(Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen Zum Neuen Testament) Laura Nasrallah_ Charalambos Bakirtzis_ Annemarie Luijendijk - From Roman to Early Christian Cyprus_ Studies in Religion and Archaeology-Mohr Sie

Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen
zum Neuen Testament
Herausgeber/Editor
Jörg Frey (Zürich)
Mitherausgeber/Associate Editors
Markus Bockmuehl (Oxford) ∙ James A. Kelhoffer (Uppsala)
Tobias Nicklas (Regensburg) ∙ Janet Spittler (Charlottesville, VA)
J. Ross Wagner (Durham, NC)
437
From Roman to
Early Christian Cyprus
Studies in Religion and Archaeology
Edited by
Laura Nasrallah, AnneMarie Luijendijk,
and Charalambos Bakirtzis
Mohr Siebeck
Laura Nasrallah, born 1969; 2003–19 Professor of New Testament and Early Christianity at
Harvard University; since 2019 Buckingham Professor of New Testament Criticism and Inter-
pretation at Yale Divinity School and Yale University Department of Religious Studies.
orcid.org/0000-0003-3232-9487
AnneMarie Luijendijk, born 1968; 2006–12 Assistant Professor, 2012–14 Associate Professor
and since 2014 Professor of Religion, Princeton University, Department of Religion.
orcid.org/0000-0003-3736-9904
Charalambos Bakirtzis, born 1943; Ephor emeritus of Byzantine Antiquities of Eastern Mace-
donia and Thrace, and of Thessaloniki and Central Macedonia; currently Director of the Foun-
dation Anastasios G. Leventis in Nicosia, Cyprus.
ISBN 978-3-16-156873-2 / eISBN 978-3-16-156874-9

DOI 10.1628/978-3-16-156874-9
ISSN 0512-1604 / eISSN 2568-7476
(Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament)
The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie;
detailed bibliographic data are available at http://dnb.dnb.de.
© 2020 Mohr Siebeck Tübingen, Germany. www.mohrsiebeck.com

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Table of Contents
Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . � VII
Abbreviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . � IX
Laura Nasrallah
Introduction (and an Analaysis of Religion by Means of the
Annex of Eustolios) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . � 1
Charalambos Bakirtzis
Sea Routes and Cape Drepanon: Excavations at
Agios Georgios tis Pegeias, Paphos, Cyprus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . � 25
James Carleton Paget

Cyprus in the New Testament and Beyond . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . � 33
Athanasios Papageorghiou and Nikolas Bakirtzis

Hagiographic Narratives and Archaeological Realities:
Revisiting the Beginnings of Christianity in Cyprus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . � 55
Henry Maguire
The Gods, Christ, and the Emperor in the Late Antique Art of Cyprus . . . . � 75
Demetrios Michaelides
Mosaic Workshops in Cyprus from the Fourth to the Seventh Centuries CE:
Two Parallel Lives? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . � 93
Andrew T. Wilburn
Ritual Specialists and the Curse Tablets from Amathous, Cyprus . . . . . . . . . �111
Andrew S. Jacobs
Epiphanius’s Library . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . �133
Young Richard Kim

Cypriot Autocephaly, Reconsidered . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . �153
VI
AnneMarie Luijendijk
The Gospel of Matthew in the Acts of Barnabas through the Lens
of a Book’s History: Healing and Burial with Books . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . �169
Ioli Kalavrezou
The Cyprus Treasures since their Discovery: A Re-Evaluation . . . . . . . . . . . . �195
Stephanos Efthymiadis
The Cult of Saints in Late Antique Cyprus and the Apostolicity
of its Churches: The Testimony of Greek Hagiography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . �211
Marina Solomidou-Ieronymidou and Giorgos Philotheou

The Representation and Memory of Saints Paul, Barnabas, Epiphanios,
and Others on Wall Paintings of Byzantine and Medieval Cyprus . . . . . . . . . �225
Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . �237
Figures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . �271
Subject Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . �317
Acknowledgments
The editors are grateful to a great number of people and organizations for their
help with the original conference and for the publication of this volume.
The conference and publication would not have been possible without sub-
stantial funds and administrative support from the A. G. Leventis Foundation;
the Harvard Divinity School Center for the Study of World Religion; and Prince-
ton University’s Departments of Art and Archaeology, Classics, History, and Re-
ligion, as well as the Committee for the Study of Late Antiquity.
At the conference, Harvard Ph.D. students Heather McLetchie-Leader and
Sarah Porter were invaluable, with Sarah making the conference possible with-
in days of her arrival to study at Harvard. Ashley Richardson, Karin Grundler-
Whitacre and her office, and Daniel Hawkins and his team made the conference
run smoothly.
At the conference itself, the following posters were displayed, and we are
grateful to their authors:
Cyprus: From Aphrodite’s Island to the Island of Saints by Stavros S. Fotiou,
University of Cyprus
The Early Christian Baptisteries of Cyprus by Rania Michail, University of
Cyprus – Istituto Pontificio di Archaeologia Cristiana (Rome-Vatican)
Late Antique Baths of Cyprus by Paraskevi Christodoulou, University of
yprus
C
Wall Mosaics of Cyprus by Pelli Mastora, Ephoreia of Antiquities, Thessalo
niki – Open University of Cyprus
This publication would not have been possible without the labor of many. We
are grateful to Elena Müller of Mohr Siebeck for acquiring this manuscript and
to Tobias Stäbler and Daniela Zeller for their help in producing this manuscript.
We are especially grateful to Princeton University Ph.D. student Jonathan
Klein Henry for his expertise and dedication in editing the volume, to Prince-
ton Theological Seminary Ph. D. student Nathan Carl Johnson for his help in
editing, especially in preparing the bibliography. Harvard University Ph.D. stu-
dents were invaluable in their help: Sarah Porter again helped with images, and
Eric Jarrard offered careful copy-editing in a remarkably timely manner and with
good humor. Mr. Theocharis Petrou helped in the proofreading and editing of
the paper of Marina Solomidou-Ieronymidou and George Philotheou.
For the color images, we are grateful to the A. G. Leventis Foundation; for au-
thorization for many images, we are grateful to the Department of Antiquities,
Cyprus.
VIII Acknowledgments
The conference was preceded by travels to Cyprus; AnneMarie Luijendijk and

Laura Nasrallah would like to thank Karin and Bernhard Brouwer for their hos-
pitality. For their love, care, and support, AnneMarie would like to thank her
husband Jan Willem, children Kees, Erik, Rosemarie, and Annabel, and parents
Ary and Gerie.
We are also especially thankful to Charalambos Bakirtzis for his hospitali-
ty and guiding of us and two of our children in Cyprus in a truly unforgettably
beautiful trip – with beauties of mosaics, frescoes, archaeological sites, moun-
tains, and sea.
Abbreviations
ACM Marvin Meyer and Richard Smith. Ancient Christian Magic: Coptic
Texts of Ritual Power. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1994.
ACW Ancient Christian Writers
ActAnt Acta Antiqua Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae
AGAJU Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchristen-
tum
AJ Antiquaries Journal
AJA American Journal of Archaeology
AJEC Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity
AJP American Journal of Philology
AnBoll Analecta Bollandiana
ANF Ante-Nicene Fathers: The Writings of the Fathers down to 325 A. D.
Edited by Alexander Roberts et al. (Repr. Hendrickson: Peabody,
1995.)
ANRW Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt
APSP American Philosophical Society Proceedings
ARDAC Annual Report of the Director of Antiquities
ASOR American Schools of Oriental Research
BA Biblical Archaeologist
BASP Bulletin of the American Society of Papyrologists
BCH Bulletin de correspondance hellénique
BGU Aegyptische Urkunden aus den Königlichen Staatlichen Museen zu Ber-
lin, Griechische Urkunden.
BHG Bibliotheca Hagiographica Graeca
BHT Beiträge zur historischen Theologie
BSR Bulletin for the Study of Religion
BZNW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft
CCSG Corpus Christianorum: Series Graeca
CÉFR Collection de l’ École française de Rome
CH Church History
CIAnt Classical Antiquity
ClAp Clavis apocryphorum Novi Testamenti
ClQ Classical Quarterly
CPG Clavis Patrum Graecorum
CSEL Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum
DOP Dumbarton Oaks Papers
DTA Richard Wünsch. Defixionum Tabellae Atticae. Inscriptiones Graecae
3.3. Berlin: G. Reimer, 1897.
DTAud Auguste Audollent. Defixionum Tabellae. Paris: Fontemoing, 1904.
EstBib Estudios bíblicos
FC Fathers of the Church
X Abbreviations
GCS Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten drei Jahr

hunderte
GRBS Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies
Hesperia Hesperia: Journal of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens
Historia Historia: Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte
HTR Harvard Theological Review
JAC Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum
JACErg Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum – Ergänzungsbände
JBL Journal of Biblical Literature
JDI Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts
JEA Journal of Egyptian Archaeology
JECS Journal of Early Christian Studies
JEH Journal of Ecclesial History
JHS Journal of Hellenic Studies
JJP Journal of Juristic Papyrology
JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies
JPOS Journal of the Palestine Oriental Society
JRH Journal of Religious History
JRS Journal of Roman Studies
JTS Journal of Theological Studies
Klio Klio: Beiträge zur Alten Geschichte
LCL Loeb Classical Library
LIMC Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae
MAAR Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome
NETS New English Translation of the Septuagint
NGD David R. Jordan. “New Greek Curse Tablets (1985–2000).” Greek,
Roman and Byzantine Studies 41 (2000): 5–46.
NHS Nag Hammadi Studies
NovT Novum Testamentum
NPNF Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers. Edited by Philip Schaff, Alexander Ro-
berts, Henry Wace, James Donaldson
NTS New Testament Studies
NumC The Numismatic Chronicle and Journal of the Royal Numismatic Society
Numen Numen: International Review for the History of Religions
OCP Orientalia Christiana Periodica
OECT Oxford Early Christian Texts
PGL Patristic Greek Lexicon. Edited by Geoffrey W. H. Lampe. Oxford:
larendon, 1961.
C
PO Patrologia Orientalis
RDAC Report of the Department of Antiquities Cyprus
RGRW Religions in the Graeco-Roman World
RQ Römische Quartalschrift für christliche Altertumskunde und Kirchen-
geschichte
RST Regensburger Studien zur Theologie
SAC Studies in Antiquity and Christianity
SBFCMa Studium Biblicum Franciscanum, Collectio major
SC Sources chrétiennes
SEG Supplementum epigraphicum graecum
Abbreviations XI
SOAC Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization
Spec Speculum
STAC Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum
StPat Studia Patristica
Suppl. Mag. Robert W. Daniel and Franco Maltomini. Supplementum Magicum.
Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag, 1990.
TLG Thesaurus Linguae Graecae: Canon of Greek Authors and Works
TSAJ Texte und Studien zum antiken Judentum
TynBul Tyndale Bulletin
VC Vigiliae Christianae
WGRW Writings from the Greco-Roman World
WUNT Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament
ZAC Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum
ZNW Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der
ä lteren Kirche
ZPE Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik
Introduction
(and an Analaysis of Religion by Means of the Annex of Eustolios)
Laura Nasrallah
Cyprus is a crossroad of the ancient eastern Mediterranean, an astonishingly

beautiful and rich location, providing much data about the world of late antiqui-
ty. Egypt, the Levant, Asia Minor, Greece: Cyprus stood and stands in the midst
of it all. The mosaics at Paphos, the elusive Barnabas, the role of Cyprus as auto-
cephalous: these buildings, images, figures, and events are intriguing data from
late antiquity, to take only a few.1 Yet the significance of Cyprus has been under-
appreciated for the study of late antiquity. From Roman to Early Christian Cyprus
and the conference that preceded it participate in filling this lacuna. This volume
takes as its focus Cyprus as a key location between east and west, a location in
which Judaism, Greco-Roman religions, and Christianity intersected, and where
Christianity came to flourish.
Cyprus is mentioned in the New Testament only in the Acts of the Apostles
(ca. 90–120). There we find an account of the apostles Paul and Barnabas in Cy-
prus. A story of Barnabas, who comes to be closely associated with Cyprus, is re-
counted in chapters 4, 9, and 11–15 of Acts. The name of Barnabas is mentioned
in the letters of Paul (1 Cor 9:6; Gal 2:1, 9, 13), which predate the Acts of the Apos-
tles and the deutero-Pauline Letter to the Colossians (Col 4:10). In later Chris-
tian traditions, we find other texts associated with the apostle who is beloved to
Cyprus. The Epistle of Barnabas, for example, is an allegorical interpretation that
indicates tensions between Christians and Jews over interpretation of Scripture.
It likely dates to the period between the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem
and the emperor Hadrian’s quashing of Bar Kokhba’s revolt in 135. The Acts of
1 Sophocles Hadjisavvas, Cyprus: Crossroads of Civilizations (Nicosia: The Government of

the Republic of Cyprus, 2010); Nicholas Stampolidis and Vassos Karageorghis, eds., ΠΛΟΕΣ.
Sea Routes: Interconnections in the Mediterranean, 16th–6th c. BC: Proceedings of the International
Symposium Held at Rethymnon, Crete, September 29th–October 2nd, 2002 (Athens: The Univer-
sity of Crete and the A. G. Leventis Foundation, 2003). See also Bernard Knapp, whose study
focuses on pre-historical Cyprus. He questions whether looking at Cyprus as crossroads of civ-
ilizations has focused too little on events and motivations within the island itself; “Prehistoric
Cyprus: A ‘Crossroads’ of Interaction?” in Multiple Mediterranean Realities: Current Approach-
es to Spaces, Resources, and Connectivities, ed. Achim Lichtenberger and Constance von Rüden,
Mittelmeerstudien 6 (Paderborn: Wilhelm Fink; Ferdinand Schöningh, 2015), 17–30.
2 Laura Nasrallah
Barnabas, which likely dates to the early fifth century CE, details stories of the
Cypriot saint.
Stories about other early Christian saints and leaders in Cyprus, such as Hera
kleidios, Mnason, Epaphras, Tychicos, Auxibios, and Spyridon, not only provide
important narratives of Christian saints, but also information about topography
and everyday life on the island. In addition, in the late fourth century, Epipha
nius of Salamis emerges as an important collator of information about the var-
ieties of early Christianity and as a strong voice in early Christian controversies.
The chapters in this volume treat these various figures, texts, and their ma-
terial contexts. Other figures from Cyprus, too, come into view: those who used
so-called magical texts, for example, and those who worked in a harbor, involved
with the transport of building materials. By drawing on literary, archaeological,
and art historical evidence from the first century CE to the medieval period, the
volume elucidates the diversity of Christianity in late antique Cyprus and rela-
tions between Christians, Jews, and participants in Greco-Roman religions.
Our volume is part of a groundswell of studies and publications since 2005
about ancient Cyprus. Since 1995, Theodoros Papadopoullos has been publishing
a multi-volume Ιστορία τῆς Κύπρου, including a 2005 volume about Byzantine
Cyprus.2 In the same year, a volume focused Aphrodite in Cyprus appeared.3
Since 2010, monographs and edited volumes treating Cyprus have focused on
various other issues. Two recent volumes analyze Cypriot objects in far-flung
locations of Sydney, Australia, and Reading, UK.4 A richly illustrated volume,
Historic Nicosia, edited by Demetrios Michaelides, analyses the city and envi-
rons from the prehistoric period to 1960.5 Another lavishly illustrated volume,
Ancient Cyprus: Cultures in Dialogue, formed a catalogue to an exhibition hosted
in Cyprus and Brussels in 2012 and 2013. The volume reviews the history of Cyp-
riot archaeology and details a historical overview of Cyprus from the Neolithic
to the Roman period. In addition, thematic essays treat such topics as natural re-
sources, religion, and language, and the volume concludes with a thematically
organized catalogue for the exhibition, including objects classed as part of the
“world of the sacred.”6 A recent volume titled Four Decades of Hiatus in Archae-
2 Theodoros Papadopoullos, ed., Ιστορία της Κύπρου (6 vols. Nicosia: Hidryma Archiepis-
kopou Makariou, 1995-).
3 Jacqueline Karageorghis, Kypris. The Aphrodite of Cyprus: Ancient Sources and Archaeolog-
ical Evidence (Nicosia: The A. G. Leventis Foundation, 2005).
4 Craig Barker, Aphrodite’s Island: Australian Archaeologists in Cyprus. The Cypriot Collec-
tion of the Nicholson Museum (Sydney: Nicholson Museum, University of Sydney, 2012); Sadie
Pickup, Marianne Bergeron, and Jennifer M. Webb, Cypriote Antiquities in Reading: The Ure
Museum at the University of Reading and the Reading Museum (Reading Borough Council),
Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology, XX:30; Corpus of Cypriote Antiquities, 30 (Uppsala:
Åströms Förlag, 2015).
5 Demetrios Michaelides, ed., Historic Nicosia (Nicosia: Rimal Publications, 2012).
6 Despina Pilides and Nikolas Papadimitriou, eds., Ancient Cyprus: Cultures in Dialogue
(Nicosia: Department of Antiquities, 2012).
Introduction 3
ological Research in Cyprus: Towards Restoring the Balance addresses issues of

cultural heritage in a divided island.7
Other books offer scientific publication of the archaeological sites of Psemat-
ismenos-Trelloukkas and Pyla-Koutsopetria, or focus on metallurgy and pottery
in bronze-age Cyprus.8 The evolution of the wall paintings and architecture of an
originally twelfth-century church is detailed in an edited volume titled Asinou
Across Time: Studies in the Architecture and Murals of the Panagia Phorbiotissa,
Cyprus.9 Two recent volumes study religion, politics, and social life in Cyprus in
antiquity: Giorgos Papantoniou’s Religion and Social Transformations in Cyprus:
From the Cypriot Basileis to the Hellenistic Strategos,10 and Takashi Fujii’s Imperi-
al Cult and Imperial Representation in Roman Cyprus.11 Les inscriptions de Pa-
phos: La cité chypriote sous la domination lagide et à l’époque impériale, by Jean-
Baptiste Cayla, republishes more than 350 inscriptions, dating from the fourth
century BCE to the seventh century CE, associated with the city of Paphos.12 The
publications of an international symposium at the Römisch-Germanisches Zen-
tralmuseum in Mainz have focused on the churches of late antique Cyprus and
include chapters focusing on liturgy and baptism, as well as the material stuff
of mosaics and textiles, and the larger issue of the place of churches within the
sacred landscape of Cyprus.13 A project funded by the TOPOI Excellence Cluster
in Berlin worked to understand early Christianity in Cyprus and other regions,
by collecting epigraphic and literary evidence.14
7 Despina Pilides and Maria Mina, eds., Four Decades of Hiatus in Archaeological Research
in Cyprus: Towards Restoring the Balance. Proceedings of the International One-Day Workshop,
Held in Lefkosia (Nicosia) on 24th September 2016, Hosted by the Department of Antiquities, Cy-
prus, Κυπριακά – Forschungen zum antiken Zypern 2 (Vienna: Holtzhausen Verlag, 2017).
8 Giorgos Georgiou, Jennifer M. Webb, and David Frankel, Psematismenos-Trelloukkas: An
Early Bronze Age Cemetery in Cyprus (Nicosia: Department of Antiquities, 2011); William R. Ca-
raher, R. Scott Moore, and David K. Pettegrew, Pyla-Koutsopetria I: Archaeological Survey of an
Ancient Coastal Town, Archaeological Reports 21 (Boston: ASOR, 2014); Jennifer M. Webb and
David Frankel, Ambelikou Aletri. Metallurgy and Pottery Production in Middle Bronze Age Cy-
prus, Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology 138 (Jonsered: Åströms Förlag, 2013).
9 Annemarie Weyl Carr and Andreas Nicolaïdès, eds., Asinou across Time: Studies in the Ar-
chitecture and Murals of the Panagia Phorbiotissa, Cyprus (Washington, D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks
Research Library and Collection; Cambridge, MA: Distributed by Harvard University Press, 2012).
10 Giorgos Papantoniou, Religion and Social Transformations in Cyprus: From the Cypri-
ot Basileis to the Hellenistic Strategos, Mnemosyne Supplements: History and Archaeology of
Classical Antiquity 347 (Leiden: Brill, 2012).
11 Takashi Fujii, Imperial Cult and Imperial Representation in Roman Cyprus (Stuttgart:
Steiner, 2013).
12 Jean-Baptiste Cayla, Les inscriptions de Paphos: La cité chypriote sous la domination lagide
et à l’époque impériale, Travaux de la Maison de l’Orient 74 (Lyon: Maison de l’Orient et de la
Méditerranée Jean Pouilloux, 2018).
13 Marietta Horster, Doria Nicolaou, and Sabine Rogge, eds., Church Building in Cyprus
(Fourth to Seventh Centuries): A Mirror of Intercultural Contacts in the Eastern Mediterranean
(Münster: Waxmann Verlag, 2018).
14 “The Rise of Christianity in Asia Minor and On Cyprus,” Topoi: The Formation and
4 Laura Nasrallah
Our volume thus adds to a number of recent studies of and publications

about Cyprus. From Roman to Early Christian Cyprus makes its own contribu-
tion both in its temporal focus and in its scholarly collaboration. We investigate
late Rome to early Christian Cyprus, with some essays treating the middle By-
zantine period. The contributors to the volume come from different disciplinary
backgrounds. Studies of ancient literature, religion, archaeology, and art history
are represented. The essays in our volume focus on questions of social, political,
and religious life in Roman and early Christian Cyprus and contribute new data
and new interpretations to the study of religion in antiquity.
Religion in Late Antique Cyprus
Late antique religion in Cyprus could be caricatured by mapping two theological

extremes. The first lies in the area of expertise of Andrew Wilburn, one of this
volume’s authors: the astonishingly rich find of over two hundred lead and ap-
proximately thirty selenite tablets. These were found at Amathous, nearby and
to the west of Kourion, and dated by paleography to the late second or the third
century CE.15 The defixiones call upon multiple gods and daimones of the under-
world (as is common) to exact justice and to bring about the result in the context
of a law court that the commissioner of the spell requests. One example reads:
I invoke you by ACHALEMORPHŌPH, who is the one god upon the earth OSOUS
OISŌRNOPHRIS OUSRAPIO do whatever is written herein. O much lamented tomb and
gods of the underworld, and chthonic Hekate, chthonic Hermes, Plouton, the chthonic
Eirynes, and you who lie here below, untimely dead and the unnamed.16
Even in this short portion of a much longer defixio, we see that a ritual expert
not only refers to “the one god upon the earth,” but also helps the petitioner to
call upon magicae voces as well as the divinities Hekate, Hermes, Pluto, and the
Eirynes. As is typical of defixiones, we find a drive to multiplicity: to the suppli-
cation of many divinities in the search for help.
Epiphanius of Salamis, the subject of Young Kim’s and Andrew Jacobs’s chap-
ters in this volume, stands in contrast to this plurality – or seems to. His late
fourth-century Panarion both discloses and rejects the idea of Christian diver-
sity. In this “medicine chest against the heresies,” Epiphanius states that he will
offer remedies for victims of “wild beasts’ bites” – that is, those endangered by
heresies. Epiphanius draws on the image of eighty concubines in the Song of
Solomon to encourage his audience to reject these in favor of the one who is
Transformation of Space and Knowledge in Ancient Civilizations, accessed March 17, 2019,
https://www.topoi.org/event/45492/.
15 Andrew T. Wilburn, Materia Magica: The Archaeology of Magic in Roman Egypt, Cyprus,
and Spain (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2012), 170, 172.
16 Wilburn, Materia Magica, 171.
Introduction 5
“Christ’s ‘holy bride,’ the Church.”17 The bishop drives down from the multiple
to the one. Both examples – the one a so-called magical text, the other by one of
the crankiest and most taxonomically driven “church fathers”18 – recognize the
notion of the oneness of God and the multiplicity of religious practice and divine
invocations.
A Case Study in Religious and Theological Complexity at Cyprus:

The Annex of Eustolios
Before introducing the contributions within this volume, I want to pause to give
the reader a sense of the rich opportunities for thinking about religion, theology,
material culture, and social life in Cyprus. The so-called Annex of Eustolios in
Kourion brings us to the ground in Cyprus, to an example of such complex theo-
logical-philosophical ideas and practices. There, in a floor mosaic, the complexi-
ties of theologies and religious identities in late antique Cyprus are laid bare. The
mosaics in these buildings briefly illustrate the riches of objects and theological
concepts in late antique Cyprus.
Excavations of the so-called Annex of Eustolios were conducted in 1935 and
again from 1948 to 1950 and reveal a large, urban complex which includes a bath
on its upper terrace. It is located to the northeast of the theater complex, and, in
its present form, was probably erected after the destruction of the theater.19 The
complex included a central peristyle courtyard “surrounded by colonnaded por-
ticoes, three of which preserve part of their mosaic decoration.”20 A fragmentary
inscription names Eustolios as the owner of the baths; he is otherwise unattested
in literary or documentary evidence. The building may have initially been con-
structed as a grand private residence, which was later renovated with the mosaic
floors and the baths as a perhaps quasi-public site.21 The origins of the Eustolios
complex may predate the construction of the early Christian episcopal basilica
17 Proem 1.1.1–3; trans. Frank Williams, The Panarion of Epiphanius: Book 1 (Sects 1–46),
NHS 35 (Leiden: Brill, 1987), 3.
18 See Todd Berzon, Classifying Christians: Ethnography, Heresiology, and the Limits of
Knowledge in Late Antiquity (Oakland, CA: University of California Press, 2016), esp. 186–217.
19 The so-called Annex of Eustolios is hard to understand since the University of Pennsylva-
nia excavation has not yet been published. Demetrios Michaelides, “Some Characteristic Traits
of a Mosaic Workshop in Early Christian Cyprus,” in La mosaïque greco-romaine VIII: Actes du
VIIIème colloque international pour l’étude de la mosaïque antique et médiévale, ed. Daniel Pau-
nier and Christophe Schmidt (Lausanne: Cahiers d’archéologie romande de la Bibliothèque his-
torique vaudoise, 2001), 316.
20 Demetrios Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics (Nicosia: Rimal Publications, 1987), 81.
21 The complex was first called a palace; see George H. McFadden and John Franklin Dan-
iel, “The Excavations at Kourion,” Expedition Magazine: Bulletin of the Pennsylvania Museum 7
(1938): 4–10; John Franklin Daniel, “Kourion: Past Achievements and Future Plans,” Expedition
Magazine: Bulletin of the Pennsylvania Museum 13 (1948): 12.
6 Laura Nasrallah
in Kourion, located to its northwest, but the Christian basilica and the Eustolios
complex also existed contemporaneously.22
The mosaics of the Eustolios complex have raised questions about whether
this is a Christian complex, a so-called pagan one, or something else entirely. Be-
fore investigating five of the mosaic inscriptions in more detail, it is helpful to see
the range of scholarly opinion, which places us precisely into the conundrum of
how to understand the theological ideas and religious practices operative in Cy-
prus in late antiquity.
In his 1988 discussion of mosaic floors of early Christian cult buildings in
Cyprus, Demetrios Michaelides mentions the mosaic inscriptions of the Annex:
The mosaic inscriptions from the 5th century Annex of Eustolios at Kourion illustrate a
rather strange ambivalence for such an advanced date. One of these says that the structure
has girt itself with the venerated symbols of Christ … but another tells us … [about] the
return of the benefactor Eustolios to his native Kourion [and] evokes the visits to the city
of its former patron, Apollo.23
David Soren and Jamie James offer a different interpretation, focusing on one in-
scription in particular:
The references to stone, iron, bronze, and adamant clearly refer to the pagan religion that
preceded Christianity; the versifier seems to be saying that pagan superstition oppresses
the soul of man as heavily as do these materials. What gives this passage particular sig-
nificance is that the same person – perhaps the beneficent Eustolios himself – who wrote
about Apollo’s protection of the city as though it was not terribly remote in the past, here
invokes and venerates the name of Jesus.24
Ino Nicolaou instead sees the mosaic as demonstrating “an atmosphere of tol-
erance … which is suggestive of a gradual transition from paganism to Chris-
tianity.”25 Terence B. Mitford’s titles for the inscriptions in The Inscriptions of
Kourion reveal something of what he thinks: “The declaration of the new faith,”
“The new spirits by whom the house is tended.” Mitford discusses them in light
of a “transition from paganism to Christianity,” but also refers to the “pagan”
nature of the reference to the “three sisters,” and sees the mosaic inscriptions as
hinting “that the conversion of Kourion was a matter of convenience.”26
22 A. H. S. Megaw et al., Kourion: Excavations in the Episcopal Precinct, Dumbarton Oaks
Studies 38 (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2007), 157–76.
23 Wiktor Andrzej Daszewski and Demetrios Michaelides, Mosaic Floors in Cyprus (Raven-
na: Mario LaPucci/Edizioni del Girasole, 1988), 83.
24 David Soren and Jamie James, Kourion: The Search for a Lost Roman City (New York: An-
chor Press of Doubleday, 1988), 23.
25 Ino Nicolaou, “The Transition from Paganism to Christianity as Revealed in the Mosaic
Inscriptions of Cyprus,” in MOSAIC: Festschrift for A. H. S. Megaw, ed. Judith Herrin, Margaret
Mullett, and Catherine Otten-Froux, British School at Athens Studies 8 (London: British School
at Athens, 2001), 14.
26 Terence B. Mitford, The Inscriptions of Kourion, Memoirs of the American Philosophi-
cal Society 83 (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1971), 353–54; note Bagnall and
Introduction 7
Do the Eustolios mosaics reveal an oppressive pagan superstition, as Soren

suggests? A period of tolerance, as Nicolaou says? Christianity lite, as Mitford
implies? A “strange ambivalence,” as Michaelides suggests?27 What do we mean
by “pagan” and “paganism,” in any case?28 Instead of following the rhetoric of
early Christian writers who actively distance themselves from others – whether
Greeks, so-called pagans, or other Christians, we should look at new modes of
cultural production, inflected by the names of venerated figures, whether Christ
or Apollo.
The Mosaic Inscriptions

There are six extant inscriptions in the Eustolios complex, one fragmentary be-
yond any useful reconstruction.29 The remaining five mosaic inscriptions talk
about the space of the Eustolios complex. In doing so, they prescribe how the
literate viewer experiences the space, providing a kind of running commentary
and seeking to persuade the viewer-reader to consider the identity of the build-
ing and his or her identity within it. The inscriptions help to assert the agency of
the building itself, as it articulates how it should be interpreted.30
The first fairly intact mosaic, with black letters in a red, brown, and gray
wreath, greeted the visitor as s/he entered. It reads:
Εἴσα[γε]
ἐπ᾽ ἀγαθ[ῷ]
εὐτυχῶς
τῷ οἴκῳ
Enter to your good fortune with blessings to the house.31
Drew-Bear’s critique of Mitford’s titling of inscriptions (and of Mitford): Roger S. Bagnall and
Thomas Drew-Bear, “Documents from Kourion: A Review Article Part 1: Principles and Meth-
ods,” Phoenix 27 (1973): 99–117; Bagnall and Drew-Bear, “Documents from Kourion: A Review
Article Part 2: Individual Inscriptions,” Phoenix 27 (1973): 213–44.
27 See also his comments regarding “peaceful harmony” between “paganism and Chris-
tianity” in Cyprus in the fourth century: Demetrios Michaelides, “Mosaic Decoration in Early
Christian Cyprus,” in Horster, Nicolaou, and Rogge, Church Building in Cyprus, 216.
28 See the conclusion to Alan Cameron, The Last Pagans of Rome (Oxford: Oxford Univer-
sity Press, 2010), 783: “So when did paganism really, finally, end? This is a question that depends
on a series of further questions, of definition, interpretation, and context. Above all, it depends
on constantly changing perceptions of paganism.” To rethink terms such as “Christianization”
and “pagan survival,” see David Frankfurter, Christianizing Egypt: Syncretism and Local Worlds
in Late Antiquity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2018).
29 Mitford, Inscriptions of Kourion, 206.
30 We discover an even more explicitly “talking” building in Nea Paphos, where a mosaic
inscription reads χαῖρε | καὶ σύ. On the agency of matter, see Laura Salah Nasrallah, Archae-
ology and the Letters of Paul (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), ch. 1, and its bibliography.
31 IKourion 201 in Mitford, Inscriptions of Kourion, 352–53. Mitford states: “The welcome
is in fact twofold: Enter to thy good fortune and may thy coming bless this house.” Translation
my own.
8 Laura Nasrallah
A second mosaic, found in the northern apsidal room, to the east of the tepi-
darium and caldarium, contains only one word: KTIϹIϹ (Kτίσις). The word sur-
rounds the head of a female figure within a roundel. She gazes toward her right,
looking at an upright rod marked by two ninety-degree angles at top and bottom,
likely a Roman foot measure, which is indeed “almost exactly a Roman foot in
length.”32 Since at least two of the other two mosaic inscriptions in the Annex
also speak about the building, this image of Κτίσις too must refer to the Annex.
With its personification of “foundation” or “creation” it aggrandizes the role of
the benefactor who founded the complex.33
The personification of Κτίσις fits within contemporaneous practices else-
where. In Antioch, mosaic busts of Κτίσις were found, discovered in lavish do-
mestic settings.34 Images of Κτίσις juxtaposed with Kosmēsis (κόσμησις, “adorn-
ment”) and Ananeōsis (ἀνανέωσις, “renewal”), dating to the Justinianic period,
have been found in Cyrenaica.35 This inclination toward personifications is
something familiar from late antique writing and iconography. The late fourth-
or early fifth-century Nonnus personifies “Night, Day, Dawn, Aion, the Seasons
and the Moira, … Victory and Sleep” in his Dionysiaca.36 In Cyprus, the mosaics
of Dionysus in the House of Aion in Nea Paphos label Theogonia (θεογονία, “birth
of the gods”) and Anatrophē (ἀνατροφή, “upbringing”), and include personifi-
cations of “the gifts of the god to humanity,” namely, Ambrosia and Nektar.37
33 I originally thought that this word might best be translated “creation” and that it might
hint at some larger notions of theological or philosophical cosmology, as does a similar KTIϹIϹ
at Qasr el-Lebia, as Henry Maguire argues in his Earth and Ocean: The Terrestrial World in Early
Byzantine Art, Monographs on the Fine Arts 43 (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State Uni-
versity Press, 1987), 44–50, esp. 48. Maguire argues that the Κτίσις of the Eustolios complex must
refer to the foundation of the complex itself, especially given the foot marker she holds. He also
argues for a double meaning of Κτίσις (foundation and creation proper, in a theological sense)
in regard to a mosaic in the East Church of Qasr-el-Lebia. The Κτίσις there may refer to the Jus-
tinianic imperial foundation, but multiple scholars have also argued that the mosaic program as
a whole refers to God’s creation.
34 Doro Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1947),
1:357–58. In addition, as Kondoleon notes, the “mosaicists of Antioch were especially predis-
posed to and inspired in the creation of female personifications in order to express concepts
such as KTIϹIϹ (Foundation) … or GH (Earth) or BIOϹ (Life).” See Christine Kondoleon, “The
Mosaics of Antioch,” in Antioch: The Lost Ancient City, ed. Christine Kondoleon (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 2000), 63–77.
35 Maguire, Earth and Ocean, 44–50. One Κτίσις from Antioch, now at the Louvre, was
found among other personifications: Ananeosis, Dynamis, Euandria.
36 As Laura Miguélez-Cavero has shown, in both literature and iconography, the Bacchic
court for instance is “densely populated with personifications;” Miguélez-Cavero, “Personifica-
tions in the Service of Dionysus: The Bacchic Court,” in Nonnus of Panopolis in Context: Poetry
and Cultural Milieu in Late Antiquity, ed. Konstantinos Spanoudakis, Trends in Classics Supp.
24 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2014), 175.
37 Miguélez-Cavero, “Personifications in the Service of Dionysus,” 175. So too we find per-
sonifications in the House of Dionysus in Nea Paphos, where Ikarios chooses between Temper-
ance and representations of drunkenness.
Introduction 9
These personifications exceed our inclination to create boundaries between

Christian and pagan.
A third mosaic inscription lies in an eastern hall, near the illegible inscrip-
tion of the east room. This mosaic inscription is also challenging to read, given
its fragmentary state.38 Even if it were whole, its meaning would still be hard to
interpret. Perhaps the only thing that can be clearly said of this inscription is that
it mentions both Eustolios and Phoibos (Apollo). I offer here Andrea Boskoy’s
reconstruction:39
[Κουριέας] τ̣ὸ πάρο̣ι ̣θ̣ε ̣ ἐ̣[ν] ὄ̣[λβω]ι ̣ π̣αντ̣ὶ ̣ πέλ̣ο[̣ ν]τας
[νῦν ἐν δύηι ἰδ]ὼν ἐκ̣ ποδὸς Εὐστόλιος
[οὐ πατέρων χώ]ρης ἐπελήσατο, ἀλλ᾽ ἄρα καὶ τῆς
[ἐμνήσθη φιλί]ως, λουτρὰ χαρισσάμενος
[αὐτὸς δὴ τότε] δί ̣ζ̣ετο Κούριον, ὣς ποτε Φοῖβος,
[γαίην δὲ β]ρ̣υχ[̣ ί]ην̣ θῆκεν ὑπηνεμίην.
Soren and James translate the inscription thus:

Eustolios, having seen that the Kourians, though previously very wealthy, were in abject
misery, did not forget the city of his ancestors but having presented the baths to our city,
he was then taking care of Kourion as once did Phoebus [Apollo] and built this cool refuge
sheltered from the wind.40
Nearly every aspect of this inscription – and note that the translation itself is a
guess at how to put together a fragmentary text – is subject to questioning. Does
the inscription refer to a disaster, such as an earthquake? (We certainly know
that there was a significant earthquake in ca. 365.)41 What is the significance of
the reference to Phoibos (Apollo), given the nearby sanctuary of Apollo Hylates?
Does the inscription indicate Christian triumphalism?
Mitford has argued that, despite the difficulties of restoring the poem, its
meaning “nevertheless, is not obscure. Eustolios, although he lived abroad – and
possibly had risen in Imperial service – when he saw the miseries of Kourion, did
not forget the city of his birth. First, he presented these baths; and then, visiting
the city in person (as once did Phoebus), built for her this cool shelter from the
winds.”42 This influential reading and interpretation seems to have influenced
Soren and James’s translation. They continue by arguing that “the primary mes-
sage conveyed by this verse (after extolling the generosity of citizen Eustolios,
of course), is that the worship of Apollo, while in the past, was nonetheless a re-
38 McFadden and Daniel, “The Excavations at Kourion,” 4–10.

39 Ἀνδρέα Ι. Βοσκοῦ, Ἀρχαία Κυπριακὴ Γραμματεία, vol. 2: Ἐπίγραμμα (Nicosia: The Anas-
tasios G. Leventis Foundation, 1997), 126, E52; Mitford, Inscriptions of Kourion, 204. Dotted un-
derlining denotes readings which Βοσκοῦ has deemed uncertain.
40 Soren and James, Kourion: The Search for a Lost Roman City, 20.
41 Soren and James, Kourion: The Search for a Lost Roman City, 3.
10 Laura Nasrallah
cent memory.”43 Roger Bagnall and Thomas Drew-Bear, however, in their strong
critique of Mitford’s Inscriptions of Kourion, declare that nearly every aspect of
this interpretation is fictive, including the assumption that there is an essentially
Christian character to the inscription.44
What we can tell from the few remaining words in these inscriptions, accord-
ing to Boskoy, is that we have three elegiac doublets influenced by Homeric lan-
guage, which mention Phoibos Apollo.45 Eustolios is the subject of the inscrip-
tion and seems to have been the cheerful giver of a bath (loutra). The inscription
that mentions Phoibos is one of three in the Eustolios complex that are written
in dactylic hexameter. Thus, in their very form they gesture toward epic poetry.
In addition, their vocabulary alludes to Homer and other classical writers known
from the educational system of the Roman period. If the meaning of this mosaic
inscription is unclear, what we can know is that this inscription, in tandem with
the others, is part of the display of paideia on the part of one who commissioned
or produced these mosaics.
In addition, we can address the riddle of this particular mosaic inscription
by pointing to other evidence of Christ and Apollo together. What has perplex-
ed and fascinated scholars about this annex is the juxtaposition of the phrase ὣς
ποτε Φοῖβος, “as at some time Phoibos” with the remaining two mosaic inscrip-
tions, found at the south side of the excavated area, one of which is explicitly
Christian. This need not necessarily be surprising. We can think of Constantine
himself, famed for his conversion to Christianity, as Eusebius of Caesarea told
the story of his seeing a cross-shaped trophy made of light, and subsequently re-
ceiving a revelation from Christ (Vit. Const. 1.28–29). He was also famed for his
worship of the gods, as we see in a panegyrist who insisted: “O Constantine, you
saw, I believe, your protector Apollo, in company with Victory, offering you lau-
rel crowns each of which bears the presage of thirty years.”46 The light and clarity
of an Apollo compare favorably with that of Christ.
A fourth mosaic inscription, disintegrated in its center-right, is located “at the
entrance to the southern rooms of the Annex,”47 in the eastern part of the exca-
vated complex. This southernmost mosaic inscription reads:
43
Soren and James, Kourion: The Search for a Lost Roman City, 20.
44
Bagnall and Drew-Bear, “Documents from Kourion 2,” 240–41.
45 Βοσκοῦ, Επίγραμμα, 410; 409–14 provides a useful commentary on the inscription.
46 “But why indeed do I say, ‘I believe’? You really saw the god and recognized yourself
in the appearance of one to whom the prophecies of poets have declared that the rule of the
whole world should belong.” Pan. Lat. VI.21.3–7, translated in J. Stevenson and W. H. C. Frend,
A New Eusebius. Documents Illustrating the History of the Church to A. D. 337 (London: SPCK,
1987), 282 (no. 248). See also discussion in Jan Bremer, “The Vision of Constantine,” in Land
of Dreams: Greek and Latin Studies in Honour of A. H. M. Kessels, ed. A. P. M. H. Lardinois,
M. G. M. van der Poel, and V. J. C. Hunink (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 57–79.
Introduction 11
ἐξέδρην θάλαμόν τε θυώ[δεα τοῦτο]ν [ἀδ]ελφαὶ
Αἰδὼ〈ς〉 Σωφροσύνη τε καὶ [Εὐσεβίη] κομέουσιν
The sisters Reverence, Moderation, and [Piety]
tend the exedra and this sweet-smelling inner hall.48
The third term, or the third “sister,” is contested. Mitford’s Inscriptions of Kourion
contradicts his earlier reconstruction of eusebiē, preferring eunomē, a reading
that Soren and others follow, while Bagnall and Drew-Bear do not.49 My reasons
for preferring eusebiē will become clear below.
The inscription employs the language of the Odyssey and the Hymn to Dem-
eter in its reference to θάλαμόν τε θυώ[δεα τοῦτο]ν.50 Its references to Reverence,
Moderation (sometimes translated modesty or purity), and Piety likely emerge
from popular philosophical-theological conversations of the day. Sophrosynē, or
self-control, was a principal philosophical virtue in antiquity,51 just as the virtue
of eusebeia, or piety, was important in political and philosophical writings from
the Roman period.52 In the case of the Eustolios mosaic, these virtues may be
gendered not only in their grammatically feminine sense, but also in their ap-
plication to women, since the term thalamos, translated here “inner hall,” also
means “women’s quarters.”
This inscription may allude to terminology found in the early Christian text
of 1 Timothy. First Timothy, compared to other texts of the Christian Testament,
48 IKourion 203; I have edited the Greek to substitute Εὐσεβίη for Εὐνομίη; see arguments
below. Soren and James, Kourion: The Search for a Lost Roman City, 21, offer a different trans-
lation: “The sisters Reverence, Temperance, and Obedience to the law [of God] tend the plat-
form and this fragrant hall.” The term thalamos is associated with women’s quarters, and thus
perhaps a more private space; the term exedra seems to point to the public location of the house.
I am grateful to AnneMarie Luijendijk for pointing out this contrast.
49 Bagnall and Drew-Bear, “Documents from Kourion 2,” 239 n. 99. They question the rele-
vance of the reading eunomiē, “the ‘justice’ of governors and high officials,” for the thalamos or
women’s quarters.
50 Bagnall and Drew-Bear, “Documents from Kourion 2,” 239 n. 98: “Od. 4.121 θαλάμοιο
θυώδεος; Hymn to Demeter 244, 288 θυώδεος ἐκ θαλάμοιο.”
51 The third term, or the third “sister,” is contested. Mitford’s Inscriptions of Kourion con-
tradicts his earlier reconstruction of eusebiē, preferring eunomē, a reading that Soren and others
follow; see in contrast the reconstruction of Drew-Bear and Bagnall. In addition, a TLG search
reveals no juxtapositions of eunomiē with sophrosynē. Mitford’s original reconstruction of euse-
beiē, rather than his later reconstruction of eunomiē, must be the correct one, as others too
argue. I too would reconstruct eusebeiē, based upon my finding, using a Thesaurus Linguae
Graecae search, that the roots of sophrosynē and eusebeia occur together six times more fre-
quently (eighty-eight hits altogether) within five words of each other than do the roots of so-
phrosynē and eunomia. See also the argument below about 1 Timothy as an intertext for this
mosaic – and 1 Timothy is a text particularly concerned about eusebeia.
52 See T. Christopher Hoklotubbe, Civilized Piety: The Rhetoric of pietas in the Pastoral Epis-
tles and the Roman Empire (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2017). We find eusebeia ex-
tolled in a text like 1 Timothy within the Christian Testament and juxtaposed with other virtues
in writers such as Clement of Alexandria, Paed. 2. 12. 131.4.3: Ἀνθρώπου δὲ ἀρετὴ δικαιοσύνη
καὶ σωφροσύνη καὶ ἀνδρεία καὶ εὐσέβεια …
12 Laura Nasrallah
extols and mentions eusebeia most frequently by a significant margin.53 The jux-
taposition of aidōs and sophrosynē in the Eustolios mosaic inscription may allude
to the proximate use of these terms in 1 Tim 2:9, in which women are instructed
to adorn or to order/arrange themselves with reverence and modesty (ὡσαύτως
[καὶ] γυναῖκας ἐν καταστολῇ κοσμίῳ μετὰ αἰδοῦς καὶ σωφροσύνης κοσμεῖν
ἑαυτάς). In addition, the root of the verb kosmein, with its overtones of order and
arrangement, is used twice in the passage from 1 Timothy. The inscription uses
the verb komein (“to tend”). Nevertheless, the words sound similar and might
have been easily confused in transmission. The sorts of philosophical-theologi-
cal virtues of restrained adornment, of ordering oneself with virtues, and even of
arranging or tending, are common both to philosophical-theological literature
and to the building complex. Indeed, the mosaic KTIϹIϹ is herself neatly attired,
simply adorned with one bracelet, and with her hair nicely coiffed focuses atten-
tively to the right, gazing upon the measuring stick that helps her to order and
arrange the building. She can be interpreted as embodying these virtues.
Finally, the mosaic inscription located nearby in the southern part of the east
hall is the best preserved and perhaps the most contested of them all. In the
words of Bagnall and Drew-Bear, it is the “only inscribed mosaic [in this com-
plex] with an unequivocally Christian text.”54 It reads:
ἀντὶ λίθων μεγάλων, ἀντὶ στερεοῖο σιδήρου
χαλκοῦ τε ξανθοῖο καὶ αὐτοῦ ἀντ’ ἀδάμαντος
〈ο〉ἵδε δόμοι ζώσαντο πολύλλιτα σήματα Χριστοῦ.55
Mitford’s translation is florid: “this house, in place of its ancient armament of
walls and iron and bronze and steel, has now girt itself with the much-venerated
symbols of Christ” (fig. 9, p. 288). We might instead translate:
Instead of great stones, instead of both solid iron and yellow bronze, and even instead of
the hardest metal, this house56 girt itself with the signs of Christ, objects of many prayers.57
The mosaic design that surrounds the inscription contains nothing that we would
recognize as sēmata Christou, although it is possible that the signs of Christ were
53 Searching within the Christian Testament, we find that 1 Timothy uses words with the
root euseb- ten times, compared to the next most frequent user of this terminology, 1 Peter,
which contains five instances.
54 Bagnall and Drew-Bear, “Documents from Kourion 2,” 242.
55 Bagnall and Drew-Bear, “Documents from Kourion 2,” 243, agreeing with IKourion 202.
56 Domos is frequently used in plural for “house.”
57 Soren and James, Kourion: The Search for a Lost Roman City, 22: “In place of big stones
and solid iron, gleaming bronze, and even adamant, this house is girt with the much-venerated
signs of Christ.” Mitford (Inscriptions from Kourion, 354) notes that “πολύλιττος is to be found
in Kallimachos for the Homeric πολύλλιστος.” LSJ, s. v. πολύλλιστος, states that the word is used
in Od. 5.445 to mean “object of many prayers” (citing Georg Autenrieth, A Homeric Dictionary
for Schools and Colleges [New York: Harper and Brothers, 1891]). With thanks to David Elmer,
in the Harvard Classics Department (David Elmer, email message to author, 27 August 2015).
Introduction 13
on the walls, consisted of objects within the room, or were found in oral form as
prayers themselves. As Henry Maguire argues in this volume, it may have been
undesirable to have signs of Christ on the floor; we should not be surprised that
the floor mosaic itself contains no such indications of Christ.
Mitford argues that, due to the lack of evident Christian symbolism in the
surrounding mosaics that remain, the inscription “hints that the conversion of
Kourion was a matter of convenience.”58 Bagnall and Drew Bear rightly critique
this comment.59 Even if the mosaic imagery gives us nothing we could clearly
identify as “signs of Christ,” and even if the content of this inscription is tan-
talizing and baffling, the inscription tells us a great deal by its very form. It em-
ploys the diction of epic by using dactylic hexameter. According to David Elmer,
its first lines, with the “collocation of lithos, stereos, and sidēros” may have been
a reference to Odyssey 19.494: ἔξω δ᾽ὡς ὅτε τις στερεὴ λίθος ἠὲ σίδηρος.60 The
specific vocabulary of this interesting epigram may also tell us even more. The
word polyllitos, as Mitford notes, is the equivalent to the Homeric polyllistos “ob-
ject of many prayers,” but with the spelling that is found in the fourth-century
BCE Kallimachos’s epigrams.61 The word is found twice in this corpus, once in
an epigram regarding Apollo. The fact that the spelling polyllitos corresponds to
an epigram connected with Apollo may be significant. This unusual word is de-
ployed in the Eustolios Annex, which mentions Apollo (Phoebus) in the inscrip-
tion detailing Eustolios’s benefaction, and near the location of the worship of
Apollo Hylates in Kourion.62 Thus, this inscription looks to ancient traditions of
Greek poetry and demonstrates the sophistication of the owner of the complex
and of those who can read the inscription and understand its intertexts.
But the significance of this word does not only lie in looking backwards to its
use in Kallimachos. Because this word in this particular form is used in such a
limited way – only fifteen occurrences in the Greek literature contained in the
Thesaurus Linguae Graecae – it is both easy and important to see how the term is
used contemporaneously with the inscription, to draw a larger context. The word
polyllitos is used roughly four times in the fourth and fifth centuries CE.63 Two of
the three writers who use these terms are Christians who produce Christian texts
and stories that emulate the classical Greek tradition.64 The term is used by Eu-
58 Mitford, Inscriptions of Kourion, 354; see Soren and James, Kourion: The Search for a Lost
Roman City, 22: “in place of big stones and solid iron, gleaming bronze, and even adamant, this
house is girt with the much-venerated signs of Christ.”
59 Bagnall and Drew-Bear, “Documents from Kourion 2,” 242–43.
60 Prof. David Elmer, email message to author, 27 August 2015.
63 Two of these are found in Nonnus, who in one place refers to “theon … polylitton” the
much-prayed to God. It is used once in Pseudo-Manetho to modify the goddess of childbirth,
Eileithyia.
64 I deliberately use this term “emulate” to echo the shift in art historians’ terminology with
14 Laura Nasrallah
dokia, empress and composer of Greek hexameter, to refer to the “much prayed
to (or revered) Christ” in her Life of Cyprian.65 The late fourth- or early fifth-cen-
tury Nonnus uses the word polyllitos twice.66
Nonnus’s use of the term is significant for the purposes of interpreting the
Eustolios complex mosaic, because of his famous role as narrator of both Diony-
sus and of Christ. Nonnus produced a Paraphrasis of the Gospel of St. John in
3650 lines of dactylic hexameter, an expansion and rephrasing of the Gospel of
John influenced by Neoplatonic thought. Simultaneously, or perhaps after the
Paraphrasis had been completed,67 Nonnus wrote his Dionysiaca in forty-eight
books and 12,382 lines, a long story of Dionysus that included ruminations on
his progress to divinization. Some scholars read Nonnus as writing primarily
for aspirational Christians,68 presenting a subtly triumphant Christianity in both
volumes.69 We can instead recognize Nonnus as someone who wrote about both
Christ and Dionysus, and who reframed Christian scripture in epic tones. His
writings are evidence of one form of late antique Christian identity, in which
some Christians easily valued the language of the classical epic poets, melding
Christian religious sensibility with that of the classical. Elsewhere in our vol-
ume, Ioli Kalavrezou offers a similar argument regarding the Lambousa treasure
found at Cyprus: the plates depicting David “can be seen as a Christianized form
of the ancient educational tradition of the hero myth.”70
regard to Roman “imitation” of Greek sculpture; such art historians began instead to use the
term “emulation” in order to mark the creativity and productivity in the Roman period and their
relation to classical Greek tradition.
65 De martyrio sancti Cypriani (e cod. Florent. Laurent. VII, 10) book 2 line 462.
66 The term “polyllitos” is used once to modify “God” and once to modify terpōlē (rare sport,
delight). Our only biographical knowledge about Nonnus comes from an anonymous epigram
that states that he came from Panopolis (modern Achmim) in Egypt. See Konstantinos Spa-
noudakis, Nonnus of Panopolis, Paraphrasis of the Gospel of John XI (Oxford: Oxford Univer-
sity Press, 2014).
67 Spanoudakis, Nonnus of Panopolis, Paraphrasis, 4.
68 This poetry, as Spanoudakis says, is “attentive to the aspirations of its audience” (Nonnus
of Panopolis, Paraphrasis, 4).
69 Spanoudakis says of Nonnus’s compositions: “The Paraphrasis and the Dionysiaca of
Nonnus of Panopolis are two parts of a great cultural project which aims at recounting the
history of the world. The perspective is essentially Christian … Such poetry is attentive to the
aspirations of its audience. The diverse subjects of the poems need not imply a diverse audience.
Either poem within itself contains features and allusions to the ‘other’ heritage. A ‘mixed’ poetry
is addressed to a mixed audience in which religious conviction is less important than cultural
identity … The arrival of Christ verified the truth and validity of these old symbols for those able
to recognize them.” Spanoudakis, Nonnus of Panopolis, Paraphrasis, 4.
70 See in this volume Ioli Kalavrezou, “The Cyprus Treasures since Their Discovery: A Re-
Evaluation.” That the contrast between Christianity and “Hellenistic culture” is a scholarly con-
struct rather than an ancient fact we know well from Werner Jaeger, Early Christianity and
Greek Paideia (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 1961), for example. The connections of late an-
tique Christianity to Greek education and literature has been explored in the work of Ellen
Muehlberger, who shows with precision how non-Christian progymnasmata are used and re-
Introduction 15
The Mosaic in the Landscape of Cyprus and Antiquity

