary effect of the construction programme
initiated by Constantine. It has to be studied against the background of a wider
change which took place in Christianity after Constantine. The cult of relics
¹ This is very well shown by Bailey 2016. ² See Wood 1998.

Conclusions 217
developed in the same period and in the same religious atmosphere as the idea
of the Holy Land, the practice of pilgrimages, and the monastic movement,
with its ascetic heroes who in their lifetime performed miracles very much like
those which occurred at the tombs of martyrs. Also, relics of saints were the
most important, but not the only holy and powerful objects of late antique
Christianity. Sacred books, pious souvenirs from the Holy Land, and above all
the True Cross often functioned in the very same way as the corporeal remains
of saints: they were transferred reverently from one place to another, treasured
and deposited in churches, divided (much earlier than corporeal relics), and,
above all, considered to have healing, protective, or divinatory power. The
frontier between diverse types of material vectors of sanctity, and particularly
between corporeal and contact relics, was quite blurred.
Fascination with miracle-working monks, pilgrimages to the Holy Land,
and enthusiasm for the cult of relics are often attested in the same milieu of
adherents to the new religiosity which was taking shape in Christendom in the
fourth century. The monastic pilgrim Egeria visited not only the biblical places
of the Holy Land, but also saintly monks in Mesopotamia and tombs of
martyrs in Syria. Sulpicius Severus, the author of the Life of Martin, the first
Western monastic miracle-worker, had endeavoured to obtain ashes of mar-
tyrs for his new-built church long before the deposition of relics under the
altar became the norm. Jerome defended in the same treatise the importance
of the Holy Land, the value of ascetic life and celibacy, and the cult of relics.
Also, these practices provoked similar irritation; the Neoplatonic Eunapius in
one paragraph gave vent to his contempt and distaste for Christian veneration
of both dirty monks and the bones of the martyrs.
Even more importantly, the phenomena listed above had more in common
than merely the religious environment in which they developed. There was
also a genetic link between them. Of course, we can identify specific reasons
which lay behind the emergence of each of them, but they did emerge in the
same period and shared some essential features: the belief that God’s power is
active in this world here and now, the conviction that God often acts by the
agency of intermediaries, and that His power, focused in certain material
vehicles, can be accessed and transferred in a physical way.
The celebration of the new feasts and the veneration of the holy places and
objects can be perceived as aspects of the sacralization of the world in Late
Antiquity. Of course, it would be false to say that Christians turned entirely
toward this world, and ceased to long for the world to come. But a pious
interest in this world strewn with holy people, places, objects, events, and
particular days in which God’s power made itself manifest was on the rise.
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Index
Abgar, king 13, 64–5 Antonius, martyr 38