Ino Nicolaou has argued regarding the mosaic inscriptions of the Eustolios com-
plex that “the composer of [these texts] could not stop his ears to the Pagan
Siren … The propaganda of the new religion was being made through the tradi-
tional pagan means of expression,” namely, by using dactylic hexameter and ar-
chaizing verse.71 This interpretation does not take into account the broader con-
text of Christian writing in late antiquity.72 It bifurcates “pagan” from Christian
at a time that such labels would not have made sense to many Christians, who
understood their theological-philosophical heritage as continuous of those of
their forebears (or the Greeks whom they wished had been their forebears).73
Georgios Deligiannakis writes that “the extent to which an interest in classical
culture also contained a personal statement of belief or should be perceived as
what we would today call ‘secular’ will always be open to discussion,” using the
formed in Christian education and practice. See her “The Morphing Portrait of a Church Father:
Evidence from the de morte (CPG 4886) attributed to John Chrysostom,” Eirene – Studia Grae-
ca et Latina 52 (2016): 407–19, and also her The Moment of Reckoning: Imagined Death in Early
Christianity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019). Simultaneously, of course, other Chris-
tians constructed the category of the pagan, asserting Christian difference and distance. A fa-
mous example of both kinds of Christianity comes in the relationship between the western writ-
ers Ausonius and Paulinus of Nola. It is particularly relevant to interpretation of the Eustolios
complex because the discussion specifically names Apollo. Ausonius wrote to Paulinus: “This
I pray: receive these words of mine, divinities from Boeotia, Muses, / And with Latin poetry call
back the poet-priest.” Paulinus responded in this way: “Why do you instruct the Muses that
I have rejected to return to my affection, my father? Hearts given up to Christ give refusal to the
Camenae [sc. Latin Muses], and are not open to Apollo. Once upon a time there was this under-
standing between me and you, equals not in power, but in enthusiasm – to summon deaf Apollo
from his Delphic cave, to call on the Muses as goddesses, and to seek from groves or mountains
the gift of speech granted by the gift of god. Now it is another force that directs my mind, a great-
er God, and he demands another mode of life, claiming for himself from man the gift he gave,
so that we may live for the Father of life.” Carmen 10.19–32. This material is gleaned from Robert
Shorrock, The Myth of Paganism: Nonnus, Dionysus and the World of Late Antiquity (London:
Bristol Classical Press, 2011), 15–16.
71 Nicolaou, “The Transition from Paganism to Christianity,” 14.
72 The idea that inscriptions that are written in verse reveal “the dying influence of the
pagan literary form on Early Christian writing” is problematic. See Nicolaou, “The Transition
from Paganism to Christianity,” 14, concerning the inscription at Agios Spyridon at Tremithous.
73 Werner Jaeger helpfully argued in the mid-twentieth century that we must recognize the
ways in which early Christian literature understands itself as a continuation of Greek paideia,
indeed, as a perfection of it, as in the case of the second-century CE writer Justin Martyr, who
advances arguments about philosophers such as Socrates knowing the Logos, and thus being
Christians avant la lettre. Regarding differences in how such a mix was manifest in Athens and
Alexandria in late antiquity, see Edward J. Watts, City and School in Late Antique Athens and Al-
exandria (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006). Regarding constructing genealogical
connections, see the Panhellenion as discussed, e. g., in Christopher P. Jones, Kinship Diplomacy
in the Ancient World, Revealing Antiquity 12 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999); Nas-
rallah, Christian Responses to Roman Art and Architecture: The Second-Century Church amid the
Spaces of Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 87–118.
16 Laura Nasrallah
epigrams of Eustolios as an example.74 While I share Deligiannakis’s question,

the very frames of “personal statement of belief ” and “secular” are not help-
ful; these modern categories have unraveled,75 revealing more about our present
commitments and criteria than those of antiquity, in which, for example, the in-
teriority of belief was not an omnipresent litmus test of true religiosity.
The Eustolios mosaics are examples of the contiguity of what we label Chris-
tianity and Greek culture. Eustolios or Nonnus or others in antiquity would have
likely understood such juxtapositions of Apollo and Christ merely as how they
lived, rather than as a complex intermingling of two separable elements. So too,
we find examples of continuity of Christianity with its cultural context in early
Christian miscellanies or collections such as the Dishna papers or Bodmer Mis-
cellany, in which Cicero’s Catiline Orations are found bound together with the
Hymn to the Virgin, the Gospels of Luke and of John, and the tale of the Em-
peror Hadrian.76 We find such continuity and sharing in the very education of
Christian thinkers in the fourth century.77 We have already found such continu-
ity and complexity in the writings of Nonnus of Panopolis. We find such conti-
nuity again in Cyprus, as Pelli Mastora has demonstrated, in the fifth-century
mosaic depiction of the bath of Achilles in Nea Paphos and in the larger cultural
contexts of Christian use of Homer and Virgil (Constantine, Didymos of Alexan-
dria) that she adduces.78 Such continuity between what we wrongly bifurcate as
Christian and pagan may also have been present among the artisans themselves.
As Michaelides argues, the same workshop may have worked at the basilica of
Agia Trias and at the Annex of Eustolios.79
74 Georgios Deligiannakis, “The Last Pagans of Cyprus: Prolegomena to a History of Tradi-
tion from Polytheism to Christianity,” in Horster, Nicolaou, and Rogge, Church Building in Cy-
prus, 23–44.
75 See, inter alia, Brent Nongbri, Before Religion: A History of a Modern Concept (New
Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2013); Carlin Barton and Daniel Boyarin, Imagine No Reli-
gion: How Modern Abstractions Hide Ancient Realities (New York: Fordham University Press,
2016); Talal Asad, Formations of the Secular: Christianity, Islam, Modernity (Stanford: Stanford
University Press, 2003).
76 Jennifer Knust “Miscellany Manuscripts, the Dishna Papers, and the Christian Canonical
Imaginary,” in Ritual Matters: Material Remains and Ancient Religion, ed. Jennifer Knust and
Claudia Moser, MAAR (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2017), 99–118.
77 Ellen Muehlberger, “The Morphing Portrait of a Church Father,” 407–19.
78 Pelli Mastora, “Achilles [sic] First Bath in the House of Theseus in Nea Paphos and the
Nativity of Christ,” Επετηρίδα του Κέντρου Επιστημονικών Ερευνών, XXXVII (Nicosia: 2015),
14–15; see also the discussion in Deligiannakis, “The Last Pagans of Cyprus,” in Horster, Nico-
laou, and Rogge, Church Building in Cyprus, 35–38; and in the same volume, Michaelis, “Mosaic
Decoration in Early Christian Cyprus,” 213–44.
79 Michaelides, “Some Characteristics of a Mosaic Workshop,” 319. See also Daszewski and
Michaelides, Mosaic Floors in Cyprus, 105: “In the Baths of Eustolios at Kourion, dated to the be-
ginning of the 5th century by a coin of Theodosius II found under one of its mosaics, the same
lotus frieze [as found in Chrysopolitissa and Limeniotissa basilicas, which are probably of the
same workshops] is found and it is so similar to those of the two basilicas that there is little
Introduction 17
The mosaic inscriptions of the Eustolios complex are best interpreted not in
light of battle between “paganism” and Christianity, but in light of larger philo-
sophical-theological trends of late antiquity – that is, the larger paideia or culture
and education.80 At this time, discussion of the highest God was taking place,
and Christianity was sometimes defined in light of current trends in Greek edu-
cation, which reached back to Homer and other foundational literature.
Let us return to the larger Cypriot context: to the “magical” texts of Ama-
thous and the harsh bishop of Salamis. Some Christians, like Epiphanius, to be
sure, were clearing ground and rejecting other Christians and others in general
for their idolatrous ways, carving out a thin and singular identity. But others, like
the users of the defixiones, were aggregating their theologies, bringing together
gods or philosophical-theological concepts and practices from multiple sources.
The Annex of Eustolios, in its mosaic inscriptions, literally addresses the viewer-
hearer. The building itself is a material object brimming with purpose and per-
suasive power. And its mosaics speak in epic tones of theological-philosophical
virtues, drawing together the classical past and the signs of Christ.
Contributions in This Volume
Our volume explores this complexity around religion, culture, artisanal work,
and society in Cyprus. We begin with Charalambos Bakirtzis’s “Sea Routes and
Cape Drepanon from the Hellenistic to the Byzantine Period Excavations at
Agios Georgios Tēs Pegeias, Paphos, Cyprus,” which provides an overview of the
archaeological history of Cape Drepanon. This site, at the very west of the island,
was important from the Hellenistic to the Byzantine period, first as a possible
site of quarrying in relation to the building of Ptolemaic Alexandria, then as a
site of trade and the transport of grain from Alexandria to Constantinople. We
find the communication of ideas indicated by material evidence from small finds
to architectural styles. This chapter points to how the hagiographies of saints as-
sociated with Cyprus often talk about their sea travels: ports are built into the to-
doubt that the same mosaicists must have been responsible for the decoration of both secular
and religious buildings such as these.”
80 Cyprus has an unusually high concentration of hypsistos inscriptions. According to Steph-
en Mitchell’s catalogues, Cyprus offers a full thirty-one inscriptions in which a god is named
as the “highest”: see Stephen Mitchell, “The Cult of Theos Hypsistos between Pagans, Jews, and
Christians” in Pagan Monotheism in Late Antiquity, ed. Polymnia Athanassiadi and Michael
Frede (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 81–148; Stephen Mitchell, “Further Thoughts on
the Cult of Theos Hypsistos,” in One God: Pagan Monotheism in the Roman Empire, ed. Stephen
Mitchell and Peter van Nuffeln (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 167–208. These
inscriptions vary in date and in relation to the god who is proclaimed as “highest,” but they are
evidence on the ground, literally, of a larger discourse in antiquity, a discourse of the highest god
or greatest god. See Angelos Chaniotis, “Megatheism: The Search for the Almighty God and the
Competition of Cults,” in Mitchell and van Nuffeln, One God, 112–40.
18 Laura Nasrallah
pography of Cyprus and also are key to narratives of the island. Bakirtzis outlines
our archaeological knowledge of this site, which included the Justinianic basil-
ica, visible to sailors from the sea, and two post-Justinianic basilicas.
James Carleton Paget’s “Cyprus in the New Testament and Beyond” tackles
a longstanding puzzle: What can we know of early Christians in Cyprus in the
first and the second century CE? We find some data in the canonical Acts of the
Apostles, and there is some archaeological and other literary evidence of the first
through fourth centuries. The chapter delineates the (meager) evidence we have
of earliest Christianity in Cyprus and discusses the issue of Jews in Cyprus in
the first century CE. It focuses in particular on the themes and the brevity of the
account of Paul and Barnabas in Cyprus in the Acts of the Apostles, on the one
hand, and the puzzle of the role of Jews in Cyprus, on the other. The chapter con-
textualizes the account in the Acts of the Apostle in light of what we know about
Jews in Cyprus in the high Roman imperial period. It shows how necessary this
task is, given the emphasis in Luke-Acts on conflict with Jews in Cyprus, even
though a more general view of Cyprus in the first and second centuries should
reasonably emphasize its well-known “pagan” aspects. Carleton Paget’s account
helps us to keep our eye on an understudied minority population – Jews – and on
the rhetoric of an early Christian text like the Acts of the Apostles, which over-
inflates the power and role of Jews in Cyprus.
“Archaeological Realities and Hagiographic Narratives: Revisiting the Begin-
nings of Christianity in Cyprus,” co-authored by Athanasios Papageorghiou and
Nikolas Bakirtzis, examines the tensions between the literary and archaeological
record on the transition from traditional religion to Christianity at Cyprus. The
chapter details hagiographical narratives relevant to the Christianization of the
island, including Acts of the Apostles, Acts of Barnabas, and saints’ lives. These
literary sources, the chapter argues, portray the conversion of the island as a
struggle. Jews in particular are depicted as violent and resistant in these texts. The
archaeological sources, in contrast, suggest a rather different situation, mainly of
peaceful co-existence. The chapter concludes by turning back to the Jewish revolt
in 115–117 and its effect on the Christians of Cyprus, Roman patronage of tradi-
tional cults, as well as investigating the deep impact of natural disasters in the
fourth century on the developing cities of Cyprus.
The next two essays focus on the mosaics of Cyprus. Henry Maguire’s “The
Gods, Christ, and the Emperor in the Late Antique Art of Cyprus,” emerges from
his keynote presentation at the conference. The chapter takes a seemingly small
but clear difference between Christian and non-Christian uses of images, and it
uses that difference to open up a world of implications for art and religion. Ma-
guire observes, “whereas from the Hellenistic through to the end of the late an-
tique period it was common for pagan gods and their exploits to be illustrated
upon the floors of buildings, it was exceedingly uncommon for either Christ or
the emperor to be so depicted.” Why, Maguire asks, was it so rare for scenes from
Introduction 19
the Bible or from imperial ceremony to be on the ground, where they could be
stepped on? Maguire’s chapter explores a wealth of iconography on the island of
Cyprus. Depictions of the god Dionysus, for example, appear on the floors of the
House of Dionysus and the House of Aion, or the goddess Aphrodite in a bath at
Alassa. While Christian symbols can be found on mosaic pavements in Cyprus –
fruiting vines, or a cross, for instance – only in rare cases outside of Cyprus is
Christian figural imagery found on floors. Drawing in comparisons from out-
side Cyprus, ruminating on whether the lack of Christian figural imagery on the
floor is due to bishop Epiphanius’s stance against images (the answer is no), and
investigating floor mosaics in Jewish synagogues which depict biblical scenes,
Maguire marshals evidence to point to the absence of biblical imagery on Chris-
tian floor mosaics. Yet, he also notes, Roman imperial portraits on floors are also
absent, making Christians in one way similar to their “pagan” others. Thus, Ma-
guire concludes, “The absence of Christian portrait images on pavements was in-
extricably linked with the veneration of icons.” Art with the “pagan” gods could
be placed underfoot, but as more honor was rendered to images of Christ or
to other saints, they could not be incorporated into floor mosaics, even as the
Roman emperors could not be trodden underfoot.
Demetrios Michaelides’s “Mosaic Workshops in Cyprus from the Fourth to
the Seventh Centuries CE: Two Parallel Lives?” returns us to the beauties of the
mosaics of Cyprus and to the question of what they can reveal about relations
between Christians and others in the fourth to seventh centuries. In his review
of the mosaics (and some other decorative elements) of churches and elite struc-
tures throughout Cyprus from the fourth to the mid-seventh centuries CE, Mi-
chaelides discovers several important themes. First, some workshops accom-
modated themselves both to domestic and to religious structures. Second, close
investigation of mosaics allows a glimpse of artisanal labor and larger artistic and
economic trends: some mosaic workshops moved between Cyprus and Antioch
or were found in distant locations within Cyprus.81 Third, several mosaics in
Cyprus indicate the strength of traditional religion in the mist of the emergence
and growth of Christianity on the island, and what we can perhaps call religious
syncretism or at least proximity. For example, the same workshop could dec-
orate both an ecclesiastical building, like the basilica of Agia Trias, and a civic
or private building, like the Annex of Eustolios. Finally, there was a shift in dec-
orative practice in the sixth century: as the marble trade came to Cyprus, sophis-
ticated examples of opus sectile decoration were used in churches. Throughout,
this chapter helps the reader to look closely and to understand with precision
patterns, color, and motifs of those who made mosaics in ancient Cyprus. It also
81 See also discussions in Lawrence Becker and Christine Kondoleon, The Arts of Ancient
Antioch: Art Historical and Scientific Approaches to Roman Mosaics and a Catalogue of the Wor-
chester Art Museum Antioch Collection (Worchester, MA: Worchester Art Museum; Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 2005).
20 Laura Nasrallah
helps the reader to consider larger trends and issues, as it argues that the themes
and techniques of the mosaics indicate a peaceful co-existence with Christians
among their non-Christian neighbors on the island.
Drew Wilburn’s “Ritual Specialists and the Curse Tablets from Amathous,
Cyprus” turns us to something more hidden in the landscape of Cyprus. At
Amathous, deposited either in a well or a shaft grave, the to-date largest cache
of so-called magical materials from antiquity was found: more than two hun-
dred lead and selenite tablets. The tablets which have been published so far are
judicial in nature and “focus on removing the anger of adversaries, and ask that
the victims be made speechless.” The chapter deepens our understanding of rit-
ual practice and religion in Cyprus. It does so by questioning the very defini-
tion of magic in contradistinction to religion, reminding us, for example, that
the canonical Acts of the Apostles depicts a scene in Cyprus in which a figure
named Elymas is called a magos, which we usually translate magician – a term
that could equally have been applied to Paul and Barnabas by Roman officials.
The chapter contextualizes the Amathous cache within the ritual practices in the
ancient Mediterranean world, demonstrating, for instance, how the tablets con-
tain an international set of names (Osiris, Iao, Adonai, among others), which
indicate references to Egyptian religions and Judaism, as well as communica-
tions between Cyprus and other locations. The chapter also illuminates the use
and importance of the Cypriot tablets by turning to other defixiones around the
Mediterranean, considering how they were displayed in cult centers, and how
ritual experts produced them.
The next two chapters star the contentious bishop of Constantia (Salamis),
Epiphanius. Andrew Jacobs’s “Epiphanius’s Library” lays out the usual approach
to the fourth-century CE bishop’s corpus by those that mine it for its sources,
rather than approach the agitated, critical bishop himself. This chapter instead
pursues the question: What of Epiphanius’s library? To what sources, and in what
form, did Epiphanius have access? In this, Jacobs enters a larger set of scholarship
on the late antique libraries of other figures, such as Eusebius and Jerome. Ja-
cobs focuses on Epiphanius’s unique qualities. In the Panarion, which was com-
pleted after Epiphanius had moved to Cyprus, mention of so-called pagan and
heretical texts and authors predominates, but significant citations come from
so-called orthodox writers. Yet, among these citations, many are precisely about
those who are considered heretical. This orthodox voice unites to produce truth,
yet that truth discloses heresy, sometimes in the heretics’ own voices, quoted
first by someone like Irenaeus, then again by Epiphanius. In Jacobs’s terms, “Epi
phanius’s library is polyglossic.” Jacobs reminds us that many voices from early
Christianity emerge from Epiphanius’s study in Constantia on Cyprus, even if
they are deracinated from their original context of citation.
Young Richard Kim’s “Cypriot Autocephaly, Reconsidered” returns to the
question of the Cypriot autocephaly – that is, the Cypriot claim of the authority
Introduction 21
to consecrate its own bishops, which fifth-century patriarchs in Antioch claimed

was theirs alone. After carefully laying out the history of scholarship on Cypri-
ot autocephaly from the late nineteenth century on, the chapter argues “that the
quintessential act that epitomized this Cypriot autonomous impulse was the se-
lection and consecration in 367 of Epiphanius as lead bishop of the island.” Kim
lucidly guides the reader from the Council of Nicaea to the Council of Ephe-
sus, through the complex church politics and councils of the fourth century, and
he demonstrates how the ancient Cypriot church argued for its independence.
In public debates, the Cypriot church used the figure of Epiphanius to dem-
onstrate their right to choose a bishop, and for questions about apostolicity, to
Barnabas. And not only the role of Epiphanius was crucial to bolster Cyprus’s
authority, but also a miracle from St. Barnabas, according to the accounts: the
revelation by Barnabas of the spot of his burial, and the discovery of his body
“clutching a copy of the Gospel of Matthew, penned in the Cypriot’s own hand.”
It is this story of Barnabas and the Gospel of Matthew that is taken up in
AnneMarie Luijendijk’s chapter, “The Gospel of Matthew in the Acts of Bar
nabas through the Lens of a Book’s History: Healing and Burial with Books.” The
chapter looks to the broader context of how books in antiquity functioned both
as texts to be read and as objects, especially for healing and burial practices. Bar
nabas’s Gospel of Matthew, as described in the Acts of Barnabas, played a role in
making the case for the autocephaly of Cyprus. This chapter collects an impor-
tant set of evidence regarding Barnabas, contextualizing it among other ancient
practices of using written texts for a variety of functions: to authorize, to teach, to
heal, even, if rarely, as an appropriate object with which to be buried. The chapter
uses the Acts of Barnabas not to elucidate Barnabas himself, but to demonstrate
how he functioned within debates over authority and rights within early Chris-
tianity, and most of all how literary accounts of written texts also functions to
grant authority to persons, places, and arguments – in this case, to Barnabas, to
fifth-century Cypriot ecclesiastical authorities, to Cyprus, and to the argument
for Cypriot ecclesiastical independence.
Ioli Kalavrezou’s “The Cyprus Treasures since their Discovery: A Re-Eval-
uation” turns our attention to the Cyprus or Lambousa treasures, found at the
turn of the nineteenth century in Cyprus. The numerous precious objects have
little to no precise archaeological documentation associated with them. This is
the reason that until now only the David plates had been placed in a historical
context. Kalavrezou undertakes to show that, beyond the David plates, the other
objects can be placed within a social and political context. These finds include
the exceptional set of nine silver plates with representations of the life of King
David of the Jewish Scriptures, numerous other silver household objects, and
among the gold pieces a belt with special medallions presented by the emperor
Maurice to the owner, together with an additional commemorative medallion
which might be associated with the baptism of Theodosius Porphyrogennetos,
22 Laura Nasrallah
the son of emperor Maurice. Kalavrezou re-evaluates the story of these objects,
arguing that it is possible that all these objects were connected with one man,
whose name Theodore appears on some of these. He would have held a provin-
cial high office on the island, possibly governor, and perhaps found recognition
for his support of a coup d’état by Herakleios (608–610), which was organized
in Cyprus. Thus, the famous David plates need to be read not as symbolic of the
battle of Herakleios against Razatis in 627 but as revealing the early years when
the young Herakleios, the unknown upstart, was preparing to gain the throne.
Stephanos Efthymiadis, with his “The Cult of Saints in Late Antique Cyprus
and the Apostolicity of its Churches: The Testimony of Greek Hagiography,” sur-
veys the hagiographical materials associated with Cyprus. First, the reader is in-
troduced to the island’s most well-known saint, Barnabas, through his Laudatio,
which is contextualized within larger pan-Mediterranean ecclesiastical con-
cerns. Second, the reader meets Cypriot Saints Herakleidios and Auxibios. The
narratives of their lives both reflect local details about Cyprus and provide ev-
idence of a larger local and regional political-ecclesiastical competition. Finally,
we are introduced to a range of lesser known pre- and post-Constantinian saints
from Cyprus. The chapter not only introduces us to a rich set of hagiographical
texts associated with Cyprus, but also shows how these texts promote the apos-
tolicity of the episcopal sees in Cyprus in different ways, on the one hand, and
respond to larger external political forces in the seventh century, on the other.
Marina Solomidou-Ieronymidou and Giorgos Philotheou’s “The Represen-
tation and Memory of Saints Paul, Barnabas, Epiphanios, and Others on Wall
Paintings of Byzantine and Medieval Cyprus,” by focusing on wall paintings, de-
tails the churches, monasteries, and iconographic evidence that help us to trace
the celebration of key Cypriot apostles, saints, and hierarchs, from the fourth to
the seventh centuries. The chapter offers a valuable catalogue of such imagery, so
that any scholar who visits Cyprus can map a journey through this iconography.
The chapter also provides data that could allow for analysis of the rise and fall of
the authority of particular saints, the juxtaposition of saints and hierarchs, and
even local variation within Cyprus. A scholar could investigate how and where
certain saints, hierarchs, and bishops were most appreciated, and then move to
analyze what these traditions of honoring the saints has to do with local eccle-
siastic politics and the larger political, social, and economic world. This, the final
chapter in our book, jibes with other chapters in the volume. It provides an icon-
ographic echo to Stephanos Efthymiadis’s account of Cypriot hagiography; the
accounts of Saint Epiphanius in it will be read fruitfully in relation to Andrew Ja-
cobs’s and Young Richard Kim’s analyses, and the account of Saint Barnabas will
be fruitfully read in relation to James Carleton Paget’s chapter.
Introduction 23
Conclusion
The conference “From Roman to Early Christian Cyprus” and this published
volume have a longer history, born of long years of friendship and intellectual
companionship between archaeologists and scholars of New Testament and early
Christian literature. In the 1970s, Helmut Koester founded at Harvard Divinity
School a project titled Archaeological Resources for New Testament Studies. In
the early years of that project, Koester connected with many archaeologists and
scholars of ancient history and religion, including Charalambos Bakirtzis. Ar-
chaeological Resources for New Testament Studies has at its core the belief that
the study of religion in general and early Christian literature in particular is in-
sufficient if it does not take into consideration the material conditions in which
such literature was produced and used. Concretely, the project has taken gener-
ations of students to Greece and Turkey, held conferences about religion and ar-
chaeology in key cities of the ancient Mediterranean world, and published both
images and edited volumes that highlight the importance of archaeology for the
study of religion and the importance for archaeologists of understanding recent
discussions in religion and theology as they interpret their sites and findings.
The collaborations have resulted in multiple projects, including Bakirtzis’s and
Helmut Koester’s publication of Philippi at the Time of Paul and after His Death;
and, years later, a volume co-edited by Steven Friesen of the University of Texas
at Austin, Bakirtzis, and myself, titled From Roman to Early Christian Thessalo-
nikē. Thus, the collaborations of the twentieth century continue through the gen-
erations into the twenty-first, with new friendships and intellectual companion-
ships emerging. This volume is produced in this tradition of friendship and the
mutual enriching of scholarship globally and across disciplinary boundaries.
Sea Routes and Cape Drepanon
Excavations at Agios Georgios tis Pegeias, Paphos, Cyprus
The sea of Cyprus was not inhospitable.1 In 367, Saint Epiphanius, wishing to
visit Saint Hilarion, who was an ascetic in the mountains of Paphos, had no diffi-
culty finding a ship in the port of Caesarea preparing to sail non-stop to Paphos.
Saint Spyridon of Trimithous travelled at the beginning of the fourth century di-
rectly by ship from Salamis to Alexandria. The biographer of Saint Auxibios says
that the trip from Rhodes to Cyprus was not in the least tiring.2 The distance be-
tween Alexandria and Paphos, Cyprus, was somewhat greater, around 350 nau-
tical miles according to Strabo.3 We may even hear of such a sea route from Lu-
cian: “When they left Pharos, the wind was not very strong, and they sighted
Akamas in seven days.”4 These ancient and incidental mentions of Drepanon
and environs in relation to sea travel support the thesis of this chapter: Cape Dre-
panon was an important harbor on sea routes and a significant site for trade and
communications from the Hellenistic to the Byzantine period.
The archaeological site of Agios Georgios near the village of Pegeia is locat-
ed on Cape Drepanon.5 The site consists of the remains of an unwalled settle-
ment. The ancient harbor has not been located. Small coves in the vicinity, such
1 Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Η θαλάσσια διαδρομή Κύπρου-Αιγαίου στα παλαιοχριστιανικά

χρόνια,” in Acts of the International Archaeological Symposium “Cyprus and the Aegean in An-
tiquity from Prehistoric Period to the 7th Century,” Nicosia, 8–10 December 1995 (Nicosia: Cyprus
Department of Antiquities, 1997), 327–332.
2 Even recently, the ship Kyrenia II sailed the distance of 210 nautical miles from Mandraki
Harbor on Rhodes to the Bay of Maa, south of Cape Drepanon in Cyprus, in September 1986
in three-and-a-half days. Michael Katzev, “An Analysis of the Experimental Voyages of Kyrenia
II,” in Tropis II: Proceedings of the International Symposium on Ship Construction in Antiquity,
Delphi, 27–29 August, 1987, ed. Harry Tzalas (Athens: Hellenic Institute for the Preservation of
Nautical Tradition, 1987), 245–56.
3 Strabo, 14.6.3: Φασὶ δ’εἰς Ἀλεξάνδρειάν τινες εἶναι ἐκ Πάφου σταδίους εἶναι τρισχιλίους
ἑξακοσίους.
4 Lucian, Navigium 7: … ἀπὸ τῆς Φάρου ἀπάραντας οὐ πάνυ βιαίῳ πνεύματι ἑβδομαίους
ἰδεῖν τὸν Ἀκάμαντα. I believe he was referring to Cape Drepanon, Cyprus’s westernmost pen-
insula, as “Akamas.”
5 Rupert Gunnis, Historic Cyprus: A Guide to Its Towns and Villages, Monasteries and Castles
(London: Metheun, 1936; repr. Nicosia: 1973), 381.
26 Charalambos Bakirtzis
as Lara and Maniki, afforded anchorages,6 and a small island called Geronisos
(= Holy Island) lies close to the rocky coast.7 The site of Agios Georgios itself was
first visited by D. G. Hogarth.8 A. H. S. Megaw excavated for the Department of
Antiquities three Justinianic and post-Justinianic basilicas and a bathhouse be-
tween 1949 and 1955.9 In 1991, the Greek Archaeological Expedition continued
research, excavating next to basilicas A and C and the bathhouse to reveal how
they fit into the town planning and to clarify the function and the history of the
settlement (fig. 1, p. 273).10
6
ARDAC 1984, 51; C. Giangrande, et al., “Cyprus Underwater Survey, 1983–1984: A Pre-
liminary Report,” RDAC (1987), 185–97; Sophocles Hadjisavvas, “Cyprus and the Sea: The Ar-
chaic and Classical Periods,” in Proceedings of the International Symposium “Cyprus and the Sea,”
Nicosia 25–26 September 1993, ed. Vassos Karageorghis and D. Michaelides (Nicosia: University
of Cyprus, 1995), 89–98, esp. 95, fig. 10.
7 New York University is conducting excavations on Geronisos under the direction of Prof.
Joan Connelly.
8 David G. Hogarth, Devia Cypria: Notes of an Archaeological Journey in Cyprus in 1888
(London: Henry Frowde, 1889), 10.
9 A. H. S. Megaw, “Early Byzantine Monuments in Cyprus in the Light of Recent Discov-
eries,” in Akten des XI. internationalen Byzantinistenkongresses, München 1958, ed. Franz Dölger
and Hans-Georg Beck (München: C. H. Beck, 1960), 345–51; Megaw, “Byzantine Architecture
and Decoration in Cyprus: Metropolitan or Provincial?” DOP 28 (1974), 57–88, esp. 71–73.
10 ARDAC 1991, 67; ARDAC 1992, 66–68; ARDAC 1993, 68–70; ARDAC 1994, 80–82; ARDAC
1995, 47–48; ARDAC 1996, 56–57; ARDAC 1997, 59–60; ARDAC 1998, 72–74; ARDAC 2002, 80–
81; ARDAC 2003, 80–83; ARDAC 2005, 72–73; AJA 99 (1995): 291; BCH 116 (1992): 831; BCH 117
(1993): 753; BCH 118 (1994): 689; BCH 119 (1995): 836; BCH 120 (1996): 1093–95; BCH 121 (1997):
925–26; BCH 122 (1998): 697; BCH 123 (1999): 627–29; BCH 125 (2001): 771; BCH (2003): 673–
74; BCH 128–129 (2004–2005): 1691–93; Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Αποτελέσματα ανασκαφών
στον Άγιο Γεώργιο Πέγειας (Ακρωτήριον Δρέπανον),” 1991–1995,” in Proceedings of the Third
International Congress of Cypriote Studies Nicosia, 16–20 April 1996, II, Medieval Section, ed.
Athanasios Papageorghiou (Nicosia: Society of Cypriote Studies, 2001), 155–70; Charalambos
Bakirtzis, “Ἀρχαιολογικὲς ἐργασίες στὸν Ἅγιο Γεώργιο Πέγειας (Ἀκρωτήριον Δρέπανον),” un-
published report presented at the IV International Cyprological Congress, Nicosia, Society of
Cypriote Studies, 2008; Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Les basiliques de Ayios Yeoryios,” Le Monde de
la Bible 112 (1998): 46–47; Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Agios Georgios of Pegeia (Paphos)” (in col-
laboration with Konstantinos Raptis, Pelli Mastora, Pandelis Xydas, and Olga-Maria Bakirtzis),
European Center for Byzantine and Post-Byzantine Monuments Newsletter 4 (2003): 167–241;
Konstantinos Raptis and Olga-Maria Bakirtzis, “Agios Georgios, Pegeia – Cape Drepanon: In-
tegrating an Excavation Site into an Archaeological Landscape,” in POCA 2005, Postgratuate
Cypriot Archaeology, Proceedings of the Fifth Annual Meeting of Young Researchers on Cypri-
ot Archaeology, Department of Classics, Trinity College, Dublin, 21–22 October 2005, ed. Gior-
gos Papantoniou in collaboration with Aoife Fitzgerald and Siobhán Hagris (Oxford: Archaeo-
press, 2008), 87–95; Konstantinos Raptis and Stella Vasiliadou, “Διαχρονική χρήση, διαδοχικές
θέσεις και απόπειρα επανένταξης των μαρμαρίνων αρχιτεκτονικών μελών των βασιλικών Α, Β,
Γ Αγίου Γεωργίου Πέγειας (Πάφος): από την παραγωγή στα παλαιοχριστιανικά λατομεία της
πρωτεύουσας στη διαμόρφωση του αρχαιολογικού χώρου,” RDAC (2005), 199–227; Charalam-
bos Bakirtzis, “Ἅγιος Γεώργιος τῆς Πέγειας: ἡ ἀνάδειξη τοῦ ἀρχαιολογικοῦ χώρου,” Proceedings
of the Conference “Cultural Heritage: η διάσωση της μνήμης,” organized by ICOMOS/Cyprus,
Coral Bay, Paphos, 21–22 November 2015 (forthcoming).
Sea Routes and Cape Drepanon 27
The settlement’s public edifices were built on the saddle of Cape Drepanon
and were visible to sailors from a great distance. The largest building is the Jus-
tinianic three-aisled Basilica A without narthex (fig. 2, p. 274). Its marble col-
umn shafts and Corinthian capitals were imported from Prokonnesos. There is
a narrow passage along the north side of the church, which is common in early
Christian Cypriot basilicas.11 I am of the opinion that the narrow passage al-
lowed entrance to the annexes (hospitality, dining and storage spaces, some of
which were two-storied) even when the church itself was closed.12
The eastern portico of the atrium was used as a narthex. West of the atrium
and at a higher level is a large baptistery with four porticoes. With the cruciform
baptismal font in the center,13 the baptistery is different than those at Kourion,
Salamis (Constantia), and other Cypriot basilicas influenced by the East, and
suggests Constantinopolitan prototypes.14
The operation of the baptistery was connected with a small three-aisled basil-
ica with transept which was used, according to Megaw, as outer house (ἐξώτερος
οἶκος) of the baptistery, and was at this location before the erection of the large
Basilica A.15 The architectural type of the basilica with transept is represented on
Cyprus only by the example at Agios Georgios. I identified the extensive complex
of rooms around a courtyard which was excavated west of Basilica A as the epis-
copal residence. The upper story of this residence communicated directly with
the baptistery via a staircase.16
Next to the north and main entrance of basilica A is a small Justinianic bath-
house (fig. 3, p. 275) like that of the House of Eustolios in Kourion.17 It con-
11 Athanasios Papageorghiou, “L’architecture paléochrétienne de Chypre,” Corsi di Cultura
sull’Arte Ravennate e Bizantina 32 (1985): 229–334, esp. 303.
12 Georges Roux sees “une fonction utilitaire, profane, de passage commode entre l’atrium
ouest et l’atrium est” outside of the church itself; Roux, La basilique de la Campanopétra (Sal-
amine de Chypre XV; Paris: Mission archéologique française de Salamine de Chypre, 1998),
157. Megaw describes the north passage at the Episcopal basilica of Kourion as a service alley
open to the sky whose one function was to permit light to enter windows in the walls of the
adjacent buildings; Megaw, “The Basilica” in Kourion: Excavations in the Episcopal Precinct, ed.
A. H. S. Megaw (Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection; Cambrige, MA: Harvard
University Press, 2007), 27–28.
13 Megaw, Kourion, 348, and Papageorghiou, “L’architecture paléochrétienne,” 316, see cir-
cular font. The baptismal font itself is destroyed by treasure hunters except the steps of the stair-
case at the eastern side, but the frame of the font in the mosaic floor is cruciform.
14 Rania Michail, “The Early Christian Baptisteries of Cyprus (4th–7th Centuries AD):
Typological Analysis of the Architecture and of the Baptismal Structure,” Cahiers du Centre
d’Études Chypriotes 43 (2013): 137–53, esp. 150, fig. 10.
15 Megaw, Kourion, 348.
16 Demetrios Pallas, Les monuments paléochrétiens de Grèce découverts de 1959 à 1973 (Città
del Vaticano: Pontificio Istituto di archeologia cristiana, 1977), 277.
17 Skevi Christodoulou, “Ancient Baths in Cyprus,” in 25 siècles de bain collectif en Orient,
Proche-Orient, Égypte et péninsule Arabique, Actes du 3e colloque Balnéorient, Damas 2–6 nov.
2009, ed. Marie-Françoise Boussac et al., Études urbaines 9 (Le Caire: Institut français d’arché-
ologie orientale, 2014), 83–96, esp. 94, fig. 18.
sists of a porter’s lodge opening onto the path leading to the church, dressing
room, footbath, frigidarium, tepidarium, and caldarium, where two cauldrons
once held water that was heated by a praefurnium. An open-air yard is situated
between the bathhouse and basilica A; a large underground Roman rock-cut
tomb with a stepped dromos/entrance was used in the early Christian period as
a drainage tank for bath water and as a waste dump. Small items found inside the
drainage tank allow the reconstruction of the bathhouse’s everyday use and life:
clay bathing cups, one of them for use by left-handed bathers,18 portable glass
candles for night bathing, glass bottles for aromatic oil, and stone dice.
The main sector of the settlement, sitting on the promontory’s southern slope
overlooking the sea, consists of small houses and rock-cut cisterns to collect rain
water from the roofs of buildings.19 The sixth-century three-aisled basilica B is
on the southeast edge of the settlement (fig. 4, p. 275). Its marble columns had
imported marble Ionic-impost capitals. The south side of the narthex was occu-
pied by a tomb, which belongs, I suggest, to the founder (ktetor).20 The discovery
of jewellery inside the tomb attests to the sudden collapse of the building and
abandonment of the settlement.
The three-aisled basilica C of the sixth century at the southeast edge of the set-
tlement was the first building one encountered upon entering it (fig. 5, p. 276).
Basilica C has elegant proportions, with a narthex/porch open to the west and a
stone-paved courtyard in place of an atrium. The monogram of the donor was
probably painted on the marble cushion capitals. A narrow corridor on the north
side separated the operation of the church from that of the annexes, which in-
cluded the church sacristy and guest-house complex. On its ground floor, the
guest house had two rooms and a vestibule with staircase ascending to the upper
floor. The upper story had two rooms decorated with stucco cornices and a
northwestern-facing balcony open to the breeze from the sea. The guest house
also had a cistern for collecting rainwater, a courtyard for pack animals, and an
olive press where the inhabitants of the settlement produced olive oil, paying
a small percentage fee to the church. Marble tables imported from Constant-
inople and intended for distribution in the area of Paphos were found piled in
the guest house’s ground floor (fig. 6, p. 276). They were never sold due to the
settlement’s abrupt abandonment. The guest house was at this location before
the erection of the church in the sixth century and was accessed from the road
18 Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Description and Metrology of Some Clay Vessels from Agios
Georgios, Pegeia,” in The Development of the Cypriot Economy from the Prehistoric Period to the
Present Day, ed. Vassos Karageorghis and Demetrios Michaelides (Nicosia: University of Cy-
prus and Bank of Cyprus, 1996), 153–61.
19 See the complex of small houses at Agios Konon; J. Fejfer, ed., Ancient Akamas I: Settle-
ment and Environment (Aarahus: Aarhus University Press, 1995), 85, fig. 14.
20 Megaw, “Byzantine Architecture,” 72.
leading from the countryside of Akamas to the settlement.21 The road was nar-
row at this point and shaded by fresh palm leaves placed on stone arches con-
necting and securing the facing buildings.
The settlement’s cemetery consisted of 24 rock-cut tombs overlooking the
sea (fig. 7, p. 277). They consisted of two types – chambers with arcosolia and
chambers with loculi – and are datable to late Hellenistic and Roman times.22
The tombs, as was common in Cyprus, carry no Christian symbols, because they
were employed interchangeably by pagans and Christians.23 This is why large
early Christian cemeteries have not been identified in Cyprus. The fronts of three
loculi tombs are marked with crosses and names, as Philaios, Nikios, and the title
of vikarios related to the function of the settlement as a stopover of the Byzantine
fleet carrying Egyptian grain (see below). These three tombs appear to have been
used exclusively by Christians.24
The settlement on Cape Drepanon has not been identified in the written
sources. Athanasios Sakellarios identifies it as the city Tegessos,25 but the ab-
sence of a fortification wall indicates that this was not a city. Hellenistic sherds,
its proximity to late Hellenistic rock-cut tombs at the site of Meletis, and the ar-
chaeological finds at Geronisos testify to Drepanon having been inhabited from
at least the Hellenistic age.
Quarry cuttings over the entire rocky surface of the promontory attest that
the largest coastal porous quarry in Cyprus operated at this location for centuries
(fig. 8, p. 278). I am of the opinion that in antiquity all of Cape Drepanon was at
the same altitude as the basilicas’ plateau and Geronisos Island, and that its cur-
rent low surface level tip is the result of continuous quarrying. The rock-cut tomb
chambers opened in the front of the quarry were originally underground quarry
cuttings, opened to obtain high-quality stone. Thus, the quarry would have begun
operating before the conversion of underground quarry cuttings into tombs.
If it is indeed the case that the low ground level is due to constant quarrying,
the question that arises is this: Why was the large quarry at Drepanon opened in
21 Fejfer,Akamas I, 113–19.
22 Theodora Anastasiadou, “The Rock-cut Tombs at Agios Georgios tis Pegeias,” RDAC
(2000), 333–347.
23 Athanasios Papageorghiou and Andreas Foulias, “L’architecture funéraire à Chypre du
Ier au Xe siècle,” Cahiers du Centre d’Études Chypriotes 43 (2013): 204.
24 Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Early Christian Rock-cut Tombs at Hagios Georgios, Peyia, Cy-
prus,” in Studies in Art, Architecture, and History in Memory of Doula Mouriki, ed. Nancy Patter-
son Ševčenko and Christopher Moss (Princeton: Department of Art and Archaeology and Pro-
gram in Hellenic Studies, Princeton University in association with Princeton University Press,
1999), 35–48.
25 Mentioned as town by Stephanos of Byzantium, and as promontory by Hesychios, see
Athanasios Sakellarios, Τα Κυπριακά: Ήτοι Γεωγραφία, Ιστορία και Γλώσσα της Κύπρου από των
αρχαιοτάτων χρόνων μέχρι σήμερον, vol. I (Athens: 1890; reprint. Nicosia: Cultural Foundation
of Archbishop Makarios III, 1991), 10, and Kyriakos Hadjioannou, Ἡ Κύπρος εἰς τὰς ἑλληνικὰς
πηγάς, vol. V (Nicosia: Ιερά Αρχιεπισκοπή Κύπρου, 1993), entry 198.
Hellenistic times, and where were the thousands of cubic meters of hard porous
stone transferred? Neighbouring Nea Paphos is one possible destination. This
area, however, had an abundance of stone of its own suitable for building needs,
and the transfer of such large quantities from the quarry at Drepanon is not jus-
tified in this case. The Tombs of the Kings and other burial complexes, for exam-
ple Agia Solomoni and Agios Lambrianos in Kato Paphos, and the rocky beach
up to the site Agios Georgios of Chloraka were ancient quarries.26 The theatre of
Nea Paphos was carved into the previous quarry site of Fabrica.27
It is not logical, then, that the massive amount of stone quarried at Drepa-
non was transported just to the south, along the coast of Paphos. A more rea-
sonable conjecture is that the thousands of tons of building stone were sent by
sea to Alexandria, because its own local soft stone did not satisfy the Ptolemies’
plans for the erection of monumental edifices in the Greek style.28 The need for
appropriate stone would have been pressing during the founding of Alexandria
in 331 BCE, after the establishment of the Ptolemies’ rule in 323 BCE, and again
when Alexandria was rebuilt by Hadrian in 115 CE. The existence of hard porous
stone on the coast of Cyprus just opposite Egypt, and its transport by sea, offered
the quickest, cheapest, and most viable solution to this problem. The founding
of Nea Paphos by Nikokles, the last king of Paphos, in 321–312/311 BCE, just
across from Alexandria, falls within the intent of Ptolemy I to exploit Cyprus’s
raw materials.29 The operation of a harbor and shipyards at Nea Paphos facili-
tated sea transport to Alexandria of timber for construction and shipbuilding,
grain, copper, and building stone from neighbouring Cape Drepanon and other
quarries in the area. The shipwreck found in August 2014 by the American re-
search vessel Nautilus in the open sea sixty kilometers south of Paphos, at the
submarine mount and volcano Eratosthenes, was a ship of the Hellenistic era,
and demonstrates the sea route between Paphos and Alexandria.30 A bit of mod-
26 Lionel M. Bear, The Mineral Resources and Mining Industry of Cyprus, Geological Survey
Cyprus Bulletin 1 (Nicosia: Geological Survey Department, 1964), 140; Jean-Claude Bessac, “Les
aspects techniques des aménagements rupestres de Paphos,” in Nea Paphos: Fondation et déve-
loppement urbanistique d’une ville chypriote de l’antiquité à nos jours: Études archéologiques, his-
toriques et patrimoniales; Actes du 1er colloque international sur Paphos, Avignon 30, 31 octobre
et 1er novembre 2012, ed. Claire Balandier, Mémoires 43 (Bordeaux: Ausonius Éditions, 2016),
105–20.
27 Claire Balandier, avec la collaboration de Matthieu Guintrand, “Fabrica, un quartier ré-
sidentiel à Paphos? Résultats archéologiques et réflexion historique sur l’évolution urbaine du
secteur Nord-Est de la ville antique,” in Nea Paphos, ed. Baladier, 121–143.
28 Peter M. Fraser, Ptolemaic Alexandria (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), 266, 610.
29 Jolanta Mlynarczyk, Nea Paphos III: Nea Paphos in the Hellenistic Period (Warsaw: Édi-
tions Géologiques, 1990), 67–76 and 108–9, and Dimitri Vitas, “The Foundation of Nea Paphos:
A New Cypriot City or a Ptolemaic katoikia?” in Balandier, ed. Nea Paphos, 241–48; and An-
dreas Mehl, “Nea Paphos et l’administration ptolémaïque de Chypre,” in Balandier, ed. Nea Pa-
phos, 249–60.
30 Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Ératosthène, les hydrocarbures et saint Onésiphore,” Cahiers du
Centre d’Études Chypriotes 43 (2013): 21–30, esp. 24.
ern evidence also supports my argument that Drepanon’s quarries served Egyp-
tian needs: It is known that in 1859–1869 the side walls of the Suez Canal were
built of stone from Cyprus.31
We have no literary information, neither about the quarry at Cape Drepanon
in the Hellenistic, Roman, and early Christian era, nor that the quarried stone
went from Drepanon to Alexandria. The archaeological evidence of the opera-
tion of a quarry at Drepanon and the sea routes strongly indicate that my con-
clusion is the most logical one.
Trade and communication between Alexandria and Drepanon were not lim-
ited to quarries or to the Hellenistic period. Constantine I exploited the much-
frequented sea route between Alexandria and Drepanon and existing harbor in-
stallations, and ordered the Annona fleet with Egyptian wheat to be directed to
Constantinople after 330, using the Cape Drepanon as the first stopover (fig. 9,
p. 278).32 The provisioning of Constantinople via Cyprus, Rhodes, Chios, and
Tenedos was reorganized by Justinian I, as described by Procopius.33 The anchor-
ages at Drepanon on Cyprus also provided relative security since it was located at
some distance from inhabited towns. The only city/harbor in the region was Nea
Paphos, which was twenty-two kilometers away. The peninsula of Akamas had no
cities apart from some small settlements, such as Agios Konon, which were also
associated with stone quarrying, grain shipment, and warships.34 We may say that
the Cape Drepanon and the northwest region of Cyprus was a sort of Byzantine
commercial and military base under the control of the authorities of Quaestura
Justiniana Excercitus, a new administrative unit established under Justinian.35
Under Justinian I, the settlement at Agios Georgios flourished. New buildings
changed its form. Close communications with Alexandria and Constantinople
brought to Agios Georgios pilgrims’ ampullae from the shrine of Saint Menas
31 Elizabeth Hoak-Doering, “Stones of the Suez Canal: A Discourse of Absence and Power
in Cyprus and Egypt,” Journal of Balkan and Near Eastern Studies 14/2 (2012): 199–228. Pierre
Louÿs wrote in 1894 that “Ces ruines (Amathus) ont presque disparu depuis trente ans, et les
pierres de la maison où peut-être vécut Bilitis pavent aujourd’hui les quais de Port-Saïd;” Les
chansons de Bilitis, ed. Jean-Paul Goujon (Paris: Gallimard, 1990), 36.
32 Charalambos Bakirtzis, “The Role of Cyprus in the Grain Supply of Constantinople in the
Early Christian Period,” in Proceedings of the International Symposium “Cyprus and the Sea,” ed.
Karageorghis and Michaelides, 247–53; Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Θαλασσία διαδρομή,” 329–31;
Georgios Constantinou and Ioannis Panagides, Κύπρος καὶ γεωλογία (Nicosia: Cultural Foun-
dation of the Bank of Cyprus, 2013), 268, fig. 310.
33 Procopius, Aed., 5.1.7–16.
34 Fejfer, Akamas I, 73–86, fig. 24 (quarry at Agios Nikolaos in Eastern Akamas). For numer-
ous coins of Heraclius and Constans II and Byzantine lead seals at Chloraka, south of Drepanon,
see David M. Metcalf, Byzantine Cyprus 491–1191 (Nicosia: Cyprus Research Centre, 2009), 230;
and Metcalf, Byzantine Lead Seals from Cyprus, 2 (Nicosia: Cyprus Research, 2014), 47.
35 Andreas Goutziokostas and Xenophon Moniaros, Ἡ περιφερειακὴ διοικητικὴ
ἀναδιοργάνωση τῆς Βυζαντινῆς αὐτοκρατορίας ἀπὸ τὸν Ἰουστινιανὸ Α΄ (527–565): Ἡ περίπτωση
τῆς Quaestura Justiniana Excercitus (Thessaloniki: Vanias Editions, 2009), 147–49. For the title
of vicarios, passim.
and high-quality pottery from Egypt, such as large thin-walled cooking pots
(chytrai, fig. 10, p. 279). At the same time, column shafts, capitals, sigma-shaped
marble tables and the marble ambo in Basilica A bearing the inscription Ὑπὲρ
εὐχῆς ναυτῶν (“a vow for sailors”) came from Prokonnessos.36 The architecture
of the basilicas in Agios Georgios conform with Constantinopolitan practice:
their semi-circular synthronon, the externally semi-hexagonal apses, the config-
uration of the baptistery with the font in the center, and the opus sectile on the
walls, with full-length figures of saints in the small baptistery Basilica.37 Agios
Georgios was an international center.
The harbor-station of the maritime Annona fleet at Drepanon fell into dis-
use after Alexandria was conquered by the Persians in 618 and was abandoned
after the Arabs took Egypt in 640 and grain shipments to Constantinople were
interrupted. The last coin found at Agios Georgios dates to 637. During medie-
val times the ruins of the settlement served as a source of building stones. At
the turn of the thirteenth century to the fourteenth, under Lusignan, the single-
aisle vaulted chapel of Agios Georgios was built (fig. 11, p. 279). Its expansion
in the sixteenth century attests to the pilgrimage at this site, comparable to that
of the Apostolos Andreas on the eastern promontory of Cyprus. The pilgrimage
site was bounded by an enclosure wall and was self-sufficient, with its own cis-
tern for growing vegetables and an olive press. In 1928, the large domed church
of Agios Georgios was erected at the expense of Cypriots from Pegeia installed
in Egypt. Residents of the neighboring villages of Pegeia and Kathikas have built
small houses around the chapel as abodes for pilgrims. Recently, a fishermen’s
refuge was built on the cape at the site Mantoullis and the sometime isolated site
is changing gradually into a recreation area with villas and small hotels.
Drepanon was a significant site. In the Hellenistic period, it was likely a site
of active quarrying, in service of building projects in Ptolemaic Alexandria. At
a later period after 330, it flourished as a harbor of the Annona ships carrying
Egyptian wheat to Constantinople. Drepanon was a site of trade and internation-
al communications, with small finds, building materials, and architectural style
all indicating the connection of this area with Alexandria and Constantinople.
As this site is further researched and restored, our intention is for the archae-
ological remains to be unchanged, to preserve the archaeological aura, the nos-
talgia of the memory, the feeling of stability gifted by the past, the authenticity of
the local flora and the silence.
36 Demetrios Michaelides, “The Ambo of Basilica A at Cape Drepanon,” in MOSAIC,

Festschrift for A. H. S. Megaw, ed. Judith Herrin, Margaret Mullet, and Catherine Otten-Froux
(London: British School at Athens, 2001), 43–56.
37 Megaw, “Byzantine Architecture,” 71. For the opus sectile see Demetrios Michaelides,
Cypriot Mosaics (Nicosia: Department of Antiquities, 1992), 101.
Cyprus in the New Testament and Beyond
James Carleton Paget
Cyprus and Cypriots are a relatively conspicuous presence in the history of early
Christianity,1 but one marked by significant lacunae in the historically fragile
texts available to us (almost exclusively the Acts of the Apostles, a New Tes-
tament work generally attributed to Luke, the author of the third canonical Gos-
pel). So the Cypriot and Levite Barnabas is a major character in the history of the
Jerusalem Christian community,2 in the early mission to Antioch,3 and seems to
have played an important part in Paul’s early life as a Christian, visiting him in
Damascus after his “conversion,”4 introducing him to the Christian community
in Antioch,5 accompanying him on his first missionary journey, which includ-
ed activity in Cyprus, and eventually separating from him after the so-called
Council of Jerusalem.6 Yet it is impossible to establish how Barnabas became a
1 See Markus Öhler, who notes the importance of the island in early Christian history
given its relatively obscure position in the Roman Empire (see below), although he emphasizes
the fact that most of the references in Acts refer to Cypriots rather than to Cyprus itself; Markus
Öhler, Barnabas: Die historische Person und ihre Rezeption in der Apostelgeschichte, WUNT 156
(Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 98. For the sense of importance, see the unsourced quotation
in John B. D. Hackett, laying particular significance upon the importance of Barnabas, both in
history and legend: “Under what an obligation then should the city of Antioch be towards the
Cypriots! Under what a debt, too, are Christian people in being called Christian through the
instrumentality of Cyprus! But what shall we say of thee, O holy Rome? Whence hast thou re-
ceived the first beginning of our holiness but from Barnabas? And Milan, Bergamo, and Bre-
scia, what thanks do ye not owe?” The references at the end are to early medieval works in
which Barnabas is depicted as founding Christian communities in these Italian towns; John
B. D. Hackett, A History of the Orthodox Church of Cyprus: From the Coming of the Apostles Paul
and Barnabas to the Commencement of the British Occupation, (A. D. 45–A. D. 1878). Together
with Some Account of the Latin and Other Churches Existing in the Island (London: Methuen,
1901), 1.
2 See Acts 4:36; 9:27; and 11:22.
3 Acts 11:22.
4 Acts 9:27.
5 Acts 11:30.
6 Acts 15.39. For a clear endorsement of Barnabas’s importance in the early history of the
church see Bernd Kollmann, Joseph Barnabas: Leben und Wirkungsgeschichte, SBS 175 (Stuttgart:
Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1998), 72: “Historisch wie wirkungsgeschichtlich erweist er sich
als eine der Zentralfiguren des frühen Christentums, deren Bedeutung für die urchristliche
Theologiegeschichte und die Gestaltwerdung der Kirche bislang kaum wahrgenommen wurde.”
See also n. 1 above.
34 James Carleton Paget
Christian,7 what his association with Cyprus (or Jerusalem) was,8 and what role
he played in Paul’s first missionary journey. Moreover, Luke mentions a second
mission to Cyprus in Acts 15:39, involving both Barnabas and Mark, but tells us
nothing about it and never mentions the former again. Paul refers to Barnabas as
a travelling companion in 1 Cor 9:6, and as someone who withdrew from table
fellowship with gentiles in Antioch in Gal 2:11–14.9 Both references are brief and,
especially in the case of the latter, highly contested.
At Acts 11:19 Luke mentions people who, after the so-called persecution of
the Christian church in Jerusalem (Acts 8:1), and following Stephen’s martyr-
dom (Acts 7:60), travel as far as Phoenicia, Cyprus, and Antioch, and speak the
word to no one but Jews. Details, however, are in short supply, in spite of what
must have been important activity. In the following verse, Cypriot Christians
(Jews would be a better description) are mentioned as participating in the mis-
sion to Antioch, often thought to be the most influential mission with regard
to the spread of the gospel to the gentiles, but again with considerable brevi-
ty (Acts 11:20).10 The reference at Acts 21:16 to Mnason, the Cypriot who gave
Paul lodgings on his way to Jerusalem, and who had himself been a believer for
some time, may give evidence of a friend of Barnabas, but little is said about
him.11
As will be seen, similar issues are raised by the account of the mission of Paul
and Barnabas to Cyprus, recorded in Acts 13:4–12. The event can be construed as
significant: it witnesses to Paul’s earliest recorded activity as a Christian mission-
ary, to a possible change in power and authority from Barnabas to Paul, to a shift
in Paul’s understanding of his mission, as well as the first conversion of a Roman
7 That gap is filled, spuriously, by the sixth-century Laudatio (13 f.). See Kollmann, Joseph
Barnabas, 2007 and our discussion below.
8 At Acts 4:36, he is described as Κύπριος τῷ γένει. Öhler, Barnabas, 97–98, argues that the
phrase may only imply that his family came from Cyprus, not that he had resided there. While
Öhler notes that in the two other cases where τῷ γένει is used in Acts (18:2 to refer to Prisca and
18:24 to refer to Apollos) reference to birthplace is unambiguous (made clear by their move-
ment to another place), nevertheless in Acts 4:36, where such a thing is not indicated, there is
potentially ambiguity. The reference to people living in Jerusalem in Acts 2:5 may support the
idea that Barnabas resided there, though Cyprus is not mentioned in the list of nations present
at Pentecost. The fact that Barnabas owned land points to property in Palestine (the sale of such
land, if in Cyprus, might involve time and complication), and it is striking that he goes on living
in Jerusalem (9:27; 11:22). Other commentators do not follow Öhler (e. g., Barrett, Pervo, and
Keener) and the ancient tradition is clear that he was born on the island (see Epiphanius, Pan.
30.25.5–6 and Alexander Monachus, Laudatio 10).
9 At Col 4:10 John Mark is mentioned as the nephew of Barnabas. Whether Colossians is by
Paul or not, the reference to Barnabas implies the ongoing importance of his personality.
10 One should assume that these Κύπριοι do come from Cyprus, though they are imme-
diately associated with Jerusalem.
11 For problems with Mnason’s name see Richard Pervo, Acts: A Commentary (Philadel-
phia: Fortress, 2008), 539.
Cyprus in the New Testament and Beyond 35
official.12 And yet, in a passage that Nock described as “bald and unadorned,”13
questions are raised at every point.14
The references in Acts, however, may seem like an embarrassment of riches
relative to what follows. Between Acts 15:39, where Luke reports Barnabas and
Mark’s departure to Cyprus on an apparent second missionary visit,15 and the
Council of Nicaea in 325 CE, there is what one scholar has named a “hiatus” in
our information about Christianity on the island;16 and yet we must assume an
ongoing history and development of Christianity on the island. As to Cypriot
Christian literary sources, we have to wait until the works of Epiphanius and the
fifth-century Acts of Barnabas to gain those;17 and all of this in an island that was
able to boast and defend its autocephalous status in the fifth century.
This paper re-examines the origins of Christianity in Cyprus, for which all
of our information comes from Acts. It will concentrate on Acts 13:4–12, ask-
ing to what extent the passage betrays Cypriot origins, that is, whether some of
its emphases are elucidated by a knowledge of ancient Cyprus, a question relat-
ed to the problem of historicity. Also addressed will be the fact of the relative
succinctness of the passage in relation to the claims made for it by an array of
scholars. As a way of indirectly illuminating the Acts passage, I shall say some-
thing about the Acts of Barnabas and the Laudatio, late works, which betray
knowledge of the Acts of the Apostles. I shall conclude with a few suggestive
observations.
12 Note Mitford’s comments: “It would be hard to exaggerate the significance of the en-
counter at Paphos between AD 46 and 48 of Paul and Barnabas with the proconsul, Sergius Pau-
lus … the conversion, even if short-lived, of a Roman governor and the change of Saul’s name
to Paulus in recognition of this event;” Terence B. Mitford, “Roman Cyprus,” ANRW 2.7.2, 1381;
repeated in Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” ANRW 2.18.3, 2207. This, of course, is Mit-
ford’s interpretation. Luke barely hints at such an extravagant assessment.
13 A. D. Nock, “Paul and the Magus,” in The Beginnings of Christianity 1, ed. K. Lake and
H. J. Cadbury (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1979), 187.
14 See Öhler, Barnabas, 281–82.
15 Luke refers to Cyprus twice more in Acts, at 21:3, and 27:4, but here simply as a geograph-
ical referent in an account of a sea voyage.
16 Mitford, “Roman Cyprus,” 1381. He mentions “crypto-Christian inscriptions of uncertain
date,” but does not accord them the status of evidence, a judgment repeated in Mitford, “The
Cults of Roman Cyprus,” 2297.
17 For the text see Max Bonnet, Acta Philippi et Acta Thomae accedunt Acta Barnabae, vol.
2.2 of Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha, ed. Richard Adelbert Lipsius and Max Bonnet (Leipzig:
Hinrichs, 1903), 292–302. A translation is found at Kollmann, Joseph Barnabas, 76–82.
Barnabas and Paul on Cyprus:

The Beginning of the First Missionary Journey
The earliest Christians were Jews, and this appears to have been the case among
the earliest Cypriot Christians. Barnabas, a resident of Jerusalem at the time of
his “conversion,” was Jewish, hailing from a Levitical family,18 as were the anony-
mous Cypriots mentioned as the earliest missionaries on Cyprus at Acts 11:19.
Moreover, according to Luke, the activity of the latter was confined to Jews, just
as Paul and Barnabas confined their initial preaching in Salamis to “the syn-
agogues of the Jews” (Acts 13:5). Paul’s confrontation with Bar Jesus was a con-
frontation with a Jew (Acts 13:6) and, as will be seen, it is possible that Sergius
Paulus was a God-fearer, that is, a gentile affiliated to the Jewish community who
had not yet become a Jew.
Jews in Cyprus
Jews are first mentioned in Cyprus in a letter recorded in 1 Macc 15:23, dating

from 140 BCE, in which the Roman consul, Lucius, insists on the good treat-
ment of the Jews in a variety of places, including in Cyprus.19 The letter, which
must be thought to imply what van der Horst calls a “not insignificant” popula-
tion of Jews on the island, could be taken to assume a presence on the island
from much earlier than that, probably from the Ptolemaic period.20 The fact that
Josephus (A. J. 13.284) mentions the Jews of Alexandria, Egypt, and Cyprus to-
gether implies a large Jewish population, that is, one that could be mentioned in
the same breath as those of Egypt and Alexandria, and which Josephus describes
explicitly as “flourishing;” Philo appears to confirm this when he refers to colo-
nies of Jews living on the islands Euboea, Cyprus, and Crete (Legat. 282).21 It is
possible that Jews were attracted to the island by the fact that it was well situated
18 On this identification, see Craig Keener, Acts: An Exegetical Commentary 3:1–14:28, vol. 2
of Acts: An Exegetical Commentary (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2013), 1181–82.
19 Evidence for a Jewish presence in Hasmonean times comes also from Hasmonean coins
found in Paphos. See Pieter W. van der Horst, “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,” in van der Horst,
Jews and Christians in Their Graeco-Roman Context, WUNT 196 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,
2006), 29; and A. Reifenberg, “Das antike zyprische Judentum und seine Beziehungen zu Paläs-
tina,” JPOS 12 (1932): 213. See also a possible Jewish inscription from Kourion mentioning an
Onias, also probably from the Hasmonean period; David Noy and Hanswulf Bloedhorn, In-
scriptiones Judaicae Orientis: III Syria and Cyprus, TSAJ 102 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004),
222–23.
20 Van der Horst thinks that we should assume a presence on the island from at least as early
as the third century BCE, as was the case with Jewish populations on Delos and Crete; van der
Horst, “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,” 28–29.
21 van der Horst, “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,” 29.
between Asia Minor, Judea, Greece, and Syria, and so a good place for trade.22
Josephus, in the passage already mentioned, quoting Strabo, mentions the sup-
port of the Jews for Cleopatra III, who sent them to Cyprus to attack her rival,
Ptolemy IX Soter II Lathyrus (the intermittent ruler of Egypt between 118 and
81 BCE), though they ended up joining his cause. In the first century BCE, in
an exchange of gifts between himself and Augustus, Herod the Great received
half the revenue of the copper mines of Cyprus, located at Soloi, and he was en-
trusted with the management of the other half (A. J. 16.128). We are told also that
one of Herod’s granddaughters, Alexandra,23 married an important Cypriot Jew,
named Timios.24 Such evidence indicates close connections between Cyprus and
Palestine,25 as well as the high standing of some Jews on the island. In the reign
of Nero, probably in the 50s CE, the love-soaked Felix, who was to become gov-
ernor of Judaea, attempted successfully to marry the Jewish princess, Drusilla,
through the actions of a Cypriot Jew, named Atomos,26 who pretended to be a
magician (A. J. 20.142).27 Association of Cypriot Jews with magic may be further
supported by Pliny the Elder (Pliny, Nat. 30.11)28 and Acts 13 where Bar Jesus the
Jew is a magos.29 Evidence for Cypriot Judaism then dries up until the early part of
22 van der Horst, “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,” 29.

23 She was the daughter of Phasael and Salampsio, the daughter of Herod.
24 See Josephus, A. J. 18.131.
25 See Kollmann reporting the actions of Queen Helena of Adiabene in the procuratorship
of Tiberius Julius Alexander, during which she helped soften the effects of a famine in Pales-
tine by purchasing figs from Cyprus to distribute to needy residents of Jerusalem (see Josephus,
A. J. 20.51, 101); Kollmann, Joseph Barnabas, 16.
26 Some manuscripts read “Simon” rather than “Atomos.” For a discussion, questioning the
former reading, and critiquing the various attempts at identifying who this “Simon” might be,
see Louis H. Feldman, Josephus, Antiquities Book XX (Cambridge, MA: William Heinemann,
1981), 76–77.
27 The form of magic Atomos engaged in is not described. Andrew Wilburn, Materia Ma-
gica: The Archaeology of Magic in Roman Egypt, Cyprus, and Spain (Ann Arbor: University of
Michigan Press, 2012), 176, suggests that it was an erotic binding spell.
28 The passage reads as follows: “There is yet another branch of magic (magices factio), de-
rived from Moses, Jannes, Lotapes and the Jews (ac Iudaeis pendens), but living many thou-
sands of years after Zoroaster. So much more recent is the branch in Cyprus (tanto recentior est
Cypria).” While Wilburn, notes that the form of magic associated by Pliny with Cyprus should
probably be distinguished from that of the Jews and Persian magi, he adds “that the association
between Cypriot magic and the Jews is somewhat problematic,” because the text does not pro-
vide “a clear break between Cypriot and Jewish magic;” Wilburn, Materia Magica, 175–76. Ter-
ence Mitford, on the basis of this passage, assumes Jewish and Cypriot magic are the same; Mit-
ford, The Inscriptions of Kourion (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1971), 127–42.
Menahem Stern fails to include the sentence on Cyprus in his text of this passage; Stern, Greek
and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, vol. 1 (Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Hu-
manities, 1974), 498.
29 Mitford claims Jewish influence behind a number of defixiones discovered in Kourion;
Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” 2205. These are discussed at length by Wilburn, though
without addressing their Jewish character; Wilburn, Materia Magica, 169–218. But Mitford’s
claim seems unjustified. As Noy correctly notes, “They only contain standard magical language
the second century when Cassius Dio and Eusebius inform us of a violent Jewish
revolt against the Romans in the time of Trajan (which also broke out in Egypt,
Cyrenaica, and perhaps Palestine),30 under the leadership of a possibly messian-
ic figure, called Artemion. According to Eusebius, this resulted in the destruc-
tion of Salamis and, according to Dio, in the killing of 240,000 inhabitants.31 The
quelling of this insurrection led to a permanent ban on Jews entering the island,32
although this seems not to have been in place in the third and fourth centuries,
when we have epigraphic evidence of the presence of Jews on the island.33
The information above provides only piecemeal evidence of the Jewish pop-
ulation of Cyprus. But it indicates that there was probably a large population, and
especially in Salamis, that the population was mixed in terms of economic and
social origins, some rich Jews who could marry Jewish princesses from Palestine,
and some workers in the mines at Soloi and agricultural workers in an island re-
nowned for its farming.34 While Jews are not mentioned as savants or scholars,
poets or writers, they may have had a reputation on the island for magical ac-
tivity. The fact that the Jews were able to engage in an initially successful revolt,
which witnessed the sack of Salamis (the only city to be recorded as falling to the
Jews in the Trajanic revolt), points to a community boasting a certain unity and
sense of difference from the native population, captured perhaps in Philo’s use
of the word “colony.”
and have no particular Jewish connection;” Noy and Bloedhorn, Inscriptiones Judaicae Orien-
tis, 223.
30 William Horbury sees ancient connections between the Jews of Cyprus and Egypt as
playing a role in the decision of the Jews of the former to revolt, and assumes some coordination
between them. Horbury suggests that Cyprus played an important part in the revolt precisely
because of its contacts with both Egypt and Antioch; Horbury, Jewish War under Trajan and
Hadrian (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 249 and 252.
31 See Cass. Dio, Hist. 68.32.2, and Eusebius, Chron. Trajan 19 (Eusebius does not mention
Cyprus in his longer account of the revolt in Hist. eccl. 4.2.1–5). For the Jewish revolt in Cyprus
see Horbury, Jewish War, 246–52.
32 Horbury emphasizes the severity of this action, noting how Dio draws attention to it, and
how it contrasts with the refusal of Titus to act in a similar way when faced by a request of the
Antiochenes to ban the Jews from their city in the wake of the first Jewish revolt; Jewish War,
251; see also B. J. 7.100–111.
33 Terence B. Mitford and Ino K. Nicolaou claim that a rescript from Salamis, possibly of
Severan date, which forbids the establishment of a statio for craftsmen of a particular race, refers
to Jews, but do not justify the view that ‘race’ here must refer to Jews. For further epigraphic
references after the period of the Trajanic revolt; Inscriptions from Salamis (Nicosia: Cyprus
Department of Antiquities, 1974), 91; repeated in Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” 2205;
see also Noy and Bloedhorn, Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis, 213–26. These inscriptions, which
come from Lapethos, Morfou, Golgoi, Kourion, and Kition, give evidence of the presence of
rabbis and synagogue buildings.
34 See Eisler’s point about the Trajanic revolt as arising out of the discontent of slaves work-
ing at Soloi, and Horbury’s citation of Mitford’s view that Salamis gives evidence of an industrial
proletariat to which some Jews may have belonged and from whom some of the revolutionaries
would have come, as discussed in Horbury, Jewish War, 250.
Acts 13:4–12 and its Cypriot Background
Some of the information mentioned above adds verisimilitude to the account of

Paul’s, Barnabas’s and John Mark’s trip to Cyprus in Acts of the Apostles. It helps
to make sense of the reference in Acts to the “synagogues of the Jews” in Salamis
(Acts 13:5), a phrase implying a large population in the town (though as yet no
synagogue in the city has been found by archaeologists), as well as the presence
of the Jewish magos among the retinue of Sergius Paulus. It may also explain why
it was that this group of early Christian missionaries decided to begin their activ-
ities on the island, being attracted by its large Jewish population.
But other towns and cities in Syria and Asia Minor had large Jewish popula-
tions and this alone will not serve to explain why a trip to Cyprus was under-
taken. Perhaps the fact that a mission had already begun there “only to the Jews”
(Acts 11:19),35 that Barnabas came from Cyprus (though there is no evidence pro-
vided by Luke that Barnabas made use of contacts on the island), and that Cy-
prus itself, besides having historic links with Egypt to the south – a point re-
flected in the history of the Jewish population on the island – also looked east,
through its port in Salamis to Cilicia, played a part in the decision. Indeed the
island had been a part of the Persian Empire, as a satrapy of Syria, and when the
Romans had first annexed it in 58 BCE, it had been incorporated into the prov-
ince of Cilicia, one of the proconsuls of which was Cicero.
The choice of travel to Cyprus is strange for another reason. As Terence
Mitford and others have commented, the island, which had become a senato-
rial province in 22 BCE, and so under the governance of a proconsul, a techni-
cal detail that Luke gets right (Acts 13:7), was an administrative backwater,36
neither being rich nor providing much opportunity to the senator seeking mil-
itary glory.37 We hear little about distinguished Cypriots during the period of
Roman rule, have relatively few names of those who were proconsuls, and only
know of six of these individuals who went on to be consuls.38 If the trip is an
35 For some this reference contradicts what we read in Acts 13:4–12, where Paul and Bar
nabas’s mission to Cyprus appears as the first Christian presence on the island and so is likely
to go back to Christian tradition. However, it is not beyond the realms of possibility that this
matter might have escaped Luke’s notice. See C. K. Barrett, Acts Volume 1: 1–14, ICC (London
and New York: T&T Clark, 2004), 549.
36 See Mitford, “Roman Cyprus,” 1346.
37 Mitford notes that when one compares Cyprus with Sicily and Sardinia, both senato-
rial provinces, we see that it was never afforded great privileges. No coloniae and no cities were
granted the status of civitas; no latifundia or imperial estates were known on the island; there is
no evidence that Romans of wealth or standing settled in the province or owned land there; and
it may have been visited by only one emperor (probably Hadrian). It lay on no important sea
routes and so was of little strategic significance; Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” 1295.
38 Van der Horst speculates that the decision to go to the island is an indirect indication of
the importance of the Jewish community there. This, then, makes the decision to go there quite
logical; van der Horst, “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,” 30.
invention of Luke, against such a background the reason for the invention needs
some explanation.39
Aspects of Acts 13:4–12
As has been noted, terseness marks Luke’s account of Paul and Barnabas’s Cyp-
riot trip. Their journey is described without comment,40 and the presence of
John Mark is left unexplained (Acts 13:5). If Paul and Barnabas were greeted by
friends, and in the case of Barnabas, relatives, that fact is not mentioned. Sala-
mis – the city at which they arrived – boasted a long history stretching back to
1050 BCE, even if the city had been somewhat in decline since the second cen-
tury BCE when it ceased to be the major city of the island in favor of Paphos. It
had a striking physical appearance, including a theater which could hold 15,000
people, a long forum with porches, a gymnasium, as well as boasting the impor-
tant temple of Zeus. Yet Luke fails to include any details of this.41 All that is re-
ferred to is preaching in the synagogues of the Jews.42 The reference could imply
the presence of other synagogai in the city, here understood as associations, but
it seems more likely that it was a standard way of referring to a synagogue, for
we find the term in Jewish inscriptions elsewhere.43 The presence of more than
one synagogue seems likely on the basis of what has already been said about the
Jewish population during the Trajanic revolt.44 As already noted, Luke does not
enlighten us as to the content of the preaching (he simply mentions preaching
the word of the Lord) or the reaction to it (in contrast to other places in the first
missionary journey and beyond, where we are provided with a lengthy speech by
Paul and often a negative reaction to it).45 The absence of any account of words
spoken or the success or failure of the venture is an indication of the dubious his-
torical claims of the account to some. The Cypriot journey, then, is little more
than an enactment of Luke’s view that one preaches to the Jews first, something
39 Keener notes that Cyprus would have been a natural port of call because of its strategic
placement, sea routes from Egypt, Asia Minor, and Syria all converging there; Keener, Acts, 1999.
40 Often in the summer months ships experienced difficulty getting to the island because of
the westerly winds. The Acts of Barnabas 11–12 gives an account of this kind.
41 On Salamis see Mitford, “Roman Cyprus,” 1321–23; Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cy-
prus,” 2189–90; Keener, Acts, 2000; Thomas W. Davis, “Saint Paul on Cyprus: The Transfor-
mation of an Apostle,” in Do Historical Matters Matter to Faith? ed. James K. Hoffmeier and
Dennis R. Magary (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2012), 415.
42 For more on the Jewish association with Salamis, see Kollmann, Joseph Barnabas, 40–41;
and our comments on the Jewish capture of the city in the Trajanic revolt above.
43 The term occurs here for the first time in Acts (for other appearances, but here only in the
singular, see 14:1; 17:1 and 10). For discussion of this phrase see Öhler, Barnabas, 274–75.
44 See above.
45 See 13:45; 14:2; 17:5; 18:6; 19:9.
which occurs with regularity in Acts.46 But one could argue that the absence of
a reaction does not fit Luke’s customary account, which is precisely to have Paul
preach first to the Jews, encounter opposition and then move to the Gentiles.
Such a schema here seems at best oblique,47 with gentiles never being mention-
ed.48 Silence may conceal lack of success49 or of informationor of both.50
The description of the journey from Salamis to Paphos is skeletal, as if it
is Luke’s main aim to get to the interview with Sergius, upon which he wants
to focus.51 For others the brevity points to invention, a Modellreise, invented
through knowledge of a map.52 It is likely that Paul and Barnabas would have
followed the south coastal road,53 although it seems on the basis of extant Roman
milestones that at this time there was only a relatively small stretch of Roman
road from Paphos to Kourion, with its temple to Apollo Hylates.54 Most, howev-
er, assume that there was a Ptolemaic road from Salamis to Paphos, and that the
46 See 13:14; 14:1; 17:1, 10, 17; 18:4, 19; 19:8. To this observation, some add the strongly Lukan
nature of the language at 13:4–6a; see Pervo, Acts, 323.
47 See Keener’s point: “His lack of mention of opposition in the synagogues also suggests
that the report is not simply a Lucan fixation;” Keener, Acts, 2003.
48 Jack T. Sanders argues for such a schema. While he notes that there is no opposition ex-
pressed in 13:6, he states that Luke has an evil Jew oppose gentile conversion, gives evidence of
the power of the gospel over such a person, and then recounts the conversion of a gentile. “If the
reader turns from that account with any view other than that the missionaries take the Gospel
to the Jews, who oppose it, and that the missionaries then preach successfully to the gentiles, it
will not be for want of Luke’s narrative skill, for he has highlighted these themes well;” Sanders,
The Jews in Luke-Acts (London: SCM Press, 1987), 258. But this seems an example of eisegesis –
of reading one’s assumptions into an ancient text. The fact that Luke fails to detail the results
of the preaching to the Jews, that he does not clearly link that preaching with the event involv-
ing Bar Jesus which follows, and that it is difficult to see Bar Jesus as symbolic of the Jews more
generally, make Sanders’s view unlikely. On this see John J. Kilgallen, “Acts 13:4–12: The Role of
the Magos,” EstBib 55 (1998): 225–26. For our discussion of the Jewish dimension of this pas-
sage, see below.
49 The implication of Acts 15:36 and 39 is that there was successful missionizing on the is-
land, but of this, save for the incident with Sergius Paulus, we are told nothing. See Öhler, Bar
nabas, 280.
50 See Öhler, Barnabas, 275.
51 Certainly it is difficult to see how it could have been a journey around the whole island,
as the Greek claims. On this see Barrett, Acts, 612.
52 A view associated with Haenchen and Conzelmann, the latter of whom claimed that Luke
could have read the information on a map. This is disputed by Cilliers Breytenbach, who notes
the lack of availability of maps and the generally good geographic knowledge Luke demon-
strates; Breytenbach, Paulus und Barnabas in der Provinz Galatien: Studien zu Apostelgeschichte
13 f.; 16,6; 18,23 und den Adressaten des Galaterbriefes, AGAJU 38 (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 86–87.
53 David Gill mentions another possible route, via the north coast, to Chytri, over the Kyre-
nia ridge and then along the coast to Soloi, Arsinoe, and then south to Paphos. This was a longer
route than the southern coastal one, and the first evidence of a road for that route comes from
the Severan period in the late second and early third century; Gill, “Paul’s Travels through Cy-
prus,” TynBul 46 (1995): 220.
54 Gill, “Paul’s Travels,” 222, discusses the relevant milestone.
Roman road would have stretched further by this time.55 It seems unlikely that
Paul would not have stopped off at some of the important towns between Paphos
and Salamis, but again Luke is silent about this matter.56
The decision to go to Paphos would have been a natural one. Paphos refers to
New Paphos, a city built in the late fourth century BCE near Old Paphos, which
had been and continued to be the site of the most important shrine to Aphro-
dite in the ancient world. By the second century BCE, New Paphos had taken
the place of Salamis as the major city of the island (a position it would hold until
346 CE), mainly because of its harbor, and appears quickly to have won the favor
of the Romans, with Cicero, in the early period of its imperial history, speak-
ing warmly of it.57 In 15 BCE it had been badly damaged in an earthquake but
Augustus had provided funds for its rebuilding and as a result it had acquired
the title “sebaste” to which “Claudia” and “Flavia” were to be added at different
times.58 It was the place of residence of the proconsul and it quickly adopted a
Roman calendar (this in contrast to Salamis which retained an Egyptian cal-
endar). It was also given the title “metropolis,” one to which Salamis aspired59
but unsuccessfully until the time of Epiphanius.60 Evidence of trade, in particular
in pots, points to a strong western orientation, which would be compatible with
what some have seen as its heavily Romanized character.61
Despite the rich history of Paphos, Luke, as with his account of Salamis, pro-
vides us with no information about the physical appearance of the city, failing
to mention the shrine of Aphrodite, although that was located at Old Paphos.
Rather, all interest is focused on the encounter between Paul and Barnabas, and
Sergius Paulus and Bar Jesus. From this encounter a number of points emerge.
55
See Gill, “Paul’s Travels,” 222.
56 Among these, mention should be made of Kition, Amathous (one of only three Cypri-
ot cities to be granted the right of asylum through its temple of Aphrodite), and Kourion. As
Barrett notes, “D* has περιελθόντων δὲ αὐτῶν, they went round, that is, presumably they sailed
round [the island],” perhaps to explain the narrative void, indicating that they sailed around the
island and so there was no need to give an account of a mission in the towns between Salamis
and Paphos; Barrett, Acts, 612.
57 Sib. Or. 4.128–144.; 5.450–454 could, along with Salamis, refer to Paphos as exemplifying
Cyprus. Justin Taylor argues that the evidence for Paphos becoming the major town of the is-
land is, aside from what he takes to be the ambiguous evidence of Acts, limited to a comment
by Cicero (omnes … Cyprios, sed magis Paphios [Cicero, Fam. 13.8]); Taylor, “St. Paul and the
Roman Empire: Acts of the Apostles 13–14,” ANRW 2.26.2 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1995), 1192.
58 See Mitford, “Roman Cyprus,” 1310.
59 Paphos probably received the title in the early 2nd century CE. Hadrian denied the title
to Salamis in 123 CE.
60 Salamis’s supposed anti-Roman profile may have been informed by an early incident in
the Roman rule of the island when there was a blockade of the Salaminian council by Scaptius
(the issue concerned the recovery of a hugely inflated debt), which resulted in the death of five
councilors. See Mitford, “Roman Cyprus,” 1291.
61 On Paphos see Mitford, “Roman Cyprus,” 1309–15; Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cy-
prus,” 1990, 2178–83; and Keener, Acts, 2006–8.
First, Acts makes no attempt to explain how it was that Paul and Barnabas
ended up meeting the procurator, or what the setting was in which they met
him.62 The invitation appears to come from the latter,63 but the narrative tells
us nothing about how Sergius may have heard about the missionaries. Does the
writer of Luke-Acts think that the reader will assume that such information came
from the Jewish community, with whom, possibly through Bar Jesus, Sergius had
a connection?
Second, what of Bar Jesus? The name is suggestive of some historical kernel
to the story, for why name a figure with the same name as your savior figure?64
Paul’s cursing him as the “son of the Devil,” betrays recognition of the associa-
tion of his name and the inversion of this. His relationship to Sergius has elicited
much discussion, not least because it is never formally described.65 Scholars have
suggested that Bar Jesus was something akin to a court astrologer, like Thrasyl-
lus in the court of Tiberius (Suetonius, Tib. 14.4), or Babillus (Suetonius, Nero
36.1) and Tiridates (Pliny, Nat 30.17) in Nero’s court, or Asceletarion in the court
of Domitian (Suetonius, Dom. 15.3);66 and others have seen him more generally
as part of proconsul’s retinue, a comes of sorts. Insofar as Bar Jesus is described,
he is twice called a magos (13:6 and 8). This term need not be a self-designation,
although, as noted, we hear of Felix making use of a Jewish magos (or at least
someone who pretended to be a Jewish magos) in his attempts to woo Drusilla
from her husband, a passage which bears similarities with the contents of this
passage in Acts.67 The term is not in itself negative. It originally referred to wise
62 Is the reader to envision an interview in a gubernatorial palace, with Sergius seated while
Paul and Barnabas interview him, or a less formal discussion elsewhere? The text is silent on
this matter; Pervo, Acts, 326.
63 See 13:7 and the reference to Sergius summoning (προσκαλέσαμενος) Paul and Barnabas.
64 For the view that his name is not Bar Jesus but Bar hizwa, son of the vision, and that this
is an Essene self-designation for seer, see Constantin Daniel, “Un Essénien mentionné dans les
Actes des Apôtres: Barjésu,” Le Museon 84 (1971): 455–76. The Syriac reading “Barsuma,” some-
times translated as “son of the name,” seems to be an attempt to get over the embarrassment to
a Christian of the name Bar Jesus.
65 The closest we get is the description of him “with (σύν) the proconsul” (13:7). That could
be taken to imply that Bar Jesus was a part of the court of the proconsul. For a more cautious in-
terpretation of the term, see Rick Strelan, Strange Acts: Studies in the Cultural World of the Acts
of the Apostles, BZNW 126 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2004), 217.
66 See also Tacitus, Hist. 1.22.2, who talks of astrologers in the retinue of Otho. For other
references see Hans-Josef Klauck, Magic and Paganism in Early Christianity: The World of the
Acts of the Apostles (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000), 51. The fact that Paul blinds him so that he
is not able to see the sun has been taken to indicate that astrology is his trade for the sun was
important for his work.
67 Note in particular the presence of a governor and a Jewish magician as well as Josephus’
implicit condemnation of the actions of the magos Atomos, in A. J. 20.143, where the magician
leads Drusilla to transgress the law. Some have argued that the variant for Elymas in D*, Etoi-
mas, which comes close to Atomos of the Josephan passage, indicates that one scribe saw a sim-
ilarity between the two passages. The notion that Luke is dependent upon Josephus is not war-
ranted, however. For further discussion see Pervo, Acts, 323–24.
men from a Persian priestly caste, but it could be used negatively to refer to a
quack or fraud or something worse.68 The latter sense is meant here, as the word
pseudoprophētēs implies.69 It is possible, however, that the negative designation
may provide an insight into how Bar Jesus viewed himself: as some kind of a
prophet, a spokesman for God.70 This interpretation might be suggested by his
second name of Elymas, which could be derived from the Hebrew word haloma,
meaning interpreter of dreams.71 Paul and Barnabas’s claim to speak the word of
God could be thought somehow to threaten his livelihood and so his patronage
under Sergius. Paul’s curse, in verses 10–11, which draws heavily on the Hebrew
Scriptures in tone,72 identifies Bar Jesus as a false prophet, who derives his power
from the devil, not God, invoking well-known debates in the Hebrew scriptures
and elsewhere about who is a true and a false prophet. This is why his identity
as a magos is emphasized by Luke. This has led to the view that Luke is engaged,
as elsewhere in Acts, in a careful differentiation of Christians from magicians.73
There must be an element of this in the passage, as we can see by the way it reso-
nates with biblical debates about false and true prophets. Yet, Luke’s willingness
68 See Philo, Spec. 3.100–101 [Colson]: “Now the true magic, the scientific vision by which
the facts of nature are presented in a clearer light, is felt to be a fit object for reverence and am-
bition not only by ordinary persons but by kings and the greatest kings, and particularly by the
Persians … But there is a counterfeit of this most properly called a perversion of art, pursued by
charlatan mendicants, parasites, the basest of the women and the slave population.”
69 See Keener, Acts, 2009–12. The term is obviously Luke’s evaluative designation for Bar
Jesus and should perhaps be seen in contrast to Paul and Barnabas’s placement among “the pro-
phets and teachers” at 13:1. In this view the passage becomes a battle between the true prophet
and the false one. On this see Strelan, Strange Acts, 216–17.
70 See Jer 23:9–32, esp. v. 32: “Behold I am against those who prophesy lying dreams, de-
clares the Lord, and who tell them and lead my people astray by their lies and their reckless-
ness, when I did not send them or charge them. So they do not profit this people at all, declares
the Lord” (Jer 23:32 ESV).
71 This is one way to solve the difficulty of understanding how Elymas is a translation of Bar
Jesus. To some it might seem like a long shot, not least because Elymas can only at a stretch be
related to haloma. Some assume that Bar Jesus had two names and Luke assumed “Elymas” to be
a Greek word and so a translation of Bar Jesus, when in fact it was not. Others, as we have seen,
focus on D’s alternative reading for Elymas of Etoimas. Strelan, Strange Acts, 218–19, argues
against the idea of Elymas as a translation in the strict sense, and sees Elymas as relating to Elam,
the son of Shem (Gen 10:22), who, according to Josephus, is the ancestor of the Persians from
whom the magoi descend. For the options see Barrett, Acts, 316–17.
72 On this see n. 78 below. The scene has been thought to conjure up biblical images such as
we find in Exod 7 and 8; 1 Kings 18; or Dan 14.
73 See Klauck: “There existed a wide spectrum of religious ‘special offers’, often with a whiff
of the exotic. The external appearance of the itinerant Christian missionaries was similar to the
‘men of God’ of every shade who wandered from place to place, and they risked being evaluated
against this background and into this spectrum;” Klauck, Magic and Paganism, 52. The attempt
to differentiate seems more emphatic in the case of Simon Magus, especially as Luke describes
this at Acts 8:20–24. For further discussion see Soham Al-Suadi, “Magie und Apokalyptik im
Zentrum lukanischer Geschichtsschreibung – Historizität am Beispiel von Apg 13.6–12,” NTS 61
(2015): 499–502.
to present Paul as blinding Bar Jesus, in spite of its obvious symbolic value, could
leave him open to the charge of magic.
Third, to some, the fact that Bar Jesus is a Jew (v. 6) makes this a confrontation
whose primary referent lies in the failure of Jews to respond to the word of God
and indeed their determination to prevent Christians from spreading the word,
in this instance described by Paul as “turning people from the ways of the Lord”
(v. 10).74 It is true that the actions of Bar Jesus can be seen to be compatible with
previous and subsequent actions of Jews in Acts, that his name, Bar Jesus, draws
further attention to his Jewish identity.75 The proliferation of Septuagintal lan-
guage,76 together with the designation of Paul’s protagonist as a pseudoprophētēs
can be seen to create a scene of inner-Jewish conflict. Moreover, Christian texts
often posit blindness as a besetting sin of the Jews, and so Paul’s miracle simply
enacts a state Luke sees as endemically Jewish.77 But it would be wrong to assume
that the designation of Bar Jesus as a magos is irrelevant to the text’s interpre-
tation. Bar Jesus’s actions in opposing the spread of the Christian word (the word
of God as it is designated) are not exclusively connected with his Jewish identity
(in fact there is no overt condemnation of the Jews in the passage – this has to
be inferred). Although the Jewish context of Paul and Barnabas’s trip to Cyprus
is clear, that need not exclude from consideration the issue of magic, which con-
cerned Jews as well, not least in the Acts of the Apostles.78 Moreover, the associa-
74 This case is made most strongly, but not entirely convincingly, by Sanders (see n. 50
above) and in a different way by Kilgallen here arguing not so much for Bar Jesus as a Lukan
symbol of Jewish opposition but rather as an instantiation of a consistent feature of early Chris-
tian history, namely Jewish opposition; Kilgallen, “The Role of the Magos,” XX. G. W. H. Lampe
sees Bar Jesus as a “propagandist for Judaism, a counter-missionary against the church,” whose
activity recalls warnings found in 2 Tim 3:8, where reference is made to men who withstand the
truth in the coming times of trouble, as Jannes and Jambres withstood Moses. Such individu-
als form a part of what Lampe proposes was a Jewish counter-mission against the Christians;
G. W. H. Lampe “‘Grievous Wolves’ (Acts 20:29),” in Christ and the Spirit in the New Testament,
ed. C. F. D. Moule and S. S. Smalley (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973), 259.
75 See Kilgallen, “The Role of the Magos,” 227.
76 For this view see Strelan, “Who Was Bar Jesus? (Acts 13,6–12),” Biblica 80 (2004): 73–74.
The curse at v. 11, taken by some as an oracle of judgment, has been understood to conjure up
Deut 28–9, with special reference being made to Deut 28:29 and 29:19–20. For other curse-type
verses see Gen 32:11; 1 Kings 12:7; Jer 5:27; Hos 4:10; Prov 10:9; Sir 1:30; 19:26; 39:24. Note also
the phrase “the hand of the Lord is against you” (χεὶρ κυρίου ἐπἰ σε) and compare this with
Exod 9:3; Deut 2:15; Judg 2:15; Job 9:21; Isa 25:10. See also the use of the word δόλος at v. 10 and
compare with Sir 1:30 and 19:26; and the phrase turning from the straight ways (διαστρέφων
τὰς ὁδοὺς [τοῦ] κυρίου) used at 13:10 and compare this with its use at Isa 40:3–5 and Prov 10:9
(though the allusion in 13:10 may be to Luke 3:4 and the words of John the Baptist).
77 See esp. Acts 28:26–27 and the reference to Jewish blindness through citation of Isa 6.
“The temporary curse from Paul … is fully intelligible only with Judaism as its point of refer-
ence;” Kilgallen, “The Role of the Magos,” 230.
78 Al Suadi emphasizes the appropriateness of Paul beginning his ministry with a miracle
involving blindness. Noting its presence as an idea at Luke 4, where the Gospel brings sight to
the blind, Acts 9 where Paul was blinded as a result of his encounter with Christ on the road to
Damascus, and Acts 28 where the book ends with reference to the blindness of some Jews, Al
tion of Bar Jesus with the devil (13:10) arises from his magical activity, indicating
the importance of the theme for Luke.79
A fourth issue in the account of Paul and Barnabas in Cyprus concerns the
figure of Sergius Paulus. Scholars have attempted to locate this elusive figure in
Roman records. Sadly, there is no unambiguous evidence of a Sergius Paulus
being a proconsul of Cyprus at this time (ca. 45–50). This may not be surprising,
however, as only the names of fourty-eight proconsuls from 22 BCE to 294 CE
survive, representing one-sixth of the possible number. Three inscriptions have
been thought to give evidence of a Sergius Paulus who could be associated with
the figure in Acts. Two are Cypriot: One probably dates from the time of Hadri-
an or later and so is irrelevant;80 the other is heavily damaged and may well refer
to someone with the name of Sergius Paulus, though that is by no means certain.
The inscription may come from the time of the emperor Gaius rather than as had
been previously thought, Claudius, again rendering an identification with Sergi-
us of Acts less likely.81 The other is of Roman origin, refers to a Lucius Sergius
Paulus, who was a curator of the banks of the Tiber in Claudius’s reign, which
Saudi concludes from this that it is the different manifestation of divine power which is deci-
sive. Al Suadi, “Magie und Apokalyptik,” 503. Some have seen the reference to Paul’s blindness
as primary, the claim being that in fighting Elymas, Paul is rejecting his own former personality
which remains a threat to him; see Robert Tannehill, The Narrative Unity of Luke-Acts: A Lit-
erary Interpretation, 2 vols. (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986), 2.163 n. 15. Strelan rejects this psycho-
logical interpretation but accepts the strong parallels between both events, arguing that, as a
continuation of the parallel with Paul’s conversion, it may be possible to infer that Bar Jesus was
in fact converted, the reference to “the hand of the Lord” (13:11) being seen as positive; Strelan,
Strange Acts, 221.
79 See Al Suadi who notes the coming together of the idea of the defeat of magic and apoc-
alyptic themes in the passage, Al Suadi, “Magie und Apokalyptik,” 498–99.
80 IGR III.930, the so-called Soloi inscription. Here the reference is to a proconsul called
Paulus, without nomen or praenomen who held his position in the tenth (some think thirteenth
year – the reading in the seventh line is contested) year of an emperor. Some took that emperor
to be Claudius, but most now agree that the inscription is from a later period, not least on the
grounds that the word in l. 6, δεκαπρωτε[ύ]σ[ας], refers to the office of the δεκάπρωτοι, which
does not antedate the reign of Hadrian. Discussion with relevant literature in A. Nobbs, “Cy-
prus,” in The Book of Acts in its First Century Setting, vol. 2: The Book of Acts in its Graeco-Roman
Setting, ed. D. W. J. Gill and C. Gempf (Grand Rapids and Carlisle: Paternoster Press, 1994), 283.
See also Rainer Riesner, Paul’s Early Period: Chronology, Mission Strategy, Theology, ET (Grand
Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 138; and Breytenbach, Paulus und Barnabas, 38–45.
81 IGR III.935 = SEG 20, 302.9–11. This inscription comes from Kytheria in northern Cy-
prus. “Paullus” is restored by the editors in l. 11 after the words ]ΟΙΝΤΟΥ ΣΕΡΓ (Quintus Sergi-
us) and some believed that the reference to the emperor (]ΑΙΟΥ ΚΑΙΣΑΡΟϹ ΣΕΒΑΣΤΟΥ) in
l. 9 was to Claudius. Mitford disagreed and restored it to ΓΑΙΟΥ, that is, the emperor Gaius; Mit-
ford, “Roman Cyprus,” 1300. In a lengthy discussion, Douglas Campbell disagreed with Mitford
and restored ]ΑΙΟΥ to ΤΙΒΕΡ]ΙΟΥ, making this the basis for a radical rewriting of the dating of
Paul’s life; Campbell, “Possible Inscriptional Attestation to Sergius Paul[l]us (Acts 13:6–12), and
the Implications for Pauline Chronology,” JTS 56 (2005): 1–29. Conventional opinion would see
Mitford as right and the inscription as therefore irrelevant to the Sergius Paulus under discus-
sion in Acts 13. See also Taylor, “St. Paul and the Roman Empire,” 1193–94; and Riesner, Paul’s
Early Period, 139.
would make an identification with Sergius of Acts possible.82 Yet this remains a
guess, not least because we do not have the praenomen of the figure in Acts. The
Sergii Pauli owned estates in the area of Pisidian Antioch and some have used
this information to explain Paul’s next destination after Cyprus, which is Pisid-
ian Antioch.83 However, even if it were possible to identify Sergius Paulus with
any of those mentioned in the inscriptions discussed above, we would know little
about him except from what we read in Acts 13.84 Some have suggested that Ser-
gius was a God-fearer.85 The description of him as συνετῷ (13:7), can be translat-
ed as “sagacious” or “intelligent,” but in a passage which resonates with scriptural
allusions, it could equally be translated as pious.86 The fact that Sergius wishes
to hear about the word of God, could imply an interest in scripture, though this
seems overly specific.87 When these depictions are combined with the presence
in his entourage of the Jew, Bar Jesus, the idea that Acts might be portraying
Sergius Paulus as a God-fearer becomes stronger, though how strong remains
a question: Luke, after all, knew about God-fearers, and yet nowhere associates
Sergius explicitly with this group (see Acts 10:2, 22; 13:16, 26).88 The question as
82 CIL 631543. Here the reference is to Lucius Sergius Paulus, one of the curatores riparum et
alvei Tiberis. The date of the inscription, which comes from the time of Claudius, has been taken
to be before 47 because the emperor’s role as censor is not mentioned, an office he acquired in
47. If the mission to Cyprus is dated between 45 and 50, that would give this individual adequate
time to advance to the proconsulship of Cyprus. See the discussion in Stephen Mitchell Anato-
lia: Land, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor: The Rise of the Church, vol. 2 of Anatolia: Land, Men,
and Gods in Asia Minor (Oxford: Oxford University Press,1993), 7; Nobbs, “Cyprus,” 284–7;
Taylor, “St. Paul and the Roman Empire,” 1193; and Riesner, Paul’s Early Period, 139–40. Taylor
is skeptical about the identification, as is Klauck, Magic and Paganism, 51.
83 For a positive discussion of this information see Mitchell, Anatolia 2, 5–8. For the ev-
idence, see MAMA VII.319, 321, 330 f., 485, all of which derives from the Flavian period, and
relates to land owned in rural Anatolia. Mitchell, however, argues that by analogy with other
property we know about, we can probably assume that the property had been acquired in the
Julio-Claudian period. We also know of a certain L. Sergius L. f. Paullus filius in Pisidian Anti-
och, who some assume to be the grandson of Sergius Paulus in Acts.
84 Note also the possibility supported by Riesner, Paul’s Early Period, 142–43, that the Sergius
Paulus, according to some manuscripts (he is also referred to as Lucius Sergius Plautus), referred
to at the beginning of books 2 and 18 of Pliny’s Natural History, is the proconsul in Acts, a view
supported by the relatively frequent occurrence of references to Cyprus in these sections of Pliny.
85 See Jacob Jervell, Die Apostelgeschichte: Übersetzt und erklärt (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck
& Ruprecht, 1998), 346; and Pervo, Acts, 325, suggesting that the relationship between Sergius
and Bar Jesus lay in Bar Jesus’s Jewish identity. See Strelan, Strange Acts, 218, for the view that
Sergius is very close to the Jewish synagogue in Paphos.
86 Jervell, Die Apostelgeschichte, 346, translates the word as “einsichtsvoll, fromm, gottes-
fürchtig.” See Prov 28:7 where those who keep the law are described as συνετός. See also Sir 9:15
and 18:28. In the only other usage of the word in Luke (10:21), it is coupled with the term “wise”
and used, in a negative context to refer to those from whom Jesus has hidden “these things.”
87 See Jervell, Die Apostelgeschichte, 346. The phrase λόγος τοῦ θεοῦ appears frequently in
Acts but is best seen as a summary of the Christian message. See 4:31; 6:2, 7; 8:14, 25; 11:1; 12:24;
13:5, 7, 26, 44, 48; 15:36; 16:32; 18:11.
88 See Jervell, Die Apostelgeschichte, 348. Strelan, Strange Acts, 218, gives further support to
this position.
to whether he became a follower of Jesus remains open. Certainly it is indicated