Abraham, biblical personage 21–2 Antony, monk in Egypt 23–4, 43, 102, 177–9,
Achaea 102 190–1
Acts of Thomas 12–13 Apollo, deity 25, 79, 187–8
Adrianople, battle of 48 Apollonius of Tyana 58–9, 125
Aegean Islands 92–3 Apostles (general) 12, 21, 23–4, 28–30, 32–3,
Aelia, see Jerusalem 38, 44, 57, 88–9, 92–3, 101–2, 104–5, 125,
Aetolus, Greek hero 57–8 183, 197–200
Africa 17–20, 27–8, 44–6, 84–6, 92, 98, 124–5, Aquae Tibilitanae 46
139, 147, 156–7 Arcadius, emperor 68, 104, 197–8
Agatha, martyr 154 archaeological evidence 4, 25–6, 57–8, 75,
Agaunian Martyrs, see Theban Legion 79, 83–4, 87–95, 133–4, 136–7, 149–50,
Agnes, martyr 24, 117 164, 206–7
Agricola, martyr 38, 45–6, 103, 133–4 Arians 33–4, 36, 51–2
Agrigentum 125 Ark of the Covenant 57
Alaric 48–53, 55–6, 59–60, 63–4 Armenia 88–9, 109, 117, 177–9, 209–10
Albania (Caucasian) 88–9, 94–5 Artemios, martyr 74–5, 81–2
Alexander, martyr 38 Asia Minor (general) 23–5, 92–3, 104, 205–6
Alexander the Great 128 Asklepieia 29–30, 42, 79–80
Alexander the Monk 108 Asterius of Amasea 41, 62–3, 144–5, 165–6
Alexandria 24, 52–3, 90, 102, 125, 162, 171, Athanasius of Alexandria 23, 35–6, 42, 74,
183, 186–7 105, 116–17, 146, 162, 175–6, 185,
alms 40–1 189–91
Alps 51, 59–60, 168–9 Athenagoras 128–9, 174–5
altars 9, 75–6, 88–9, 98, 103, 116–17, 120–1, Audurus 139
155–6, 173–4, 177, 193 Augustine of Hippo 19–20, 27–30, 37–8,
Altava 86–7 44–6, 51–2, 59–60, 72, 80, 108–9, 118–21,
Ambrose of Milan 29–30, 33, 37–8, 49–50, 133–4, 139–41, 157–8, 167–8, 171–2,
52–3, 62–3, 88–90, 103, 108–9, 112–13, 174–5, 199–201, 205, 211–12
115, 118–21, 124, 131, 139, 155–6, 159, Confessiones 37–8, 118–19
163, 166–8, 170, 193 Contra Cresconium 19–20
Amida 54–5, 177–9 De Civitate Dei 27–8, 37–8, 45, 128–9,
Ammianus Marcellinus 24–5, 50, 68–9, 133–4, 186–7
183–4 De cura gerenda pro mortuis 51–2, 83–4,
Anaplous 77–8, 81–2 95–6, 195–6
Anastasia, martyr 38 Augustus, emperor 128, 186–7
Anastasius, emperor 177 Avars 54–5, 68
Anastasius of Sinai 192, 197–8 Avitus of Braga 171–2
Anatoclia, martyr 38
Anatolia, see Asia Minor Babylas, martyr 22–3, 25–6, 31, 41, 146,
Anaunian martyrs 51, 168–9 187–8
Ancona 45–6, 146, 167–8, 172–3 barbarians (general) 48–53, 59–60; see also
Andrew, Apostle 22–3, 26, 31, 33, 48, 67–8, Alamans, Goths, Slavs
70, 102, 162–3, 166–7 Barnabas, biblical personage 104–5, 108, 146
Ankara 95 Barnes, Timothy 85–6
Antinoe 75–6, 206 Bartholomew, Apostle 51, 79–80
Antioch 22–3, 25, 40, 58–9, 108, 123, 126, Basilides, martyr 112
131–3, 150, 157–8, 177–9, 187–8 Basil of Caesarea 131–2, 138–9, 144–5,
Antoninus, Neoplatonic philosopher 182–3 162–3, 168–9
244 Index
Baudonivia, nun 177 Cicero, Marcus Tullius 125
Beit Garmai 209–10 Cilicia 54, 162
Berenike, Prosdoke, and Domnina, Cimitile, see Nola
martyrs 132–3 Claros 79
Bethlehem 103, 111–14, 195 Claudian 51, 183–4
Bethuel, biblical personage 105 Clovis II, king 179
biathanatoi 188 columns 65–9, 111–12, 131
Bible: Constantina, wife of the Emperor
New Testament 10, 28–30, 57, 70–1, Maurice 15–16, 136–7, 142–3, 160
101–2, 129, 144, 175–6 Constantine the Great, emperor:
Old Testament 9–10, 21–2, 101–2, building 33, 41, 78
104–6, 114 holy objects 65–7
bishops (general) 19–20, 28–9, 33, 40, 42, laws 184–5
46, 88–90, 100, 109–11, 116–17, mausoleum 86–7, 166–7, 186–7
137–40, 195–6, 204–5 Constantinople 22–4, 40, 48, 52–3, 60–1,