that he believed,89 but there is no account of his baptism. Whatever his affiliation
with Christianity, the implication is that he was favorably disposed towards the
movement,90 though whether this arose principally from the actions of Paul or
of his preaching is somewhat obscured by Luke’s Greek.91 That Luke makes so
little of the event, however understood, is striking and possibly explained by the
fact that Sergius did not maintain his link with the Christian movement, or did
so in an inclusive way, entertaining it as one of a number of religious affiliations
(perhaps in the way he had engaged with Judaism).92
A number of additional puzzles connected with the passage needs to be men-
tioned: the meaning and significance of the reference to Saul also being called
Paul; and related perhaps to this, the apparent non-participation in the event,
indeed the muteness, of the previously senior partner, Barnabas.93 The second of
these observations has led some scholars to suggest the presence of three differ-
ent traditions consisting of a story about Paul and Barnabas’s missionizing of Cy-
prus and two different confrontation stories involving Paul and magicians (con-
nected with Bar Jesus and Elymas).94 This seems at best highly conjectural – as
we have seen there is nothing intrinsically unlikely about the story Luke presents
in spite of its difficulties.
89 Some think that a better translation might be “trust” – Sergius Paulus comes to trust Paul
and Barnabas more than Bar Jesus/Elymas. For further discussion see Keener Acts, 2025, who
is skeptical of such a view on the grounds of other instances of the verb in Acts (2:44; 4:4, 32;
9:42; 10:23; etc., where it carries a stronger sense). It is perhaps significant, however, that in v. 8
Elymas is presented as trying to turn Sergius “from the faith.” The fact that Sergius goes on to
believe can, against this background, seem more significant. In the sixth-century Laudatio (21),
the word used to describe what happened to Sergius is “illuminated” (φωτίζω), a word which
probably implies conversion, though the term is not glossed by the author.
90 See Kollmann who claims that Sergius became a “Sympathisant;” Kollmann, Joseph Bar
nabas, 43.
91 Pesch takes the reference to the teaching of the Lord as a subjective genitive and so a refer-
ence to the miraculous blinding of Bar Jesus; Pesch, Die Apostelgeschichte, 26. For further discus-
sion see Barrett, Acts, 618. D reads “and he marveled at what had happened and believed in God”
(being deeply impressed at the teaching of the Lord), but whether this clarifies matters any further
is unclear. Barrett addresses the relevant grammatical issues. Sense, he suggests, would indicate
that ἐκπλησόμενος should go with τὸ γεγονός and so we might render the passage, “When the
proconsul saw with astonishment what had happened, he believed in the teaching of the Lord.”
But this barely reflects the ordering of the words which suggests that ἰδών goes with γεγονός,
ἐπίσετευσεν is used absolutely, and the marveling is at the teaching of the Lord. Öhler assumes that
the confused sentence is best explained by arguing that an original story of missionizing has then
been combined with possibly two miracle stories (for this see n. 95 below); Öhler, Barnabas, 282.
92 Certainly if he is the same Sergius Paulus who became consul suffectus in 70 (CIL vi.253),
then his allegiance to Christianity must have been complex and non-exclusive.
93 Öhler notes that the role accorded to Paul in the passage contradicts what we read in
Acts 13:1 and 14:12, where Paul appears to play a subordinate role, though this can be argued less
easily for 14:12; Öhler, Barnabas, 282.
94 See Öhler, Barnabas, 272 f. For our discussion of Elymas and the complex issues related
to that name and its relationship to Bar Jesus see above, especially n. 71.
A number of tentative observations emerge from our discussion of this pas-

sage. First, in spite of its difficulties, a dismissal of it as invention seems unlikely
on a number of grounds, not least the believability of some of the contents of
the passage in a Cypriot context.95 The brevity of the passage,96 which adds to its
difficulty, may arise from the character of Luke’s source, his own abbreviation of
it, and related to this, his assumption of the audience’s knowledge of the events
concerned.97
Second, there is a strongly Jewish aspect to what is described in the account
of Paul and Barnabas in Cyprus. Paul and Barnabas preach in the synagogues of
the Jews in Salamis; Bar Jesus is a Jew; Sergius Paulus might be a God-fearer; and
the character of the language in which the encounter between Paul and Bar Jesus
is couched is strongly scriptural. It is important to note that the pagan worlds of
Salamis and Paphos barely intrude into Luke’s account, as they will, for instance,
in his accounts of Paul and Barnabas at Lystra (Acts 14:8–18) or Paul at Ephesus
(Acts 19).98
Third, while Sergius Paulus’s conversion, if that is what it is, would have been
significant, its importance is not explicitly emphasized by Luke.99 For some it
might have seemed a natural thing to engage in further missionary activity on
the island with the proconsul’s support. Others, however, suggest that the main
emphasis lies in the combat between Bar Jesus and Paul, as there are significant
combat scenes elsewhere in Acts.
Fourth, this scene presents the first instance of Luke placing words in the
mouth of Paul and giving him a leading role. The apparent transformation in
Paul’s standing, at least in relation to Barnabas,100 has impressed some.101 Does
95 See below.

96 Pervo notes that Acts 13–14 is in relation to 16–19, notable for the absence of too many
specifics, e. g., the names of officials, synagogue leaders etc.; Pervo, Acts, 319–20. Nock, empha-
sizing its brevity, suggesting that it implies access to a tradition of sorts. “So lame a story would
not have been invented in Luke’s time … in a later stage of development we should have heard of
the conversion and cure of Elymas, and of the subsequent fortunes and martyrdom of Sergius;”
Nock, “Paul and the Magus,” 188.
97 See Pervo, Acts, 323.
98 Note how the Acts of Barnabas in particular compensates for this absence of a pagan
dynamic.
99 “The proconsul’s conversion … is just stated as though it were that of a washerwoman;”
Nock, “Paul and the Magus,” 187. Keener suggests that the focus will now be on Paul’s mission,
rather than Barnabas’s, which will involve a return to Cyprus. Had the emphasis been on the
latter, more would have been made of Sergius’s conversion (but the problem with such a view is
that the emphasis is on Paul in this section). He also thinks that it is possible that Sergius’s affili-
ation to Christianity may not have been permanent, and even if not permanent the enthusiasm
of a Roman official for Christianity would still have been significant; Keener, Acts, 2024–25.
100 See esp. 13:13 and the reference to Paul and those around him.
101 As has, for instance, the apparent parallels between Paul’s activity here and that of Peter.
Peter had cursed a practitioner of magic (8:20–24), and worked a punitive miracle (5:1–11); and
it emerge from Paul’s actions in front of Sergius?102 Some have also assumed that
the event marked a change in Paul’s perspective, a movement from his identity as
Saul, with a primary interest in the conversion of Jews, to Paul, oriented towards
gentiles.103 Yet the reference in verse 9 to the fact that Saul is, literally, also Paul,
is not to a change of name but at best a reference to the fact that Paul will now be
the name by which he goes, and so should not be accorded much importance.104
Similarly undermining the importance of this event for Paul is the fact that he
fails to mention his journey to Cyprus in Gal 1:21, where in a passage thought to
refer to the first missionary journey, he only refers to Cilicia and Syria, implying
a visit of less importance for Paul.105
Fifth, the Cypriot dimension of the passage, however muted, is present. This
has been seen in Luke’s attention to the Jewish dimension of the island’s life,
especially in Salamis, to the association of Jews with magic, as seen in the figure
of Bar Jesus. An association of Sergius Paulus with the island has been argued
for. None of this straightforwardly elucidates Acts 13:4–12, but rather lends it ver-
isimilitude. Timothy Davis has sought to make more of this Cypriot aspect. Ar-
guing against a homogenized view of Cypriot culture, he claims that there was a
greater difference between Paphos and the eastern two thirds of the island, with
the former being more Romanized, a point made clear by recent finds of pottery
which imply that Paphos traded mainly with Rome and Italy,106 and of coins,107
as well as possible indications that the imperial family ritual “may have been
his first convert was also a Roman official. On this see Pervo Acts, 324. Barrett thinks that in the
passage Luke was attempting to show Paul to be Peter’s equal; Barrett, Acts, 610.
102 “Dass er (Paul) sich gegenüber Barnabas emanzipieren konnte, liegt vielleicht gerade
daran, dass er mit dem Prokonsul eine so wichtige Persönlichkeit zum Christentum geführt hat
und als dessen Klient nun über Barnabas stand.” He adds, cautiously, “Lukas belässt es hier al-
lerdings bei Andeutungen;” Öhler, Barnabas, 280.
103 “Up till this point in Acts the reader has seen the apostle as a Jew among Jews, and so
has known him as Saul; from now on he appears as a Roman citizen and Hellenized oriental
moving in the Greco-Roman world, and so is known as Paul;” Taylor “St. Paul and the Roman
Empire,” 1197. See also Davis: “Luke sees this as a seminal event, changing Paul’s name and, in
essence, his ministry;” Davis, “Saint Paul on Cyprus,” 418. Keener broadly takes the same view:
“The primary reason for Luke’s transition at this point is that Paul’s ministry to gentiles begins
at this point, inviting Paul as well as Luke to shift to emphasis on the Roman name;” Keener,
Acts, 2020.
104 As most commentators point out, the formula ὁ καί appears in the papyri to refer to an
alternative name, in this instance, most think the cognomen rather than the signum, which was
Saul (the idea that Paul has changed his name to that of Sergius Paulus is generally thought to
be unfounded). Paul may have been the name by which he was known beforehand – it is simply
that Luke, feeling he has established Paul’s Jewish credentials as Saul, reverts to the name by
which Paul generally went. On this see Keener, Acts, 2017–22.
105 But some have contended that his reference to Barnabas in 1 Cor 9:6 as a travelling
companion implies knowledge of this visit.
106 Davis, “Saint Paul on Cyprus,” 418–19, citing studies by Anthi Kaldeli and John Lund.
107 Davis, “Saint Paul on Cyprus,” 419. There is evidence of coins which seek to promote the
unity of the island, implying a division.
somehow blended with the island’s primary cult of Aphrodite.”108 In this ar-
gument, Salamis is seen as representing a mercantile, Hellenistic, Jewish-Chris-
tian world Paul was used to, and Paphos something different. Barnabas, Davis
maintains, responded less openly than Paul to this changed environment in Pa-
phos. As Davis writes: “Luke portrays Paul as more open to the cultural challenge
of the pagan Roman world than Barnabas, who appears out of his depth.”109
Davis suggests that the positive results of encounter with the governor, in con-
trast to the assumed negative results of encounter with Jews in Salamis, may have
provided a catalyst for fundamental change in Paul’s conception of his minis-
try by embracing a truly pagan world. Davis’s argument has the advantage of
going some way to explaining Paul’s elevation over Barnabas, but one wonders
whether the thesis is too conjectural, and assumes that the event implies a great
shift in Paul’s missionary strategy.110 Paul’s mission after this point continues to
be one to the Jews and so a sense that the change of name points to some absolute
change in mission strategy is questionable.111
As a coda to his paper, we might finish with some comments on two instances
of the reception of Acts 13:4–12.112 These are found in works from perhaps the
fifth and sixth centuries respectively, the Acts of Barnabas and the Laudatio, both
Cypriot in origin, where the passage is alluded to or briefly summarized.113 In
different ways both texts focus upon the lost missionary journey of Barnabas
and Mark to Cyprus, referred to in Acts 15:39. They describe Barnabas’s martyr-
dom, which apparently took place during this journey, the hiding of his body,
and in the case of the Laudatio, its rediscovery in the late fifth century. The texts
are written, many think, to defend the autonomous status of the church of Cy-
prus, which had been challenged by the patriarch of Antioch unsuccessfully at
the Council of Ephesus in 431 and then in the 470s when Zeno was emperor, by
108 Davis, “Saint Paul on Cyprus,” 419. Strangely, Davis does not mention the fact that Pa-
phos used a Roman calendar in contrast to Salamis’s use of the old Egyptian calendar.
109 Davis, “Saint Paul on Cyprus,” 420. He also suggests that there could have been an anti-
Roman aspect to Barnabas, encouraged perhaps by his origins in Salamis, which as noted,
showed signs of being less favored by and less favorable towards Rome.
110 See esp. Davis, “Saint Paul on Cyprus,” 423. To the question had not Paul already em-
braced a pagan mission, at least in his mind, Davis responds by noting that that might have been
possible but Paul may have been resisting such a commitment until this episode.
111 See Jervell, Die Apostelgeschichte, 347.
112 The passage is not a particularly popular one in the history of early Christian reception.
See, inter alia, Tertullian, Idol. 9.6; and Pud. 21.4.
113 See the strikingly brief account of Acts 13 in Laudatio 21. At Acts of Barnabas 18, Bar
nabas, on what is his second visit to the island, meets Bar Jesus, who recognizes him as a
companion of St. Paul, implying knowledge of Acts 13, but without making any detailed allusion
to it (there is no mention, for instance, of Bar Jesus’s role as a magos – in fact his identity here is
simply as a Jew. There is also no mention of Sergius’s “conversion”). Bar Jesus continues to ap-
pear in the work as an enemy of Barnabas and Mark (see 19; 20; 23) but without explicit allusion
to Acts 13 (though we must assume that this text is in the background. Note, for instance, the
reference at 22 to Barnabas preaching in the synagogues of the Jews in Salamis).
appealing to its association with Barnabas, and in particular to the presence of

his martyred body.114 It is unsurprising, then, that the authors of these works
barely refer directly to Acts 13:4–12, where Barnabas plays a muted role. Yet the
influence of Acts 13, and Acts more generally, can be glimpsed. In the Acts of
Barnabas, the Jewish Bar Jesus is presented as a persistent enemy of Barnabas
and Mark and someone who stirs up the Jews against them (see 18, 19, 20 and 23).
While Bar Jesus is not mentioned in the Laudatio, in that work, as in the Acts of
Barnabas, Jews from Syria stir up the Jewish population of Salamis against Bar
nabas.115
Whether the Acts of Barnabas and the Laudatio reflect a particular anti-Jew-
ish reading of Acts 13 is debatable. Their narratives could equally betray ancient
memories of Jewish and Christian dispute, perhaps honed in the context out of
which their sources116 emerged;117 or from memories of the revolt of Artemion
in 116 CE, in which Christians, as they did in the Bar Kokhba revolt, might have
suffered persecution. Certainly the idea of Jews as persecutors is dominant in
both sources, climaxing in the murder of Barnabas.118 In spite of the fact that
Jewish opposition is central to both works, the Acts of Barnabas in particular
shows greater awareness of the pagan environment Barnabas and his compan-
114 This issue is explicit in the Laudatio but less so in the Acts of Barnabus. As Tobias Nick-
las has argued in an as yet unpublished paper, it would be wrong to account for the latter simply
by reference to this crisis.
115 See Laudatio 26.
116 This raises the question of the sources for both texts. We have already suggested a muted
influence of Acts 13 and 15. There is evidence from at least the second century of a congeries of
legends developing around the figure of Barnabas (see, indirectly, the attribution of the Epistle
of Barnabas to Barnabas, as well as Hebrews [Tertullian, Pud. 20], and stories relating to Bar
nabas in Ps. Clem. Rec.1.7–13, and Ps. Clem. Hom. 1.7–16). The last of these with its association
of Barnabas with Egypt is picked up in Laudatio 21, where Barnabas is seen preaching in Egypt
and Alexandria. The claim found in a number of places (Ps. Clem. Rec. 1.60.5); and Clement of
Alexandria, Strom. 2.116.3, which sees Barnabas as a follower of Jesus, is also important for the
Laudatio (see 12 f.). This would suggest that sources are in the background; see Bernd Kollmann,
who also refers to John Chrysostom’s homilies on Acts; Alexander Monachus: Laudatio Barna-
bae/Lobrede auf Barnabas (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007), 34–38. That there is not much material in
common between the Laudatio and the Acts of Barnabas is intriguing, not least because both
may have been compiled at the time of the crisis relating to the autocephalous status of Cyprus.
On this see Kollmann, Alexander Monachus, 38–56.
117 The seventh-century Leontius of Neapolis composed a work against the Jews, which only
survives in a few fragments. It points, however, to the existence of an adversus Judaeos tradition
on the island, which may be reflected in the Acts of Barnabas and Laudatio. This seems clearer
in the case of the latter where at Laudatio 26 the Syrian Jews articulate well-known accusation
against Jesus (e. g., that he is a deceiver [πλάνος], godless person [ἀντίθεος], and someone who
denies the law, the prophets, and the Sabbath). But these tropes are not developed at any length.
118 For a similar suggestion see Horbury: “The lawless behaviour of the Salamis Jews in the
legend of Saint Barnabas (referring to the Acts), when (giving up the idea of delivering him to
the governor) they burn him and pursue his companions fits a topos of martyr literature; but
in this case it might also echo traditions of the turbulence of the city’s Jews;” Horbury, Jewish
War, 250.
ions would have encountered; and it is pagans whom they convert. Here per-
ceived lacunae in the account from the canonical Acts are filled in ways which
reflect the authors’ own setting and their theological imagination.119
Conclusion
The role of Cypriots and Cyprus in the history of earliest Christianity is striking,
at least from what we read in Acts, not least because in Roman imperial eyes,
Cyprus was an administrative backwater. Yet knowledge of the Cypriot dimen-
sion of earliest Christianity remains fragmentary with Luke’s account of Paul’s
and Barnabas’s initial missionizing there begging more questions than answer-
ing. Elements of verisimilitude, whether to do with the Jewish dimension of the
account, the magical tendencies of Bar Jesus, and the presence of Sergius Paulus
(correctly described as a proconsul), imply some historical core. What the pas-
sage reveals in strict terms about Cypriot Christianity is difficult to articulate.
The Cyprus account includes as an important theme the strongly Jewish con-
text in which the Christian message was spread; the failure, for instance, to make
anything of the overwhelming pagan character of this island, of the important
temples in Salamis to Zeus and in Paphos to Aphrodite, is unexpected. Luke’s
failure to tell us anything about Barnabas’s second mission with John Mark to
Cyprus, which implies some success in the first trip (see 15:36), is probably ex-
plained by the Paulo-centric focus of the last sixteen chapters of Acts rather than
proof of the lack of information on the part of Luke. The choice of the authors of
the Acts of Barnabas and of the Laudatio, probably works of the fifth and sixth
centuries respectively, is an attempt to fill this gap, rather than evidence of what
in fact took place during it (not least the martyrdom of Barnabas himself). The
silence in the written and archaeological record about Cypriot Christianity from
this moment until the early part of the fourth century is an oddity after such rela-
tively frequent testimony before that.
One pressing question relating to this ‘hiatus’ concerns how Cypriot Chris-
tians responded to the violent Jewish revolt against the Romans in 116 CE. Did
that event change a Christianity marked by a strong Jewish profile (reflecting
Luke’s account of the origins of Christianity in Cyprus in Acts as well as one
aspect of the profile of Barnabas, namely his conservative position on the Jew-
ish law see Gal 2:10 f.) into something different? This transformation may have
been encouraged by two factors: first, the expulsion from the island of its Jew-
ish population brought about by the revolt; and secondly, the possible experi-
ence of persecution by Jews of Christians during the revolt, which would have
served either to reinforce or initiate a sense of separation between Christian and
119 See especially Acts Barn. 19 f.

Jew.120 It is possible, of course, that partings between Christians and Jews, as

some have termed them, were earlier and the revolt a less traumatic experience,
simply confirming a separation which had already begun at an earlier date. In-
deed did the expulsion of the Jews from the island present the Christians with
an opportunity to missionize without any attempt by non-Christian Jews to pre-
vent such activity?121 What seems clear, in particular from evidence in the New
Testament reviewed in this contribution as well as from the many indications of
an important Jewish presence on the island from at least the third century BCE
and perhaps earlier, is that, amidst many lacunae in our knowledge, a key to un-
derstanding early Christian history in Cyprus lies in reflecting upon its Jewish
origins. This is especially important when the hagiographic and iconographic
evidence from the island attributes much more importance to encounters with
pagans (though this is interestingly only partially the case with the Acts of Bar
nabas and the Laudatio). Such evidence may simply reflect the fact that Jews
were a much less important presence on the island as a result of the Jewish revolt
of 116 CE. But the latter may have marked a considerable caesura in this history
of Christian Cyprus, a caesura, which can serve to skew our vision of the history
of early Christianity on the island in a variety of ways.
120 Persecution would have been encouraged by the failure of Christians to follow what
some hold to be a quasi-messianic revolt, associated with the name of Artemion, as reported in
Dio (see the reference in Justin, 1 Apol. 31, to persecution of Christians in the Bar Kokhba revolt
for a similar reason). Christians, if they appeared as Jews, would have suffered violence at the
hands of the Romans, and such an experience may also have encouraged a distancing from their
Jewish heritage. Similar arguments play a role in accounts of the Trajanic revolt’s effect upon
Jewish-Christian relations in Egypt, for which see James Carleton Paget, “Egypt,” in Redemption
and Resistance: The Messianic Hopes of Jews and Christians in Antiquity, ed. James Carleton Paget
and Markus Bockmuehl (London: Continuum, 2007), 191.
121 This is the claim of Hackett, A History of the Orthodox Church of Cyprus, 6. All of this
remains speculative. The fate of the Christians during the revolt and the consequences of it are
not known. It remains striking that the Acts of Barnabas and the Laudatio emphasize Jewish op-
position to Christian preaching and attribute Barnabas’s death to Jews. But how such assertions
relate to folk memory of the second century Jewish revolt is impossible to say. There are other
ways of explaining the emphasis.
Hagiographic Narratives and Archaeological Realities
Revisiting the Beginnings of Christianity in Cyprus
Athanasios Papageorghiou and Nikolas Bakirtzis
In the building complex of Eustolios in Kourion, dating from the turn of the
fifth century, a mosaic inscription executed in black tesserae on white back-
ground celebrates the patronage of one of the city’s foremost citizens.1 Set in the
floor of Eustolios’s complex, the inscription seemingly proclaims Christ as the
city’s guardian, and in his protective role, successor to Phoebos (Apollo) who
once guarded Kourion.2 The juxtaposition of Christ with Apollo is fascinating,
as it links the religious past of the city with its Christian present epitomized and
strengthened through Eustolios’s patronage.3 As such, much has been written on
the inscription in the context of Cyprus’s process of Christianization. The very
existence of the Eustolios house, prominently exhibiting its patron’s Christian
identity, stands as a monument to Kourion’s and Cyprus’s transition from poly-
theism to Christianity, and the complexity of its society’s transformation.
In this context, the reference to Apollo is packed with meaning, requiring
further scholarly attention. First, considering the date of Eustolios’s project, the
memory of the religious legacy of Kourion is rather fresh. According to the in-
scription, the presence of the city’s divine protector Apollo, although in the past,
is not a distant faded memory. On the contrary, Phoebos is a cultural reality wor-
1 Arthur H. S. Megaw, “The Episcopal Precinct at Kourion and the Evidence for the Re-
location,” in The Sweet Land of Cyprus. Papers Given at the Twenty-fifth Jubilee Spring Sympo-
sium of Byzantine Studies, ed. Anthony Bryer and Georgios Georghallides (Nicosia: Imprinta
Ltd., 1993), 53–67; Hans Hauben, “Christ Versus Apollo in Early Byzantine Kourion?” in Philo-
mathestatos, ed. Bart Janssens, Bram Roosen, and Peter van Deun (Leuven: Peeters, 2004), 269–
84.
2 DeCoursey Fales, “Kourion – The Amusement Area,” University Museum Bulletin 14
(1950): 30–34, pl. VII; Terence Bruce Mitford, The Inscriptions of Kourion (Philadelphia:
American Philosophical Society, 1971), 531; Ino Nicolaou, “The Transition from Paganism to
Christianity as Revealed in the Mosaic Inscriptions from Cyprus,” in Mosaic: Festschrift for
A. H. S. Megaw, ed. Judith Herrin, Margaret Mullet, and Catherine Otten-Froux (London: Brit-
ish School at Athens, 2001), 14–15; Athanasios Papageorghiou, “Βυζαντινή Επιγραφική στην
Κύπρο,” in Κύπρος: Το πολιτιστικό της πρόσωπο διά μέσου των αιώνων (Nicosia: Kentro Meleton
Ieras Monis Kykkou, 2003), 100.
3 See also the discussions on the Eustolios house in Henry Maguire and Laura Nasrallah’s
essays in this volume.
56 Athanasios Papageorghiou and Nikolas Bakirtzis
thy of mention and recognition. In other words, he is still relevant, and, more im-
portantly, is still present in the collective memory of the inhabitants of Kourion.
Furthermore, in the case of Kourion and the rest of Cyprus, a new guardian,
Christ, has assumed the duty of protector. Adding to the aforementioned elo-
quent inscription, a different inscribed text from the same complex mentions
the “signs of Christ” that adorn and sanctify the space.4 These written messages,
combined with representations of Christian visual motifs and symbols, helped to
create the desired spatial and visual synthesis that integrated late Roman archi-
tecture with the pictorial vocabulary of early Christianity.5 The co-existence of
Apollo and Christ under the same roof is certainly remarkable as it mirrors the
cultural environment of the centuries preceding the Eustolios complex, aspects
of which are addressed in the present study. The multifaceted cultural meaning of
the inscriptions from Eustolios’s complex offers glimpses of a smooth transition
from paganism to Christianity. The Christian present appears to be aware as well
as accepting of the recent religious past, a consciousness reflected in another in-
structive inscription, this time from the Gymnasium of Salamis. Located on the
floor of eastern stoa of the Gymnasium which adjoins the baths erected in the
second half of the fourth century, an inscription celebrates the restoration works
of Valerius remarking that this important work “brought Cyprus back to its an-
cient glory.”6 The expressive inscription, with proposed dates in the middle of the
fourth or in the fifth century, mirrors the remarkable awareness and appreciation
of the ancient past by the Christian patrons of the Gymnasium’s transformation
into a bath complex.
Cyprus holds a central role in the Christianization of the eastern Mediterra-
nean basin through the Early Byzantine period.7 The arrival of Paul, Barnabas,
4 Mitford, The Inscriptions of Kourion, 353–354; Papageorghiou, “Βυζαντινή Επιγραφική,”

99–100.
5 Demetrios Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics (Nicosia: Cyprus Department of Antiquities,
1992), 5–6, 40–42.
6 Terence Bruce Mitford and Ino Nicolaou, The Greek and Latin Inscriptions from Salamis
(Nicosia: Cyprus Department of Antiquities, 1974), 73–74; Jean Pouilloux, Paul Roesch, and
Jean Marcillet-Jaubert, Salamine de Chypre XIII. Testimonia Salaminia 2. Corpus épigraphique
(Paris: de Boccard, 1987), 79.
7 For early mentions of Christians in Cyprus, see Acts 11:19–20. On the Early Byzantine
period and the beginning of Christianity on the island see, Evangelos Chrysos, “Cyprus in Early
Byzantine Times,” in The Sweet Land of Cyprus, 3–14; Athanasios Papageorghiou, “Cities and
Countryside at the End of Antiquity and the Beginning of the Middle Ages in Cyprus,” in The
Sweet Land of Cyprus, 27–52; Charles Delvoye, “L’art paléochrétien de Chypre,” in Chypre dans
le monde byzantin 4, Rapports et co-rapports V, Actes du XVe Congrès international d’études by-
zantines (Athens: Association Internationale des Études Byzantines, 1976), 3–52; Andreas Mit-
sides, “Η εκκλησία της Κύπρου από το 2ο μέρι το 5ο αιώνα,” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου, τομ. Γ’:
Βυζαντινή Κύπρος, ed. Theodoros Papadopoulos (Nicosia: Archbishop Makarios III Foun-
dation, 2005), 113; Christos Oikonomou, “Η εισαγωγή του Χριστιανισμού και η θεμελίωση της
κυπριακής εκκλησίας,” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου; Claudia Rapp, “Christianity in Cyprus in the 4th
to the 7th centuries: Chronological and Geographical Frameworks,” in Cyprus and the Balance
Hagiographic Narratives and Archaeological Realities 57
and John Mark on Cyprus underlines the island’s significance as a stepping stone
for the spread of the new religion beyond the Levantine coast and into the realm
of the Greco-Roman Mediterranean.8 Their travels and their direct impact on
the local population led to the foundation of the first Christian communities on
the island and the subsequent organization of a Church institution.9 Overall, our
understanding of the island’s early Christian centuries relies heavily on a small
set of textual sources, primarily of hagiographic nature, and increasingly on the
archaeological record and the study of the art and architecture of the period.10 Of
particular interest and the focus of the present paper is the contrast between the
hagiographic and the archaeological sources regarding the growth and expan-
sion of the religion on the island and the formation of Christian communities
until the fourth century. Hagiographies, most of them dating from later centuries
when Christianity was established, offer accounts that are more or less in line
with narratives of conflict, violence, and persecution of early Christians. Such
a perspective is not corroborated by the evidence provided by archaeological
finds and through the analysis of architectural and artistic remains, which show
no particular evidence of violence and conflict but point to a smooth transition
from paganism to Christianity in Cyprus.11 This essay will revisit aspects of the
contradicting evidence in an attempt to better understand the complex networks
of religious co-existence and conversion in early Christian Cyprus.
of Empires, ed. Charles Anthony Stewart, Thomas Davis, and Annemarie Weyl Carr (Boston:
American Schools of Oriental Research, 2014), 29–38; Nicolaou, “Transition from Paganism to
Christianity,” 13–17. See also in this volume the essay by James Carleton Paget.
8 Acts 13:4–13.
9 On the general history of the Church of Cyprus, see John Hackett, A History of the Ortho-
dox Church of Cyprus from the Coming of the Apostles Paul and Barnabas to the Commencement
of the British Occupation (A. D. 45-A. D. 1878) (London: Methuen, 1901), esp. 1–58, covering its
establishment through the end of Byzantine rule on the island.
10 See the recent essays by Vassos Karageorghis, “From Paganism to Christianity,” Eikonos-
tasion 10 (2018): 172–87; Georgios Deligiannakis, “The Last Pagans of Cyprus: Prolegomena to a
History of Transition from Polytheism to Christianity,” in Church Building in Cyprus (Fourth to
Seventh Centuries). A Mirror of Intercultural Contacts in the Eastern Mediterranean, ed. Mariet-
ta Horster, Doria Nicolaou, and Sabine Rogge (Münster: Waxmann, 2018), 23–44; idem, “From
Aphrodite(s) to Saintly Bishops in Late Antique Cyprus,” in Authority and Identity in Emerging
Christianities in Asia Minor and Greece, ed. Cilliers Breytenbach and Julien M. Ogereau, AJEC
103 (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 326–46; Łukasz Burkiewicz, “The Beginnings of Christianity in Cyprus.
Religious and Cultural Aspects,” Folia Historica Cracoviensia 23 (2017): 5–30; Athanasios Pap-
ageorghiou and Andreas Foulias, “L’architecture funéraire à Chypre du Ier au Xe siècle,” in The
Archaeology of Late Antique and Byzantine Cyprus (4th–12th centuries AD): Recent Research and
New Discoveries: Conference in Honour of Athanasios Papageorghiou, ed. Maria Parani and De-
metrios Michaelides (Paris: de Boccard, 2013), 201–207; Demetrios Michaelides, “Mosaic Dec-
oration in Early Christian Cyprus,” in Horster, Nicolaou, and Rogge, Church Building in Cyprus
(Fourth to Seventh Centuries), 202–206. Also, Phryni Hadjichristophi, “Identités païennes et
chrétiennes dans l’art paléochrétien de Chypre,” in Identités croisées en un milieu méditerranéen:
le cas de Chypre (Antiquité – Moyen Âge), ed. Sabine Fourrier and Gilles Grivaud (Mont-Saint-
Aignan: Publications des Universités de Rouen et du Havre, 2006), 207–21.
11 Papageorghiou, “Cities and Countryside at the End of Antiquity,” 31.
Hagiographic Narratives
Drawing from primary sources like the Acts and vitas of early saints and martyrs,
the official history of the dissemination of Christ’s teachings on the island’s cities
follows established narratives of conversion, persecution, and martyrdom in the
late Roman Empire. Hagiographic sources describe the struggles of the founders
and early fathers of the church in Cyprus such as Barnabas, Auxibios, Heraklei-
dios, Tychon, Philon, and Epiphanios, leading to the triumph of Christians over
cityscapes like those of Soloi, Salamis, and Paphos.12 However, while contain-
ing valuable historical details concerning the early centuries of Christianity in
Cyprus, these narratives are constrained by the conventions and topoi of official
church histories formulated centuries after the facts on the ground. Thus, they
should be taken cum grano salis.
Possibly the most important reference to the struggles and sacrifice of early
church fathers in Cyprus is the martyrdom of the apostle Barnabas, of Cypriot
ancestry, in Salamis.13 The discovery of his relic around the middle of the fifth
century established the tradition upon which the Church of Cyprus claimed its
autocephalus status.14 According to the Acts of the Apostles, Barnabas’s first pas-
sage through Cyprus, along with Paul, was successful at the centers of Salamis
and Paphos.15 The sources note no resistance to this message on the part of the
island. The incident of Paul’s arrest in Paphos and the related tradition of his
public beating is described as the result of the reaction of the city’s Jewish pop-
ulation to his preaching. According to the Acts, these events along with Paul’s
miraculous temporary blinding of the Jew Elymas, also known as Bar-Jesus and
identified as a sorcerer who attempted to oppose him in front of the Roman Pro-
consul Sergius Paulus, provided the pretext as well as the setting for the conver-
sion of the Roman official.16 This was a major development for the successful
12 Claudia Rapp, “Epiphanius of Salamis: The Church Father as Saint,” in The Sweet Land
of Cyprus, 169–187; Athanasios Papageorghiou, “Ο Άγιος Αυξίβιος,” Απόστολος Βαρνάβας 30
(1969): 13–28; Athanasios Papageorghiou, “Η βασιλική του Αγίου Επιφανίου στη Σαλαμίνα,”
Επετηρίς Κέντρου Μελετών Ιεράς Μονής Κύκκου 8 (2008): 35; Mitsides, “Η εκκλησία της Κύπρου
από το 2ο μέρι το 5ο αιώνα,” 107, 115–16; Oikonomou, “Η εισαγωγή του Χριστιανισμού,” 38–40.
13 “Acta Barnabae,” in Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha post Constantinum Tischendorf denuo
ediderunt Ricardus Adelbertus Lipsius et Maximilianus Bonnet, ed. Maximilianus Bonnet, vol.
2.2 (Leipzig: Mendelsson, 1903), 300.
14 On the discovery of the relic, see Andreas Mitsides, “Το αυτοκέφαλον της Εκκλησίας
Κύπρου,” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου, 135–36 and 129–54 on the relation of the event to the autoceph-
alus (self-headed) status of the Church of Cyprus. Also, Hackett, Orthodox Church of Cyprus,
23–26. See also Young Kim and AnneMarie Luijendijk’s essays in this volume.
15 Acts 13:4–12.
16 On the identification of Elymas/Bar-Jesus as magician and sorcerer, see Oikonomou, “Η
εισαγωγή του Χριστιανισμού,” 80–84. Also, Alfred D. Nock, “Paul and the Magus,” in Essays
on Religion and the Ancient World, ed. Zeph Stewart (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986),
308–24.
spread of Christianity over the traditional population of the island and an early
indicator of the effectiveness of these apostolic journeys.
Barnabas returned to Cyprus sometime later accompanied solely by his cous-
in John Mark.17 His journey and martyrdom are described in a hagiograph-
ic text known as the Acts of Barnabas.18 The text picks up the story of Bar
nabas from the Acts of the Apostles and is written as if narrated by John Mark,
thus lending the account the authority of an eye-witness. The text most probably
dates from the early decades of the fifth century, although it could be a devel-
opment of an earlier narrative tradition of Barnabas’s second trip to the island.
The text suggests that since the time of the apostle’s first journey to Cyprus, con-
ditions for the positive reception of their teachings had worsened, again due to
the opposition of the Jewish population on the island.19 As a result, Barnabas
and Mark met great difficulties accessing the populations of Cypriot cities, which
were their primary target. The narrative’s emphasis placed on Jewish reaction to
Christian teachings needs to be treated with caution in regard to its accuracy.
Considering the source’s fifth-century date, the persistence of the narrative in
blaming, almost exclusively, the Jews for the challenges of Barnabas’ apostolic
mission appears to serve more as Contra Judaeos rhetoric than an actual account.
The apostles began their journey on the northern coast of Cyprus, landing
at the site of Crommyacita (most probably the location of Kormakitis village).
It is worth mentioning that the first interaction of Barnabas and Mark with pa-
gans began immediately upon their arrival in Cyprus as they were welcomed and
hosted by Timon and Ariston, two servants of the local temple, who then join-
ed them in their journey. They then headed to nearby Lapithos, which they were
not allowed to enter except for a short rest at the city gate. According to the Acts
of Barnabas, this was due to a pagan festival taking place at the city’s theater.
They then crossed over the Troodos mountain range, and at Lambadistis met
with Herakleidios from Tamasos, an acquaintance from their previous journey,
whom Barnabas ordained bishop of Cyprus. Then, they moved towards Palaipa-
phos (Old Paphos) where they met another temple servant named Rhodon who
also decided to join them.
Their arrival at the port city of Nea Paphos was anticipated by Bar-Jesus, their
bitter adversary from their previous trip to Cyprus. Meeting them outside the
city and vigorously determined to resist their mission, he prevented their entry
to Paphos.20 Barnabas and his companions were forced to leave and to head east
17 On Barnabas, see Markus Öhler, Barnabas: Die historische Person und ihre Rezeption in
der Apostelgeschichte, WUNT 156 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003).
18 “Acta Barnabae,” 292–302.
19 See, Pieter van der Horst, “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,” Zutot 3 (2003): 110–20; Zdzisław
J. Kapera, “The Jewish Presence in Cyprus before AD 70,” Scripta Judaica Cracoviensia 7 (2009):
33–44.
20 “Acta Barnabae,” 298.
towards Kourion. The narrative of the text emphasizes the existence of strong
pagan traditions by mentioning Barnabas’s encounter with the decadence of the
naked festivities, presumably in the stadium close to the temple of Apollo Hy-
lates outside Kourion, causing him much anger and disappointment.21 Again,
Bar-Jesus was able to stop them as his followers denied them access to the city.
Barnabas’s difficulties continued as he further traveled along the east coast of
Cyprus towards Amathous and Kition.22 Approaching Amathous, Barnabas
and his companions encountered another local celebration at a temple and were
welcomed by a lone, elderly woman outside the city’s walls. They were prevent-
ed from entering the city by Bar-Jesus, who had alerted the Jewish population
against them. At Kition, while noticing the population’s festivity in the hippo-
drome, they were not welcomed in the city but only allowed to shortly rest at the
gate near the aqueduct.
Arriving by boat from Kition, Salamis was Barnabas’s sole and last successful
entry into one of the major cities of late-antique Cyprus. According to the narra-
tive of Acts, he preached in the synagogue, was arrested, kidnapped, carried out-
side the city in the middle of the night, tortured and finally burned by the en-
raged Jewish community led by Bar-Jesus who had himself arrived in Salamis.23
Bar-Jesus proved to be an able opponent, resolute at denying Barnabas, John
Mark, and their companions the opportunity to preach inside urban centers and
the synagogues of Cypriot cities in particular. It is worth noting that at this early
stage of apostolic activity, Jewish populations were among the primary target
groups for proselytization and conversion. This would have also been true at
Cyprus and could help explain Bar-Jesus’s cause for opposition. The description
of Barnabas’s death at the hands of the Jews of Salamis does not shed any light
on the relation between Christians and pagans in Cyprus during the early years
of Christianity.24 The source’s fifth-century date calls for caution regarding the
accuracy of the described events and the stress on Jewish blame for Barnabas’
struggles and martyrdom. Nonetheless, the narrative confirms the strong pres-
ence of Jewish urban communities in the cities of Cyprus, a fact that allows the
possibility for their resistance to the growth of the Christian religion on the is-
land.
Overall, the early hagiographic narrative of Barnabas’s second trip to Cyprus
offers a puzzling perspective of the apostle’s efforts and related results. Although
accurate in its topographical details, it is a story of repeated rejections, as he was
21 “Acta Barnabae,” 299. Also, see, Philip H. Young, “The Cypriot Aphrodite Cult: Paphos,
Rantidi and Saint Barnabas,” JNES 64 (2005): 34–41, identifying the site of pagan festivities at
Rantidi.
effectively prevented from entering the cities of Cyprus. These difficulties culmi-
nated with his martyrdom, which, as specified in the text, did not leave any relic
or palpable trace.25
Even though the Acts of Barnabas date from early fifth century, they offer val-
uable insights into the traditions of the beginnings of Christianity in Cyprus and
the focus placed on urban centers. Allusions to festivals, games, and gatherings
at temples, stadiums, and hippodromes in Lapithos, Kourion, Amathous, and
Kition point to the active public life of local traditional populations. Members
of these societies came under the influence of Barnabas’s teachings and even-
tually became coverts to Christianity. Locals like Herakleidios, Timon, Ariston,
and Rhodon – the latter three mentioned as serving in traditional religious tem-
ples – joined the apostle’s journey and in turn became leaders of local Christian
communities. It is worth noting that Barnabas and Paul were preaching to non-
Jewish traditional populations before their arrival in Cyprus, an issue which was
debated and clarified in the so-called Jerusalem conference of Christian apostles
and Church leaders held around 50 CE.26
The vita of the most influential of the local followers of Barnabas, Saint Her-
akleidios, bishop of Tamassos, provides some evidence concerning the resistance
of local populations to the teachings of early church fathers.27 In the aftermath
of the martyrdom of Barnabas, Herakleidios, with the help of Saint Mnason, ac-
tively preached the teaching of Christ throughout Cyprus, particularly in the
area and city of Tamassos. According to his vita he founded a church, perform-
ed miracles, and converted locals to Christianity. The hagiographic source men-
tions that late in Herakleidios’s life there was a violent outburst against him from
the people of Tamassos, who attacked the church and broke its door, leading the
saint to curse and exorcize them from the site.
Whereas the examples of Barnabas and Herakleidios refer to the early years of
Christianity on the island, the vita of Saint Tychon, bishop of Amathous provides
a later example set approximately in the end of the fourth century and the begin-
ning of the fifth.28 Tychon’s actions are set in a different social, political, and cul-
tural landscape, since by this time the Christian religion was well established on
the island while other traditions were still present. The vita describes Tychon as a
formidable opponent to pagan traditions, and to the cult of Aphrodite in partic-
ular. A series of incidents included in the vita show his polemical stance towards
traditional rituals and beliefs in the area of Amathous. During a procession of
the cult statue of Aphrodite, Tychon and his followers intervened and broke the