Bologna (Bononia) 38, 44–6, 103, 133–4 65–9, 81–2, 86–9, 94–5, 104, 108, 116–17,
Bordeaux (Burdigala) 140–1, 177; see also 132–3, 143, 154–5, 157–8, 160, 163,
Pilgrim of Bordeaux 171–2, 177–9, 198–9, 204–5
Borromeo, Carlo 167–8 Anaplous 77–8
Botrus and Caelestius, clerics in Carthage 18 Drypia 51, 168–9
Braulio of Saragossa 147–9 Forum of Constantine 65–7
Brescia 50, 162–3, 168–9; see also Gaudentius Hebdomon 50–1, 157–8, 162
of Brecia Holy Apostles 22–3, 33, 67–8
Britain 72–3, 107, 192–3 Constantius II, emperor 25–6, 31–2,
Brivio 151 42–3, 50, 52, 54–5, 197–8
Brown, Peter 4–5, 203–4 Constantius III, emperor 59–60
Buddhism 122–3 Cosmas and Damian, martyrs 45, 81–2,
Burgess, Richard 22–3 154–5
Crete 56
Caecilian of Carthage 17–20 Cronnier, Estelle 106
Caesarea (Palestine) 106–7, 125–6; see also Cross of Christ 66–7, 106–7, 114–15, 129–30,
Eusebius of Caesarea 137, 140–1, 166–7, 176–7, 216–17
Calahorra (Calagurris) 51 Cyprian of Carthage 20–1, 45–6, 70–1,
Calama 45; see also Possidius of Calama 85–6, 103
cancelli 133–4 Cyprus 104–5, 108, 146
Candida, martyr 154 Cyril of Alexandria 183
canons 39–41, 116–17, 138–40; see also Law Cyril of Jerusalem 114–15
Caphargamala 104–5, 107, 170 Cyrrhus 171; see also Theodoret of Cyrrhus
Cappadocia 37–8, 77–8, 93, 104–5, 131–4,
162–3, 168–9, 208–9 Dagron, Gilbert 4–5, 54
capsella Africana 152–3 Dalisandos 175
Carneas 103, 106, 113–14 Dal Santo, Matthew 189–90
Carthage 17–20, 85–6, 116–17, 136–7, Damasus of Rome 14–15, 27–8, 30, 44, 102
171–2, 212 Daniel the Stylite 88–9
cemeteries 14–16, 22–4, 35–6, 61, 90–1, 97, Dannaba 103
105, 108–9, 111–12, 116–17, 146, 161, Daphne, see Antioch
185, 209 Datysus, martyr 38
Chadwick, Henry 16 Dauphin, Claudine 79
Chalcedon 22, 137–8, 166–8 Decius, emperor 20–1, 32, 101
Chalcedonians 90 Delehaye, Hippolyte 4–5, 159, 176–7
Chindeus, martyr 38 Delphi 120–1
Chosraw II 54–5, 209–10 Demetrios 54–5, 61–2, 74
Christ 10, 12–13, 21–2, 28–30, 32–4, 38, 41, demons and demoniacs 32, 35–7, 39–41,
43, 48, 55–7, 64–6, 81, 111–12, 114–15, 50–1, 70, 72–5, 81–2, 97, 120–1, 126,
125, 129, 167–8, 183, 194 139–40, 154–5, 191, 201–2, 214
Chronicon Paschale 65, 68 Denis (Dionysius), martyr 179
Index 245
Depositio Martyrum 14–16 Fadana 105
Didyma 25, 79, 187–8 Faraone, Christopher 58
Diocletian, emperor 17, 20–1, 85–6 Felix, saint 44–5, 48–9, 51–2, 55–6, 60–3,
Diospolis (Lydda) 107 67–8, 72, 83–4, 167–8, 193
divinatory tickets, see oracular lots fenestellae 133–4, 145
Donatists 17–20, 80 Février, Paul-Albert 91–2
Dor 79–80 Forty Martyrs 37–8, 78–9, 81, 88–9, 93–6, 98,
dreams 42–3, 76–82, 85–103, 106–8, 138–9, 162–3, 168–70
112–17, 156–7, 183, 199–200 Frigidus 50–1
Drosis, martyr 150 Fructuosus, martyr 88–9, 168–70
Duchesne, Louis 16 Fundi 67–8, 163
Dura Europos 126–7, 181–2
Duval, Yvette 4–5, 84, 92, 94–5, 97 Gainas, Gothic commander 68–9
Galatia 92–3, 95
Eastman, David 14–15 Galbios and Candidos, aristocrats
Edessa 13, 16, 22, 24, 40, 50, 64–5, 104–5, 116–17
166–7, 183–4, 186–7 Galla, owner of relics 141
Egeria, pilgrim 13, 22, 33, 64–5, 77, Gallus, emperor 22–3, 25–6
103, 105–7, 113, 115, 117, 129–30, Gamaliel, biblical personage 119
166–7, 217 Gascou, Jean 79–80
Egypt 23, 35–6, 74–7, 90, 92, 102, 116–17, Gaudentius of Brescia 49–50, 62–3, 88–9,
126–7, 145, 177–9, 190–2, 206, 209 138–9, 168–70
Eleutheropolis 104, 106–8 Gaul (general) 31–2, 52–3, 74–5, 92, 98, 101,
Elijah, biblical personage 90, 125 122, 133–4, 142–3, 145, 177–9, 193–6,
Elisha, biblical personage 9–10, 125–7, 171 208–11, 214–15
Emeritus and Chelidonius, martyrs 51 Gelasios of Kyzikos 114–15
Emesa 25, 117, 157–8, 171, 206–7 George of Alexandria 24
emperors (general) 46, 65, 99, 110–11, Georgia 2–3, 181–2
117–18, 128, 161–2, 176–7, 184–5 Germanus of Auxerre 112, 139–40, 207
Epaone 212 Germia 95
Ephesus 22, 33, 38, 46–7, 101–2 Gervasius and Protasius, martyrs 27–30,
Ephrem 13 37–8, 45–6, 89–90, 103, 108–9, 118–21,
epigraphic evidence 4, 14–17, 25–6, 33, 56, 124, 131, 139, 155–6, 167–8, 170, 176,
59–60, 72–3, 83–4, 86–7, 92–9, 110–11, 186–7
136–7, 147–51, 153–4, 167–8, 176–7, Gibbon, Edward 203–4
186–7, 211 Goths 48, 50, 59–60, 68–9; see also Visigoths
Epiphanius of Salamis 106–7 Great Persecution, see Diocletian
Eucharist 18–19, 98, 149–50, 194, 197–8 Greece (Balkan Peninsula, general),
Eucherius of Lyon 103–4 149–50, 204
Eugenius, usurper 50–2 Gregory of Nazianzus 37–8, 67–8, 70–1, 84,
Eulalia, martyr 51, 53–4 86–7, 93, 96, 103–5, 115, 131–2, 138–9,
Eulogios of Caesarea 107 143, 175, 194
Eunapius of Sardis 182–5, 217 Gregory of Nyssa 37–8, 50, 52–3, 78–9,
Euphemia, martyr 22, 137–8, 163, 166–8 81, 86–7, 93, 95–6, 130, 132, 139,
Euripides 21–2 144–5, 147, 162–3, 201
Eusebia, Macedonian woman 94–5 Gregory of Tours 53–4, 75–6, 133–8, 140,
Eusebius of Caesarea 11, 13, 21, 25–6, 29–30, 142–3, 175, 177, 210–11
33, 64–5, 103, 113–14, 204–5 Gregory Thaumaturgus 43
Eustratios of Constantinople 192, 197–8, 202 Gregory the Great 15–16, 62, 136–7, 142–3,
Euthymios, monk 102 160, 189–90, 202
Eutychius, martyr 102–3 Gregory the Illuminator 117
Evagrius, church historian 54–5, 137–8,
157–8, 177–9 Habakkuk, prophet 104, 106–7, 113–14, 146
Evodius of Uzalis 46, 80–1 Habundius, martyr 141
exorcisms, see demons Hannibal 21–2
Exuperius of Toulouse 49–50, 186–7, 195–6 Haran 22, 105
246 Index
Helena, emperor Constantine’s mother 21, Job, biblical personage 103, 105–6, 11–14, 117
66–7, 99, 114–15, 128 John Chrysostom 22–3, 31–2, 36–7, 52–3,
Helpidius, martyr 22 62–3, 123, 126, 132–3, 146, 150, 154–5,
Heraclius, emperor 154–5 201–2
Hercules, see heroes John of Jerusalem 106–7, 195–6
Herenius, martyr 141 John Rufus 113
Herodotus 120, 187–8 John the Baptist 1, 25, 36–7, 50–1, 70–1,
heroes (Greek) 5, 11–12, 57–8, 63–4, 120 74–5, 88–90, 92–3, 98–9, 116–17,
Heroonpolis 22 157–8, 162, 165–6, 171, 176–7, 183,
Hesperius, former military tribune 139–40 186–8, 190–1, 206–7
Hierapolis 33, 101–2 John the Evangelist 21, 33, 38, 46, 70–1,
Hilarion, monk 43, 102, 188–9, 198–9 101–2
Hilary of Arles 130–1 Joseph, biblical patriarch 21–2
Hilary of Poitiers 23–4, 31–5, 38, 40–2, 72–3 Josiah, biblical king 9
Hippo 27–8, 45, 133–4, 141, 157–8, 171–3, Julian, emperor 24–5, 52–5, 60, 70, 176–7,
186–7, 211; see also Augustine of Hippo 183–4, 186–9
Hippos 137–8, 149–50 Julian, saint 98, 154–5
Historia Augusta 185–6 Justina, Valentinian II’s mother 108–9
Holy Land, see Palestine Justinian, emperor 67–8, 116, 160, 166–7
Homoians, see Arians
Hormisdas, pope 160, 177–9 Kherbet Salah 90–1
Huns 54–5, 59–60 koimētēria 16
Hunter, David 195–6 Kollouthos, martyr 75–6, 81–2, 206
Hydatius 53–4 Konon, martyr 92–3
Ibora 37–8, 77–9, 139 Laban, biblical personage 105