26 Acts 15:1–35.
27 François Halkin, “Les Actes apocryphes de saint Héraclide de Chypre, disciple de l’apôtre
Barnabé,” AnBoll 82 (1964): 135–36.
28 Hermann Usener, Der heilige Tychon (Leipzig: B. G. Teubner, 1907), 111–58.
idol to pieces.29 Another time, he entered a temple dedicated to Artemis, or pos-

sibly Aphrodite, and chased out its priestess.30
The hagiographical narrative of Tychon’s relations with the non-Christian
population of Cyprus suggests tension, violence, and animosity between Chris-
tians and other religious practitioners. Yet, it is important to explore the histori-
cal context of the vita’s creation.31 It is attributed to patriarch of Alexandria, John
the Almsgiver, and is dated in the end of the sixth or beginning of the seventh
century. Being from Amathous himself, John assumed the patriarchal seat of the
metropolis of Alexandria in 610. It is particularly useful to view John’s interest
in Tychon and the writing of his vita in the framework of Alexandria’s legacy
of the persecution of polytheism and idols. The narrative of Tychon’s struggles
against pagan practices echoes the forceful stance of the church of Alexandria
against Jewish and local traditional institutions. Indicatively, the actions of Pa-
triarchs Theophilus and Cyril that led to the destruction of the Serapeum and
other pagan institutions in 391, the expulsion of the Jewish population of the city,
the alleged burning of what remained of the Library of Alexandria, and the mur-
der of the Neoplatonic philosopher Hypatia in 415 are evocative of an environ-
ment of animosity and violence.32
Besides Tychon, there are other narratives that contribute to a legacy of con-
flict between Christians and others in the early centuries of Christianity in Cy-
prus. Most of these stories date from the beginning of the fourth century, a time
associated with the persecutions of Christians under Diocletian (284–305), Max-
imian (286–305), Galerius (305–311), Maximinus II Daia (305–313), and Licinius
(308–324).33 Although there is no concrete historical or archaeological evidence
about Christian persecutions in Cyprus during this period, hagiographic narra-
tives suggest otherwise. According to the preserved tradition, Saint Spyridon
29 Usener, Der heilige Tychon, 151–52. On the cult of Aphrodite in Cyprus, see Jacqueline
Karageorghis, Kypris: The Aphrodite of Cyprus. Ancient Sources and Archaeological Evidence
(Nicosia: A. G. Leventis Foundation, 2005).
30 Usener, Der heilige Tychon, 151.
31 Usener, Der heilige Tychon, 80–107.
32 Christopher Haas, Alexandria in Late Antiquity: Topography and Social Conflict (Balti-
more: John Hopkins University Press, 1997), 128–214, 278–330; Johannes Hahn, “The Conver-
sion of the Cult Statues: The Destruction of the Serapeum in 391 AD and the Transformation of
Alexandria into the ‘Christ-Loving’ City,” in From Temple to Church: Destruction and Renewal
of Local Cultic Topography in Late Antiquity, ed. Johannes Hahn, Stephen Emmel, and Ulrich
Gotter, RGRW 163 (Leiden: Brill, 2008) 336–67; Judith S. McKenzie, The Architecture of Alexan-
dria and Egypt, c. 300 BC to AD 700 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007), 195–203, 244–47.
See also Edward J. Watts, Hypatia: The Life and Legend of an Ancient Philosopher (Oxford: Ox-
ford University Press, 2017), 107–20.
33 On the history and administration of the island in the third and early fourth centuries,
David Potter, “Η Κύπρος επαρχία της Ρωμαϊκής Αυτοκρατορίας,” in Papadopoulos, Ιστορία της
Κύπρου, 855–60; Johannes Lokin, “Ο πολιτικός και διοικητικός θεσμός της Κύπρου από τον
Μεγάλο Κωνσταντίνο εώς τον Ιουστινιανό,” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου, 3:157–97.
himself was imprisoned, tortured, and sent to Cilician labor camps.34 A sug-
gestive example is offered in the Constantinople Synaxarion, dating from the
tenth century, mentioning the martyrdom of Saints Aristokles, Dimitrianos, and
Athanasios in Salamis in the beginning of the fourth century and during the per-
secution of Christians by Maximinus Daia.35 Another example of martyrdom is
offered by Saint Philonides, bishop of Kourion, who supposedly jumped to his
death from a cliff; he was escaping arrest and the certainty of horrific tortures
and execution.36 Another example from the same period is the case of Saint
Theodotos, bishop of Keryneia, who presumably was tortured by the Roman
praeses Sabinus, sometime between 320 and 324, during the persecutions of the
Christians by Licinius.37
On the whole, the aforementioned hagiographic narratives share and prop-
agate a common perspective of the contentious and violent relations between
Christians and indigenous, traditional practitioners in the early centuries of
Christianity in Cyprus. It is a perspective that is in line with literary models and
topoi that were established in later centuries to emphasize the self-sacrificial na-
ture of the foundation of the Christian church as well as celebrating its agents as
martyrs.38
Archaeological Realities
Compared to the aforementioned hagiographic narratives, the archaeological

record offers a different perspective of the island’s Christianization and sug-
gests a transition that is slower, smoother, and more tolerant of the “other.” What
has been preserved of the monuments and the topography of late-antique cit-
ies does not show a strong Christian presence. Parallel to the paucity of literary
sources, no major building activity or significant material evidence within these
urban centers, and beyond, associated with the new religion can be traced on the
ground.39 In fact, this does not happen until the construction of the great basil-
icas of the second half of the fourth and fifth centuries.40 One of the earliest ex-
34 Paul Van den Ven, La légende de S. Spyridon, évêque de Trimithonte (Louvain: Publica-
tions universitaires, 1953).
35 Hippolyte Delehaye, Synaxarium Ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae e Codice Sirmondiano
nunc Berolinensi (Brussels: Socios Bollandianos, 1902), 765–66.
36 Delehaye, Synaxarium Constantinopolitanae, 933–34.
37 The Roman official is known from epigraphical evidence from Salamis, Terrence Mitford,
“Roman Cyprus,” ANRW 2.7.2, 1377.
38 On Cypriot saints and martyrs, see Hippolyte Delehaye, “Saints de Chypre,” AnBoll 26
(1907): 161–301; also, Archbishop Makarios III, Κύπρος η αγία νήσος (Nicosia: Imprinta, 1997).
39 Michaelides, “Mosaic Decoration,” 213–14; Deligiannakis, “Last Pagans,” 30–32.
40 Terence Mitford, “Some New Inscriptions from Early Christian Cyprus,” Byzantion 20
(1950): 105–75; Arthur H. S. Megaw, “Byzantine Architecture and Decoration in Cyprus: Met-
amples, the small funerary basilica at Amathous, dated from the second half of
the fourth century and linked to Saint Tychon, is actually located outside the
city’s walls.41
Of course, the lack of architectural evidence, a fact surely affected by the dev-
astating earthquakes of the fourth century, does not necessarily mean the ab-
sence of active communities. The existence of Christian communities and an
organized church institution is proved by the strong participation of Cypriot
bishops in early church councils. In 325 three Cypriot bishops – Kyrillos of Pa-
phos, Gelasios of Salamis, and Spyridon of Tremithous – were present at the
First Ecumenical Council of Nicaea.42 Less than twenty years later, a total of
twelve bishops from Cyprus signed the acts of the Serdica council of 342/3.43 Al-
though it is highly improbable that the number and size of Christian communi-
ties swelled to justify such an increase in the number of participant bishops in
the limited time between the two councils, it is safe to assume that there were
worthwhile efforts to organize the early Church.44 Nonetheless, the lack of build-
ing activity related to Christian presence is mirrored in the fragmented infor-
mation drawn from inscriptions, burials, and other archaeological material that
suggest a low-key growth for Christianity on the island.45 Moreover, the avail-
able archaeological evidence may also reflect a slower process of transition and
conversion, thus suggesting an extended state of peaceful coexistence between
locals and Christians.
Subtle indications of this phenomenon can be traced in funerary monuments
and tombs. There is no concrete evidence for Christian cemeteries or tombs until
the fourth century, except the presence of crypto-Christian symbols in a total
of six tombstones bearing pagan inscriptions.46 It appears that Christians were
buried in mixed cemeteries. The excavation of Roman burials at cemeteries at
Aphendrika and Vasa Koilaniou have unearthed oil lamps bearing Christian
symbols.47 Finds from Salamis and at the so-called “royal” tomb in Palaipaphos
ropolitan or Provincial?” DUP 28 (1974): 57–88; Athanasios Papageorghiou, “L’architecture pa-

léochrétienne de Chypre,” Corso di Cultura sull’Arte Ravennate e Bizantina 32 (1985): 299–324.
Also, more recently, Doria Nicolaou, “Liturgical Structures of the Early Basilicas of Cyprus:
A Spatial Analysis,” in Church Building in Cyprus (Fourth to Seventh Centuries), 119–51.
41 Eleni Procopiou, “Église d’Ayios Tykhonas (Saint-Tykhon),” in Guide de Amathonte, ed.
Pierre Aupert (Athens: École française d’Athènes, 1993), 154–60.
42 Hackett, Orthodox Church of Cyprus, 7; Mitsides, “Η εκκλησία της Κύπρου,” 108–15.
43 Hackett, Orthodox Church of Cyprus, 7–8; Mitsides, “Η εκκλησία της Κύπρου,” 109.
44 Rapp, “Christianity in Cyprus,” 30–31.
45 Deligiannakis, “Last Pagans,” 25–26.
46 Papageorghiou and Foulias, “L’architecture funéraire,” 203–204.
47 Evelyn Dray and Joan du Plat Taylor, “Tsambres and Aphendrika: Two Classical and Hel-
lenistic Cemeteries in Cyprus,” RDAC (1937–1939): 24–123; Joan du Plat Taylor, “Roman Tombs
at ‘Kambi’ Vasa,” RDAC (1940–1948): 10–76; Papageorghiou and Foulias, “L’architecture funé-
raire,” 205.
may suggest similar practices.48 In addition, the presence of Christian symbols

and graffiti in pagan tombs such as at Pegeia, the Tombs of the Kings in Kato Pa-
phos, at the Seven Georges in Geroskipou, in Ellinospilia at Anavargos, Chryso-
kava in Keryneia, and Lambousa, among other examples, could be linked to the
use of the tombs by Christians, although we cannot exclude the possibility that
these symbols are related to later burials and use.49 These finds may very well
signify the contemporaneous existence of Christian burials among other local
ones, a practice that was common in the late Roman world.50 Furthermore, the
absence of archaeological evidence for exclusively Christian cemeteries and bur-
ial sites in Cyprus is an additional fact supporting the hypothesis of the peaceful
coexistence of Christians and pagans.
The revival of the city of Salamis after the disastrous earthquakes of 331 and
342 is largely attributed to Constantius II (337–361), who effectively re-founded
the city as Constantia.51 The repair and continuity of key institutions of civic life
such as the theater, the Roman forum, and the gymnasium suggest their strength
founded on a smooth transition between the not-so-distant pagan past and the
Christian present of the city. Specifically, the restoration of the baths of the city’s
gymnasium provides a fascinating example of cultural sensibility and continui-
ty.52 During the massive reconstruction effort that restored the baths and revived
the broader gymnasium complex, although not to be used for games or sports, a
selection of ancient statues adorned its courtyard. Others were discarded or used
as building material. Nevertheless, the final building product was a remarkable
spatial and artistic composition that offers a valuable perspective of Christian at-
titudes in Salamis towards the art of antiquity.53 This was a time of growth for the
Christian church in Salamis as only a few years later Epiphanios would be con-
48 Thérèse-Jean Oziol and Jean Pouilloux, Salamine de Chypre I, Les lampes (Paris: de
Boccard 1969); Vassos Karageorghis, “Chronique des fouilles et découvertes archéologiques à
Chypre en 1958,” BCH 116 (1992): 820.
49 Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Early Christian Rock-cut Tombs at Hagios Georgios, Peyia, Cy-
prus,” in Medieval Cyprus: Studies in Architecture, History in Memory of Doula Mouriki, ed.
Nancy Patterson Ševenko and Christopher Moss (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999),
35–48; Demetrios Michaelides, “‘Ayioi Pente’ at Yeroskipou. A New Early Christian Site in Cy-
prus,” Musiva et Sectilia 1 (2008): 185–98; Papageorghiou and Foulias, “L’architecture funéraire,”
205–208.
50 Mark. J. Johnson, “Pagan-Christian Burial Practices of the Fourth Century: Shared
Tombs?” JECS 5 (1997): 37–59; Éric Rebillard, “Conversion and Burial in the Late Roman Em-
pire,” in Conversion in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages. Seeing and Believing, ed. Kenneth
Mills and Anthony Grafton (Rochester and Woodbridge: University of Rochester Press, 2003),
69–74.
51 On Salamis, see Vassos Karageorghis, Salamis in Cyprus: Homeric, Hellenistic and Roman
(London: Thames and Hudson, 1969).
52 Vassos Karageorghis, Excavating at Salamis in Cyprus 1952–1974 (Athens: A. G. Leventis
Foundation, 1999), 33–47; Karageorghis, “From Paganism to Christianity,” 172–87.
53 Papageorghiou, “Cities and Countryside at the End of Antiquity,” 31.
secrated bishop of the city.54 His writings express his disdain for pagan bath cul-
ture, linking it with the work of the devil, although his vita does mention friendly
relations with pagans.55
In this context, the beheading of statues and the mutilation of the genital parts
and breasts of almost all nude statues surely calls for further consideration as it
echoes the destructive actions of Christians against traditional art at the end of
the fourth and into the fifth century throughout the empire.56 Yet, it is very pos-
sible that the “sanitizing” mutilation of these nude statues should not necessarily
be dated to the time of the restoration of the baths, as there is no concrete ev-
idence on the matter. It may be dated later, possibly towards the very end of the
fourth century or the beginning of the fifth, when more rigid attitudes towards
traditional art and nudity prevailed. The mutilations could be an after-the-fact
censoring effort; if nude statues were considered altogether offensive, they would
have been discarded at the time of the restoration of the bath complex.
Moreover, it is worth mentioning that there is no evidence of any effort to
destroy wall mosaics and paintings belonging to earlier phases of the bath com-
plex; instead, these scenes, depicting mythological scenes, were simply covered
with plaster, thus removing them from public view and effectively preserving
them through time.57 In any case, the prominent reuse of ancient statuary points
to a culture of acceptance, coexistence, and continuity, very much resonating
with the aura of the Eustolios complex. Its imagery was not treated as a religious
or superstitious threat but was rather appropriated and used in the multifaceted
process of the city’s revival. The reuse of these beautiful relics of the glorious an-
cient city lent a sense of familiarity and reassurance of continuity in an urban
environment struggling to recover from the trauma of devastating natural dis-
asters. A comparable example can be observed in the area of the Roman Agora
of Thessaloniki, where four late Roman statues of the Muses continued to adorn
54 On Epiphanios, see Rapp, “Epiphanius of Salamis”; Rapp, “The Vita of Epiphanius of
Salamis – A Historical and Literary Study” (PhD diss., University of Oxford, 1991); also Young
R. Kim, Epiphanius of Cyprus: Imagining an Orthodox World (Ann Arbor: University of Michi-
gan Press, 2015); Andrew S. Jacobs, Epiphanius of Cyprus: A Cultural Biography of Late Antiquity
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2016).
55 The Panarion of Epiphanius of Salamis, 2nd ed., trans. Frank Williams (Leiden: Brill,
2009), 136–37, 30: 7.5–6.
56 On the statues from Salamis, see Emily Vermeule and Vassos Karageorghis, Salamis:
Sculptures from Salamis I (Nicosia: Cyprus Department of Antiquities, 1964); Emily Vermeule
and Vassos Karageorghis, Salamis: Sculptures from Salamis II (Nicosia: Cyprus Department of
Antiquities, 1966); Vassos Karageorghis, “Des édifices antiques aux monuments chrétiens,” Le
monde de la Bible 112 (1998): 24–29.
57 Pelli Mastora, “Επεμβάσεις σε εντοίχια ψηφιδωτά κατά τη βυζαντινή περίοδο” (PhD
diss., Open University of Cyprus, 2017), 345–50; Janine Balty, “Les mosaïques des thermes du
gymnase à Salamine de Chypre,” RDAC (1988): 205–18; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 49; Mi-
chaelides, “Du paganisme au christianisme,” Le monde de la Bible 112 (1998): 12–15.
and were even repositioned in the city’s Odeon during the early Christian peri-
od.58
Additionally, the iconography of mosaic floors dating from the fourth and
the fifth centuries provide additional evidence for the continuity of late Roman
iconographic themes during the period associated with the establishment of the
Christian religion and church on the island.59 A key example of reuse, compara-
ble to the statues of the Salamis gymnasium, is the Theseus and Minotaur mosaic
from the House of Theseus in Paphos.60 The mosaic dates from the third century
and was attentively restored around the middle of the fourth century, thus dem-
onstrating that its mythological theme was still appreciated, hence the efforts to
preserve it. Several mosaics from the mid- to late-fourth and fifth centuries pro-
vide additional evidence for the continuity of late Roman themes and iconogra-
phy: the panel depicting Neptune and Amphitrite, also from the House of The-
seus in Paphos, the panel with the representation of Achilles at the court of King
Lycomedes from Kourion, the hunting scene from a Roman villa in Mansoura,
the mosaic representing the toilet of Aphrodite from a bath house in Alassa, and
the more recent discovery of the mosaic with hippodrome scenes at Akaki.61
The mosaics from the so-called Aion House have inspired an array of sug-
gestions about their imagery and meaning in the context of the island’s cultur-
al transition between polytheism and Christianity.62 The five mythological pan-
els that decorated the triclinium of a Roman villa and date from the second
quarter of the fourth century draw from Greco-Roman mythology but also in-
tegrate iconographic details and modifications that may allude to hidden mean-
ings about the polemic and competitive relation between traditional and Chris-
tian beliefs.63 The fifth-century mosaic representing the birth and first bath of
Achilles and its resemblance to Christian depictions of the nativity of Christ has
58 Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Η Αγορά της Θεσσαλονίκης στα Παλαιοχριστιανικά χρόνια,”
in Actes du Xe Congrès international d’archéologie chrétienne. Thessalonique 1980, vol. 2 (Vatican
City: Pontificio Istituto di archeologia cristiana, 1984), 5–18; Theodosia Stefanidou-Tiveriou, “Τα
αγάλματα των Μουσών από το Ωδείο της Θεσσαλονίκης,” Egnatia 2 (1990): 73–122.
59 Michaelides, “Mosaic Decoration,” 216–21.
60 Wiktor A. Daszewski, La mosaïque de Thésée: études sur les mosaïques avec représenta-
tions du labyrinthe, de Thésée et du Minotaure (Warsaw: PWN, Éditions scientifiques de Po-
logne, 1977).
61 Wiktor A. Daszewski and Demetrios Michaelides, Mosaic Floors in Cyprus (Ravenna:
Mario Lapucci, Edizioni del Girasole, 1988), 70–72; Demetrios Michaelides, “An Unusual Detail
of the Achilles at the Court of Lycomedes Mosaic at Kourion, Cyprus,” in Proceedings of the XIII
Colloquio AIEMA, Venezia, 11–15 Settembre 2012, ed. Giordana Trovabene (Verona: Scripta Edi-
zioni 2016), 549–52; Demetrios Michaelides, “The Baths at Mansoura,” RDAC (1993): 265–74;
Sophocles Hadjisavas, “Alassa: A New Late Cypriot Site,” RDAC (1986): 64, pl. XVIII.3; Michae-
lides, Cypriot Mosaics, 93, no. 51.
62 For summaries of the scholarly debate and bibliography see Michaelides, “Mosaic Dec-
oration,” 216–18; and Deligiannakis, “Last Pagans,” 35–38.
63 Wiktor A. Daszewski, Dionysos der Erlöser. Griechische Mythen im spätantiken Cypern
(Mainz: Ph. von Zabern, 1985); Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 54–63, nos. 27–31.
also been the focus of discussions on the appropriation of iconography between

pagan and Christian art.64 Regardless of the interpretation, the very existence of
these themes suggests the existence of an audience able to understand their com-
plexity during a period of cultural and social transition.
Another aspect of the smooth transition of religious life in Cyprus between
traditional cults and Christian practices is evident in the establishment of major
ecclesiastical complexes in the fourth and fifth centuries and the transformation
of urban landscapes following the earthquakes of the fourth century.65 It is im-
portant to note that there is no evidence for violence against traditional sites on
the island; actually, no significant Christian building activity can be traced on the
ground before the fourth century and the positive impact of the Edict of Milan
in 313. Even when Constantine I and his successors suppressed key pagan cults
in the East, like that of Aphrodite, no indication survives to suggest that these ef-
forts affected the goddess’s temples in Cyprus.66 The use of major ancient tem-
ples, like those of Zeus in Salamis, Aphrodite in Paphos, and Apollo in Kourion,
had ceased or at least faded by the fourth century, a phenomenon widely attrib-
uted to the cataclysmic impact of the period’s earthquakes.67 Notably, the fourth-
and fifth-century basilicas erected in the major urban centers of the island were
not built over ancient temples or other traditional sites of importance for the
traditional population of Cyprus.
Serving both practical needs as well as carrying a strong symbolic message
of the triumph of the new over the old religion, the transformation of temples
into churches was a widespread phenomenon in the Mediterranean world, espe-
cially in urban contexts.68 Yet, in Cyprus, the insertion of basilica complexes in
64 Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 91–92, no. 50; Pelli Mastora, “Achilles’ First Bath in the
House of Theseus in Nea Paphos and the Nativity of Christ,” Επετηρίς Κέντρου Επιστημικών
Ερευνών 37 (2015): 9–52.
65 Papageorghiou, “Cities and Countryside at the End of Antiquity,” 27–51.
66 Deligiannakis, “Last Pagans,” 26.
67 Marcus Rautman, “From Polytheism to Christianity in the Temples of Cyprus,” in An-
cient Journeys. A Festschrift in Honor of Eugene Numa Lane, ed. Cathy Callaway (n. p.: Stoa Con-
sortium, 2002), http://www.stoa.org/hopper/text.jsp?doc=Stoa:text:2001. 01.
0014; Papageor-
ghiou, “Cities and Countryside at the End of Antiquity,” 28.
68 On cultural aspects of this phenomenon, see, Cyril Mango, “Discontinuity with the
Classical Past in Byzantium,” in Byzantium the Classical Tradition, ed. Margaret Mullet and
Roger Scott (Birmingham: Center for Byzantine Studies, 1981), 48–57; Angelos Chaniotis, “Rit-
ual Dynamics in the Eastern Mediterranean: Case Studies in Ancient Greece and Asia Minor,”
in Rethinking the Mediterranean, ed. William V. Harris (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005),
141–66. On the conversion of temples into churches, Friedrich W. Deichman, “Frühchristliche
Kirchen in antiken Heiligtümern,” JDI 54 (1939): 103–36; Hahn, Emmel, and Gotter, eds., From
Temple to Church: Destruction and Renewal of Local Cultic Topography in Late Antiquity. Indica-
tively, see about Greece and Athens, Timothy E. Gregory, “The Survival of Paganism in Chris-
tian Greece: A Critical Essay,” AJP 107 (1986): 229–42; Jean-Michel Speiser, “La christianisation
des sanctuaires païens en Grèce,” in Neue Forschungen in griechischen Heiligtümern, ed. Ulf
Jantzen (Tübingen: Ernst Wasmuth, 1976), 309–320; Alison Frantz, “From Paganism to Chris-
the fabric of cities like Salamis, Paphos, and Kourion, to name some indicative
examples, did not interfere with traditional sites; there is no concrete archae-
ological evidence pointing to the intentional erection of Christian churches over
earlier pagan religious spaces.69 In the case of Amathous, the earliest possible
use of the southern part of the temple of Aphrodite in the acropolis for Christian
worship dates to the fifth century.70 Furthermore, by the time a three-aisled ba-
silica was erected at the site in the seventh century, the temple and its traditions
had been long abandoned. Still, the basilica was not built on the temple, thus
symbolically triumphing over it, but to its side (northeast part) occupying a part
of its Atrium.71 In Salamis, the suggestion about the use of the temple of Zeus
for Christian worship needs to be further substantiated as there is no definite ev-
idence about its functioning as a church.72
Nonetheless, the lack of Christian construction over local temples is at least
noteworthy, considering the numerous sites on the island associated with major
traditional cults and pilgrimage.73 In addition, it appears that traditional religion
was not a past memory but a present reality. Evidence suggests that pagan tradi-
tions continued to be a part of religious life in Cyprus through the fourth and
even the fifth centuries, especially in rural localities. A useful example concerns
the question, still unsubstantiated by archaeology, of the existence of the temple
of Lavranios Zeus in Fasoula and the longevity of the cult until the end of the
fourth century and possibly through the fifth century.74 Until the emergence of
tianity in the Temples of Athens,” DOP 19 (1965): 186–205; on Rome, see Feyo L. Schuddeboom,
“The Conversion of Temples in Rome,” Journal of Late Antiquity 10 (2017): 166–86; on Cilicia,
Richard Bayliss, Provincial Cilicia and the Archaeology of Temple Conversion (Oxford: Archaeo-
press, 2004), esp. 19–122; on the Dodecanese and the eastern Aegean, Georgios Deligiannakis,
The Dodecanese and East Aegean Islands in Late Antiquity, AD 300–700 (Oxford: Oxford Uni-
versity Press, 2016), 18–40.
69 Athanasios Papageorghiou, “Foreign Influences on the Early Christian Architecture of
Cyprus,” in Acts of the International Archaeological Symposium “Cyprus Between the Orient and
the Occident,” ed. Vassos Karageorghis (Nicosia: Cyprus Department of Antiquities, 1986), 490–
503.
70 Antoine Hermary, “Les fouilles françaises d’Amathonte,” Travaux de la Maison de
l’Orient 22 (1993): 180–84.
71 Annie Pralong, “La basilique de l’acropole d’Amathonte (Chypre),” Rivista di Archeolo-
gia Christiana 70 (1994): 411–55; Annie Pralong and Jean-Michel Saulnier, “La basilique chré-
tienne du sommet de l’acropole,” in Guide de Amathonte, ed. Pierre Aupert (Paris: de Bocard,
1996), 132–45.
72 Gilbert Argout et al., “Le temple de Zeus à Salamine,” RDAC (1975): 140–41; Olivier Cal-
lot, “Les portiques du temple de Zeus à Salamine de Chypre,” in Proceedings of the 2nd Inter-
national Cyprological Congress, Nicosia 1982, ed. Theodoros Papadopoullos and Stelios Hatzi-
stylli (Nicosia: Etaireia Kypriakon Spoudon, 1986), 363–68.
73 On the end of the use of the ancient temples of Cyprus, see Rautman, “Temples of Cy-
prus.”
74 Ernst Kitzinger, “Notes on Early Coptic Sculpture,” Archaeologia 87 (1938): 205–206; Vas-
sos Karageorghis, “Chronique des fouilles et découvertes archéologiques à Chypre en 1958,”
BCH 83 (1959): 359–60; Mitford, “Roman Cyprus,” 1339, no. 239; Pierre Aupert and Marie-
further evidence, the consideration of a fourth-century date for the stylistically

distinctive sculpted heads found at the site remains a plausible suggestion and
presents a possibility that fits the persistence of traditional religious practices in
Cyprus and the related conditions of tolerance between Christians and others.
Other examples from rural locations in the Paphos region include the cult of
Aphrodite’s consort Apollo/Adonis at Rantidi and that of Apollo Melanthios at
Amargeti.75
Framing Memory and Narrative
An important, yet lesser-known, hagiography may help us gain a more nuanced

understanding of the matter of the peaceful coexistence of pagans and Chris-
tians. The case of Saint Auxibios, bishop of Soloi, offers a hagiographic per-
spective that in some ways contradicts the established narratives of conflict and
echoes the realities suggested by the aforementioned archaeological facts.76 Ac-
cording to his vita, dated after the end of the fifth century, Auxibios left his na-
tive Rome to avoid a marriage arranged by his wealthy, pagan parents. Landing
at the port of Limnites, he encountered John Mark before his departure from the
island, following the terrible events of the martyrdom of Barnabas in Salamis.
Mark proceeded to instruct and consecrate him bishop, urging him to spread the
word of Christ to the population of Soloi.
The vita’s narrative describes that Auxibios was hosted as a traveler in the
house of the priest of the temple of Zeus, which was located outside the west-
ern walls of the city. He chose to conceal his Christian identity from his host to
facilitate his efforts to get inside Soloi. Using Zeus’s temple as both his base and
cover, he began preaching secretly within the city on a daily basis, presumably
attracting and converting its inhabitants to Christianity. It is worth noting that
the massive conversion it claims would be implausible in the first century; Soloi
remained an active center of traditional religion until the fourth century.77 In
time, Auxibios revealed his identity and actively led what appears to have been
Christine Hellmann, Amathonte I: Testimonia 1, Études chypriotes IV (Paris: Éditions recherche
sur les civilisations – École française d’Athènes, 1984), 23 no. 46; Antoine Hermary, “Le sanc-
tuaire de Zeus Labranios à Phasoula,” in Studies in Honour of Vassos Karageorghis, Kypriakai
Spoudai 1990–1991, ed. Georgios Ioannides (Nicosia: Etaireia Kypriakon Spoudon, 1992), 333–
37; Eleni Procopiou, “Φασούλα-Κάστρο. Αποτελέσματα δοκιμαστικής έρευνας,” RDAC (1999):
315–26.
75 Olivier Masson, “Kypriaka XVIII, un sanctuaire rural prés de Paphos,” BCH 118 (1994):
261–75; Terence B. Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” ARNW 2.18.3, 2183; Young, “The
Cypriot Aphrodite Cult,” 29–44.
76 For the vita, see, Papageorghiou, “Ο Άγιος Αυξίβιος,” 17–28; Jacques Noret, “Vita sancti
Auxibii,” in Hagiographica Cypria, ed. Peter Van Deun and Jacques Noret (Turnhout-Leuven:
Brepols, 1993), 177–202.
77 Papageorghiou, “Ο Άγιος Αυξίβιος,” 12–14.
a smooth Christianization of the city of Soloi; a major basilica complex with

several phases was erected over his tomb.78 On the whole, Auxibios’s vita does
not contain any sign of animosity and conflict between indigenous practitioners,
Jews, and Christians. One could point to the saint’s original secrecy as proof of
at least mistrust, but, on the other hand, his approach was thoughtful as well as
strategic, and certainly in striking contrast to the more hostile stance towards
pagans adopted by apostles and early fathers of the church elsewhere. Still, the
vita’s later date must be taken into consideration as to the factual accuracy of the
described events.
Additionally, the vitas of Saint Spyridon (seventh century) and Saint Epiph-
anios (sixth century) also contain narrative episodes that describe the friendly
coexistence of the two communities.79 Indicatively, in the vita of Saint Spyridon,
there is reference to the saint’s friendship with a mixed marriage couple.80 The
wife was a pious Christian and the husband a stubborn pagan who eventually
succumbed to Spyridon’s instructions. On the whole, hagiographic sources nar-
rating the deeds and struggles of early fathers of the church in Cyprus need to be
critically analyzed in the chronological framework of their composition, as well
as in conjunction with the available archaeological record. Although their narra-
tives contain valuable information on the history and topography of early Chris-
tian Cyprus, they are also filled with literary topoi concerning Jewish and tradi-
tional resistance to the spread of the word of Christ on the island.
Moreover, Cyprus, being in the proximity of great urban centers like Anti-
och and Alexandria, came under the direct influence of developments related to
the spread of early Christianity in these cities.81 The culture, ideology, and ex-
perience of early Christian communities in these contested urban environments
were effectively projected throughout the region, including Cyprus. As a result,
78 David. S. Neal, The Basilica at Soli Cyprus: A Survey of the Buildings and Mosaics (Cyprus:
SAVE, International Resources Group, 2009); Doria Nicolaou, “Νέα ερμηνευτική πρόταση και
αναχρονολόγηση του παλαιοχριστιανικού συγκροτήματος των Σόλων,” Deltion of the Christian
Archaeological Society 38 (2017): 55–86.
79 Van den Ven, La légende de S. Spyridon, 71; “Vita Epiphanii” (PG 41:76–79).
80 Actually, this was read by bishop of Paphos Theodoros on December 14, 655 at the church
dedicated to the saint in Tremithous. Present were the archbishop of Cyprus Sergius, archbishop
of Crete Paul, bishop of Tremithounta Theodoros, bishop of Kition Theodoros, bishop of Lapi-
thos Eusebius; see Van den Ven, La légende de S. Spyridon, 89–90.
81 On Antioch’s role in the Christianization of the island, Oikonomou, “Η εισαγωγή του
Χριστιανισμού,” 53–57. Also on Antioch, Glanville Downey, A History of Antioch in Syria from
Seleucus to the Arab Conquests (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1961), 272–475; Rob-
ert R. Hann, “Judaism and Jewish Christianity in Antioch: Charisma and Conflict in the First
Century,” JRH 14 (1987): 341–60; Magnus Zetterholm, The Formation of Christianity in Anti-
och: A Social-Scientific Approach to the Separation Between Judaism and Christianity (London:
Routledge, 2003). On Alexandria, Haas, Alexandria in Late Antiquity; Annick Martin, Athanase
d’Alexandrie et l’église d’Égypte au IVe siècle (328–373) (Rome: École française de Rome, 1996);
Edward J. Watts, Riot in Alexandria: Tradition and Group Dynamics in Late Antique Pagan and
Christian Communities (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010), 155–215.
in the centuries following the establishment of Christianity and the organization

of the formal institution of the church in the region, hagiographies systemati-
cally shaped the narrative of its early beginnings and growth.
Yet, beyond the importance of hagiographic narratives, it is worth consid-
ering some of the factors and events that to a larger or lesser extend influenced,
framed, and shaped the apparent smooth transition from polytheism to Chris-
tianity in Cyprus. Patronage of traditional cults, natural disasters, the role of the
Jewish population, and the insularity of Cyprus certainly contributed to the phe-
nomenon in question.
Roman support for traditional cults seems to have contained the spread of
Christianity at the island during the early period of its growth. Imperial patron-
age in particular significantly strengthened institutions and cults. For example,
the 69 CE passage from Cyprus of young Titus (79–81), son and successor of Ves-
pasian (69–79), was of critical importance with both practical and symbolic im-
plications.82 He sought the advice of the oracle of Aphrodite in Paphos and was
told of his glorious future. His eventual success in Jerusalem against the Jew-
ish rebellion and his father’s proclamation as emperor were events that brought
great prestige and support to the temple, thus further reinforcing the author-
ity of its cult. Among numerous other examples, Trajan’s (98–117) investment
in Kourion, and the temple of Apollo Hylates specifically, is indicative of the
ways imperial patronage helped pagan institutions retain their multifaceted in-
fluence.83 Furthermore, the economic, political, and social influence of educated
traditional elites and state officials continues through the fourth and fifth cen-
turies, although the extent to which these contributions really shaped the rela-
tions between pagans and Christians is difficult to assess.84 Yet, this instrumental
support certainly strengthened and sustained the central role of major tradition-
al cults on the island and as a result acted as a containment buffer against the
growing influence of Christians on the island.
Although the dates and the level of destruction brought by the earthquakes of
the fourth century is debated in scholarship, the impact of these natural disasters
in the ending of traditional religious life and the establishment of Christianity in
Cyprus needs to be seriously considered.85 In effect, the earthquakes served as
the perfect pretext for transition and change. The urban landscapes that emerged
after these natural disasters in cities like Salamis-Constantia, Paphos, and Kou-
82
Potter, “Η Κύπρος επαρχία της Ρωμαϊκής Αυτοκρατορίας,” 795, 804, 931.
83
Potter, “Η Κύπρος επαρχία της Ρωμαϊκής Αυτοκρατορίας,” 799–800.
84 Deligiannakis, “Last Pagans,” 33–35.
85 George Hill, A History of Cyprus, Volume 1: To the Conquest of Richard the Lionheart
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1940), 245; Papageorghiou, “Cities and Country-
side at the End of Antiquity,” 27–31; Rautman, “Temples of Cyprus”; John Antonopoulos, “Data
from Investigation on Seismic Sea Waves Events in the Eastern Mediterranean from the Birth of
Christ to 500 A. D.,” Annali di Geofisica 33 (1980): 152.
rion were now predominantly Christian. The patronage of emperors like Con-
stantius II in Salamis-Constantia or of wealthy aristocrats such as Eustolios in
Kourion was not only instrumental in helping civic populations to recover, but
also strategic in helping the establishment of the Christian church, which was
already enjoying the positive effects of the Edict of Milan. Maybe the impact of
the fourth-century earthquakes contributed to sparing the island from the per-
secution of traditional cults under Theodosius I (379–395). By the time Nicene
Christianity was declared the official religion of the empire in 380, Cypriot cities
and societies were already transitioning into the new, Christian era. In this con-
text, the beautiful mosaics and inscriptions from the early Christian basilica of
Chrysopolitissa in Kato Paphos, with phases dating between the middle of the
fourth century to the beginning of the fifth century, provide instructive examples
of the visual culture of the period.86
A topic worth further consideration is the role of the island’s Jewish popula-
tion in the early spread and development of Christianity in Cyprus.87 According
to the Acts, the primary audience and the main challenge for the apostolic mis-
sions of Barnabas, Paul, and John Mark appear to have been the Jewish popula-
tions of the cities of the island. Of course, perspectives on Jews offered by the
Acts and hagiographies must be taken with a pinch of salt since these accounts
were shaped during later centuries and seem to mirror the then-established anti-
Jewish rhetoric. Without doubt, the relationship between traditional Jews and
Jews who follow Jesus in the insular context of Cyprus, which was dominated
by traditional cults, was more complex than necessarily antagonistic. That said,
there is still value in the narratives offered by the Acts as they confirm the active
presence of Jewish communities on the island which, to a certain extent, must
have provided fertile ground for the early spread of the Christian message.
Moreover, the presence of Jewish communities is particularly important in
the context of the Jewish rebellion of 115–117, an event which certainly affected
Christians on the island.88 As mentioned by Cassius Dio, the uprising in Cy-
prus was led by one Artemion, leading to the massacre of thousands of non-Jew-
ish local Greeks.89 Cities like Salamis were particularly hard-hit. Although the
number of the victims may be inflated in the sources, it still reflects the violence
86 Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 7–9, 96–97.

87 See, Van der Horst, “Jews of Cyprus,” 110–20; Adolf Reifenberg, “Das antike zyprische Ju-
dentum und seine Beziehungen zu Palästina,” JPOS 12 (1932): 209–15; Mitford, “Cults of Roman
Cyprus,” 2204–2206; E. Mary Smallwood, The Jews under Roman Rule. From Pompey to Diocle-
tian: A Study in Political Relations, 2nd ed. (Leiden: Brill, 1981), 412–13.
88 Zdzisław J. Kapera, “Jewish Rebellion in Cyprus in 116/117 AD and Mesopotamia,” in
Here and There: Across the Ancient Near East. Studies in Honour of Krystyna Łyczkowska, ed.
Olga Drewnowska (Warsaw: Agade, 2009), 69–84; Van der Horst, “Jews of Cyprus,” 113–15;
Archbishop Kyprianos, Ιστορία χρονολογική της νήσου Κύπρου (Venice: N. Glykis, 1788), 95;
Smallwood, Jews under Roman Rule, 412–14; Mitsides, “Η εκκλησία της Κύπρου,” 107–108.
89 Dio Cassius, Roman History, 6.68.32; Van der Horst, “Jews of Cyprus,” 113.
of the rebellion. The Romans responded with ferocity as they suppressed the re-
bellion, which spread in the broader region of Egypt and Cyrenaica.90 It can be
assumed that great numbers of Jews were killed in Cyprus, and new legal regu-
lations forbade any future Jewish settlement on the island. Unfortunately, we can
only hypothesize about how the Christians fared during these events, although
there is little doubt that the rebellion and its aftermath affected the religious,
cultural, and social landscape of Cypriot cities during a critical period for the
growth of Christianity.
As a final thought, it’s important to consider Cyprus’s insularity and the ways
it affected issues of cultural identity and experience for local populations during
this era of transition. Surrounded by sea and at considerable distance from the
closest shores, Cyprus has always balanced between being a hub of maritime and
cultural interconnections and a closed system with a strong and persistent local
cultural identity.91 The successful efforts of the Church of Cyprus to achieve au-
tocephaly in the fifth century reflect the self-determined and independent char-
acter of Cypriot populations and their leaders. Of course, looking at the proc-
ess of Christianization in other larger islands of the region, such as Crete and
Rhodes among others, can provide particularly interesting contexts for further
analysis and comparisons.92
90 Joseph Mélèze-Modrzejewski, The Jews of Egypt. From Rameses II to Emperor Hadrian
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997), 198–205; Burkiewicz, “The Beginnings of Chris-
tianity in Cyprus,” 24–25.
91 See the essays in Fourrier and Grivaud, eds., Identités croisées en un milieu méditerranéen:
le cas de Chypre.
92 Indicatively, Dimitris Tsougarakis, “Ρωμαϊκή Κρήτη (1ος αι. π. Χ. – 5ος αι. μ. Χ.)” in
Κρήτη: Ιστορία και πολιτισμός, ed. Nikolaos N. Panayiotakis, vol. 1 (Heraklion: Bikelaia Bib-
liotheke, 1987), 285–336; Isabella Baldini Lippolis and Giulio Vallarino, “Gortyn: From City
of the Gods to Christian City,” in Cities & Gods: Religious Space in Transition, ed. Ted Kaizer,
et al. (Leuven: Peeters, 2012), 103–19; Deligiannakis, The Dodecanese and East Aegean Islands
in Late Antiquity; Elias Kollias, “Η παλαιοχριστιανική και βυζαντινή Ρόδος. Η αντίσταση μιας
ελληνιστικής πόλης,” in Ρόδος 2.400 χρόνια. Η πόλη της Ρόδου από την ίδρυση της μέχρι την
κατάληψη από τους Τούρκους (1523), vol. 2 (Athens: Fund of Archaeological Proceeds, 2000),
299–308.
The Gods, Christ, and the Emperor
in the Late Antique Art of Cyprus
Henry Maguire
The subject that is explored in these pages is complex and much debated, and
yet the inquiry begins with a verity that is simple and relatively little discussed –
one might almost say it is taken for granted. It can be briefly stated as follows:
whereas from the Hellenistic through to the end of the late antique period it was
common for pagan gods and their exploits to be illustrated upon the floors of
buildings, it was exceedingly uncommon for either Christ or the emperor to be
so depicted; in fact, biblical episodes and imperial ceremonial were in general
rarely depicted in places where they could be trampled underfoot.1 My purpose
in these remarks is to examine the implications of this phenomenon, and espe-
cially what we may learn from it about the nature of pagan representations, on
the one hand, and of Christian and imperial images on the other.
Cyprus presents an excellent opportunity to explore this topic, for the island
is exceptionally rich in floor mosaics, especially from the late antique period. Ac-
cordingly, the majority of the examples in this chapter will come from Cyprus,
although evidence from outside the island will appear from time to time, when
the course of the argument so requires.
Ernst Kitzinger, in an article on a floor mosaic in Turin, cited an episode from
the early 1950s that involved the presidential seal in the Reception Room of the
White House.2 Harry Truman, who was president at that time, noted that the
seal was on the floor, where people desecrated it by walking on it. He therefore
ordered that it be raised to a more honorific position above the door. This pro-
vides a succinct example of an enduring cross-cultural problem with placing im-
agery of an authoritative or official nature on pavements, rather than on walls or
ceilings, or in free-standing sculptures. Nevertheless, it is the very lowliness of
1 Rina Talgam, Mosaics of Faith: Floors of Pagans, Jews, Samaritans, and Muslims in the
Holy Land (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi, 2014), 204.
2 Ernst Kitzinger, “World Map and Fortune’s Wheel: A Medieval Mosaic Floor in Turin,”
Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 117 (1973): 343–73, esp. 343; reprinted in Kitz-
inger, The Art of Byzantium and the Medieval West: Selected Studies (Bloomington, Indiana,
1976), 327. Kitzinger also cites St. Bernard of Clairvaux, who complained of visitors desecrating
the images of saints and angels depicted in the floors of churches: S. Bernardus, Apologia ad
Guillelmum Sancti-Theoderici abbatem, 12.28 (PL 182:915).
76 Henry Maguire
floor mosaics that gives them a particular value as witnesses to their wider his-
torical and cultural contexts. They were both an underlying and a conspicuous
background to people’s lives, and thus more likely to express fundamental atti-
tudes than the dogmatic and self-conscious statements of state or religious ide-
ology. Moreover, floor mosaics have survived in far greater numbers than the
decorations of walls or vaults, because frequently the pavements have been pre-
served when the upper parts of buildings have been lost. The relative ubiquity of
surviving pavements makes it easier to establish from them cultural norms with-
in and across the contexts of time, space, ethnicity, and religion.
Floor and Wall Mosaics in Cyprus
We will begin by looking at some examples of the depiction of pagan gods on

the floors of buildings in Cyprus. The richly decorated villa in Paphos known as
the House of Dionysos provides an especially varied selection of images, which
probably date to the late second century of the Christian era.3 Here three gods
were depicted in the portico that lay in front of the most important space, the
dining room. Immediately in front of its entrance, the mosaicists portrayed the
salutary story of the god Dionysos and Ikarios, the first man to make wine; this
was an appropriate subject for the threshold to a room used for drinking.4 To the
right of this panel are two mosaics with contrasting love scenes. One shows Po-
seidon and Amymone, a mortal who gave the ardent god her consent. The other
mosaic depicts Apollo in pursuit of Daphne, who refused the god. In the mosaic
we can see the fleeing Daphne already turning into a laurel bush, while Apollo
tries to catch up with her.5
The figured floor inside the dining room is divided into two main zones.
Immediately inside the entrance the diners were greeted by a large rectangular
panel at the threshold that again portrays Dionysos, this time riding in his trium-
phal chariot drawn by panthers, and accompanied by his retinue of satyrs and
maenads (fig. 1, p. 280). Beyond this mosaic, the central portion of the floor is
filled by a large fruiting vine scroll, which contains animals and vintage scenes.6
Further portrayals of the gods graced other rooms of the villa. For example, in
a room to the east of the courtyard one can see Zeus in aquiline form carrying
Ganymede aloft.7
3 Wiktor A. Daszewski and Demetrios Michaelides, Guide to the Paphos Mosaics (Nicosia:
Department of Antiquities, 1988), 11–45; Christine Kondoleon, Domestic and Divine: Roman
Mosaics in the House of Dionysos (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1995).
4 Daszewski and Michaelides, Paphos Mosaics, 37–41, figs. 29–32.
7 Daszewski and Michaelides, Paphos Mosaics, 31–32, fig. 19.
The Gods, Christ, and the Emperor in the Late Antique Art of Cyprus 77
Even more impressive, and certainly more commented upon, images of pagan
deities have been found in another building in Paphos, which was named by its
discoverers the House of Aion. In it, a large room features a floor with a mag-
nificent mosaic containing five panels with mythological scenes. The mosaic has
been dated to the second quarter of the fourth century, but it apparently con-
tinued to be used until the early fifth century, when it was restored.8 One of the
panels portrays Dionysos held as an infant in the lap of Hermes. The child is
about to be handed to his tutor, Tropheus, and to the nymphs of Mount Nysa
for his upbringing (fig. 2, p. 281). The compositions in the mosaic are densely
crammed with figures, most of whom are meticulously – one might almost say
obsessively – named by inscriptions.
Some modern scholars have interpreted these mosaics in philosophical and
religious terms, seeing them as a highbrow pagan response to the growing im-
pact of Christianity in the post-Constantinian era. Wiktor Daszewski has read
into the images a kind of pagan monotheism, in which Dionysos embodied the
other gods in himself, so that the pagan god is celebrated here as a savior, born,
like Jesus Christ, to introduce a new order to the world.9 Glen Bowersock, agree-
ing with this soteriological interpretation, cited Neoplatonic writers who believ-
ed that Apollo was a manifestation of Dionysos, and that his lyre symbolized
divine harmony and order, which was foolish for mortals to challenge. In Bow-
ersock’s words: “The supremacy of Dionysus suggests a kind of pagan mono-
theism, responding to Christian monotheism.”10 In the panel depicting Hermes
holding the god-child Dionysos, there was, he said, an “uncanny resemblance to
Christian mother-and-child imagery.”11
So far as I am aware, the latest floor mosaics in Cyprus that bear mythologi-
cal imagery date to the fifth century. For example, a bath building at Alassa pre-
serves a pavement that portrays Aphrodite. Evidently, she has been bathing, for a
gleaming silver jug can be seen on the left beside her. Perhaps she is wringing out
her hair, or she may be adorning herself, for on the right an eros carries a mirror
and a box of jewelry. In any case, here the goddess has a propitious purpose, for
she is flanked by an inscription reading ΕΠ ΑΓΑΘΟΙΣ, or, “for a good cause,”
bringing luck on the bathers.12
8 Wiktor A. Daszewski, Dionysos der Erlöser, griechische Mythen im spätantiken Cypern