incubation 42–3, 76–82 Laurence, martyr 52, 160
inscriptions, see epigraphic evidence Law 75–6, 86–7, 161–2, 176, 184–7
Isaac, biblical personage 21–2 Łazar Parpetsi 209
Isaiah, prophet 21–2 Lazarus, biblical personage 21–2, 151
Italy (general) 36, 45–6, 48–53, 62–3, 92, Leo, emperor 68
97–8, 100–1, 146, 159–60, 163, 166–7, Leonida, martyr 38
184–5, 193, 214–15 Leontius of Neapolis 180–1
Łewond, martyr 209
Jacob, biblical patriarch 21–2 Libellus precum 36
Jacobus, dux 51, 183–4 Liber Pontificalis 16, 88–9
James, the Lord’s Brother (or James the son of Limestone Massif 137–8, 143, 207–8
Zebedee, or James the Less) 21, 70–1, Lucian of Caphargamala 104, 119, 170–3
101–2, 106–7 Lucian of Samosata 29–30
Jerash 56 Lucilla of Carthage 17–20, 123–4, 139–40
Jericho 41–2, 125–6 Lucina of Rome 16
Jerome of Stridon (general) 9, 24, 32, 36–7, Luke, Evangelist 22–3, 26, 31, 33, 67–8,
49–50, 62–3, 106–7, 171, 188–9, 204, 217 70–1, 101–2, 162–3, 166–7
Against Vigilantius 52–3, 104, 165–6, Lycurgus 126–7
195–200 Lydia 72–3
Chronicle 22–3, 32, 198–9 Lyons 103–4, 210
Jerusalem (general) 41, 57, 101–2, 104, 106–8,
111–12, 114–15, 117, 129–30, 141–3, Macarius of Jerusalem 114–15
162–3, 171, 177, 186–7 Macarius of Tkow 90
Golgotha 106–7, 114–15 Macedonia 38
Holy Sepulchre 106–7, 114 Macedonians 94–5
Mount of Olives 106–7, 113, 195 Macedonius of Constantinople 166–7
Zion 141–2, 170 Macrina 43, 130
Jesus, see Christ magic 29–30, 97–8, 125–6, 188–9
Jews 11–12, 40, 80, 114, 126–7, 131–2, Magnentius, usurper 50, 52
180–2 Maiorinus of Carthage 17, 19–20
Index 247
Maipherqat, see Martyropolis Nazarius, martyr 38, 45–6, 103–5
Malalas, John 58–9, 65, 78 Neoplatonism 29–30, 60, 182–4
Mamre 77–8 Nero, emperor 32
Manlia Daedalia 167–8 Nestorians 98–9
Marcellinus Comes 171–2 Nicenes 94–5, 108–9
Marcus Aurelius, emperor 185–6 Nicetius of Lyon 210
Marseilles 90–1, 207–8, 211 Nicolas, saint 56
Martigny, see Octodurum Nicomedia 92–3
Martin of Tours 43, 117, 142–3, 192–5, 217 Nikethas, martyr 164
martyria 2–3, 14–15, 22–3, 25–6, 32–3, Nola 40, 44–5, 48–9, 51–2, 55–6, 61, 67–8, 72,
35–41, 52, 73–6, 78–9, 81–2, 98–9, 83–4, 141, 163, 167–8
124–5, 139, 144–5, 161, 176–7,
186–8, 200, 209, 212, 214 Octodurum 103–4
Martyrologium Hieronymianum 85–6, 163 Olympiodorus 59–60, 64–5
Martyropolis 56, 177–9 Optatus of Milevis 17–20, 123–4
Marutha of Maipherqat 56, 138–40, 177–9 oracular lots 75, 206
Mary, Mother of God 1, 65, 68, 95, 116–17 Orestes, see heroes
Matthew, Apostle 104–5, 108 Origen 106–7, 195
Matthias, Apostle 104–5 Orosius 45–6, 171–2, 180–1
mausoleum 24, 67, 86–7, 99, 166–7, 186–7 Otto III, emperor 79–80
Maximianus, emperor 32, 85–6 Oxyrhynchus 75–6, 206
Maximilian, martyr 84–6
Maximos of Seleucia 89–90 Pachomius, monk 43
Maximus of Turin 36–7, 49–50, 62–3 pagan customs and beliefs 2, 4–5, 42–3,
Megetia of Carthage 124–5, 132, 141 57–8, 60–1, 64, 71–3, 76, 78–82, 98–9,
Melania the Elder 141 125–6, 176, 182–8, 190–1, 196–7, 206,
Melania the Younger 94–5, 168–9 209–10
Meletius of Antioch 123 Palestine 21–2, 25, 30, 45–6, 77–8, 102–8,
Melitians 35–6, 105, 116–17, 146, 185 111–12, 114, 117–18, 122, 139–40, 146,
memoriae, see martyria 180–2, 196, 214
Menouthis 77, 79–82 Palladium 58, 65
Mesopotamia 177–9, 181–2, 217 Pantaleon, martyr 74–5, 88–9, 94–5
Messalians 80 passiones 34, 36–7, 154
Metz 53–4 pastophoria 145, 150
Micah, prophet 104, 106–7 Paulinus of Milan 108–9, 118–21
Michael, archangel 77–8, 81–2, 95 Paulinus of Nola 33, 41, 44–5, 48–9, 52–3,