(Mainz: von Zabern, 1985); Daszewski and Michaelides, Paphos Mosaics, 63–71, figs. 45–51;
Wiktor A. Daszewski and Demetrios Michaelides, Mosaic Floors in Cyprus (Ravenna: Edizioni
del Girasole, 1988), 56–70, figs. 26–33; Glen W. Bowersock, Hellenism in Late Antiquity (Ann
Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1990), 49–52; Bowersock, Mosaics as History: The Near
East from Late Antiquity to Islam (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2006), 39–41.
9 Daszewski, Dionysos der Erlöser, 38–45.
10 Bowersock, Hellenism in Late Antiquity, 52.
11 Bowersock, Mosaics as History, 39–41.
12 Demetrios Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics (Nicosia: Department of Antiquities, 1987), 45,
plate 32, fig. 51.
78 Henry Maguire
We turn now to Christian images on the floors of Cyprus. Here, in contrast

to the pagan gods and goddesses, we never encounter visual portrayals of Christ
or of biblical figures on the pavements of the island. Motifs that evoke Christ or
Christian ideas in a symbolic way, however, do make an appearance. As an ex-
ample, we may cite a well-known panel from the original basilica of Chryso-
politissa at Nea Paphos, which can be dated to the fifth century. The mosaic por-
trays a fruiting vine, with the prominent inscription ΕΓΩ ΕΙΜΙ Η ΑΜΠΕΛΟΣ Η
ΑΛΗΘΙΝΗ, or “I am the true vine” (fig. 3, p. 282).13 The quotation is from the
Gospel of John, and it identifies the vine as Christ (John 15:1). It also attempts to
appropriate for Christianity a symbol that had been pagan, for, as we have seen,
the fruiting vine was also associated with Dionysos.
Here it may be asked: was the absence of Christian figures on the mo-
saic floors of Cyprus due to a reluctance to place sacred persons in a position
where they could be trodden upon, or was it evidence of a more general icon-
oclasm, that is, a disinclination to portray Christian portrait images in general,
wherever they might appear, whether on pavements or not? An argument for
the second proposition is the famous episode reported in the late fourth centu-
ry by Epiphanius, bishop of Salamis, in a letter that he wrote to John, the bish-
op of Jerusalem, which has been preserved for us in a Latin translation made by
Jerome.14 In this letter, Epiphanius reported that he saw a cloth hanging in the
door of a village church between Jerusalem and Bethel, just outside the city. On
this curtain was portrayed a human image which may have been of Christ or
of one of the saints; Epiphanius professed not to know. Outraged, Epiphanius
tore the offending image down and advised Bishop John explicitly “to order
that such things not be displayed in the churches.” This letter, which is not in
doubt, helps to establish the authenticity of other writings of Epiphanius that
have been disputed, in particular a letter to Theodosius I in which the bishop
complains that he often entreated his fellow clerics to take down Christian im-
ages, but in vain.15
It is certainly reasonable to suppose that Epiphanius may have tried to for-
bid the making of Christian portrait images in Cyprus, and it is also very pos-
sible that he failed in his efforts. As we shall see shortly, outside of Cyprus there
is ample evidence that Christian figures were portrayed on the walls and vaults
13 Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 35, plate 16, fig. 37; Daszewski and Michaelides, Mosaic
Floors in Cyprus, 92–93.
14 Jerome, Epist. 51.9; CSEL 54: 411–12. Part of the letter is quoted by the ninth-century Pa-
triarch Nikephoros; Paul Maas, Kleine Schriften (Munich: Beck, 1973), 437–45. English trans-
lation in Cyril Mango, The Art of the Byzantine Empire (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall,
1972), 42–43.
15 Karl Holl, “Die Schriften des Epiphanius gegen die Bilderverehrung,” Gesammelte Auf-
sätze zur Kirchengeschichte, vol. 2 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1928), 351–58; Ernst Kitzinger, “The
Cult of Images in the Age before Iconoclasm,” DOP 8 (1954): 83–150, esp. 93 n. 28. See Chris-
topher P. Jones, Between Pagan and Christian (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2014), 54.
of churches, even while they were absent from floor mosaics. And, even though
there is little surviving evidence for Christian images on the walls of Cypriot
churches in the late fourth and fifth centuries, by the sixth century they were
certainly abundant. Their ubiquity is evidenced by the three mosaics that still
survive, or survived until recently, in the apses of the churches of Lythrankomi,
Kiti, and Livadia. At Lythrankomi, where the mosaic was set in the first half of
the sixth century, the Virgin and Child were enthroned in a mandorla flanked by
palm trees and angels, while the border contained portrait busts of the apostles.16
The date of the much better-preserved mosaic at Kiti is somewhat later, perhaps
the second half of the sixth century (fig. 4, p. 283). Here again we find the Vir-
gin with her Child in her arms between a pair of angels, but in this case she is
standing.17 The latest in the series of Cypriot apse mosaics appeared in the small
church of Livadia, which should be dated between the end of the sixth century
and the start of the Arab invasions in the middle of the seventh. The composi-
tion of this mosaic is strikingly austere and focused entirely on the iconic image
of the Virgin; she stands on her own in the pose of an orant with her hands out-
stretched, silhouetted against a plain gold ground, which is deprived of any ac-
companying angels or even vegetation.18
Archaeology has revealed that other sixth-century churches in Cyprus had
their upper surfaces covered with sacred portraits, even while there were appar-
ently no such images on the floors. For example, in the northeast chapel attached
to the Episcopal Basilica at Kourion, the eastern wall was covered with late sixth-
century mosaics of human figures (fig. 5, p. 284). The mosaics appear to have
been arranged in two registers in a central niche and on its flanking walls. Al-
though the state of preservation does not allow for certain identifications, the ex-
cavator, A. H. S. Megaw, proposed that the upper part of the niche had contained
an image of the Virgin, surrounded by a retinue of saints in the lower part of the
niche and on the walls to either side.19 In contrast to this rich figural decoration
on the walls of the northeast chapel, the remains of floor mosaics of the same
period from the Episcopal Complex at Kourion suggest that the accompanying
16 Arthur H. S. Megaw and Ernest J. W. Hawkins, The Church of the Panagia Kanakariá at
Lythrankomi: Its Mosaics and Frescoes (Washington, D. C.: Dumbarton Oaks, 1977).
17 Ellinor Fischer, “Die Panagia Angeloktistos in Kiti auf Zypern: Neue Aspekte zu Bau
und Apsismosaik,” in Begegnungen: Materielle Kulturen auf Zypern bis in die römische Zeit, ed.
Sabine Rogge (Münster: Waxmann 2007), 151–95; Andreas Foulias, “Το ψηφιδωτό της αψίδας
στην Παναγία Αγγελόκτιστη Κιτίου,” Epeterida Kentrou Meleton Ieras Mones Kykkou 8 (2008):
269–334.
18 Arthur H. S. Megaw and Ernest J. W. Hawkins, “A Fragmentary Mosaic of the Orant Vir-
gin in Cyprus,” in Actes du XIVe Congrès International des Études Byzantines, Bucarest, 6–12
septembre 1971, vol. 3, ed. Mihai Berza and Eugen Stănescu (Bucharest: Editura Academiei Re-
publicii Socialiste România, 1976), 363–66, figs. A–E; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 56–57, plate
41, fig. 71.
19 Arthur H. S. Megaw, Kourion, Excavations in the Episcopal Precinct (Washington, D. C.:
Dumbarton Oaks, 2007), 47–48, fig. 1.2, plate 1.30a.
80 Henry Maguire
pavements were primarily geometric in character. For example, the late sixth-
century floor of the diakonikon was decorated with panels containing squares,
poised squares, and interlaced circles. The panels are framed by borders of circles
and poised squares enclosed by knotted straps. These motifs either enclose cross-
es or designs that evoke crosses, such as the knot of Solomon.20 Thus, at Kourion,
we find sacred portraits on the walls, but not on the floors; on the floors we see
only the signs of Christ.21
Floor and Wall Mosaics outside Cyprus
If we move beyond the shores of Cyprus to consider the wider context of late an-
tique mosaics, we find the same phenomenon: the pagan gods were portrayed on
pavements, but Christ, his prophets, and his saints were not, even though they did
appear on walls and vaults. Let us take only the situation in and around Jerusalem,
where at the end of the fourth century Bishop Epiphanius encountered the objec-
tionable curtain with its icon. In addition to Epiphanius, other witnesses attest to
the presence of portrait images in and near Jerusalem. According to the sixth-cen-
tury ecclesiastical history by Theodore Lector, between 443 and 453 the empress
Eudokia, the wife of Theodosius II, sent an icon of the Virgin from Jerusalem to
Pulcheria, the daughter of Arcadius. Supposedly, the image had been painted by
St. Luke.22 A letter purportedly sent to the emperor Theophilos by a council held
in Jerusalem in 836 describes a mosaic of the Nativity and the Adoration of the
Magi on the outer west wall of the basilica at Bethlehem. The letter claimed that
when the invading Persians sacked Jerusalem in 614, they spared the Church of
the Nativity on account of respect for the portrayal of the Magi, whom they per-
ceived as their kinsmen.23 But, in contrast to these portrayals on panels and on
the walls of churches, there is no evidence for the presence of sacred figures on
church floors in the area of Jerusalem. Epiphanius would have had no cause to
take offence when he walked upon the pavements of the nearby Church of the Na-
tivity in Bethlehem, which date to the late fourth or early fifth century. The floors
of the nave and octagon depict only interlaces and geometrical patterns, together
with birds and fruits, including a vine.24 While, as we have seen, the vine had the
potential to symbolize Christ, there are no portrait images surviving on this floor.
20 Megaw, Kourion, 145–46, plate 1.19.
21
Likewise, in the sixth-century complex at Pegia, where the walls of the Basilica beside the
baptistery were decorated with figures of saints executed in opus sectile, the floors of the com-
plex were covered with animals, plants, and geometric designs including reiterated crosses, but
not with portrait images; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 48–50, plates 34–36.
22 Hist. eccl. 1.1 (PG 86:165); English translation in Mango, The Art of the Byzantine Empire, 40.
23 Epistola synodica patriarcharum orientalium, 7.8; ed. Louis Duchesne, Roma e l’Oriente 5
(1912–1913): 283; English translation in Mango, The Art of the Byzantine Empire, 114.
24 Talgam, Mosaics of Faith, 82–83, 157–58, figs. 110, 247–48.
Jerusalem also provides evidence for the appearance of pagan figures in mo-
saic floors during late antiquity. In 1901 a well-preserved mosaic was excavated
in a small burial chapel near the Damascus Gate; it can now be seen in the Ar-
chaeological Museum in Istanbul (fig. 6, p. 285). The pavement has been dated
anywhere between the fourth and the seventh centuries, but the most likely date
appears to be between the late fourth and the early sixth century.25 The mosaic
portrays Orpheus in the center, playing his lyre and surrounded by the animals
that he has charmed. At the bottom right and left the god Pan and a centaur also
listen to the music.
This mosaic has intrigued modern scholars because of its syncretistic char-
acter. To the left of Orpheus is an eagle that wears around its neck a bulla marked
with a small cross. The centaur below this bird leans on a club, which has been
identified as the club of the pagan god Hercules. Accordingly, the mosaic has
been interpreted both as a pagan and as a Christian allegory. Some writers have
associated the centaur and Pan with the Orphic-Dionysiac cult, while others
have linked Orpheus with Christ, the harmony of whose music overcomes the
pipes of Pan, symbolic of unbridled passions.26 Whatever the correct interpre-
tation of this enigmatic and ambiguous composition, there is no doubt that it sig-
nals a continuing willingness of some people in Jerusalem to place figures from
pagan mythology on their pavements, even while images of Christ and his saints
were not to be located underfoot.
In all of late antiquity, there are very few confirmed exceptions to the rule that
Christian biblical figures were not set on floors. The earliest exception comes
right at the beginning of the series of Christian pavements, in the great mosaic
that covers the floor of the double basilica dedicated by Bishop Theodorus in the
early fourth century at Aquileia in Italy. Here, among a multitude of non-Chris-
tian representations, including sea creatures, birds, beasts, fruits and plants,
there are three inserted scenes of the life of Jonah: his being cast overboard from
the ship to be swallowed by the whale, his being disgorged again onto land, and
finally his reclining at rest under a gourd.27 Jonah appears again, exceptionally,
in two medallions of a mid-sixth century pavement in the north aisle of a church
at Mahatt el Urdi, outside the ancient Eleutheropolis in Israel. In one of the med-
allions he is shown being thrown to the sea monster, and in the second he lies
under the gourd.28
25 Talgam, Mosaics of Faith, 246–49, figs. 326–27.

26 Talgam, Mosaics of Faith, 247–49.
27 Giovanni Brusin and Paolo Zovatto, Monumenti Paleocristiani di Aquileia e di Grado
(Udine: Deputazione di storia patria per il Friuli, 1957), 20–125; Jean-Pierre Caillet, L’Evergétis-
me monumental chrétien en Italie et à ses marges d’après l’épigraphie des pavements de mosaïque
(IVe–VIIe s.) (Rome: École française de Rome, 1993), 123–41.
28 Talgam, Mosaics of Faith, 244–46, fig. 325.
82 Henry Maguire
Another exception is the famous mosaic from Hinton St. Mary in Dorset,
England, a work from the “barbaric” fringes of the Roman world. The pavement
was probably set around the middle of the fourth century, and it may have dec-
orated the dining room of a villa, although the precise nature of the building is
not certain. The mosaic once covered two separate spaces, with a threshold be-
tween them. Each part of the mosaic frames a central medallion containing a
hero, in one roundel Bellerophon killing the Chimaera, and in the other round-
el a bust of Christ with a large chi rho monogram behind his head.29 This mosaic
was closely related to a nearby pavement at Frampton, also in Dorset, which is
now lost, but which is known through early nineteenth-century engravings. The
Frampton mosaic combined portrayals of Neptune, Dionysos, and Bellerophon
with another chi rho symbol, although here there was no bust of Christ.30 Both
mosaics, at Hinton St. Mary and at Frampton, appear to have represented a truly
syncretic culture, which effectively accorded to Christ the same status as that of
the pagan gods, allowing him to appear together with them on the floor.
A fourth possible exception to the rule that banned Christian portraits from
the floor can be found in a small group of fifth-century mosaics from Syria that
portrayed Adam naming the animals. The best preserved of these pavements
was excavated in the North Church at Huarte, near Apamea, and can be dated
precisely by inscriptions to between 472 and 487.31 Other members of the group
only survive as fragments that are currently preserved in museums in Copen-
hagen and Hama (fig. 7, p. 286).32 On the central axis of the nave floor at Huarte,
nearest to the sanctuary, there is a large figure of Adam, who is identified by an
inscription above his head. He sits on a backless throne, holding an open book
in his left hand, and making a gesture of speech with his right. He is surround-
ed, like Orpheus, by a large variety of birds and beasts, which are set among
trees and flowering plants. The tame demeanor of the fierce beasts, such as a
lion, a leopard, and a griffin, indicate that the setting is the earthly Paradise, and
that the time is before the Fall. However, the image contains one striking ana-
chronism, namely that Adam is clothed in a white garment, whereas, according
to the biblical account, he should still be naked. Adam’s white robe can also be
seen in the fragment of a similar mosaic that is now in the National Museum at
Copenhagen (fig. 7, p. 286). The excavators of the Huarte mosaic, Maria Teresa
Canivet and Pierre Canivet, compared the appearance of Adam to certain por-
29 KatherineM. D. Dunbabin, Mosaics of the Greek and Roman World (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1999), 95–96, figs. 94–95.
30 Dunbabin, Mosaics, 95–96.
31 Pierre and Maria Teresa Canivet, “La mosaïque d’Adam dans l’église syrienne de Huarte
(Ve s.),” Cahiers Archéologiques 24 (1975): 49–70, fig. 3; Pierre and Maria Teresa Canivet, Huarte,
sanctuaire chrétien d’Apamène (IVe–VIe s.) (Paris: Geuthner, 1987), 296–300.
32 Steffen Trolle, “Hellig Adam i Paradis,” Nationalmuseets Arbejdsmark (Copenhagen: Na-
tionalmuseet, 1971), 105–12; Henry Maguire, “Adam and the Animals: Allegory and the Literal
Sense in Early Christian Art,” DOP 41 (1987): 363–73, esp. 368, fig. 4.
trayals of Christ, in which the Lord appears enthroned, holding a book in his left
hand, and raising his right hand in benediction. Accordingly, they associated the
Adam of the mosaics with the passages in St. Paul’s epistles that describe Adam
as the figure of Christ, the New Adam.33 By this interpretation, we could read the
portrait of Adam as a typological image of Christ. But the mosaics of Adam are
ambivalent. We could also interpret his garments as representing Adam’s robe
of glory, which Syrian writers, such as Ephrem, equated with the white robes
of those baptized into the church.34 Thus the clothing of Adam could convey in
this case the recovery by Christians through baptism of that prelapsarian state of
wisdom and glory in which wild beasts could not hurt them.35 Adam on these
floors, therefore, is not necessarily a typological figure of Christ.36
These mosaics are the only surviving exceptions known to me to the general
rule of the absence of biblical figures from the floors of Christians. The refusal
by Christians to place sacred figures on pavements is all the more striking when
churches are compared to synagogues, where biblical figures were depicted with
relative frequency. The permissive attitude of many Jews with respect to human
representations on the floors of their cult buildings is exemplified by Targum
Pseudo-Jonathan Lev 26:1, the biblical prohibition against the making and wor-
shipping of images of stone. The targum reads:
And a figured stone you shall not place in your land, to bow down upon it …
But a pavement figured with images and likenesses you may make on the floor of
your temples. And do not bow down to it, for I am the Lord your God.37
The variety of biblical subjects found on the floors of late antique synagogues
is certainly impressive. The examples range in date from the fourth to the sixth
centuries. Thus, in the early fourth century, we find the drowning of Pharaoh’s
army in the Red Sea, David and Goliath, and the construction of Solomon’s tem-
ple, all portrayed in the pavement of the recently discovered synagogue at Wadi
el Hamam near the Sea of Galilee.38 In the synagogue at Sepphoris in the lower
33 Rom 5:14; 1 Cor 15:22; Canivet and Canivet, “La mosaïque d’Adam,” 58, 62 and n. 37; Ca-
nivet and Canivet, Huarte, 296–300.
34 Ephrem, Hymni de Paradiso, 6.7–9, ed. René Lavenant, Ephrem di Nisibe: Hymnes sur le
Paradis, SC 137 (Paris: le Cerf, 1968), 84–5.
35 Maguire, “Adam and the Animals,” 372.
36 Another exceptional mosaic that portrays a saint or a biblical figure on the floor of a
building from a Christian context, though not a church, is the depiction of a martyr in the arena
(or possibly Daniel in the lions’ den) discovered in a private mausoleum at Borg El Youdi in
Tunisia. The mosaic is now in the Bardo, Tunis; Mohamed Yacoub, Le Musée du Bardo (Tunis:
Agence Nationale du Patrimoine, 1996), 44, no. A 253, fig. 37. On the identity of the figure, see
Robin M. Jensen, “Nudity in Early Christian Art,” in Text, Image, and Christians in a Greco-
Roman World: A Festschrift in Honor of David Lee Balch, ed. Cissé Niang and Carolyn Osiek
(Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2012), 314–15.
37 John Wesley Etheridge, The Targums of Onkelos and Jonathan ben Uzziel on the Penta-
teuch (London, Longman, 1862), 230; Talgam, Mosaics of Faith, 409.
84 Henry Maguire
Galilee we discover the visit of the angels to Abraham and Sarah and the Bind-
ing of Isaac.39 The fifth-century floor of the synagogue at Huquq, also in Galilee,
has preserved depictions of Samson and the foxes and Samson lifting the gates
of Gaza, together with Noah’s ark and the crossing of the Red Sea.40 Scenes from
the life of Samson were also portrayed on the fifth-century floor of a building
at Misis Mopsuestia in Cilicia, which was probably a synagogue rather than a
church, even if its identification is debated. In addition, the pavement at Misis
Mopsuestia portrayed the ark of Noah surrounded by animals.41 This subject
also occurs in the pavement of a synagogue at Gerasa, which dates to the end of
the fifth century.42 In a synagogue at Meroth there is a panel dating to the sec-
ond third of the fifth century that depicts David as a young man sitting among
assorted weapons.43 From the early sixth-century floor of a synagogue in Gaza
comes an Orpheus-like portrait of David calming the animals with his lyre; an
inscription dates this to the years 508/9.44 The Binding of Isaac appears again in
the sixth-century floor of the synagogue of Beth Alpha,45 while in the same cen-
tury at Na᾽aran we find a portrayal of Daniel in the lions’ den. Here the prophet
stands between the beasts with his hands outspread in the orant posture as if he
were a Christian saint.46
Reverence and Blasphemy of Pagan and Imperial Images
It is now time to turn to the rationale that lay behind the conventions: can we
explain why pagan gods were allowable on floors, both by pagans and, on occa-
sion, by Christians, whereas biblical figures were disallowed by Christians, but
not by Jews?
Even while pagan deities regularly appeared on floors during the Roman
period, there was one god who never did, namely the emperor.47 In the Roman
world, as in the Hellenistic period, there was a concept of the blasphemy of im-
ages of pagan gods; both pagans and Christians accused each other of it.48 But to
40 Talgam, Mosaics of Faith, 261–64; Ann R. Williams, “Biblical Scenes Uncovered in
Ruins of Ancient Synagogue,” National Geographic, published 5 July 2016, https://news.
nationalgeographic.com/2016/07/mosaic-synagogue-huqoq-israel-magness-archaeology/.
41 Talgam, Mosaics of Faith, 204, 321, 482 n. 192, fig. 397.
43 Talgam, Mosaics of Faith, 161–62, 323–25, fig. 402.
45 Talgam, Mosaics of Faith, 296–98, fig. 361.
47 It has been claimed that the emperors Maximian and Maxentius are portrayed on the
Great Hunt mosaic at Piazza Armerina, but it is more likely that they are high officials directing
the hunt; see Dunbabin, Mosaics, 138 n. 19.
48 Christians accused of blaspheming pagan images: Origen, Cels. 8.38; ed. Paul Koetschau,
insult an image of a pagan god was not as serious a matter as to insult the effigy
of an emperor. It is in the case of blasphemy against the emperor’s images that
we find the most stringent laws and punishments. A story from the Life of Apol-
lonius of Tyana by the third-century writer Philostratus describes a lynch mob in
Aspendos attacking the governor, even though he was clinging to statues of Tib-
erius. At that time, says Apollonius, the emperor’s statues were even more dread-
ed and inviolable than the statue of Zeus at Olympia (Philostratus, Vit. Apoll 1.15
[Conybeare, LCL]). Passages in Suetonius, Tacitus, and Seneca describe legisla-
tion and prosecution concerning lèse-majesté during the reign of Tiberius. Ac-
cording to Suetonius, it became an offence punishable by death to strike a slave
or to change one’s clothes near a statue of the emperor Augustus. It also was a
capital offense to carry a ring or a coin engraved or struck with the emperor’s
image into a latrine or a brothel (Suetonius, Tib. 58). Seneca records that a sen-
ator named Paulus narrowly avoided getting into trouble while at a dinner party,
because he reached for a chamber pot while wearing a ring with a conspicuous
cameo portraying Tiberius (Seneca, Ben. 3.26.1–2).49 Tacitus relates that Granius
Marcellus, proconsul of Bithynia, was charged with maiestas, or treason, because
he had placed his own statue above those of the caesars, and, furthermore, had
put the head of Tiberius on an older statue of Augustus, which he had decapitat-
ed (Tacitus, Ann. 1.74).
Some of these tales were evidently exaggerations, but they spoke to under-
lying anxieties. Even to refuse to worship an emperor’s statue could be a cause for
penalties. A well-known letter of Pliny to Trajan says that it would be impossible
to force Christians into offering religious rites to the emperor’s statue. He there-
fore required accused and lapsed Christians who wished to escape punishment
to offer wine and incense before statues of the emperor, in order to demonstrate
that they were not currently adhering to the Christian cult (Pliny, Ep. 10.96).
After the time of Constantine, the custom that the emperor’s image be wor-
shipped was dropped, but it still demanded honor and respect, and the pun-
ishments for insulting imperial portraits became, if anything, more drastic than
before. A series of imperial responses and edicts made it clear that the imperial
image, even if it was not to receive a cult, was nevertheless to be treated with def-
erence.50 For example, an edict of the emperor Theodosius II and of the caesar
Valentinian, issued in 425, stated:
Whenever any statues are erected, or pictures are publicly placed in Our honor, whether
this is done on festival days (as is customary), or on ordinary days, a judge shall be there,
Origenes Werke, vol. 2 (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1899), 253. Pagans accused of not respecting their own
images: Arnobius, Adversus gentes 6.21–22; ed. Concetto Marchesi, Arnobii Adversus nationes,
libri VII (Turin: Paravia, 1953), 334–36. See John Granger Cook, Roman Attitudes toward the
Christians (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 193.
49 Seneca, De beneficiis, 3.26.1–2.
50 Jones, Between Pagan and Christian, 18, 109.
86 Henry Maguire
without, however, permitting the inappropriate ceremony of adoration; so that by his pres-
ence he may honor the date and the place consecrated to our memory.51
The decrees of church councils also spoke of the honor due to the emperor’s
image. Thus the Council of Constantinople, held in 553, spoke of “doing rever-
ence before” the image of the emperor.52 In its definition of the nature of icons,
the second Council of Nicaea, convened in 787, decreed as follows:
When the population rushes with candles and incense to meet the garlanded images and
icons of the emperor, it does not do so to honor panels painted with wax colors, but to
honor the emperor himself.53
In the late antique period the penalties for dishonoring the emperor’s image were
potentially severe. The most vivid illustrations of the dangers of insulting imperi-
al statues at this time come from the speeches of Libanius and describe incidents
in Antioch and Edessa. In his nineteenth oration the orator begs Theodosius I to
show clemency on his native city Antioch, after rioters there, objecting to an in-
crease in taxes, had thrown down statues of the emperor and his family, even
going so far as to drag their effigies through the streets and smash them into
pieces. As part of his plea, Libanius cites the precedent of a previous disturbance
at Edessa, where the disgruntled citizens cast down a bronze statue of Constanti-
us, turned it face down, and thrashed its back side, as if it were a naughty school
boy. Libanius adds that as they inflicted this chastisement, the Edessenes claimed
that “anyone visited with such a whipping was far removed from imperial dig-
nity” (Libanius, Or. 19.48 [Norman, LCL]). The orator goes on to praise Con-
stantius for his mild reaction to this insult, for that emperor did not seek any
sanctions against the city. This, says Libanius, is precisely the way that the em-
peror Theodosius should behave in the case of the defamation of his own statues
at Antioch.
In the twentieth oration, Libanius thanks the emperor for his relatively mild
reaction to the desecration of his statues. He says that Theodosius at first had
stripped the city of her metropolitan title, sentenced its leading citizens to death,
and imposed sanctions on the city, including the closing of the hippodrome, the
theatre, and the baths. But, at the last moment, in an act of mercy, these penalties
were rescinded (Libanius, Or. 20).54 The emperor’s clemency, adds Libanius, was
51 Cod. Iust. 1.24.2; trans. Samuel P. Scott, The Civil Law, vol. 12 (Cincinnati: Central Trust
Company, 1932), 24.2.
52 Concilium Constantinopolitanum II, 12; ed. Norman P. Tanner, Decrees of the Ecumenical
Councils, vol. 1 (Washington, D. C.: Georgetown University, 1990), 119.
53 Joannes Mansi, Sacrorum conciliorum nova et amplissima collectio, vol. 12 (Florence and
Venice, Antonio Zatta, 1766), 1014. See Hans Belting, Likeness and Presence: A History of the
Image before the Era of Art (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994), 102–3.
54 On this episode, see Dorothea R. French, “Rhetoric and the Rebellion of A. D. 387 in An-
tioch,” Historia 47 (1998): 468–84; Maud W. Gleason, “Festive Satire: Julian’s Misopogon and
the New Year at Antioch,” JRS 76 (1986): 106–19, esp. 114.
all the more remarkable given the severity of the offence. He said that once the
emperor Constantine had been the victim of catcalls and abuse from the popula-
tion of Rome, but Constantine made no move to punish the perpetrators. Now
Theodosius, however, has shown an even greater forbearance, because to phys-
ically insult the statues of an emperor is a much worse crime than mere verbal
insults (Libanius, Or. 19.19; 20.24).
To desecrate the image of the emperor, therefore, was a serious matter, more
serious than to blaspheme the image of a pagan deity. It is no wonder that we do
not find emperors portrayed on floors.
Conclusion
The foregoing pages have shown that Cyprus preserves a rich series of late an-
tique floor mosaics depicting pagan deities, dating from the second to the fifth
centuries. But floors in the early Christian churches of Cyprus never portray
Christ or biblical figures, even though they sometimes show Christian symbols,
such as the vine. The absence of Christian figures from the pavements of Cyprus
was probably not due to a blanket avoidance of Christian portraits, because such
images do appear on the walls and vaults of Christian churches on the island,
at least from the sixth century onwards. In the wider late antique world outside
of Cyprus we encounter the same phenomenon of pagan deities appearing on
floors even while Christian portraits, with rare exceptions, were excluded from
pavements but accepted on the upper parts of buildings. Contemporary syn-
agogues, on the other hand, preserve a wide variety of biblical figures on their
floors. The emperor was another figure who was never portrayed on pavements,
because of the deference that was due to his person, and the severity of the pun-
ishments for desecrating his effigies.
What, then, is the significance of the distribution of pagan, Christian, and
imperial portrait images on pavements, walls, and vaults respectively? In answer
to this question we can look briefly at two contemporary debates concerning
late antique art, considering what light floor mosaics can throw on these ques-
tions. The first of the debates concerns the relationship of Christian to imperi-
al art. Recently, there have been two major, even emblematic, publications con-
cerned with this problem. First, Thomas Mathews in his book The Clash of Gods,
first published in 1993, attacked the notion of a connection between early Chris-
tian and Roman imperial art. In framing his arguments, Mathews concentrated
primarily on the supposed transfer of iconographic motives and compositions,
which he vehemently denied. He wrote in the epilogue to the revised edition of
his book:
The art historians who in the 1930s proposed to interpret the imagery of Early Christian
art as an adaptation of imperial motives and compositions attached an excessive value to
88 Henry Maguire
the forms and trappings of imperial rule. Christ, they imagined, must have been assimi-
lated into the person and role of the emperor in order to acquire the dignity and majesty
that were his due.55
On the other hand, Hans Belting, in his book Bild und Kult, first published in
1990, saw a strong link between early Christian and imperial art, but primarily in
terms of cult, rather than iconography. He wrote: “It is inconceivable … that an
icon of God, once introduced, would have been denied the ritual of cult already
in use by the imperial icon.”56
From our survey of the evidence provided by floor mosaics, one important
conclusion emerges: the status of Christian images shared some important fea-
tures with that of imperial images, and this status differed from that of images of
pagan gods. It was the church father St. Basil the Great who provided the most
succinct characterization of the relationship between the imperial and the Chris-
tian image. Basil used the relationship of the emperors with their portraits as a
mirror of the relationship between God the Father and God the Son. He said that
just as the emperor’s image shares glory and power with the emperor himself, so
there is one glory shared by Father and Son. He then adds the corollary that the
honor that we address to the image is also transmitted to its model.57 Given this
close relationship between the images of the emperor and of Christ, it is logical
that neither Christian nor imperial images could be desecrated by being placed
underfoot. The absence of imperial and Christian figures on floors is an observ-
able fact, not mediated by the biases and revisions of texts, but seen in the many
surviving floors from late antiquity. The evidence of floor mosaics does not nec-
essarily argue for an identification of Christ with the emperor, but only shows
that the images of Christ had a special sanctity that was shared with images of the
emperor, and also that this kind of sanctity existed for imperial portraits before it
was accorded to portraits of Christ.
The second contemporary debate that is illuminated by the floor mosaics con-
cerns the interpretation of mythological subjects in late antique art – were they
cultic in addition to their other functions? Here we can return to the mytholog-
ical mosaics in the House of Aion at Paphos. Are we, in interpreting this pave-
ment, to follow Daszweski and Bowersock and read them as images of salvation
through Dionysos, that is, as illustrative of a deeply philosophical paganism? Or
should we follow the skeptical views recently expressed by Alan Cameron, who
sees the fifth-century Dionysiaca by Nonnus not as a promotion of Dionysos as
a savior god, a rival of Christ, but more simply as a celebration of wine? Cam-
55 Thomas F. Mathews, The Clash of Gods: A Reinterpretation of Early Christian Art, rev. and
enl. ed. (Princeton: Princeton, 1999), 191.
56 Hans Belting, Bild und Kult – eine Geschichte des Bildes vor dem Zeitalter der Kunst (Mu-
nich: C. H. Beck, 1990). The quotation is taken from the English translation, Likeness and Pres-
ence, 113.
57 De Spiritu Sancto, 17 (PG 32:149); translation in Mango, Art of the Byzantine Empire, 47.
eron writes: “There are countless references in the Dionysiaca to pagan cults,
rites, temples, altars, sacrifices, and statues, but all are literary and antiquarian
rather than specific and devotional.”58 As a corollary, Cameron further states
that “Dionsysiac scenes in traditional domestic contexts like silver plate and tex-
tiles are best read as decorative rather than devotional.”59
An examination of the wider context of floor mosaics can lead us to a middle
way of reading the images at the House of Aion. First, we need to consider what
motifs the Christians were prepared to allow on their own floors, if they did not
permit biblical figures. The designs that did appear in church pavements were
primarily geometric patterns and interlaces, plants, animals and nature personi-
fications evocative of God’s creation, and also symbolic motifs evoking Christian
ideas. The latter included the symbolic vine that we saw earlier in the church at
Paphos Chrysopolitissa (fig. 3, p. 282).
The sign of the cross also frequently appeared on floors. Since, in 427, an
edict of Theodosius II specifically prohibited anyone from placing the “sign of
Christ” on the pavement, the relative frequency of its appearance on the floors of
churches deserves some comment. The decree stipulates explicitly that:
No one shall be permitted to carve or to paint the sign (signum) of Christ the Savior upon
the floor or the pavement or on marble slabs placed on the ground; on the contrary, any
such that are found shall be removed, and whoever attempts to contravene our statutes
shall be punished by the greatest penalty.60
Furthermore, the prohibition against crosses on the floor, lest they be trodden
underfoot, was reiterated in 692 by the Quinisext council.61
Nevertheless, the Theodosian edict was not obeyed. Sometimes the crosses in
pavements took a disguised form, perhaps in deference to the law, as we found
in the case of the Solomon’s knot in the diakonikon of the church at Kourion.
Outside of Cyprus we also find hidden crosses, for example in the sixth-centu-
ry Striding Lion mosaic from Antioch, where they appear in the border merged
with the petals of flowers (fig. 8, p. 287).62
But in many cases, in spite of the edict, crosses were placed on the floors of
churches openly and without disguise, as we have seen also in the mosaics of
the diakonikon at Kourion, where they were reiterated in the geometrical frames
of the pavements. In another Cypriot church, the early seventh-century basil-
ica at Katalymata ton Plakoton, a prominent cross marks the threshold of the
sanctuary platform.63 This goes to show that texts such as edicts often give an
58 Alan Cameron, The Last Pagans of Rome (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 701.
59 Cameron, The Last Pagans of Rome, 701.
60 Cod. Iust 1.8; translation by Mango, The Art of the Byzantine Empire, 36.
61 Mansi, Sacrorum conciliorum 11:976.
62 Doro Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1947), 321,
plate 74.
63 Eleni Procopiou, “The Katalymata ton Plakoton: New Light from the Recent Archaeolog-
90 Henry Maguire
unreliable picture of the reality that is revealed by archaeology. It is on the hum-

ble floors that we see what people really felt about placing the signs of Christ on
pavements – they were prepared to have the crosses there, even if they were il-
legal.64 It is probable that the repeated crosses on the pavements had a protective
function. Their apotropaic force is confirmed by an early fifth-century mosaic in
the so-called complex of Eustolios at Kourion (fig. 9, p. 288). The central field
of this mosaic presents four large Maltese crosses marked by jewels at the ends
of their arms; the crosses are somewhat disguised by being nested in a guilloche
framed by poised squares. In front of this mosaic is a well-known inscription that
spells out the function of the crosses in an earthquake-prone city; the crosses
provided better protection for the building than firmly built masonry construct-
ed of stones bonded together with metal cramps:
Not by big stones, not by firm iron and tawny bronze, and not even by steel are these build-
ings girded, but by the much-invoked signs of Christ.65
The spelling out of Christ’s name at the end of this inscription shows that this
too could appear on a floor. The name of Christ could be walked upon, but not
his image.66
The signs of Christ and the letters of his name had a very different status from
his portraits. Late Roman and early Byzantine coinage clearly demonstrates that
the cross and the chi rho were accorded less honor than portraits of either Christ
or the ruler. Thus, on the mid fourth-century coins of Magnentius, where for the
first time the christogram appears on its own as an isolated motif occupying the
whole of one side of the coin, the symbol is struck on the reverse above the mint
mark, showing that it is accorded a lower status than the bust of the emperor on
the obverse (figs. 10 and 11, p. 289).67 From this point on, until the reign of Jus-
tinian II in the late sixth century, the cross is always on the reverse and the em-
peror on the obverse of the coin. Only in the coinage of Justinian II, when for the
first time Christ appears in human form on the coinage, does the emperor, hold-
ing the cross, occupy the reverse, again above the mint mark, while the bust of
Christ fills the principal face of the coin on the obverse (figs. 12 and 13, p. 290).68
ical Research in Cyprus,” in Cyprus and the Balance of Empires: Art and Archaeology from Justin-
ian I to the Coeur de Lion, ed. Charles A. Stewart, Thomas W. Davis, and Annemarie Weyl Carr
(Boston: ASOR, 2014), 69–98, fig. 6.19. A listing of crosses in floor mosaics of the Holy Land is
provided by Talgam, Mosaics of Faith 475–77 n. 46.
64 On the lack of enforcement of imperial legislation, see Jones, Between Pagan and Chris-
tian, 24.
65 Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 41–42, plates 28, fig. 45 and 29, fig. 46.
66 Another example of Christ’s name spelled out in an inscription on a floor mosaic in Cy-
prus was found in the bema of the five-aisled building under the Basilica of Soloi; Michaelides,
Cypriot Mosaics, 33, plate 15, fig. 34 (ΧΡΙCΤΕ ΒΟΗΘΕΙ ΤΩ ΨΗΦΩCΑΝΤΕΙ).
67 Dominique Hollard and Fernando López Sánchez, Le Chrisme et le Phénix: images mon-
étaires et mutations idéologiques au IVe siècle (Bordeaux: de Boccard, 2014), 69–77, 83, figs. 1, 2.
68 Philip Grierson, Catalogue of the Byzantine Coins in the Dumbarton Oaks Collection and
Since in the mosaics of Cyprus and elsewhere pagan gods and goddesses reg-
ularly appeared on floors, while portraits of Christ, his saints, and his prophets
did not, the pagan images cannot be seen as cultic in the same sense as the Chris-
tian icons on walls and vaults, however much superficial resemblance there may
be between their compositions. Rather we should compare the pagan figures on
the pavement at the House of Aion to the Christian motifs that were allowed on
floors, that is, to symbols such as the vine and to signs such as crosses. The my-
thological images should be interpreted as symbols or allegories of religious and
philosophical ideas rather than as cult images. The Christian portrait images, on
the other hand, embodied the subject more directly and completely. They were
not mere allegories or symbols – or signs of the deity, like the cross. Because of
the doctrine of the incarnation, Christ, as a human, was “present” in his image, in
the same way that the emperor could be said to be “present” in his. Hence neither
could be placed underfoot. The reverence due to Christ as a visible human being
was akin to the reverence due to the emperor.
The absence of Christian portrait images on pavements was inextricably
linked with the veneration of icons: the more honor was accorded to images
of Christ and the saints, the less thinkable was it to place them underfoot. The
evidence of floor mosaics shows that as early as the fourth century there was a
fundamental distinction between art with pagan subjects, on the one hand, and
Christian art on the other. Portrayals of mythological deities functioned as dec-
oration, as evocations of the good life, as indicators of cultural status, or as alle-
gories. Christian portraits had an altogether different status; like the effigies of
the emperor they were revered and could not be dishonored. As Epiphanius was
well aware, by his time in this respect they were already icons.
in the Whittemore Collection, vol. 2, Phocas to Theodosius III, 602–717, part 2, Heraclius Constan-
tine to Theodosius III (641–717) (Washington, D. C.: Dumbarton Oaks, 1968), 569–70, plate 37.
Mosaic Workshops in Cyprus from the Fourth
to the Seventh Centuries CE
Two Parallel Lives?1
Demetrios Michaelides
Despite narratives portraying Cyprus’s early evangelization in the mid-first cen-

tury by Saints Paul and Barnabas (Acts 11:19–20; 13:1–2), several centuries passed
before Christianity was firmly established on the island. In fact, the first concrete
reference to episcopal seats on the island, from which we can infer the appear-
ance of recognized cult centers, comes as late as 325 CE.2 It was then that three
Cypriot bishops, Cyril of Paphos, Gelasius of Salamis, and Spyridon of Tremi-
thous, took part in the First Ecumenical Council of Nicaea convened by Con-
stantine.3 The fact that Cyril of Paphos headed the delegation comes as no sur-
prise: Paphos had been the official capital of Cyprus since at least the mid-second
century BCE. During this long period, it had remained the island’s most impor-
tant city, and was rivalled only by Salamis, which appears to have always vied for
supremacy.4
The first half of the fourth century marked a turning point in the development
of both cities and for Cyprus as a whole. On the one hand, the so-called Edict
1 For another article treating a similar subject and on similar lines but also containing some
different information and examples, see Demetrios Michaelides, “Mosaic Decoration in Early
Christian Cyprus,” in Church Building in Cyprus (Fourth to Seventh Centuries): A Mirror of In-
tercultural Contacts in the Eastern Mediterranean, Mainz, 9–11 June 2016, ed. Marietta Horster,
Doria Nicolaou, and Sabine Roge, Schriften des Instituts für Interdiziplinäre Zypern-Studien 12
(Münster/New York: Waxmann 2018), 213–44.
2 For the meagre early archaeological evidence of Christianity in Cyprus, see Demetrios
Michaelides, “Archeologia paleocristiana a Cipro,” in XLIV Corso di Cultura sull’Arte Ravennate
e Bizantina: “Le grandi isole del Mediterraneo orientale tra tarda antichità e medioevo,” Raven-
na, 19–21 settembre 1998, in memoria di Luciano Laurenzi, ed. Raffaella Farioli Campanati (Ra-
venna: Edizioni del Girasole, 2001), 179–239; Athanasios Papageorghiou and Andreas Foulias,
“L’architecture tombale à Chypre (du Ier au Xe siècle),” Cahiers du Centre d’Études Chypriotes
43 (2013): 202–206.
3 On the Cypriot representation at Nicaea, see Andreas Mitsides, “Η Εκκλησία της Κύπρου
από τον δεύτερο μέχρι τον πέμπτο αιώνα,” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου. Τόμος Γ', Βυζαντινή Κύπρος,
ed. Theodoros Papadopoulos (Nicosia: Makarios III Foundation, 2005), 109 and n. 8 with bib-
liography.
4 See, for example, Terrence Bruce Mitford, “Roman Cyprus,” in ANRW 2.7.2, 1312. See also
the discussion by Stephanos Efthymiadis in this volume.
94 Demetrios Michaelides
of Milan of 313 CE gave a firm footing to the new religion; on the other, the de
vastating earthquakes of the first half of the fourth century ruined the large cities
of the island. In the rebuilding that followed, new geo-political factors led Em-
peror Constantius II (337–361) to give priority to Salamis, which was rebuilt and
renamed Constantia as the island’s new capital.5 Paphos was also rebuilt and, de-
spite its political demotion, continued to thrive and prosper in parallel with the
new capital. It would appear that the first basilicas were constructed on the island
during the period of rebuilding that followed the earthquakes – the most splen-
did ones, naturally, in Paphos and Salamis.6 For their embellishment, traditional
means of decoration were employed, namely wall paintings and mosaics for the
walls, and mosaics for the floors. Opus sectile decoration, something for which
the later basilicas of the island are renowned, was not to appear for some time.
The present chapter discusses the mosaic floors which survive in numbers
large enough to allow an understanding of the cultural and artistic environment
of the island during this period. We know very little about the Roman mosaics of
Salamis. Only a handful were recorded before the Turkish invasion and occupa-
tion of the northern part of the island in 1974, after which no official excavations
have been conducted.7 Fortunately, Paphos, with its splendid floors, decorating
many wealthy residences,8 more than compensates for the paucity of Salamis.
Cypriot mosaic production reached a high peak during the Severan period, in
the late second and early third century CE, and the emergence of different mo-
saic workshops is already detectable. Also clear at this early stage are the close
similarities that exist between the products of the Cypriot workshops and those
5 On the complex issue of the date and the renaming of Salamis, see Noel Lenski, Constan-
tine and the Cities: Imperial Authority and Civic Politics (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylva-
nia Press, 2016), 158–159.
6 E. g., the basilica known as the Chrysopolitissa (or Agia Kyriake) in Paphos, and that of
Saint Epiphanios in Salamis. See infra.
7 Demetrios Michaelides, “A New Orpheus Mosaic in Cyprus,” in Acts of the International
Colloquium “Cyprus between the Orient and the Occident,” Nicosia, 8–14 September 1985, ed. Vas-
sos Karageorghis (Nicosia: Department of Antiquities, 1986), 473–74. For the wall mosaics of
the baths of the gymnasium, see Stefano Tortorella, “Hinc aquila ferebat caelo sublimis idaeum
(Petr. Sat. 83,3): Il mito di Ganimede in un emblema da Privernum e in altri mosaici romani,”
Musiva et Sectilia 1 (2004): 44, 54–55, with bibliography; Luisa Musso, “The Northern Face of
Cyprus: The Mosaics and their Relation to Eastern Mediterranean Production,” in The Northern
Face of Cyprus: New Studies in Cypriot Archaeology and Art History, ed. Larife Summerer and
Hazar Kaba (Istanbul: Ege Yayınları, 2016), 81–85; and more recently Pelli Mastora, Επεμβάσεις
στα εντοίχια ψηφιδωτά κατά τη βυζαντινή περίοδο (PhD thesis, Open University of Cyprus, Ni-
cosia, 2017), 341–50, and esp. 343 n. 3 and 346 n. 21, for the deterioration of their condition since
the 1974 occupation of the northern part of the island.
8 See, among others, Wiktor A. Daszewski, “Figural Mosaics from Paphos: Subjects, Style
and Significance,” in Wiktor A. Daszewski and Demetrios Michaelides, Mosaic Floors in Cyprus
(Ravenna: Lapucci-Edizioni del Girasole, 1988), 13–77; Demetrios Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics,
2nd rev. ed. (Nicosia: Department of Antiquities, 1992), 12–22, 24–25, 28–31; Christine Kondo-
leon, Domestic and Divine: Roman Mosaics in the House of Dionysos (Ithaca/London: Cornell
Mosaic Workshops in Cyprus 95
of the Syro-Palestinian coast, and Antioch in particular – something not surpris-