Milan 29–30, 33, 37–8, 45–6, 50, 62–3, 88–90, 55–6, 60–3, 67–8, 72, 83–4, 95–6, 138–9,
103, 108–9, 112–13, 118–21, 124, 131, 141, 163, 167–8, 170, 192–6
155–8, 163, 166–8, 176, 192–3, 195–6 Paul the Anchorite 177–9
Minorca 46, 171–3; see also Severus of Paul the Apostle 4, 10, 14–17, 21, 24, 33, 48,
Minorca 51–4, 67–8, 70–1, 101–2, 136–7, 152–3,
monks, monasteries 22–3, 41–4, 73–7, 88–9, 160–1, 167–8, 197–8
102–3, 106–7, 110–11, 113, 117, 125, Pausanias 57–8
138–41, 145, 156–8, 162, 171–3, 177, Pelagius, ascetic 107
182–4, 188–9, 192–7, 199–200, 205, Perpetua, martyr 34, 45–6, 112
215–17 Persia, Persians 13, 24, 50, 52, 54–6, 64–5,
Moses, biblical personage 29–30, 105, 177–9, 209–10, 216
113, 140 Peter and Marcellinus, martyrs 99
Movsēs Xorenac’i 117 Peter the Apostle 4, 12, 14–17, 21, 24, 33,
Mucius, martyr 38 40–1, 48, 51–4, 67–8, 70–1, 88–9, 94,
Mursa 50 101–2, 136–7, 152–3, 160, 167–8, 197–8
Peter the Fuller 108
Nabor and Felix, martyrs 108–9, 120, 155, Peter the Iberian 113, 139–40, 171–2
167–8 Philip, Apostle 21, 33, 101–2
Nahor, biblical personage 105 Philippicus, general 157
Naples 36, 44–5, 170 Philostorgius 48, 59, 60, 127, 128, 132, 133
248 Index
Philostratus 58–9, 125 private possession of 138–41
Philoxenos, martyr 75–6 stones 21–2, 45–6, 141–2, 146–9,
Photius 66 167–8, 174
Phrygia 31–3, 72–3 terminology 2–3
Piacenza 38, 44–5, see Pilgrim of Piacenza touch 8–10, 12, 18–20, 70, 114–15, 122–45,
Pilgrim of Bordeaux 21–2, 103, 113–14, 147, 153–4, 158, 165–6, 176–7, 207–8
125–6 theology of 34, 44, 62, 83–4, 128–9, 175,
Pilgrim of Piacenza 141–2, 157–8, 206–7, 190–202
211–12 translation/transfer of 12–17, 22–3, 26,
pilgrims (general) 40–1, 45, 47, 117, 145, 31, 46, 51, 65, 85–6, 104, 107, 110–11,
167–8, 214 116–18, 120–2, 131, 139–41, 145–6,
Placentia, see Piacenza 161–2, 168–9, 171–2, 176–7, 181–3,
Plutarch 123, 126–7 185–7, 191, 195–8, 209, 211
Polycarp, martyr 10–12, 123 visibility of 98–9, 144–58
Pompeiana 85–6 reliquaries (general) 2–3, 10, 94–5, 132–4,
Pontus 50, 52–3 140, 147–55, 164–5
possessed, see demoniacs glass reliquaries and reliquaries with a
Potamiena, martyr 112 peephole 146, 149–50, 157, 176, 206–7
Procopius 65, 67–8, 116–18, 143, iconography of 151–3, 167–8
166–7 reliquaries with oil-flowing system 90–1,
Proculus, martyr 38 137–8, 143, 153–4, 207–8, 216
Prudentius 51–3, 144–5 Renberg, Gil 76–8
Resapha 4–5, 54–5, 140–1, 177–9
Rachel, biblical personage 21–2 Riparius, priest 195–6
Radegond, queen 177 Rome (general) 14–15, 33, 40, 44, 48, 51–2,
Ragota, martyr 38 60, 65, 67, 92–3, 97–9, 136–7, 143, 145,
Rebecca, biblical personage 21–2 159–60, 165–6, 186–7, 197–8, 204–5,
Rebillard, Éric 16 212, 216
relics: ‘At the Two Laurels’ cemetery 99
arm 150–1, 171–2, 179 Catacombs and Via Appia 14–16, 24,
ashes 2–3, 24, 51, 61–4, 67–8, 122, 129, 41, 94
138–41, 146, 153, 157, 162–4, 167–70, Isola Tiberina 79–80
172–3, 176–7, 186–7, 190–1, 193–4, 217 Lateran 40
blood 4, 32, 36, 51, 70, 88–9, 93–5, 110–11, Vatican 14, 16, 40–1, 88–9, 94
120, 131, 137–8, 146–7, 155–8, 167–8, Via Ostiense 14, 41
170, 172–3, 176–7, 194 Via Tiburtina 95, 141
bones 1, 9–13, 15–16, 22–3, 25, 32, 51, Rouen 38–9, 46, 50, 147, 170, 192–5; see also
57–8, 90–1, 98–9, 120, 123–4, 126–7, Victricius of Rouen
129–34, 140, 149, 155–6, 162, 168–9, Rufininus of Naples 36
171–3, 177–83, 191, 194, 209–10 Rufinus of Aquileia 31, 50–1, 66, 114–15, 162,
brandea, cloth 240 190–1, 195
contact relics (general) 2–3, 10, 136–7, 146,
160, 166–8, 174, 188, 208–11, 214–17 Sabinianus 24, 50, 61, 188–9
dust 2–3, 12, 94–5, 123–4, 132, 137, Sabinus, deacon 95
139–40, 146, 164, 168, 170–4, 176–7, Saint-Maurice d’Agaune 147–9
195–7, 208–11 Salsa, martyr 91–2
finger 140–1, 177–9, 211 Samuel, biblical personage 104, 146, 197–8
fragrance of 110–11 Sarah, biblical personage 21–2
head 15–16, 36–7, 50–1, 54–5, 110–11, sarcophagi 23, 88–91, 94–5, 123, 125–7,
116–17, 120, 131, 150–1, 155–8, 160–2, 137–8, 145–53, 207
165–6, 195, 206–7, 211–12 Saturninus of Macedonia, martyr 38
hnana 2–3, 208–11 Saturninus of Toulouse, martyr and
incorruptibility of 110–11, 120, 128–9 bishop 49–50, 186–7
kissing 17–20, 122–5, 129–31, 139–40, Satyrus, Ambrose of Milan’s brother 88–90
196–7 Sebaste (Palestine) 25, 36, 162, 171
labels on 147–9 Sebastian, martyr 14, 99
Index 249
Seleucia 22, 31–2, 46–7, 54, 61–4, 77–8, Theophanes 154–5
81–2, 175 Theophilus of Alexandria 162, 183, 190–1
Sens 147–9 Thomas, Apostle 12–13, 22, 51–2, 54–5, 105,
Sergius, martyr 4–5, 54–5, 140–1, 177, 211 123–4, 166–7, 186–7
Servius, grammarian 63–4, 77 Thrace 52, 59–60
Severus, martyr 163 Three Young Men 88–9, 151, 166–7, 181–2
Severus of Minorca 172–3, 180–1 Timothy, ‘Apostle’ 22–3, 31, 33, 48, 65, 67,
Sharbel, martyr 15 101–2, 162, 166–7
Shenoute, monk 77, 116–17, 177–9, 191–2 Timothy Salophakiolos 90
Sicily 59–60, 62 Tipasa 40, 91–2
Silvia, pilgrim 138–9, 141, 163 Toulouse 49–50, 122, 186–7, 195–6
Simeon Stylites, monk 131, 157–8, 177–9 Troianus, martyr 38
Simon, Apostle 104–5 Turin 49–50, 168–9; see also Maximus of
Sinitis 46 Turin
Sirmium 92 Tyana 92–3, 98–9; see also Apollonius of
Slavs 54–5, 61–2 Tyana
Socrates of Constantinople 66–119, 204–5 Tyre 56
Sophene 56, 177–9
Sozomen 22–3, 36–9, 50–1, 66–7, 77–8, 94–5, Uzalis 27–8, 45–6, 124–5, 139, 156–8,
104, 106–8, 117–18, 168–9 172–3, 175
Spain 52–3, 92, 171–2
Spoleto 167–8 Valentinian I, emperor 36
statues 2, 58–60, 63–9, 125 Valentinian II, emperor 161
Statuta ecclesiae antiqua 39–40 Valerian, emperor 16, 20–1, 101
Stephen the First Martyr 27–8, 45–6, 53–4, Van der Horst, Pieter 181–2
70–1, 104–5, 107–8, 112, 119, 124–5, Verres 125
133–4, 139, 141, 146, 152–3, 156–8, Vespasian, emperor 125
167–8, 170–5, 180–1, 186–7, 195–6, 205 Victoriana 139
Suetonius 128 Victorinus of Poetovio 29–30
Sulpicius Severus 39–40, 43, 50, 52–3, 167–8, Victor of Tunnuna 108, 117–18
193–5 Victricius of Rouen 33, 38–9, 44–7, 49–50,
Suzanna, biblical personage 51 52–3, 62–3, 88–9, 147, 163, 170, 175,
Sychar 21–2 192–5, 199–200
Syria 2–3, 25, 58–9, 66–7, 90–2, 97, 102, Vigilantius of Calagurris 122–4, 165–6,
132–3, 137–41, 145, 149–50 195–200
Vigilius 51
Talmud 126–7, 180–1 vigils 81, 110–11, 117–18, 196
Tavium 92–3 Visigoths 52–3, 171–2
Tertullian 201 vision 54–5, 79, 81–2, 102–4, 106–8, 110–12,
Theban Legion 103–4 115–17, 119, 156–7, 168–9, 183, 191,
Thecla, martyr 22, 32, 46–7, 51, 54, 61–4, 70, 199–200
74, 80–2, 117, 175 Vitalis, martyr 45–6, 103, 133–4
Theoderic, king 53–4
Theodore, martyr 50, 52–3, 56, 132, 147 Woods, David 85–6
Theodore of Mopsuestia 98–9 Wortley, John 9, 4–5, 159–60, 168–9
Theodore of Octodurum 103–4
Theodoret of Cyrrhus 38–9, 54, 62–3, 66–7, Zacchaeus, biblical personage 21–2
88–9, 164, 194 Zebennos of Eleutheropolis 106–8,
Theodosiopolis 54–5 113–14
Theodosius I, emperor 36–7, 42–3, 50–1, Zechariah, father of John the Baptist 88–9
59–61, 86–7, 104, 106–7, 115–16, Zechariah, prophet 94–5, 104, 107–8, 113–14,
161–2, 184–7 116–17, 146
Theodosius II, emperor 56, 104 Zoroastrianism 209–10
Theodota, martyr 142–3, 211–12 Zuckerman, Constantin 85–6