ing, given the geographic location of the island. In fact, Antioch and its region
continued to be the major source of influence on the mosaics of the succeeding,
Christian era, during which political and religious reasons kept Cyprus and An-
tioch in close relationship, whether friendly or hostile.9
The analysis of a number of geometric patterns – such as the very character-
istic simple latch-key meander and the running peltae10 – has led to the identifi-
cation of the main Paphos workshop.11 These motifs are widely used throughout
the Roman world, but the examples from a number of buildings in Paphos are
well-nigh identical in composition, color combinations, and even the materials
used, to such an extent that in some cases it is difficult to tell them apart.
As for the similarities of the Paphos mosaics with those of Antioch and the
East Mediterranean coast, these are evident in terms of iconography, composi-
tion and decorative repertory.12 The following few examples suffice, I believe, to
illustrate this. The Narcissus from the House of Dionysos in Paphos follows the
same iconographic model as the Narcissus from the homonymous house in An-
tioch.13 The panel of animals walking randomly in different directions in empty
space, in the House of the Four Seasons in Paphos, finds a similar composition-
al model in the bird panel from the House of the Red Pavement in Antioch.14
It is, however, the geometric repertory that betrays the closest affinities, one ex-
ample being the rather infrequently-used frame of three-dimensional solids.15
This is an architectural motif which, of course, does not make much sense on a
flat floor, but was popular all the same with the eastern workshops. Of a number
of examples, I mention the frame of the panel of the Four Seasons in the House
9 George F. Hill, A History of Cyprus, Vol. 1: To the Conquest by Richard Lion Heart (Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1940), 273–79; Andreas Mitsides, “Η Εκκλησία της
Κύπρου,” and “Το αυτοκέφαλον της Εκκλησίας της Κύπρου,” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου. Τόμος
Γ', Βυζαντινή Κύπρος, ed. Theodoros Papadopoulos (Nicosia: Makarios III Foundation, 2005),
129–54 (esp. 123–27) and 129–38 respectively, with bibliography.
10 Close variants of Catherine Balmelle et al., Le décor géométrique de la mosaïque romaine:
Répertoire graphique et descriptif des compositions linéaires et isotropes (Paris: Picard, 1985), plate
188c and plate 222f, respectively.
11 Demetrios Michaelides, “New Mosaics from Paphos,” in La mosaïque gréco-romaine VII,
Tunis, 2–8 Octobre 1994, ed. Mongi Ennaifer and Alain Rebourg (Tunis: Institut National du Pa-
trimoine, 1999), 88.
12 See Demetrios Michaelides, “Cypriot Mosaics: Local Traditions and External Influences,”
in Early Society in Cyprus, ed. Edgar Peltenburg (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1989),
272–92.
13 Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 33, no. 14 and Doro Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1947), II, plate X, respectively.
14 Michaelides, “New Mosaics from Paphos,” plate XXI and Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements
II, plate CLXXVIIIa; a better photograph is available in Fatih Cimok, Antioch Mosaics (Istanbul:
A Turizm Yayınları, 2000), 86–87.
15 Balmelle et al., Le décor géométrique, plate 99f: “Row of tangent cuboids.”
of Dionysos in Paphos, and those of several panels in the House of the Red Pave-
ment in Antioch.16
The fourth century marks a second high point in Cypriot mosaic production,
with the House of Aion in Paphos exhibiting the best hitherto known examples
(fig. 1, p. 291).17 The panels in the House of Aion, of exquisite quality and rich-
ness of composition, carry on the Greco-Roman mythological tradition, betray-
ing once again the strong ties that exist between Cyprus and the Syrian work-
shops – especially in the choice of a theme like Cassiopeia and the Judgement of
the Nereids in its center. This is a theme known, so far, from only three repre-
sentations from the entire ancient world – all three mosaic pavements from the
eastern Mediterranean: the one from Paphos, and two from Syria, in Apamaea
and Palmyra.18
A coin of emperor Licinius (308–324) found embedded in the mortar gives a
good terminus post quem for the laying of the mosaic of the House of Aion. This
means that the floor was made and used soon after the Edict of Milan (313) and
at a time that Christianity and other religions co-existed on the island. According
to its excavator, Wiktor A. Daszewski, the pavement is imbued with a theologi-
cal message promoting Dionysos as a monotheistic god challenging Christianity.
According to Daszewski, this occurred in a general climate during which the em-
peror Julian the Apostate tried to reintroduce pagan cults in what was by then a
Christian Empire.19 Daszewski’s interpretation is much debated, as the scholarly
literature demonstrates.20 Most interpretations see the mosaic as the product of
16 Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 24–25, no. 8; Cimok, Antioch Mosaics, 70–84, respectively.
17
Wiktor A. Daszewski, Dionysos der Erlöser: griechische Mythen im spätantiken Cypern
(Mainz: Zabern, 1985); Daszewski, “Figural Mosaics from Paphos,” 56–70; Michaelides, Cypriot
Mosaics, 54–63, nos. 27–31.
18 Henri Stern, Les mosaïques des maisons d’Achille et de Cassiopée à Palmyre (Paris:
P. Geuthner, 1977) and Janine Balty, Mosaïques antiques de Syrie (Brussels: Centre belge de re-
cherches archéologiques à Apamée de Syrie, 1977), 82–87, respectively. For a discussion of the
myth of Cassiopeia and its Syrian connections, see Jean Charles Balty, “Une version orientale
méconnue du mythe de Cassiopée,” in Mythologie gréco-romaine. Mythologies périphériques,
Études d’iconographie, ed. Lilly Kahil and Christian Augé (Paris: Éditions du Centre national de
la recherche scientifique, 1981) and Wiktor A. Daszewski, “Cassiopeia in Paphos, a Levantine
Going West,” in Acts of the International Colloquium “Cyprus between the Orient and the Occi-
dent,” Nicosia, 8–14 September 1985, ed. Vassos Karageorghis (Nicosia: Department of Antiqui-
ties, 1986), 454–71.
19 Daszewski, Dionysos der Erlöser, 38–45.
20 As well as the works already cited, see also Johannes G. Deckers, “Dionysos der Erlöser?
Bemerkungen zur Deutung der Bodenmosaiken in ‘Haus des Aion’ in Nea-Paphos auf Cypern
durch W. A. Daszewski,” RQ 81 (1986): 145–172; Glen W. Bowersock, Hellenism in Late Antiquity
(Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 1990), 49–53; Janine Balty, Mosaïques antiques du Proche-
Orient: chronologie, iconographie, interprétation (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1995), 275–89; Marie-
Henriette Quet, “La mosaïque dite d’Aiôn et les Chronoi d’Antioche,” in La “crise” de l’Empire
romain de Marc Aurèle à Constantin: Mutations, continuités, ruptures, ed. Marie-Henriette Quet
(Paris: Presses de l’ Université Paris-Sorbonne, 2006), 511–90; Elizabeth Kessler-Dimin, “Tradi-
tion and Transition: Hermes Kourotrophos in Nea Paphos,” in Antiquity in Antiquity: Jewish
an era of polemics between pagans and Christians. It can thus be taken as ev-
idence that Christianity had by then taken root on the island.
Whatever the intended message behind the representations in the House of
Aion mosaics, there is no doubt that the old traditions were still alive and well on
the island after 313, even if now understood and treated in a different way. One ex-
ample of this is the Theseus mosaic in the homonymous villa in Paphos. This was
made in the third century in the full Greco-Roman tradition, but was badly dam-
aged during the fourth-century earthquakes – and, Christianity notwithstanding,
it was carefully and lovingly restored in a spirit not commonly found in ancient
times.21 The restoration primarily involved the faces of Theseus and Crete, which
were entirely remade. Naturally, despite the care taken, the stylistic development
in the time that elapsed between the laying of the original mosaic and the repair
could not be masked. This is most evident when one compares the gentle colors
and shading of the faces of the Labyrinth and Ariadne of the original composition,
who with their gaze partake in the violent actions being depicted, with the highly
contrasting areas of color and the strongly outlined features of Theseus and Crete,
which were remade in the fourth century. Despite their wide, staring eyes, Theseus
and Crete somehow remain uninvolved with what is going on around them, and
reflect a shift toward what would eventually become Byzantine art.
Other mosaics made ex novo in the fourth century, like the poorly preserved
Neptune and Amphitrite decorating a bedroom in the same villa,22 demonstrate
that the high artistry of the Theseus panel was not an isolated phenomenon in
the city. A fragment from Lambousa23 and the mosaics at Akaki, recently ex-
cavated by Fryni Hadjichristophi for the Department of Antiquities, show that
such high-quality floors were not the sole privilege of fourth-century Paphos.24
and Christian Pasts in the Greco-Roman World, ed. Gregg Gardner and Kevin L. Osterloh (Tüb-
ingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 255–81; Marek Olzewski, “The Iconographic Programme of the
Cyprus Mosaic from the House of Aion Reinterpreted as an Anti-Christian Polemic,” in Et in
Arcadia ego: Studia memoriae professoris Thomae Mikocki dicata, ed. Witold Dobrowolski (War-
saw: University of Warsaw, 2013), 207–38, all with extensive bibliography. Also, most recently,
John Ladouceur, “Christians and Pagans in Roman Nea Paphos: Contextualizing the ‘House of
Aion’ Mosaic”, UCLA Historical Journal, 29/1 (2018): 49–64. https://escholarship.org/uc/item/
4hb1v94d. Brief but useful summaries of the various interpretations are provided by Kessler-
Dimin “Traditions and Transitions,” 259–60, and Olszewski, “The Iconographic Programme of
the Cyprus Mosaic,” 209–10.
21 Wiktor A. Daszewski, La mosaïque de Thésée (Warsaw: Éditions Scientifiques de Pologne,
1977), 14–16.
22 Daszewski, “Figural Mosaics from Paphos,” 1988, 70–72; Wiktor A. Daszewski and De-
metrios Michaelides, Guide to the Paphos Mosaics (Nicosia: Bank of the Cyprus Cultural Foun-
dation, 1988), 60; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 73, no. 39.
23 Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 64, no. 32.
24 Unpublished but there are many reports in the daily press and on the internet. See, for
example: “Akaki-Piadhia,” Republic of Cyprus Department of Antiquities, accessed 24 April
2019, http://www.mcw.gov.cy/mcw/da/da.nsf/All/0301DD3B26AA989AC2257EBB00447C40?
OpenDocument; “Cyprus Reveals Rare Roman Horse Race Mosaic in Akaki,” BBC News,
The first large basilicas began to be erected at about this time. One of the most
splendid is the Chrysopolitissa in Paphos, which preserves part of its fourth-cen-
tury decoration in the space in front of the bema (fig. 2, p. 292). This, of course,
is aniconic, in concordance with an early manifestation of iconophobia.25 What
is surprising, however, is how the geometric repertory is suddenly so different.
The motifs themselves are the same as they were before, but the preference is for
relatively simple patterns created with large motifs and a very limited gamut of
colors. The vine, though rather plainly rendered, understandably plays an impor-
tant role. However, only a christogram and a handful of schematically rendered
vessels and a ripidion (fan) relieve the geometric decoration.26
The question that immediately springs to mind is: Who were the makers of
these floors? Did the old workshops adapt their style and repertory to satisfy
their new patrons? Or did new workshops spring up in order to meet the new
demand in the market? I believe that this change in the geometric décor and the
general appearance of these floors is not due to the hand of newly formed work-
shops. Rather, established workshops were affected by the strictures of the new
religious norms, such as the banning of the representation of the human figure
and, later, the prohibition of the use of the Cross and other Christian symbols on
floors by an edict of Theodosius II of 427.27 After all, one has to understand that
the role of these floors was now different. In the past, they decorated wealthy pri-
vate residences, and their role was at once decorative and an exhibition of wealth
and sophistication. Now they were decorating the house of God, which sought
to welcome and at the same time instruct the public. A similarly plain mosaic
including the christogram is found in the basilica of Agios Herakleidios at Po-
litiko,28 but the known Cypriot mosaics from this period are too few to allow us
to establish whether this was the norm, and their simplicity was conditioned by
contemporary thinking, like, for example, Saint Epiphanius’s invective against
images. What is certain is that the pavements of basilicas, although always ex-
published 26 June 2017, http://www.bbc.com/news/av/world-europe-40402816/cyprus-reveals-

rare-roman-horse-race-mosaic-in-akaki; and “Mosaic Unveiled in Akaki Village,” SigmaLive,
published 8 September 2016, http://www.sigmalive.com/en/news/local/147694/mosaic-un
veiled-in-akaki-village.
25 Demetrios Michaelides, “Mosaic Pavements from Early Christian Cult Buildings,” in
Daszewski and Michaelides, Mosaic Floors in Cyprus, 99–100, figs. 12, 13, 18, 19; Demetrios Mi-
chaelides, “The Early Christian Mosaics of Cyprus,” BA 52 (1989): 192–93; Michaelides, Cypriot
Mosaics, 68.
26 For the ripidion, see Demetrios Michaelides, “Mosaic Decoration in Early Christian Cy-
prus,” 223–24.
27 Although this was not applied with the same fervor everywhere. On the prohibition, see
Cyril Mango, The Art of the Byzantine Empire 312–1453: Sources and Documents (Toronto/Buf
falo/London: University of Toronto Press, 1986), 36.
28 Michaelides, “Mosaic Pavements from Early Christian Cult Buildings,” 86, 103, fig. 22;
Eleftherios N. Charalambous, Τεχνολογία κατασκευής των επιδαπέδιων ψηφιδωτών της Κύπρου
(Nicosia: Αριστοτέλειο Πανεπιστήμιο Θεσσαλονίκης, Πολυτεχνική Σχολή, 2012), 404, fig. 136.
cluding the human figure appear increasingly more exuberant in the course of
the fifth and sixth centuries.29
The floor of the adjacent nave in the Chrysopolitissa could hardly be more
different. The excavator, Athanasios Papageorghiou, provisionally dated this
mosaic to the late fourth century.30 While this dating previously seemed plau-
sible to me, since I interpreted the very different decorative repertory and ap-
pearance to the hand of a different workshop,31 I now have serious qualms
about it. The mosaics do not fit with the simplicity of form and constraint of
color that characterize the known mosaics of the late fourth century. Further-
more, although the mosaics do not depict the human figure, the three surviv-
ing panels are not truly aniconic. They illustrate Christian allegories with the
use of simple depictions accompanied by inscriptions, and two of them include
animals. A deer drinking water at a spring illustrates Ps 42:1 (41:2 LXX): [ΟΝ
ΤΡΟΠΟΝ ΕΠIΠ]ΟΘ[Ε]I [Η Ε]Λ[ΑΦΟΣ ΕΠI ΤΑΣ ΠΗΓΑΣ ΤΩΝ ΥΔ]ΑΤΩ[Ν ΟΥΤΩΣ
ΕΠ]ỊΠ̣ Ο̣Θ̣Ε̣I Η̣ Ψ̣ Υ̣ΧΗ ΜΟ[Υ, ΠΡΟΣ ΣΕ (Ο ΘΕΟΣ)] (“Just as a doe longs for the
springs of water so my soul longs for you [O God],” NETS). The first verse of
the gospel of John 15: ΕΓΩ ΕΙΜΙ Η ΑΜΠΕΛΟΣ Η ΑΛΗΘΙΝΗ (“I am the true
vine”) crowns a vine laden with bunches of grapes. A beautifully rendered krat-
er is accompanied by the inscription: Η ΣΟΦΙΑ ΕΚΕΡΑΣΕΝ ΤΟΝ ΑΙΑΥΤΗΣ
ΚΡΑΤΗΡΑ, a variation of “Wisdom has mixed her wine” from Prov 9:2 (fig. 3,
p. 292). What little can be gleaned from the rendering of animals and plants
here, even though significantly more stylized, does not differ greatly from con-
temporary figural mosaics in non-ecclesiastical buildings.32 What is totally dif-
ferent for a basilica is the geometric decoration where the intricate patterns and
their rich coloring, rendered in the “rainbow style,” are anything but plain and
simple. It is this décor that now prompts me to attribute these mosaics to the
early fifth century.33 The term “rainbow style” was used by Doro Levi in his
1947, epoch-making publication of the mosaics of Antioch, in order to describe
decoration in which the breaking down of geometric patterns in rows of dif-
ferent colors or shades of the same color, is reminiscent of the color gradations
29 See also Michaelides, “Mosaic Decoration in Early Christian Cyprus,” 222, 236–37.
30 Athanasios Papageorghiou’s dating is mentioned in Vassos Karageorghis, “Chronique
des fouilles et découvertes archéologiques à Chypre en 1976,” BCH 101 (1977): 776–79, fig. 114.
31 Michaelides, “Mosaic Pavements from Early Christian Cult Buildings,” 92–93; Michae-
lides, “The Early Christian Mosaics of Cyprus,” 193–95; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 68–71.
32 See also Henry Maguire, Nature in the Byzantine art of Cyprus. 24th Annual Lecture in
Memory of Constantinos Leventis, 17 November 2015 (Nicosia: Foundation Anastasios G. Leven-
tis, 2016), 10–11.
33 Charalambos Chotzakoglou, “Βυζαντινή αρχιτεκτονική και τέχνη στην Κύπρο,” in
Ιστορία της Κύπρου. Τόμος Γ', Βυζαντινή Κύπρος, ed. Theodoros Papadopoulos (Nicosia: Ma-
karios III Foundation, 2005), 503–504 is of the same opinion although he puts the mosaics of
both the apse and the nave in the same fifth century phase.
in a rainbow.34 It is characteristic of the mosaics of the eastern Mediterranean

where it appeared for the first time in the second half of the fourth century,
while during the fifth, sixth, and seventh centuries, it became their main char-
acteristic. Although in the case of Chrysopolitissa the “rainbow style” in itself
does not absolutely preclude a late fourth-century date, the evolved form and
the choice of certain patterns, as well as the rendering of the wavy ribbon that is
characteristic of the fifth- and sixth-century workshops of Paphos, now prompt
me to attribute a slightly later date to this floor.
In fact, the color and enrichment of patterns with the inclusion of the occa-
sional bird and fish are typical of the fifth century.35 This period witnessed the
proliferation of basilica buildings and the parallel development of religious and
mythological mosaic decoration, as well as the final demise of the latter. Also,
during this period the style of individual mosaic workshops decorating these
buildings begins to be discernible.
Even as Christian basilicas were decorated with mosaics, mosaics continued
to adorn private houses (one would assume of both Christians and pagans) and
non-ecclesiastical buildings, using age-old mythological representations, clearly
unperturbed and certainly tolerated by the new religion.36 This peaceful co-ex-
istence of Christians and pagans is also reflected in the common cemeteries,37
and is also mentioned in contemporary lives of saints.38
Mosaics of the Fifth Century
Not many examples of fifth-century mythological mosaics survive, but those that
do are of crucial importance. Of these, the most significant is the panel with
the Birth and First Bath of Achilles in the Villa of Theseus in Paphos (fig. 4,
p. 293).39 This is one of four panels that originally decorated the floor of what
has been interpreted as perhaps the throne room of the Paphian residence of the
Roman governor of Cyprus. Small fragments of a second panel survive, too small
to help identify the scene represented; nothing remains of the other two. The
34 Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements, 405–8.

35 Michaelides, “Mosaic pavements from early Christian cult buildings,” 93–94.
36 See also the chapter by Athanasios Papageorghiou and Nikolas Bakirtzis in this volume.
37 Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Early Christian rock-cut tombs at Hagios Georgios, Peyia, Cy-
prus,” in Medieval Cyprus: Studies in Art, Architecture and History in Memory of Doula Mouriki,
ed. Nancy Patterson Ševčenko and Christopher Moss (Princeton: Princeton University Press,
1999), 40–41; Papageorghiou and Foulias, “L’architecture tombale à Chypre,” 204.
38 As for example that of Saint Herakleidios: François Halkin, “Les actes apocryphes de
saint Héraclide de Chypre disciple de l’apôtre Barnabé,” AnBoll 82 (1964): 141.
39 Wiktor A. Daszewski, “Polish excavations at Nea (Kato) Paphos in 1970 and 1971,” RDAC
(1972): 208–16, fig. 2, plates XXXVI–XXXVII; Daszewski, “Figural mosaics from Paphos,” 72–
75; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 91–92, no. 50.
composition of the Birth and First Bath of Achilles, although it includes many
details not found in other representations of the scene,40 falls in line with the
tradition of representing the first bath of a hero. Typical figures for these scenes
include Dionysos (see fig. 1, p. 291) and Alexander the Great,41 with Achilles
being the most widely used; the iconography of the Nativity of Christ belongs to
this type of scene.42 The composition in itself and its iconographic and semantic
relation to the Nativity and First Bath of Christ cannot be stressed enough and,
justifiably, the mosaic has stimulated many interesting discussions and interpre-
tations.43 Some of the more extravagant explanations forget that this is only one
of four panels decorating this room, the one (now lost) at the entrance to the hall
being larger than the rest. So the panel must not be seen and be interpreted in
isolation, especially since there is no way of knowing what the other three panels
represented. It is very likely that here we had a cycle with scenes from the life of
Achilles, but this remains conjectural.
The same hand and the same materials can be recognized in the restoration
of the figure of the personification of Eurotas in the panel of Leda and the Swan
in the nearby House of Aion, suggesting that it was made by the same workshop.
We do not know of other works made by this workshop. This is a rare and inter-
esting glimpse into the different services offered by mosaic workshops.44
Despite some affinities, the decoration of a countryside villa at Alassa was not
made by the same workshop. The overall quality of the geometric decoration of
the mosaic pavements there is generally basic but the one figured panel is spe-
40 Anneliese Kossatz-Deismann, “Achilleus,” LIMC I (1981): 42–45, nos. 1–12; Anneliese
Kossatz-Deismann, “Achilleus,” LIMC Supplementum (2009): 3, no. add. 1.
41 For a brief survey, see Glen W. Bowersock, “Infant Gods and Heroes in Late Antiquity:
Dionysos’ First Bath,” in A Different God: Dionysos and Ancient Polytheism, ed. Renate Schlesier
(Berlin: de Gruyter, 2011), 3–12. For Dionysos, see the example in the nearby House of Aion:
Daszewski, “Figural Mosaics from Paphos,” fig. 28; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 55, no. 27;
and for more examples, Daszewski, “Polish Excavations at Nea (Kato) Paphos,” n. 6. For Al-
exander the Great, see the fourth-century example from Baalbek: Maurice Chéhab, “Mosaïques
du Liban,” Bulletin du Musée de Beyrouth 14/15 (1958–1959): 43–50, plates XI–XXVI; and David
J. A. Ross, “Olympias and the Serpent: The Interpretation of a Baalbek Mosaic and the Date of
the Illustrated Pseudo-Callisthenes,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 26 (1963):
1–21. See also Alfred Hermann, “Das erste Bad des Heilands und des Helden in spätantiker
Kunst und Legende,” JAC 10 (1967): 27–28.
42 See Mastora, Επεμβάσεις στα εντοίχια ψηφιδωτά for a lengthy discussion of the mosaic
and the significance of its iconography (with extensive bibliography).
43 See, amongst others, Francesca Ghedini, “Achille ‘eroe ambiguo’ nella produzione mu-
siva tardo antica,” Antiquité tardive 5 (1997): 240–42; Pelli Mastora, “Achilles First Bath in the
House of Theseus in Nea Paphos and the Nativity of Christ,” Επετηρίδα Κέντρου Επιστημονικών
Ερευνών XXXVII (2013–2014) (Nicosia: 2015) 9–52; Theodoros Mavrogiannis, “La ‘Maison de
Thésée’ à Nea Paphos: Le praetorium de l’époque de Constantin,” in Nea Paphos: Fondation et
développement urbanistique d’une ville chypriote de l’antiquité à nos jours: Actes du 1er colloque
international sur Paphos, Avignon 30, 31 octobre et 1er novembre 2012, ed. Claire Balandier (Bor-
deaux: Ausonius Éditions, 2016), especially 329–37, 339–41.
44 Daszewski, “Figural Mosaics from Paphos,” 75.
cial, even though it is rather crude.45 It demonstrates that a much-honored pagan

theme, like the Toilet of Venus, with the goddess depicted in full frontal nudi-
ty, persisted into the fifth century. Even more interesting for me is the frame of
the panel, which shows that an old-fashioned formula like the so-called Oxford
frame46 was now being copied mechanically, without understanding its organic
and functional significance.47
That highly refined figural work was still possible in the fifth century is proven
by the mosaics of the so-called Annex of Eustolios at Kourion,48 a complex that
appears to have had a public function (its baths) as well as a private one, but cer-
tainly not a religious one. The structure was remodeled and redecorated during
the reign of Theodosius II (c. 408–450), and its decoration makes it of crucial im-
portance for the passage from the ancient to the Christian world. The insertion
of a few masterfully rendered birds and fish in the geometric designs is in accord
with what we have seen happening in contemporary basilicas, and the rest of the
decoration would be just as appropriate in an ecclesiastical context. Unique for
Cyprus is a depiction of ΚΤΙΣΙΣ (the Building Power or Creation) decorating a
focal point in the frigidarium,49 a personification which, like other female person-
ifications of abstract notions, such as ΑΝΑΝΕΩΣΙΣ (Renewal)50 and ΣΩΤΗΡΙΑ
45 Sophocles Hadjisavvas in Vassos Karageorghis, “Chronique des fouilles et découvertes

archéologiques à Chypre en 1984,” BCH 109 (1985), 932–33, fig. 89; Hadjisavvas, “Alassa: A New
Late Cypriot Site,” RDAC (1986): 62–67, 64, plate XVIII:3; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 93,
no. 51.
46 “A rectangular frame having sides which cross each other and project slightly at the
corners;” “Oxford frame,” Oxford English Dictionary Online, http://www.oed.com/view/
Entry/135568.
47 For the Oxford frame in mosaics, see Michaelides, “New Mosaics from Paphos,” 83; and,
more extensively, Michaelides, “Mosaic Decoration in Early Christian Cyprus.”
48 Stylianos Pelekanides and Panajota I.  Atzaka, Σύνταγμα των παλαιοχριστιανικών
ψηφιδωτών δαπέδων της Ελλάδος, Ι: Νησιωτική Ελλάς (Thessalonica: Aristotle University Cen-
tre for Byzantine Research, 1974), 143–44, with earlier bibliography. See also David W. Rupp,
“Eustolios Complex-Area VI,” in An Archaeological Guide to the Ancient Kourion Area and the
Akrotiri Peninsula, ed., Helena Wylde Swiny (Nicosia: Dept. of Antiquities 1982), 132–39; Mi-
chaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 81–87, nos. 45–47.
49 Examples of the personification of Ktisis from Antioch and churches in Cyrenaica in-
clude Antioch: Constantinian Villa, Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements, plate LXI; House of Ge
and the Seasons, upper level, Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements, plates LXXXIIb, CLXIXb; Cimok,
Antioch Mosaics, 281; House of Ktisis, Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements, plate LXXXVa; Cimok,
Ancient Mosaics, 294–95, House of the Sea Goddess, Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements, plate
XXXIIb. See also discussion in Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements, 255–56. Cyrenaica: Qasr-el-
Lebia, Elisabeth Alföldi-Rosenbaum and John Ward-Perkins, Justinianic Mosaic Pavements in
Cyrenaican Churches (Rome: L’ Erma di Bretschneider, 1980), plate 83/3; Tokra, Alföldi-Rosen-
baum and Ward-Perkins, Justinianic Mosaic Pavements, 34 n. 89; Demetrios Michaelides, Re-
view of Justinianic Mosaic Pavements in Cyrenaican Churches, by Elisabeth Alföldi-Rosenbaum
and John Ward-Perkins, Libyan Studies 13 (1982): 117; Ras-el-Hilal, Alföldi-Rosenbaum and
Ward-Perkins, Justinianic Mosaic Pavements, 83/2.
50 E. g., the Mosaic of Ananeosis from Antioch, Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements, 320–21;
Cimok, Ancient Mosaics, 244; and Qasr-el-Lebia in Cyrenaica, Alföldi-Rosenbaum and Ward-
(Salvation),51 were acceptable to Christians and popular even for church decora-
tion in the eastern Mediterranean. In relation to the Annex of Eustolios I tend to
think that the decoration of the southernmost room (of the residential quarter),
which has now disappeared down the cliff-side, included personifications of the
three sisters, Reverence, Prudence (or Temperance), and Piety, mentioned in the
inscription on its threshold: ΕΞΕΔΡΗΝ ΘΑΛΑΜΟΝ ΤΕ ΘΥΩ[ΔΕΑ ΤΟΥΤΟ]Ν
[ΑΔ]ΕΛΦΑΙ ΑΙΔΩ(C) CΩΦΡΟCΥΝΗ ΤΕ ΚΑΙ [ΕΥΣΕΒΙΗ ΚΟΜΕΟΥCΙΝ (“The
sisters Reverence, Prudence [or Temperance], and Piety [to the God] tend this ex-
edra and the fragrant hall”).52. More surprising and telling for this period, charac-
terized by a prevailing spirit of tolerance or co-existence, are two mosaic inscrip-
tions, one mentioning Phoebus (Apollo),53 the other declaring that the building
is held together by the much-venerated symbols of Christ.54 All three inscriptions
hark back to ancient poetic models.
It is in the Eustolios complex that, for the first time in this period, we can at-
tribute the laying of the mosaics to a specific workshop. This workshop also dec-
orated the three-aisled basilica of Agia Trias at Gialousa.55 The mosaic floors of
this basilica fall in two periods, and those that interest us decorate the nave and
the vestibule. They are slightly later than the rest of the floors, which are dated to
the early fifth century by a coin of Honorius (395–423), found in the foundation
of the mosaics of the north aisle. In other words, they date to about the same time
as the mosaics of the Eustolios complex.
The similarities between the mosaics of these two buildings are so striking
that they could not have been made by two different workshops.56 The use and
Perkins, Justinianic Mosaic Pavements, plate 5/3; and Tokra, Alföldi-Rosenbaum and Ward-Per-
kins, Justinianic Mosaic Pavements, 34 n. 89; Michaelides, Review of Justinianic Mosaic Pave-
ments, 117.
51 E. g., the example in the Bath of Apolausis in Antioch, Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements,
plate LXVIIIa; Cimok, Ancient Mosaics, 234–35.
52 Translation of Ino Nicolaou, “Transition from Paganism to Christianity as revealed in
the Mosaic Inscriptions of Cyprus,” Mosaic: Festschrift for A. H. S. Megaw, ed. Judith Herrin,
Margaret Mullett, and Catherine Otten-Froux (London: British School at Athens, 2001), 15. See
also Mitford’s different reading, Terence Bruce Mitford, The Inscriptions from Kourion (Phila-
delphia: The American Philosophical Society, 1971), 354–55, no. 203; and the critique of Bagnall
and Drew-Bear, Roger S. Bagnall and Thomas Drew-Bear, “Documents from Kourion: A Re-
view Article,” Phoenix 27 (1973): 238–39.
53 This is the inscription that mentions Eustolios as the builder of baths. It is very poorly
preserved and the completion of Mitford has been strongly criticized by Bagnall and Drew-
Bear; Mitford, The Inscriptions from Kourion, 356–58, no. 204; Bagnall and Drew-Bear, “Doc-
uments from Kourion,” 239–41. For an alternative, more convincing reading, see Nicolaou,
“Transition from Paganism to Christianity,” 14–15.
54 Mitford, The Inscriptions from Kourion, 353–54, no. 202; Bagnall and Drew-Bear, “Doc-
uments from Kourion,” 242–43.
55 Michaelides, “Mosaic Pavements from Early Christian Cult Buildings,” passim, and see
p. 89 for earlier bibliography; Michaelides, “Cypriot Mosaics: Local Traditions and External In-
fluences,” 285, illustration 32.17; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 78–80, plate 44.
56 For a more detailed discussion of the similarities between the two buildings, see Demet-
coloring of the rainbow motifs are common to the two buildings; in some cases,
the patterns and their rendering, as well as the way in which they are combined,
are identical. For example, the pattern of tangent saltires of intersecting spindles,
creating the effect of intersecting circles, in the center of the nave of Agia Trias,
is very similar to two examples in the Annex of Eustolios. This is especially true
of their rainbow fillers. The scalloped squares in the nave of Agia Trias and the
south portico of Eustolios are identical (figs. 5, p. 293 and 6, p. 294 respec-
tively). The rainbow wave motif paving the entire floor of the basin in the baths
of the Annex of Eustolios is found in one of the panels of the frame of the nave
of Agia Trias. The bands of double latchkey meander separated by rectangular
panels framing the nave of the basilica and the east portico of the Annex of Eus-
tolios are identical. The rendering of the meander is the same, as are several of
the rainbow motifs filling the panels. Even the insertion of inscriptions in the
panels between the meander is the same in the two monuments – and it should
be stressed that inscriptions are by no means a common feature in mosaic floors
of Cypriot basilicas.57
That the same workshop decorated these two buildings leads to very impor-
tant observations. For one, it shows that workshops travelled across the island
and were not stationed in and working for one of the main cities – Agia Trias is
on the Carpas peninsula on the East, not far from the northern coast, while Kou-
rion is on the southern coast towards the West, at a distance of over 155 km as
the crow flies. An even more significant observation is that the same workshop
could decorate both an ecclesiastical building, like the basilica of Agia Trias, and
a civic or private building, like the Annex of Eustolios.
Few other pavements can be safely dated to the fifth century and, in fact,
many mosaics seem to fall in a blur between the fifth and sixth centuries. What
is certain is that major changes are witnessed with the coming of the sixth centu-
ry. This is the period when Justinian’s building program encouraged large-scale
building activity throughout the Byzantine Empire. Procopius hardly mentions
Cyprus in this respect,58 but the surviving buildings and their decoration, no
doubt financed by wealthy individuals, speak for themselves. Basilicas are con-
rios Michaelides, “Some Characteristic Traits of a Mosaic Workshop in Early Christian Cyprus,”
in Actes du VIIIème Colloque international sur la mosaïque antique et médiévale, Lausanne, 6–11
octobre, 1997, ed. Daniel Paunier and Christophe Schmidt (Lausanne: Cahiers d’Archéologique
Romande, 2001), 314–25.
57 Fryni Hadjichristophi, “Mosaic Inscriptions on Early Christian Pavements in Cyprus,”
in The Sweet Land of Cyprus: Papers given at the Twenty-Fifth Jubilee Spring Symposium of By-
zantine Studies, Birmingham, March 1991, ed. Anthony M. Bryer and George S. Georghallides
(Nicosia: The Cyprus Research Centre for the Society of the Promotion of Byzantine Studies,
1993), 419–20; Doria Nicolaou, “Η κυπριακή επιγραφική κατά τον 4ο–7ο μ.Χ αιώνα,” in Epigra-
phy, Numismatics, Prosopography and History of Ancient Cyprus: Papers in Honour of Ino Nico-
laou, ed. Demetrios Michaelides (Uppsala: Åströms Förlag, 2013), 244–72.
58 De aedificis V, ix, 35–36, just lists the restoration of the poor-house and the renewal of the
aqueduct of St. Conon.
structed ex novo or redecorated in a glorious, full-blown rainbow style with an

always richer selection of intricate patterns. A novelty of the period and of that
which followed is the use of mosaics outside the main body of the basilica and
in a funerary context, as is the spreading of basilica construction from the coast
towards the interior of the island. Examples of the first can be found at Agioi
Pente near Geroskipou (fig. 7, p. 294)59 and the ecclesiastical complex at Kataly-
mata ton Plakoton at Akrotiri;60 while the recently excavated basilica of the Agioi
Saranda/Kirklar tekké at Tymbou (fig. 8, p. 295) is an example from the central
Mesaoria plain.61
A staggering number of mosaics were made during this period and the repeat-
ed use of certain decorative designs makes the identification of workshops rela-
tively easy. As examples of well-nigh identical patterns found in different parts
of the island, mention can be made of the interlace of bi-chrome bands forming
squares, circles and irregular curvilinear octagons found in Katalymata ton Pla-
koton at Akrotiri and the Basilica of Chrysopolitissa in Paphos.62 The same can
also be said of the latchkey pattern of swastikas with single returns, with the dec-
oration of the vertical and horizontal spaces between them creating the effect of
59 Demetrios Michaelides, “‘Ayioi Pente’ at Yeroskipou: A New Early Christian Site in Cy-
prus,” Musiva et Sectilia 1 (2004): 188–94, figs. 5–15; “The Excavations of the University of Cy-
prus at ‘Ayioi Pente’ of Yeroskipou,” in The Insular System of Early Byzantine Mediterranean: Ar-
chaeology and History: Proceedings of an International seminar, Nicosia 24–26 October 2007, ed.
Demetrios Michaelides, Philippe Pergola, and Enrico Zanini (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2013), 85–
88, figs. 4, 10; Demetrios Michaelides, “The Significance of the Basilica at Agioi Pente of Yero-
skipou,” in Cyprus and the Balance of Empires: Art and Archaeology from Justinian I to the Coeur
de Lion, ed. Charles Anthony Stewart, Thomas W. Davies, and Annemarie Weyl Carr (Boston:
ASOR, 2014), 6–10, figs. 1.8, 1.9, 1.11.
60 Eleni Procopiou, “L’architecture chrétienne dans la région d’Amathonte à l’époque by-
zantine (IVe–XIIe siècles). Recherches archéologiques 1991–2012,” Cahiers du Centre d’Études
Chypriotes 43 (2013): 253–74; Eleni Procopiou, “The katalymata ton Plakoton: New Light from
the Recent Archaeological Research in Byzantine Cyprus,” in Cyprus and the Balance of Empires:
Art and Archaeology from Justinian I to the Coeur de Lion, ed. Charles Anthony Stewart, Thom-
as W. Davies, and Annemarie Weyl Carr (Boston: ASOR, 2014), 69–98; Eleni Procopiou, “The
Excavations at Akrotiri, Katalymata ton Plakoton, 2007–2012,” in Medieval Cyprus: A Place of
Cultural Encounter, Conference in Münster 6–8 December 2012, ed. Sabine Rogge and Michael
Grünbart (Münster: Waxmann, 2015), 185–218; Charalambous, Τεχνολογία κατασκευής, 217–21,
figs. 175–85.
61 Andreas Foulias, “Άγιοι Σαράντα/Kirklar Tekke: Μια νέα παλαιοχριστιανική βασιλική,”
Κυπριακαί Σπουδαί 69 (2008), 3–24, 247–72; Andreas Foulias, “The Basilica of Agioi Saranta/
Kirklar Tekke in Cyprus and its Mosaics,” in 11th International Colloquium on Ancient Mosaics,
October 16th–20th, 2009, Bursa, Turkey: Mosaics of Turkey and Parallel Developments in the Rest
of the Ancient and Medieval World: Questions of Iconography, Style and Technique from the Begin-
nings of Mosaic until the Late Byzantine Era, ed. Mustafa Shahin (Istanbul: Ege Yayınları, 2012),
381–91; Papageorghiou and Foulias, “L’architecture tombale à Chypre,” 12, fig. 6.; Maguire, Na-
ture in the Byzantine art of Cyprus, 9, figs. 8–9.
62 Procopiou, “The Excavations at Akrotiri, Katalymata ton Plakoton, 2007–2012,” fig. 6.16;
Charalambous, Τεχνολογία κατασκευής, 423, fig. 181; and Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 96,
no. 53, respectively.
an interlace,63 rendered in an identical manner at the “Byzantine House” and the

North Portico of the Atrium of the Basilica of Chrysopolitissa at Paphos, and at
Katalymata ton Plakoton at Akrotiri (figs. 9–11, pp. 296–297).64 The interlace
of bi-chrome bands that form different patterns and cover the whole surface of
the floor is a rather common form of decoration, but it is also telling when the
pattern65 and its rendering are practically identical, as in the case of the baptis-
tery of Basilica A at Agios Georgios of Pegeia and an example from Katalymata
ton Plakoton at Akrotiri.66
As for the general cultural ambience in which these geometric decorations
were created, the Cypriot repertoire remained well-rooted in the eastern Med-
iterranean tradition, as the following examples illustrate. The interlace of cables
forming circles and irregular curvilinear octagons67 is found at both the bap
tistery of Basilica A at Agios Georgios of Pegeia and the House of the Phoenix
in Antioch, in nearly identical form.68 The scalloped square,69 already examin-
ed at the Annex of Eustolios and the basilica of Agia Trias, is found elsewhere
in Cyprus70 and was one of the most widely used patterns in the eastern Med-
iterranean,71 while it is unknown west of the island. The only exception known
to me is a rather crude version in the Basilica of Saint Anastasia of Arkassa on
the island of Carpathos,72 which unsurprisingly is the westernmost island of the
Dodecanese.
63 Balmelle et al., Le décor géométrique de la mosaïque romaine, plate 189a.

64 For the “Byzantine House,” see Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 98, plate 55; Charalam-
bous, Τεχνολογία κατασκευής, 400, fig. 123. For Chrysopolitissa, see Charalambous, Τεχνολογία
κατασκευής, 2012, 403, fig. 134. There is no published photograph of the Akrotiri example.
65 Balmelle et al., Le décor géométrique de la mosaïque romaine, plate 148c: “Orthogonal pat-
tern of squares in bichrome bands interlooped at the angles, with cushions formed of asymmet-
rically shaded bands centered on the interspaces.”
66 Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 105, no. 59; Procopiou, “The Excavations at Akrotiri, Kata-
lymata ton Plakoton,” fig. 6.22.
67 Balmelle et al., Le décor géométrique de la mosaïque romaine, plate 235a: “Polychrome or-
thogonal pattern of circles in asymmetrically shaded bands interlooped tangentially, forming
irregular concave octagons (the axial sides the shorter).”
68 Michaelides, “Mosaic Pavements from Early Christian Cult Buildings,” fig. 64; Cimok,
Ancient Mosaics, 290, respectively.
69 The more verbose definition of the pattern in Balmelle et al., Le décor géométrique de la
mosaïque romaine, plate 341f is: “Polychrome orthogonal pattern of tangent multilobate squares
of scales, radiating in four directions from a central quadrilobe of scales, creating the effect of
a grid of poised tangent concave squares and a diagonal grid of tangent recumbent spindles.”
70 Photograph in the Archives of the Department of Antiquities labelled Basilica of Chryso
politissa, upper level. See Michaelides, “Mosaic Pavements from Early Christian Cult Build-
ings,” fig. 59.
71 For only a few of the multitude of examples from different parts of the eastern Mediter-
ranean, see Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements, 444 and n. 127; Michaelides, “Mosaic Pavements
from Early Christian Cult Buildings,” 135–38 n. 107.
72 Pelekanides and Atzaka, Σύνταγμα των παλαιοχριστιανικών ψηφιδωτών δαπέδων της
Ελλάδος, 55–57, plate 12a.
A Shift to Opus Sectile
Perhaps aided by Justinian’s building program and organization of the marble

trade, the island was, at last, included on the marble trade routes – especially
for the products of the quarries of Prokonnesos near Constantinople. In the
luxurious buildings of Cyprus, marble gradually dominated over all other dec-
oration.
Geometric floor mosaics continued to be made, but it was opus sectile floors
and walls that became the prestigious luxury decoration par excellence.73 Al-
though decorated marble floors were essentially unknown in Cyprus before this
period,74 they suddenly dominated the decoration. On several occasions, the
mosaics (opus tessellatum) of the central nave, the most important section of
the floor of a basilica, were covered by opus sectile, as the remnants on top of the
already discussed allegories in the Chrysopolitissa show (see fig. 3, p. 292).75
Elsewhere, opus sectile was used for the most important parts of the basilica,
while opus tessellatum was used for the rest. The important basilicas in all the
large cities, like the Acropolis basilica at Amathous,76 but also in smaller centers
like Ledroi/Nicosia,77 all received striking and costly opus sectile paving, with
imported marble (as opposed to local limestone) playing an important role in
the more prestigious amongst them. It is interesting to observe, however, how
the workshops in the area of Constantia, which, by now, had gained undisput-
ed supremacy as the capital of the island, developed compositions that are quite
73 On floor opus sectile, see Demetrios Michaelides, “Opus Sectile in Cyprus,” in The Sweet
Land of Cyprus, 69–114. For wall opus sectile on the island, see Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 88,
107, nos. 48, 60; Demetrios Michaelides, “The wall opus sectile from Katalymata ton plakoton at
Akrotiri and other examples from early Christian Cyprus”, in “Di Bisanzio dirai ciò che è pas-
sato, ciò che passa e che sarà”. Scritti in onore di Alessandra Guiglia, ed. Silvia Pedone and Andrea
Paribeni (Roma: Bardi editore, 2018), 67–81.
74 For the lack of evidence before this period, see Michaelides, “Opus Sectile in Cyprus,”
69–71.
75 Michaelides, “The Early Christian Mosaics of Cyprus,” 193; Michaelides, “Opus Sectile in
Cyprus,” fig. 56. See also the case of the sanctuary of the episcopal basilica of Kourion: Arthur
H. S. Megaw, Kourion: Excavations in the Episcopal Precinct (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Univer-
sity Press, 2007), 40–41.
76 Annie Pralong, “La basilique de l’acropole d’Amathonte (Chypre),” Rivista di Archeologia
Cristiana 70 (1994): 411–55; Pralong and Jean-Michel Saulnier, “La basilique chrétienne du som-
met de l’acropole,” in Guide d’Amathonte, ed. Pierre Aupert (Athens: École française d’Athènes,
1996), 138–40.
77 For the floor under the Bedestan, see Michaelides, “Opus Sectile in Cyprus,” 75–76, fig. 20;
Demetrios Michaelides, “The Opus Sectile of Nicosia and an Archaeological Puzzle,” in MAR-
MORIBUS VESTITA: Miscellanea in onore di Federico Guidobaldi, ed. Olof Brandt and Philippe
Pergola (Vatican City: Pontificio Istituto di Archeologia Cristiana, 2011), 947–49, figs. 1–2; for
the floors in Bouboulina Street, see Michaelides, “Opus Sectile in Cyprus,” 76–77, figs. 2–23;
Michaelides, “The Opus Sectile of Nicosia and an Archaeological Puzzle,” 949–53, figs. 3–5; for
the floor in Theseos Street, see Michaelides, “The Opus Sectile of Nicosia,” 954–62, figs. 6–14.
distinct in their intricacy and difficulty of execution,78 and remain amongst the
best examples of the genre in the ancient world. The church of Agios Procopios
at Syngrasis, in the occupied part of the island, preserves a large part of the opus
sectile floor of an earlier building, once beautifully preserved, but now in a sad
state of abandon.79 The patterns, although not of the most complex, are nonethe-
less remarkable for their variety and excellent workmanship.
Further to the east, on the Carpas peninsula, is the site of Agios Philon, which
has been identified with ancient Carpasia.80 The floors of the basilica there are
only partially preserved, but those of the adjoining baptistery exhibit an astonish-
ing variety of fine opus sectile panels. These do not employ much real marble but
include two outstanding examples of circular, so-called “shield” compositions, the
cutting of the crustae of which required much calculation and great precision so as
to create a trompe-l’oeil, one with a staggering centrifugal effect (fig. 12, p. 298).81
No such optical illusions are exhibited by the opus sectile floor in the baptis-
tery of the basilica of Agios Epiphanios, in the capital itself, Constantia. Here,
however, we witness another expression of affluence, namely the use of very
large, plain slabs of uncut marble, framed by geometric designs created by the
assemblage of small crustae.82 The basilica itself used to preserve part of its wall
opus sectile, now sadly lost through neglect.83
By far the most outstanding known Cypriot opus sectile floors, both in design
and the materials used, also come from Constantia. They decorate the sixth-cen-
tury basilica of Campanopetra and the adjoining baths. The basilica had floors
with a rich variety of designs, including several shield motifs,84 the largest part
of which has now been lost. A good reflection of their extremely high quality can
be appreciated in the baths attached to the basilica, where two floors survive es-
sentially complete.85 One, with a rectilinear design employs crustae cut from the
78 Fryni Hadjichirstophi, “Το δάπεδο του Αγίου Προκοπίου στη Σύγκραση,” RDAC (1997),
282–283.
79 Hadjichirstophi, “Το δάπεδο του Αγίου Προκοπίου στη Σύγκραση,” 277–283.
80 Joan du Plat Taylor, “Excavations at Ayios Philon, 1935,” RDAC (1936): 14–17; Joan du Plat
Taylor and Arthur H. S. Megaw, “Excavations at Ayios Philon, the Ancient Carpasia, part II,”
RDAC (1981), 235–38, fig. 50, plates XXXVIII, XLIII, XLIV; Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 112,
no. 65; Michaelides, “Opus Sectile in Cyprus,” 74, figs. 11, 17–18.
81 Du Plat Taylor and Megaw, “Excavations at Ayios Philon,” XLIV/3; Michaelides, “Opus
Sectile in Cyprus,” figs. 17–18. These floors, now in the Turkish occupied part of the island, used
to be in good condition but suffered gravely through exposure and neglect. They have recently
been conserved by the Department of Antiquities of the Republic of Cyprus.
82 Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 114, no. 66; Michaelides, “Opus Sectile in Cyprus,” 74, fig. 15.
83 Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 88, no. 48. Michaelides, “The wall opus sectile from Kataly-
mata ton plakoton at Akrotiri,” 69–70, figs. 2, 3.
84 Georges Roux, La Basilique de la Campanopetra (Paris: de Boccard, 1998), 77, 85–86, figs.
74, 97–101.
85 Although the photograph published in Musso, “The Northern Face of Cyprus,” 113, fig.
27, shows that these have also deteriorated through neglect during recent years.
same block of marble, the veins expertly assembled ad apertura to create con-
centric designs, a technique more readily associated with marble wall veneering.
The same technique is found in the corners of the floor of the adjoining room,
the main part of which is occupied by a shield design of astonishing complexity
in the cutting of the crustae and the matching of their colors. This creates one of
the most successful trompe-l’oeil effects amongst such shield designs in the early
Byzantine world.86
After the Sixth Century
Exactly how the making of mosaic and opus sectile floors developed after the
sixth century is still largely unknown. One can be certain that prestigious build-
ings continued to be decorated in this way, but the question is: “Up to when?”87
The beginning of the Arab invasions in 649 and 65388 has long been used as a
convenient ending point for this age-old form of decoration on the island. But
this is a rather vague argument, which explains neither what happened between
Justinian and the first Arab invasions nor what happened after the mid-seventh
century and the three centuries that followed. We can be certain that mosaic-
making, as well as other artistic and artisanal production, did not stop overnight
after the first Arab invasions. So far, however, archaeological material from this
period proves difficult to identify. Among other examples, there is evidence of
fairly careful repair of the sixth-century mosaics in the outside north aisle of the
basilica of Chrysopolitissa in Paphos and the left medallion of the panel with
the biblical quotations at Agioi Pente in Geroskipou (see fig. 7, p. 294, on the
right).89 Here, one finds pottery evidence that seems to suggest a continued use
of the site well into the eighth century.90 Some of the mosaic floors of Basilica
A at Agios Georgios of Pegeia were clearly mended and some crudely remade.
This could be linked to the collapse of the sixth-century marble ambo which was
86 Roux, La Basilique de la Campanopetra, 261–63, plates 309–11; Michaelides, Cypriot Mo-

saics, 110–12, plates 63–64; Michaelides, “Opus Sectile in Cyprus,” 74–75, figs. 38–39.
87 Note that Procopiou relates the building at Katalymata ton Plakoton to the fleeing of ref-
ugees from Palestine and Egypt due to the Persian siege and conquest (617–61); “The Katalymata
ton Plakoton,” 84–90.
88 On the Arab invasions and the available archaeological evidence, see David Michael Met-
calf, Byzantine Cyprus 491–1191 (Nicosia: Cyprus Research Centre, 2009), 395–423.
89 The largest part of which is remade with different tesserae from the rest: Michaelides,
“The Significance of the Basilica at Agioi Pente of Yeroskipou,” 2014, fig. 1.9.
90 Unpublished preliminary report by Ruth Smadar Gabrieli. See also Ruth Smadar Gabrie-
li, Mark Philip Charles Jackson, Anthi Kaldeli, “Stumbling into the Darkness – Trade and Life
in Post-Roman Cyprus,” in LRCW 2: Late Roman Coarse Wares, Cooking Wares and Amphorae
in the Mediterranean: Archaeology and Archaeometry, ed. Michel Bonifay and Jean-Christophe
Tréglia (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2007), 795–96.
re-erected as best as one could at some later point.91 We do not know the reasons
for the ambo’s collapse, although we can speculate that it may have been pulled
down during one of the Arab invasions or fell during an earthquake. All the
same, this last phase of the mosaic decoration of Basilica A cannot be dated with
any precision. Even though some examples of opus sectile floors, such as those of
Agios Lazaros in Larnaca,92 appear to be post mid-seventh century, what is cer-
tain is that the hitherto available evidence shows that the making of tessellated
floors was not revived on the island after it returned to the Byzantine realm in
965.
Conclusions
In conclusion and returning to the title of this paper, this brief survey has at-
tempted to analyze the activity of Cypriot mosaic workshops of the early Chris-
tian period, point out their main characteristics and place them in the wider ar-
tistic milieu, part of which they form. This, as during the Roman period, was that
of the eastern Mediterranean coast, with Antioch as the main and most impor-
tant source of influence. As to the question the title poses, the answer is Yes, on
two fronts. First, as we have seen, the same workshop could decorate ecclesiastic
as well as secular buildings. Second, at least up to the fifth century, traditional
mythological iconography continued to be used in parallel with the new kind of
decoration favored for Christian basilicas.
91 Michaelides, “The Ambo of Basilica A at Cape Drepanon,” in MOSAIC, Festschrift for
A. H. S. Megaw, ed. Judith Herrin, Margaret Mullet, and Catherine Otten-Froux (London: Brit-
ish School at Athens, 2001), 43–56.
92 For post-seventh century opus sectile, see Michaelides, “Opus Sectile in Cyprus,” 77–81.
Ritual Specialists and the Curse Tablets
from Amathous, Cyprus1
Andrew T. Wilburn
Around 1890, local individuals were digging a well on the island when they made
an amazing discovery – a cache of more than two hundred tablets made of lead
and selenite, a translucent form of gypsum.2 The tablets are more commonly
identified as curse tablets – a class of artifact typically made of sheets of lead or
another material that have been inscribed with spells intended to incapacitate
or otherwise prevent a victim from performing some act.3 By investigating the
1 I would like to thank the organizers of the conference, Charalambos Bakirtzis, AnneMarie
Luijendijk, and Laura Nasrallah for inviting me to participate in an informative and engaging
conference. The experience was very enlightening, and I am grateful to all the conference par-
ticipants for their comments and suggestions. I am also grateful to Thomas Kiely, curator of
the Cyprus Digitisation Project, for his assistance, and to the Trustees of the British Museum
for permission to reprint the images of the curse tablets. I wish to acknowledge the Thomas F.
Cooper ’78 Endowed Classics Faculty Support Fund and the Jody L. Maxmin ’71 Classics De-
partment Faculty Support Fund at Oberlin College, which provided extensive support for my
research and for acquiring the images that illustrate this essay. My colleagues at Oberlin Col-
lege, Corey Barnes, Cynthia Chapman, Ben Lee, Kirk Ormand, Chris Trinacty, and my spouse,
Maureen Peters, graciously provided comments and suggestions, for which I am most thankful.
2 L. MacDonald, “Inscriptions Relating to Sorcery in Cyprus,” Proceedings of the Society of
Biblical Archaeology 13 (1891): 160–90; DTAud nos. 23–37; Richard Wünsch, “Neue Fluchtafeln,”
Rheinisches Museum 55 (1900) nos. 10–12; Louis Robert, Collection Froehner (Paris: Éditions des
Bibliotheques Nationales, 1936) 106–107; Terence B. Mitford, The Inscriptions of Kourion (Phil-
adelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1971) nos. 127–42; David R. Jordan, “Late Feasts for
Ghosts,” in Ancient Greek Cult Practice from the Epigraphical Evidence, ed. Robin Hägg (Stock-
holm: Paul Aströms Förlag, 1994), 131–43; Pierre Aupert and David R. Jordan, “Tablettes ma-
giques d'Amathonte,” Art Antique de Chypre du Bronze moyen à l'épooque byzantine au Cabinet
des médailles (Paris: Bibliothèque nationale de France, 1994): 67–71; Amor López Jimeno, Textos
Griegos de maleficio (Madrid: Akal Ediciones, 2001), nos. 273–89.
3 The bibliography on curse tablets is extensive. The most important corpora are DTA;
DTAud; David R. Jordan, “A Survey of Greek Defixiones not Included in the Special Corpora,”
GRBS 26 (1985): 151–97; NGD; Esther Eidinow, Oracles, Curses, and Risk among the Ancient
Greeks (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007); Amina Kropp, Defixiones: Ein aktuelles Corpus
lateinischer Fluchtafeln (Speyer: Kartoffeldruck-Verlag Kai Brodersen, 2008); György Németh,
Supplementum Audollentianum (Budapest: University of Debrecen, Dept. of Ancient History,
2013). See most recently, the bibliography in Richard L. Gordon, “Showing the Gods the Way:
Curse Tablets as Deictic Persuasion,” Religion in the Roman Empire 1 (2015): 148–80 and Esther
Eidinow, “Binding Spells on Tablets and Papyri,” Guide to the Study of Ancient Magic, ed. David
Frankfurter (Leiden: Brill, 2019): 351–87..
112 Andrew T. Wilburn
artifacts as well as comparative material from elsewhere in the Mediterranean,

I will argue that ritual specialists, perhaps associated with a temple or collective
organization, produced and deposited the curses. Three features of the tablets
and their deposition suggest the involvement of ritual specialists: the inscrip-
tions on the tablets indicate the deployment of specialized knowledge; the dep-
osition shows the use of a specific space with restricted access; the placement of
the tablets indicates that they were meant to be viewed by the gods.
Ritual Specialists and Magical Practice in the Mediterranean
Despite more than a century of scholarly engagement with the term, there is no
consensus on what the word “magic” means. Some scholars have advocated re-
jecting the use of the term, but I believe that it remains a useful heuristic category
to encapsulate several phenomena. For the purposes of this paper, I adopt an etic
definition of magic, as a mechanistic, repeatable ritual action, typically perform-
ed for private individuals, incorporating words, objects, and/or gestures that is
undertaken with the expectation of a particular result.4
A variety of individuals were responsible for ritual practices that can be
grouped under the broad heuristic category of magic. Some of these were surely
wandering practitioners who traveled from place to place, whom the literary
tradition often associates with foreign identity.5 Others may have been local in-
dividuals skilled in herbs or other folk remedies. Formal, learned magic also can
be associated with individuals who were attached to temples as priests, priest-
esses, and functionaries, both within and outside of Greek and Roman cultural
traditions.6 I use the designation “ritual personnel” to indicate those practition-
4 Andrew T. Wilburn, Materia Magica: The Archaeology of Magic in Roman Egypt, Cyprus
and Spain (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 2012), 15–20.
5 The meaning of the term “magician” is determined discursively within a specific society
and local environment. Kimberly B. Stratton, “Magic Discourse in the Ancient World,” in De-
fining Magic: A Reader, ed. Bernd-Christian Otto and Michael Stausberg (Bristol, CT: Equinox,
2013), 246–48; Henk S. Versnel, “Some Reflections on the Relationship Magic-Religion,” Numen
38 (1991), 182; Julia Kindt, Rethinking Greek Religion (New York: Cambridge University Press,
2012), 107; Robert Parker, Polytheism and Society at Athens (New York: Oxford University Press,
2005), 122. In his Apology, Apuleius explicitly links Persian magi with special ritual knowledge,
a statement that distances the speaker from the performance of these rites, but does not con-
demn this knowledge (Apuleius, Apol. 26). Wandering Egyptian and Jewish priests, attested in
various sources, were often associated with ritual expertise. Dickie, Magic and Magicians in the
Greco-Roman World, 221–22.
6 On the term “magician,” see David Frankfurter, “Ritual Expertise in Roman Egypt and
the Problem of the Category ‘Magician’,” in Envisioning Magic: A Princeton Seminar and Sym-
posium, ed. Peter Schäfer and Hans G. Kippenberg (Leiden: Brill, 1997); “Dynamics of Ritual
Expertise in Antiquity and Beyond: Towards a New Taxonomy of ‘Magicians’,” in Magic and
Ritual in the Ancient World, ed. Paul Allan Mirecki and Marvin Meyer (Leiden: Brill, 2002). In
contrast, other scholars have suggested that the practitioners of ancient magic operate on the
Ritual Specialists and the Curse Tablets from Amathous, Cyprus 113
ers who are responsible for performing rituals or providing oversight in such in-
stitutions as temples, churches, or monasteries.7 I draw a classification distinc-
tion between these locus-bound personnel and the broader category of “ritual
specialists,” who may have been itinerant or independent, and whose specific
standardized rites tended to derive from textual sources.8
Although “magic” was often associated with marginal individuals, scholars
recognize that such ritual procedures and state or polis cult form part of the
same cultural system, discursively related to one another.9 In the Greek city state,
for example, some ritual acts or spaces were marginalized by applying the label
“magic,” but these were, as Kindt notes, part of “a more broadly conceived ‘reli-
gious culture,’” even, at times, undertaken by agents of the state.10 Cursing was
commonplace, and an important feature of the Greek polis, particularly in the
context of the Athenian law courts.11 In Athens, curses were invoked by public
officials against all who intentionally deceived the democracy.12 When Alcibiades
was condemned to death in absentia for profanation of mysteries in 415 BCE,
the state ordered him to be cursed (καταρᾶσθαι) by all male and female priests.
One woman priest of Demeter, Theano, daughter on Menon, refused carry out
the curse, claiming that she was a praying priest rather than a cursing priest.13
borders of the physical urban space and the conceptual society. See Derek Collins, Magic in the
Ancient Greek World (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2008), 62. Compare the discussion of magicians
in Fritz Graf, Magic in the Ancient World, trans. Philip Franklin (Cambridge: Harvard Univer-
sity Press, 1997), 61–88; Matthew W. Dickie, Magic and Magicians in the Greco-Roman World
(New York: Routledge, 2001), 224–43.
7 On ritual specialists, see Daniel Ogden, “Binding Spells: Curse Tablets and Voodoo Dolls
in the Greek and Roman Worlds,” in Witchcraft and Magic in Europe: Ancient Greece and Rome,
ed. Bengt Ankarloo and Stuart Clark (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999), 54–
60; Parker, Polytheism and Society at Athens, 121–22; Wilburn, Materia Magica, 263–64.
8 Catherine M. Bell, Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice (New York: Oxford University Press,
1992), 130–40. On the ritual performances involved in cursing, see Magali Bailliot, Magie et Sor-
tilèges dans l’antiquité romaine (Paris: Hermann éditeurs, 2010), 72–76.
9 Kindt, Rethinking Greek Religion, 92–102; Esther J. Hamori, Women’s Divination in Biblical
Literature: Prophecy, Necromancy, and Other Arts of Knowledge (New Haven, CT: Yale University
Press, 2015), 21–22; Jonathan Z. Smith, “Trading Places,” in Ancient Magic and Ritual Power, ed.
Marvin Meyer and Paul Mirecki, RGRW 129 (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 13–27.
10 Kindt, Rethinking Greek Religion, 109–13.
11 Richard L. Gordon, “‘What’s in a List?’ Listing in Greek and Graeco-Roman Malign
Magical Texts,” in The World of Ancient Magic: Papers from the First International Samson Ei-
trem Seminar at the Norwegian Institute at Athens, 4–8 May 1997, ed. David R. Jordan, et al.
(Bergen: Norwegian Institute at Athens, 1999), 262–63; Eidinow, Oracles, Curses, and Risk, 165–
90; cf. Christopher A. Faraone, “Aeschylus’ Hymnos Desmios (Eum 306) and Attic Judicial
Curse Tablets,” JHS 105 (1985): 153.
12 Curses by the public herald: Dem 23.97. cf. the foundation Stele of Cyprus: SEG 9: 3.44.
cf. Gordon, “Showing the Gods,” 149 and n. 2; Christopher A. Faraone, “Molten Wax, Spilt
Wine, and Mutilated Animals: Sympathetic Magic in Near Eastern and Early Greek Oath Cere-
monies,” JHS 113 (1993): 60–80.
13 Plutarch, Alk. 22.5; Mor. 275d; Matthew Dillon, Girls and Women in Classical Greek Reli-
gion (New York: Routledge, 2002), 91.
Theano is noteworthy because she refused to undertake a specific ritual act, al-
though it was expected that both male and female priests would engage in curs-
ing as part of their duties.
Male and female priests may have been responsible for aggressive private
“magic” as well. According to Demosthenes, a priestess named Ninos was put to
death for creating pharmaka, a term that can be used interchangeably for potions,
poison, or witchcraft.14 In another speech, Demosthenes alludes to Theoris of
Lemnos, a pharmakis, or witch, who is condemned for creating pharmaka. Plu-
tarch, writing later, refers to Theoris as a priestess, reflecting the cultural context
in which the author would have found it believable for a priestess to be accused
of magical activity.15 The brevity of the sources prevents us from knowing much
about either woman. The creation of pharmaka was not itself illegal, so both
women may have been found guilty because the recipient of the pharmaka died.16
Specific ritual acts, viewed as contrary to the traditional religious activities
of the local polis or state, were marginalized as foreign or criminal.17 Even in
each local environment, however, there was likely disagreement about whether
a given rite was appropriate or not, and under what circumstances its use
was justified. The same priest, rabbi, or monk may have been responsible for
both spells and counterspells, and may have undertaken acts that were view-
ed as magic in one community, but acceptable ritual practices in another.18 The
curses from Roman Cyprus provide a context in which it is possible to inves-
tigate the role of ritual specialists and personnel in the local production and use
of ritual objects.
14 Demosthenes, Fals. leg., 19.281; see discussion in Henk S. Versnel, Inconsistencies in Greek
and Roman Religion (Leiden: Brill, 1990), 115–17; Esther Eidinow, Envy, Poison, and Death:
Women on Trial in Ancient Athens (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016), 17–23.
15 Demosthenes, 1–2 Aristog. 25.79–80; Plutarch, Dem. 4.4; Derek Collins, “Theoris of Lem-
nos and the Criminalization of Magic in Fourth-Century Athens,” ClQ 51 (2001): 491–92; Jose-
phus, C. Ap. 2.37; Eidinow, Envy, Poison, and Death, 11–17.
16 Collins, “Theoris of Lemnos,” 488; Eidinow, Envy, Poison, and Death, 57–60. On the le-
gality of magic, see Charles Robert Phillips III, “Nullum crimen sine lege: Socioreligious Sanc-
tions on Magic,” in Magika Hiera, ed. Christopher A. Faraone and Dirk Obbink (New York:
Oxford University Press, 1991); Richard L. Gordon, “Imagining Greek and Roman Magic,” in
Witchcraft and Magic in Europe: Ancient Greece and Rome, ed. Bengt Ankarloo and Stuart Clark
(Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999), 243–66; Collins, Magic in the Ancient
Greek World, 132–65; James B. Rives, “Magic in Roman Law: The Reconstruction of a Crime,”
ClAnt 22 (2003); Rives, “Magic, Religion and Law: The Case of the Lex Cornelia de sicariis et
veneficiis,” in Religion and Law in Classical and Christian Rome, ed. Clifford Ando and Jörg
Rüpke (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2006).
17 Kindt, Rethinking Greek Religion, 115; Jonathan Z. Smith, “Towards Interpreting Demonic
Powers in Hellenic and Roman Antiquity,” ANRW 2.16.1, 429.
18 David Frankfurter, “The Perils of Love: Magic and Countermagic in Coptic Egypt,” Jour-
nal of the History of Sexuality 10 (2001), 499; Annette Y. Reed, “Gendering Heavenly Secrets?
Women, Angels, and the Problem of Misogyny and Magic,” in Daughters of Hecate: Women and
Magic in the Ancient World, ed. Kimberly B. Stratton and Dayna S. Kalleres (New York: Oxford
University Press, 2014), 125.
The Curse Tablets from Cyprus
In 1890, Captain Gerald Handcock and his agent, Charles Christian, sold more
than two hundred lead and selenite artifacts to the British Museum. In the letter
accompanying the sale, Handcock attributed the artifacts to locals digging a well
near Kourion, informing A. S. Murray that “they (the tablets) were found near
the site of Curium by some natives who were clearing out an ancient shaft for the
purpose of making a well, [the leads were found] at about 90 feet down, under
heaps of human bones.”19 A slightly later publication in 1893 corrected the prov-
enance to Agios Tychon (ancient Amathous):
They (the locals) first found a quantity of squared stones, and then rubble, under which
was a great quantity of human bones, among which were some gold earrings. In the lower
stratum of the bones, they first found a few pieces of lead, and subsequently pieces of the
inscribed talc, some pieces of which were attached to the side of the well imbedded in
gypsum.20
This is the only information that we possess for reconstructing the archaeolog-
ical context of the find, as the actual site has never been identified. The initial
1890 letter indicates that the depth of the shaft that the locals excavated was con-
siderable, which suggests that it originally may have been a well or shaft grave, a
purpose that pre-dated its use as a space for ritual activity. The bones, which lie
above the level of the tablets, likely date from the period after the shaft went out
of ritual use. The practitioner must have descended the shaft to deposit the selen-
ite tablets, as a number were mounted on the walls with gypsum, and at least one
of them (fig. 1, p. 299) has suspension holes and likely was hung on the wall of
the shaft. In contrast, the lead tablets (fig. 2, p. 300) were rolled up, and do not
show suspension holes. These artifacts may have been placed on the base of the
feature, or even thrown in from the top. The large number of artifacts discovered
in this location may indicate that it served as a significant depositional location
for an extended period of time.21
This location went out of use, and some event necessitated the disposal of
multiple dead individuals. The earrings, found mixed with the bones, suggest
that bodies, rather than disarticulated skeletons, were dumped into the shaft. It
is not possible to determine the cause of the mass burial, which may have been
19 Gerald Handcock to A. S. Murray, 22 April, 1890. MS British Museum, London, Graeco-
Roman archives, Original Letters 1890 (Incoming Letters). Pierre Aupert and David R. Jordan,
“Tablettes magiques d’Amathonte,” in Art antique de Chypre du Bronze Moyen à l’époque byzan-
tine au Cabinet des Médailles (Paris: Bibliothèque Nationale de France, 1994).
20 Cecil Smith, “Recent Greek Archaeology and Folk-Lore,” Folklore 3 (1892): 164. See dis-
cussion in Wilburn, Materia Magica, 178–84.
21 On ritual deposition, see Michael B. Schiffer, Formation Processes of the Archaeological
Record (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1987), 47–98; William H. Walker, “Cer-
emonial Trash,” in Expanding Archaeology, ed. James M. Skibo, William H. Walker, and Axel
E. Nielsen (Salt Lake City: University of Utah press, 1995), 67–79.
related to an epidemic, warfare, or some other event. Alternatively, the bones

may be related to a separate ritual act, perhaps meant to desecrate or deactivate
the site during a later era. Such practices have biblical precedents; according to
2 Kgs 23:14, for example, King Josiah scattered human bones in order to des-
ecrate the religious sites of Jerusalem and Judah that had been used for idola-
trous purposes.22 Above the bones, the locals found rubble, perhaps fill that was
added to the shaft after the bones. The squared stones at the top likely represent
a collapse of the architecture that marked the opening of the shaft.
Globalized Knowledge in the Cypriot Tablets

Of the more than 230 tablets that were discovered, only sixteen lead and seven
selenite tablets have been published to date.23 David Jordan, who has analyzed
many of the unpublished examples, has stated that most of the unpublished lead
artifacts are similar in content to those that have been published, as they utilize
the same spell formula. One of the tablets, DT 22 (BM 1891.4–18,1, image 2) can
serve as an example:
Demones, those who are under the earth, and demones whoever you may be; fathers of
fathers, and mothers (who are a) match (for me), you who lie here, and you who sit here,
since you take men’s grievous passion from their heart, take over the passion of Ariston
which he has toward me, Soterianos, also called Limbaros, and his anger, and take away
from him his strength and power and make him cold and speechless and breathless, cold
toward me, Soterianos also called Limbaros. I invoke you by the great gods MASŌMA-
SIMABLABOI MAMAXŌ EUMAZŌ ENDENEKOPTOURA MELOPHTHĒMARAR
AKOU RASRŌEEKAMADŌR MACHTHOUDOURAS KITHŌRASA KĒPHOZŌN
goddess ACHTHAMODOIRALAR AKOU RAENTAKOU RALAR hear ALOR OUE-
CHEARMALAR KARAMEPHTĒ SISOCHŌR ADŌNEIA of the earth CHOUCHMA-
THERPHES THERMŌMASMAR ASMACHOUCHIMANOU PHILAESŌSI gods of the
underworld, take over from Ariston and his son the passion and the anger they hold to-
ward Soterianos also known as Limbaros, and hand him over to the doorkeeper in Hades
MATHUREUPHRAMENOS and to/of the one who is appointed over the gate to Hades
and the keeper of the door bolts of heaven, STERXERX ĒRĒXA, bursting forth from the
earth, ARDAMACTHOUR PRISSGEU LAMPADEU. And bury him who is written upon
this muzzling tablet (in a) mournful grave. I invoke you the king of the mute demon-
es. Hear the great name, for the great SISOXŌR rules over you, the ruler of the gates to
Hades. Of my enemy Ariston, bind and put to sleep the tongue and the passion and the
anger he holds toward me, Soterianos, also called Limbaros, lest he oppose me in any
matter. I invoke you, demones, buried in a communal grave, violently dead, untimely dead,
not properly buried, by her who bursts forth from the earth and forces back to the grave
the limbs of Meliochos and Meliochos himself. I invoke you by ACHALEMORPHŌPH,
who is the one god upon the earth OSOUS OISŌRNOPHRIS OUSRAPIŌ do whatever is
written herein. O much lamented tomb and gods of the underworld, and chthonic Hekate,
22 I. W. Slotki, Kings: Hebrew Text & English Translation (London: Soncino Press, 1950), 307.
23 See above, n. 2.
chthonic Hermes, Plouton, the chthonic Eirynes, and you who lie here below, untimely
dead and the unnamed, EUMAZŌN, take away the speech of Ariston who is opposing
me, Soterianos, also called Limbaros, MASŌMACHŌ. I deposit with you this muzzling
charge to make Ariston silent, and (you) give over his name to the infernal gods ALLA
ALKĒ KE ALKEŌ LALATHANATŌ three-named Kore. These shall always carry out my
wishes for me and silence Ariston the opponent of me, Soterianos, also called Limbaros.
Awaken yourself for me, you who hold the infernal kingdom of all the Eirynes, I invoke
you by the gods in Hades OUCHITOU, the dispenser of tombs, AŌTHIŌMOS TIŌIE
IŌEGOŌEIOPHRI who in the heaven rule the upper kingdom, MIŌTHAMPS, in heaven,
IAŌ and the (kingdom) under the earth SABLĒNIA IAŌ SABLĒPHDAUBĒN THANA-
TOPOUTŌĒR, I invoke you BATHUMIA CHTHAOPŌOKORBRA ADIANAKŌ KA-
KIABALĒ THENNAKRA. I invoke you, gods who were exposed by Kronos ABLANAI-
ANALBA SISIPETRON take over the Ariston the opponent of me, Soterianos, also called
Limbranos, ŌĒANTIXHERECHER BEBALLOSALAKAMĒTHĒ, and you, earthshaker,
who holds the keys of Hades. Carry out for me, you … Provide … ASMIATĒNE ….
GATHĒ MASŌMASŌSISO … LIN.24
The selenite objects show some more variation among the corpus, and may pre-
serve shorter, perhaps abridged versions of the prototype spell.25 All of the tab-
lets focus on removing the anger of adversaries, and ask that the victims be made
speechless. They were likely created and deposited in the context of judicial dis-
agreements. A number of the commissioners and victims of the text, such as Al-
exandros who curses Theodoros in two tablets, appear multiple times; the same
individuals apparently sought the services of the ritual practitioners repeatedly.26
A very small number of the tablets comment on the disputes. In one, the individ-
ual commissioning the tablet refers to a disagreement over either the offspring
of livestock or slaves; another appears to be related to an article of clothing.27
Scholars have used letterforms and linguistic features of the texts to suggest a
date between the late second and third century CE. Given the number of tablets
and the variation in materials, it is possible that the space was in use for a con-
siderable amount of time.28
Across most of the inscribed lead tablets (for instance, DT 22, quoted above),
the use of a near-identical structure and phrasing permits us to infer the use of
24 Translation from CT no. 45, p. 134–36, with some modifications. Text from Mitford, The
Inscriptions of Kourion, reprinted in Wilburn, Materia Magica, 188–90.
25 Jordan, “Late Feasts for Ghosts,” 135.
26 Alexandros and Theodoros appear on BM 1891, 4–18.4 (= DTAud 25) and 1891, 4–18.5
(= DTAud 26). The interlocking web of commissioners and targets is discussed in more detail in
Wilburn, Materia Magica, 210–12.
27 Livestock: BM 1890, 4–18, 8 = DTAud 29 = Mitford 134; theft of an article: BM 1891,
4–18.50(A+B) + 1891, 4–18.59(47) + Bibliothèque Nationale Collection Froehner, inv. 9 = NGD
115.
28 Late second century CE: MacDonald, “Inscriptions Relating to Sorcery in Cyprus,” 172–
73; Mitford, The Inscriptions of Kourion, 246; Wunsch DTA xix; John G. Gager, Curse Tablets and
Binding Spells from Antiquity and the Ancient World (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992),
133; third century CE: Jordan, “Late Feasts for Ghosts,” 133.
a set text or handbook, the original of which is not known. While there are no
internal references to the use of a formulary, the complexity of the spell, coupled
with the appearance of similar phrases and words across the tablets of the cache,
strongly argues for the use of a prototype by the practitioner. The formula pre-
served on the tablet includes features typical of second- and third-century curse
practices, such as the use of complex voces magicae, invocations that utilize the
secret names of divinities, and symbols that may be related to the charaktêres.29
The object calls itself a τοῦδε τοῦ φιμωτι[κοῦ] [κ]αταθέματος, a “muzzling de-
posit,” which perhaps denotes a particular type of incantation, as this phrasing
is found in other curses from locations across the Mediterranean, notably in a
number of spells from the Greek Magical Papyri.30 The spell opens with a met-
rical passage, invoking “demones under the earth;” ghostly spirits are called upon
later in the text. The address to the demones, rather than the more widely attest-
ed daimones, appears to be either a scribal choice, or an orthographical variation
that is common on Cyprus.31 The traditional gods of the Hellenic underworld
appear in the inscription, each invoked in conjunction with the appellation
“chthonic.” Secret divine names are scattered throughout, incorporating both
well-attested voces magicae, such as Sisochor, and others that may be of local
origin, such as Karamephthe. An invocation to OSOUS OISŌRNOPHRIS OUS-
RAPIŌ, is likely a reference to the Egyptian divinities Osiris (Onnophris) and
29 One tablet contains only an image of a bird: BM inv. 1891, 4–18, 16 = DTAud 36.
30 Jordan, “Late Feasts for Ghosts,” 143 n. 34. φιμόω, to muzzle, or silence, and its variants,
is used more commonly beginning in the first and second centuries CE, providing another clue
to dating the cache. In the Greek Magical Papyri, charms to restrain anger and prevent speech
use this term. For example, in PGM XXXVI 161–77, a charm to restrain anger, the practitioner is
told to recite the spell seven times: Ἐρμαλλωθ Ἀρχιμαλλωθ φιμώσατε τὰ στόματα …, “(sacred
names), silence the mouths …” See commentary on P. Oslo I 1 (= PGM XXXVI), line 164: Sam-
son Eitrem and Leiv Amundsen, Papyri Osloenses (Oslo: Det norske videnskaps-akademi, 1925),
77–78. Other spells use φιμωτικὸν, a muzzler, to denote the spell type, as in the Cypriot exam-
ples. PGM VII 396–404 is entitled φιμωτικὸν καὶ ὑποτακτικὸν γενναῖον καὶ κάτοκος, “an ex-
cellent spell for silencing, for subjecting and for restraining.” A fragmentary spell manual, PGM
XLVI, includes a poorly preserved spell for silencing and restraining (?), [φι]μωτικὸν καὶ …, to
be inscribed on an unbaked potsherd. A gemstone from Afghanistan was inscribed with a spell
intended to muzzle an opponent. David R. Jordan, “Inscribed Lead Tablets from the Games in
the Sanctuary of Poseidon,” Hesperia 63 (1994): 124 n. 23. Currently, I am preparing a more de-
tailed study of the links between the Cypriot tablets and evidence from Egypt.
31 Inscriptional evidence records very few attestations of δέμονες rather than the more com-
mon δαίμονες. Of the 17 inscriptions attested in the Packhard Humanities Institute corpus of
Greek inscriptions, 15 are associated with Amathous (Kourion). Of the two others, SEG 38:1837
is a curse from Oxyrhynchus, while SEG 47:1438 (= EAGLE Inscriptions database EDR 152921)
is short curse (first or second century CE) attested from Kamarina on Sicily. Another tablet,
L’Année Épigraphique 2002, no. 577 (= Trismegistos 697433 = Epigraphic Database Heidelberg
HD042079), from Riva del Garda in the Venetia region of Italy, is a protective inscription, list-
ing demones as well as illness among the dangers that Tertius faced. A comparable search in the
Packhard corpus produces 311 inscriptions that refer to δαίμονες. Earlier texts from Cyprus,
such as the texts from the nymphaeum at Kafizin (numbers 122, 144, 266 and 267) or from Sala-
mis (such as Salamine XIII 199 = SEG 6.802) also employ δαίμονες.
Serapis, gods that had a wide distribution in the classical world due to the spread
of the Isis cult. This may be a local reference, as Adonis-Osiris is named as the
consort of Aphrodite at Amathous in one late source.32 Beneath the inscription,
the scribe incised a line and added at least one row of magical symbols. Some of
these appear to be the charaktêres or “ring-letters,” which resemble letterforms
with round bulbs or knobs at the end of each straight or curved line.33 The signs
preserved on the Cypriot tablets also include types that may be of local origin.
The selenite tablets are less well preserved, and one example, published by David
Jordan and Pierre Aupert, employs a simplified version of the text known from
the lead tablets. These artifacts show some variation, especially in the placement
of magical signs, as symbols appear throughout the inscription (fig. 3, p. 301).34
One tablet utilizes a very different model text. The translation published by
Jordan reads as follows:
Zethos (?) chthonic Demeter and chthonic earth born (fem. pl.) and chthonic Acheron
and chthonic “raw dead” (neut. sg.) and chthonic Thasian (s?) and chthonic heroes (?) and
chthonic avengers (?) and chthonic Amphipolis (?) and chthonic Spirits and chthonic Sins
and chthonic Dreams and chthonic Necessity and chthonic Oaths and chthonic Ariste (?)
and chthonic Holder of Tartaros and chthonic Evil Eye and chthonic Aion (?) and chthon-
ic (?) Heroes (?) and Paian, chthonic Demeter and chthonic Plouton and chthonic and
dead Persephone and evil demons and fortunes of all men, come with mighty fate – and
necessitate, accomplish this muzzling spell, lest Ariston (f.) gainsay Artemidoros, whom
Timo bore, in anything (or to anyone?) but let her remain subject for the period of her life.
And also muzzle Artemidoros Melasios (?) whom Gaterana (?) bore, and do not let him
make an indictment to anyone concerning the cloths but let him be muzzled.35
32 St.Byz. s. v. Ἀμαθοῦς. Terence B. Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” ANRW 2.18.3,
2185; Sarolta A. Takács, Isis and Sarapis in the Roman World (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 29–30, 51–56;
Eric M. Orlin, Foreign Cults in Rome: Creating a Roman Empire (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2010), 201–7.
33 On the charaktêres, see discussion and bibliography at William Brashear, “The Greek
Magical Papyri: An Introduction and Survey; Annotated Bibliography (1928–1994),” ANRW
2.18.5, 3441–43; David Frankfurter, “The Magic of Writing and the Writing of Magic: The Power
of the Word in Egyptian and Greek Traditions,” Helios 21 (1994): 206–10; Jacco Dieleman,
Priests, Tongues, and Rites: The London-Leiden Magical Manuscripts and Translation in Egyptian
Ritual (100–300 CE) (Leiden: Brill, 2005), 97–101; Gideon Bohak, Ancient Jewish Magic: A His-
tory (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 270–74; Bohak, “The Charaktêres in An-
cient and Medieval Jewish Magic,” Acta classica univ. scient debrencen. 47 (2011); Kirsten Dzwi-
za, “The ‘Catalogue and Statistical Analysis of the Charaktêres’ Project: A First Introduction,”
in Contesti Magici = Contextos Mágicos, ed. Marina Piranomonte and Francisco Marco Simón
(Rome: De Luca editori d’arte, 2012), 307–8; David Frankfurter, “The Magic of Writing in Med-
iterranean Antiquity,” Guide to the Study of Ancient Magic, ed. David Frankfurter (Leiden: Brill,
2019): 626-58.
34 Pierre Aupert and David R. Jordan, “Magical Inscriptions on Talc Tablets from Ama-
thous,” AJA 85 (1981): 184. At the site of Oxyrhynchus, illicit digging uncovered a ceramic ves-
sel that contained two lead tablets. The lead tablets preserved two versions of a love spell, one
of which was longer and more complicated than the other. The pot was also inscribed with a
version of the spell, even simpler than those used on the two lead tablets. Suppl. Mag. 1.49–51.
35 NGD 115, above, n. 29. Trans. Jordan, “Late Feasts for Ghosts,” 136.
In the body of the inscription, this selenite artifact refers to itself as a muzzling
spell (τὸ φιμωτικόν, line 11) indicating that it was believed to perform a function
comparable to the lead tablets. Magical signs similar to those found on the lead
sheets in the deposit also are present on this selenite tablet; some of these signs
appear on other selenite fragments. Jordan has identified the elements of the in-
scription that are paralleled in a spell from the Great Magical Papyrus of Paris
(PGM IV), purportedly discovered in Thebes (Egypt).36 This papyrus is one of
numerous handbooks or manuals for ritual specialists from Egypt. The spells in-
cluded in the papyrus manuals vary greatly in character and function, running
the gamut from love spells, to prognostication, healing, and curses. The parallel
spell to ours is titled a “love spell of attraction performed with the help of heroes
or gladiators or those who have died a violent death” (PGM IV 1390–1495). The
instructions require the practitioner to perform the rite in a place where violent
deaths have occurred and to recite a spell over seven pieces of bread, which are
left for the spirits of the dead.37 In the event that the first ritual fails, the manual
provides an alternative. In this second rite, the practitioner makes an offering of
cow dung over flax ashes, and throws polluted dirt. The invocation in this portion
of the spell shows surprising similarities to the selenite tablet from Cyprus, and
calls upon “chthonic Hermes and chthonic Hekate and chthonic Acheron.” In the
ritual instructions found in Thebes, the text invokes Amphiaraos, a hero associat-
ed with a shrine in Oropos in Greece. Amphipolis, in the Cypriot spell, is perhaps
a different local hero or a represents a corruption of Amphiaraos.38 The inclu-
sion of specific geographically significant names in the invocation, coupled with
the absence of Egyptian elements, points to a Hellenic origin for this part of the
spell. Jordan has suggested that this initial invocation was employed for rites for
the dead on mainland Greece.39 This selenite tablet from Cyprus provides insight
into one waypoint within the larger networks of ritual exchange. It also suggests
that the Cypriot practitioners were compiling and recombining ritual elements
for deployment in the artifacts deposited in the shaft. This process of importation
and recombination is common in the magical papyri, many of which represent a
bricolage of ritual traditions drawn from throughout the Mediterranean.40
36 Jordan, “Late Feasts for Ghosts,” 141–43. See Brashear, “The Greek Magical Papyri,”
ANRW 2.18.5, 3400–3405.
37 Although the tablets were discovered beneath disarticulated skeletons, this event appears
to post-date the deposition of the lead and selenite sheets. We cannot, however, be certain about
where the shaft containing the tablets was located, and it remains a possibility that the tablets
were deposited in a cemetery or another space associated with the dead.
38 Two sites named as Amphipolis are known: the colony established by Athens in Thrace
(http://pleiades.stoa.org/places/501347), and a city known as Amphipolis, Tourmeda or Nika-
toris (http://pleiades.stoa.org/places/658377). It is possible that local heroes were associated
with one or the other location.
39 Jordan, “Late Feasts for Ghosts,” 134–35.
40 Lynn R.  LiDonnici, “Compositional Patterns in PGM IV (=P. Bibl.Nat.Suppl. Gr.
No. 574),” BASP 40 (2003): 141–78; Bohak, Ancient Jewish Magic, 230.
The inclusion of ritual phrases from the mainland is symptomatic of a larger

trend of globalization in magical practice that appears to have increased in scope
during the second century CE.41 The Cypriot tablets preserve elements that draw
upon a substantial and widely distributed vocabulary of ritual practice, combin-
ing features from a variety of cultural contexts. The invocation to Osiris is the
sole Egyptian invocation discernible in the text, and may indicate the incorpora-
tion of foreign elements by those who were only passingly familiar with Egyptian
ritual traditions. Invocations to IAO and ADONAI may be indicative of Jewish
or Christian traditions.42 The magical signs, likewise, attest to familiarity with
a broader koine of magical practice, as the inclusion of such unpronounceable
symbols is common throughout the late antique Mediterranean. These global
elements were amassed and re-interpreted within the local context, combined to
form hybrid but efficacious rituals that were apparently collected in a ritual man-
ual employed by specialists at the site.
Model Texts, Compilation, and Ritual Personnel
The language that pervades the lead and selenite curses from Cyprus is indi-
cative of the use of a formulary to produce the artifacts. The practitioner likely
consulted the model, then copied the text, introducing some errors and the oc-
casional modification to a tablet that had been prepared in some way. Differ-
ences in the physical appearance of the inscriptions – the handwriting – sug-
gests that multiple individuals were responsible for production, perhaps over an
extended period. In the broader Mediterranean, there are several caches of tab-
lets that indicate the consultation of a formulary. These include a group of tab-
lets from a columbarium on the Via Appia outside of Rome; the tablets discov-
ered in graves around Hadrumetum and Carthage in North Africa; and eight
tablets discovered in a well in the Athenian Agora.43 The formulary-based tab-
lets from Rome, Carthage, and Hadrumetum were found in close geographical
41 Tamar Hodos, “Global, Local and in Between: Connectivity and the Mediterranean,” in
Globalisation and the Roman World: World History, Connectivity and Material Culture, ed. Mar-
tin Pitts and M. J. Versluys (New York: Cambridge University Pess, 2015), 240–53.
42 Wilburn, Materia Magica, 220–21; Bohak, Ancient Jewish Magic, 198–99, 299–30. We can
more easily identify Egyptian traditions because of the wealth of evidence that we possess from
Egypt.
43 Via Appia: Richard Wünsch, Sethianische Verfluchungstafeln aus Rom (Leipzig: Teub-
ner, 1898); Attilio Mastrocinque, “Le ‘defixiones’ di Porta San Sebastiano,” MHNH: revista in-
ternacional de investigación sobre magia y astrología antiguas 5 (2005); Hadrumetum: DTAud
275–298; Richard L. Gordon, “Competence and ‘Felicity Conditions’ in Two Sets of North Af-
rican Curse-Tablets (DTaud nos. 275–85; 286–98),” MHNH: revista internacional de investiga-
ción sobre magia y astrología antiguas 5 (2005); Carthage: DTAud 252 and 253; David R. Jordan,
“New Defixiones from Carthage,” in The Circus and a Byzantine Cemetery at Carthage, ed. J. H.
Humphrey (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1988), 117–34; Athenian Agora: David
proximity, but deposited in different tombs within larger mortuary landscapes.

Similarities in the inscriptions preserved on the tablets allow us to posit the ex-
istence of a formulary that has not been preserved. In contrast, the dry desert
climate of Egypt has preserved more than 96 formularies, used for the produc-
tion of power objects.
The ritual manuals from Egypt were written in Greek as well the Egyptian lan-
guage in the Hieratic, Demotic, and Coptic scripts, suggesting that only members
of the priesthood could comprehend some of the documents.44 They are amal-
gamations of ritual procedures from a variety of contexts, including traditional
rites associated with the temple and rituals for cursing that have roots in the Near
East and Greece. The texts provide evidence of transmission PGM IV, which is
a spell manual of more than three thousand lines, is itself a copy of an earlier
text.45 The Egyptian material suggests that in certain periods, ritual profession-
als associated with temples compiled and redacted instructional texts for dream
oracles, curses and healing spells performed for private individuals. It is not clear
whether these activities were undertaken as part of priestly duties or instead were
performed without the direct sponsorship of the temple and its authorities. Local
and individual ideas of appropriate and inappropriate ritual acts may have deter-
mined how ritual specialists operated in different environments. By assessing the
archaeological context of ritual formularies, we can draw inferences about the
role and societal position of those who owned and used these texts.
Most of the papyri identified as formularies, however, lack a secure archae-
ological context. In the Greek and early Roman periods, priests may have had
access to ritual manuals housed in temples, since a number of Egyptian temples
include small rooms identified as libraries by the lists of books inscribed on the
walls.46 An archive of ritual documents from the site of Tebtynis includes more
R. Jordan, “Defixiones from a Well near the Southwest Corner of the Athenian Agora,” Hesperia
54 (1985): 205–55.
44 Garth Fowden, The Egyptian Hermes: A Historical Approach to the Late Pagan Mind (New
York: Cambridge University Press, 1986); Robert K. Ritner, The Mechanics of Ancient Egyptian
Magical Practice, SOAC 54 (Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1993), 206 and
n. 952; Ritner, “Egyptian Magical Practice under the Roman Empire: The Demotic Spells and
Their Religious Context,” ANRW 2.18.5, 3345–46; David Frankfurter, Religion in Roman Egypt:
Assimilation and Resistance (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998), 198–237; Diele-
man, Priests, Tongues, and Rites; Ian S. Moyer, Egypt and the Limits of Hellenism (New York:
Cambridge University Press, 2011), 223–26.
45 LiDonnici, “Compositional Patterns in PGM IV”; Dieleman, Priests, Tongues, and Rites,
22, 28; Korshi Dosoo, “Magical Discourses, Ritual Collections: Cultural Trends and Private In-
terests in Egyptian Handbooks and Archives,” in Proceedings of the 27th International Congress
of Papyrology, ed. Tomasz Derda, Adam Łajtar and Jakub Urbanik (Warsaw: Journal of Juristic
Papyrology, 2016), 699–716..
46 Émile Chassinat and Maxence de Rochemonteix, Le Temple d’Edfou (Paris: Leroux, 1928),
351; Bertha Porter and Rosalind L. B. Moss, Topographical Bibliography of Ancient Egyptian Hier-
oglyphic Texts, Reliefs, and Paintings (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1927), 135.
than four hundred texts, about half of which relate directly to the functioning
of the temple. Ten contain instructions for rituals; one is intended for use for a
private individual.47 In this context, it seems likely that temple functionaries had
access to these documents. It is also possible that some of the state-focused rites
were adapted for private parties, as many of the texts were written in rapid hands,
and may have been used for practical purposes.48
Later evidence suggests that ritual practitioners or personnel may have main-
tained instructional texts as private possessions. At the Dakhleh Oasis, excava-
tions in structure three at the site of Ismant al-Kharab (ancient Kellis) have un-
covered an archive belonging to the family of an individual named Pamour or
Pamouris, a Manichaean. The archive includes fragments of two ritual formu-
laries, as well as examples of activated spells in the form of amulets, one of which
was created by using the formulary. Another text has been identified as a medical
prescription, indicating that the residents were skilled in healing practices.49 In
the 1920s, Howard Carter discovered a jar “buried in the floor of a monk’s dwell-
ing – a Rock Cave – near the stone chips that came from the original excavation
of the tomb of Amenemhet I.”50 Carter suggests that the resident was a monk,
as a Christian community was located nearby in the Deir Bekheeta, and monks
or other ascetics made frequent use of the caves as residences. The formulary
was written in Coptic, and includes a variety of applications, including healing
spells as well as rituals to drain a cistern, lay a foundation, and make a woman
pregnant. The individuals who possessed and used these documents, or their
progenitors, may have received traditional religious training, as they were famil-
iar with the languages of the temple. They were familiar with the ritual words,
gestures, and actions of religious procedures, positioned as experts in the com-
munity to perform rituals for private individuals in local contexts.51 Like their
47 Kim Ryholt, “On the Contents and Nature of the Tebtunis Temple Library: A Status Re-
port,” in Tebtynis und Soknopaiu Nesos: Leben im römerzeitlichen Fajum, ed. Sandra Lippert and
Maren Schentuleit (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2005), 158. Thessalos, in De virtutibus herbarum,
records that he was able to read a ritual text discovered in a library, but was unable to perform
the rites effectively until he receives instruction from a high priest, associated with a temple in
Thebes. (sec 6–7, 12) See Ian S. Moyer, Egypt and the Limits of Hellenism (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 2011), 264–69; Fowden, The Egyptian Hermes, 162–65; Ritner, “Egyptian
Magical Practice under the Roman Empire,” ANRW 2.18.5, 2256–58.
48 Peter van Minnen, “Boorish or Bookish? Literature in Egyptian Villages in the Fayum in
the Graeco-Roman Period,” JJP 28 (1998), 166.
49 Klaus A. Worp et al., eds., Greek Papyri from Kellis, Dakleh Oasis Project (Oakville, CT:
Oxbow Books, 1995), 50–53; Magical formulary: P. Kell. 85a, P. Kell. 85b; amulet from formu-
lary: P. Kell. 87; fever amulets: P. Kell. 86 and P. Kell. 87; amulet: P. Kell. 88; medical formula:
P. Kell. 89.
50 Quoted in Angelicus M. Kropp, Ausgewählte koptische Zaubertexte (Bruxelles: Édition de
la Fondation égyptologique reine Élisabeth, 1930), 50 = ACM, no. 128. Map of findspot: Howard
Carter, “Report on the Tomb of Zeser-Ka-Ra Amenhetep I, Discovered by the Earl of Carnarvon
in 1914,” JEA 3 (1916): plate XIX.
51 David Frankfurter, “Female Figurines in Early Christian Egypt: Reconstructing Lost
Egyptian counterparts, the Cypriot practitioners compiled and utilized the ritu-
al spell texts, employing them in a community in which individuals sought out
these specialists because of their expertise and familiarity with invocations, ges-
tures, and locations.
Specialized Deposition and Restricted Access
The curse tablets from Cyprus are the largest extant cache of inscribed spells
known from antiquity. All of the objects were placed within a single, presumably
significant location: the deep shaft. Other sizable deposits of tablets derive from
temple precincts, including sanctuaries of Demeter and Kore, most notably at
Corinth and Cnidus, and sanctuaries to other goddesses, including Sulis Miner-
va at Bath, Anna Perenna in Rome, and the sanctuary of Isis and Magna Mater
at Mainz, in Germany. Ritual personnel were likely responsible for some com-
ponents of the creation and deposition of these artifacts. Often, rites intended to
activate curses took place within the temple enclosure and access to these spaces
was likely controlled by ritual personnel or a temple warden.52
Recent archaeological work at the site of Corinth uncovered a group of eight-
een tablets associated with the sanctuary of Demeter and Kore on Acrocorinth.
Ten of the tablets derive from one room of a single building, the so-called “Build-
ing of the Tablets,” a structure that was located prominently in the sanctuary en-
closure. Of the remaining eight tablets, most can be associated with structures
within the temple enclosure.53 The tablets invoked the deities of the precinct:
Demeter appears in one of the tablets. In another text, found in the cult space
Practices and Meanings,” Material Religion 11 (2015): 207–9. Some practitioners may have also
adopted the techniques, goals, and stereotypes of the magician, as depicted in literary sources,
through what Frankfurter has termed “stereotype appropriation.” See Religion in Roman Egypt,
224–37.
52 Beate Dignas, “A Day in the Life of a Greek Sanctuary,” in A Companion to Greek Religion,
ed. Daniel Ogden (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2007), 163–65. Temples may have been roped off,
or closed, on non-festival days. See Parker, Polytheism and Society at Athens, 294–95 and n. 24.
Our sources highlight the occasions when restricted access was violated. At the site of Arkesine
in the fourth century BCE, a woman priest complains about other women entering the shrine
while she was absent. Dillon, Girls and Women in Classical Greek Religion, 79.
53 The tablets are published in Ronald S. Stroud, The Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore: The
Inscriptions (Princeton, NJ: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 2013). The tablets
found in the sanctuary building are numbers 118–27. Tablets 128–29 were found in Late Roman
fill to the southwest of the Building of the Tablets. Tablets 130–31, against Maxima Pontia, were
found in the remains of a Classical period dining complex. Tablet 132 was from Late Roman fill
above Room E and a small court P‑Q26. Nancy Bookidis and Ronald S. Stroud, The Sanctuary
of Demeter and Kore: Topography and Architecture (Princeton, N. J.: American School of Classi-
cal Studies at Athens, 1997), 208–9. Tablets 133 and 135 were found in late fourth century BCE
debris associated with the main temple dedicated to Kore. Tablet 134 was found in late fourth
century BCE debris associated with the easternmost temple dedicated to the Morai, or Fates.
dedicated to the Morai, or the Fates, the inscription invokes Ananke, or Neces-
sity, the mother of the Morai.54 In the Building of the Tablets, the artifacts were
deposited around four low bases that were placed along the south wall, and have
been associated with objects employed in rites probably related to some form of
ritual activation: lamps, almost all of which appear to have been used, fragments
of clay thymiateria (large ceramic objects for burning incense) and small vessels
presumably used for pouring liquids.55 There is evidence of different hands in
the creation of the texts, suggesting that multiple practitioners worked in a space
that was used for as many as two hundred years, down to the third century CE.56
The rituals were being performed within a specific space – inside the temple en-
closure – where access likely was constrained.
Other sanctuary sites in which curse tablets were discovered in significant
numbers likewise suggest the involvement of temple personnel. In the paired
sanctuaries of Magna Mater and Isis at Mainz, excavation within the interior
rooms of the sanctuary uncovered eighteen tablets as well as numerous frag-
ments and globules of lead. Nearly all of the preserved tablets also show signs
of exposure to high heat. The ongoing and frequent ritual at the site required
the destruction of the tablets in the fires; we possess the few examples that es-
caped this fate.57 Temple functionaries likely placed the tablets into the fires
deep within the temple, probably as part of their official duties. At the Temple of
Sulis at Bath, in England, more than 130 tablets were recovered from the sacred
spring associated with the local goddess. The temple precinct was built around
the spring, and sometime in the second century CE, the reservoir was enclosed
by the construction of a barrel-vaulted enclosure, limiting access.58 Likewise, ex-
cavation of the cistern of the fountain at the sanctuary of Anna Perenna in Rome
uncovered a series of small containers, each of which contained a curse tablet
and a miniature figurine.59 The location of the cistern, behind the public foun-
54 Stroud, The Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore: The Inscriptions, 131.

55 Stroud, The Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore: The Inscriptions, 139–46; Bookidis and
Stroud, The Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore: Topography and Architecture, 281–91.
56 Stroud, The Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore: The Inscriptions, 86; Bookidis and Stroud,
The Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore: Topography and Architecture, 291.
57 Marion Witteyer, “Curse Tablets and Voodoo Dolls from Mainz: The Archaeological Ev-
idence for Magical Practices in the Sanctuary of Isis and Magna Mater,” MHNH: revista inter-
nacional de investigación sobre magia y astrología antiguas 5 (2005): 116–23; Jürgen Blänsdorf,
“The Defixiones from the Sanctuary of Isis and Mater Magna in Mainz,” in Magical Practice in
the Latin West: Papers from the International Conference Held at the University of Zaragoza, 30
Sept. – 1 Oct. 2005, ed. Richard L. Gordon and Francisco Marco Simón (Leiden: Brill, 2010),
156–57; see especially Blänsdorf ’s tablet 12=DTM 11, which states: “May their limbs melt as this
lead shall melt, in order that they may die;” Blänsdorf, “The Defixiones from the Sanctuary of
Isis and Mater Magna in Mainz,” 178.
58 Barry W. Cunliffe and Peter Davenport, The Temple of Sulis Minerva at Bath Volume I:
The Site (Oxford: Oxford University Committee for Archaeology, 1985), 180–81.
59 Marina Piranomonte, “Religion and Magic at Rome: The Fountain of Anna Perenna,”
tain, may indicate restricted access. Given the meticulous preparation of the ar-
tifacts, it is very likely that ritual specialists were involved in the creation of these
objects.
At each of these sites, ritual personnel likely were involved in the creation or
deposition of the tablets. At Bath and Mainz, it appears that the principal, the
individual who petitioned the goddess, was responsible for writing the text. The
tablets from Bath even include examples that are only scratches, probably the re-
sult of an illiterate individual’s attempt to write down the curse.60 The act of writ-
ing by the principal was critical for the efficacy of the spell; the text represented
direct communication between the principal and the divinity in the shrine.61 For
the temple of Magna Mater at Mainz, Blänsdorf has argued that the variation of
the spells precludes the possibility of priestly intervention; some of the curses
show little literary finesse, and are only lists of names.62 This argument, however,
elides multiple ritual events, privileging only the act of inscribing. The principal
may have acquired the tablet at the site, after it was prepared by ritual personnel
or other functionaries.63 Such individuals may have assisted in devising the text
that would be inscribed. Even in cases in which neither legible nor literate text is
preserved on a tablet, the ritual surely included a spoken incantation; the profes-
sionals who worked in the shrine could have provided assistance in this process,
as they would be aware of words or gestures believed to be efficacious. Compar-
ison with divinatory practices can illuminate the potential role of these ritual
specialists. Although the principal agent in a divinatory rite such as incubation
would have experienced the dream or other visitation, the ritual professional
was responsible for the interpretation, facilitating the divinatory experience.64
We should locate ritual personnel at various points within the process, from sup-
plying the materials for the rite, to lending technical expertise or inspiration, and
finally, facilitating the deposit of the tablet, or, as is likely at Mainz, ensuring