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OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 20/11/2018, SPi

The Beginnings of the

5.1 A tomb of unnamed saints in the church of the rue Malaval

AASS Acta Sanctorum (Brussels)

2 The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

4 The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

⁵ For the history of the Bollandists, see Godding et al. 2007.

6 The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

Prehistory and Early Chronology

Prehistory and Early Chronology 9

THE BIBLICAL BACKGROUND

¹ 1 Kings 13:31–2. ² 2 Kings 23:15–18.

10 The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

P R E- C O N S T A N T I N I A N CHRI S TIANITY: FOU R C AS E S

For post-New Testament Christianity of the second and third centuries we

Prehistory and Early Chronology 11

12 The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

⁹ Pietri 1991. ¹⁰ Klijn 2003, 15.

Prehistory and Early Chronology 13

¹³ Thomas and Parthia: Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 3.1.1.

14 The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

Prehistory and Early Chronology 15

²¹ Eastman 2011, 94–109, with references to the earlier discussion.

16 The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

²⁵ Duchesne in the Liber Pontiﬁcalis, vol. 1, pp. civ–cvii.

Prehistory and Early Chronology 17

²⁸ What follows is based on Wiśniewski 2011.

18 The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

Prehistory and Early Chronology 19

20 The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

Prehistory and Early Chronology 21

T H E FO U R T H CE N T U R Y : THE VE RY BE G I NNI NGS

22 The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

Prehistory and Early Chronology 23

24 The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

Prehistory and Early Chronology 25

⁶¹ John Chrysostom, In Babylam 80–91 and Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 5.19.16–19.

26 The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

⁶⁷ Papaconstantinou 2001, 370.

The First Miracles

¹ See e.g. Flusin 1983.

28 The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

CHRISTIANITY WITHOUT MIRACLES (OR ALMOST)

It may seem understandable that the miracles enumerated by Augustine or the

The First Miracles 29

30 The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

The First Miracles 31

THE VERY BEGIN NING: TIME AND PLACE

Let us begin with the question of chronology. As has been demonstrated in

32 The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

¹⁹ Hilary, De Trinitate 11.3. ²⁰ Hilary, Contra Constantium 8.

The First Miracles 33

34 The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

The First Miracles 35

DEMONIACS AT THE MARTYRIA

36 The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

³³ Athanasius, Epistula festalis 42. The translation follows that of Camplani.

The First Miracles 37

38 The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

The First Miracles 39

WHAT WERE THE DEMONIACS LOOKING

⁴⁷ Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 7.27.1 (tomb of Epiphanius of Salamis), 3.14.26 (tomb of

40 The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics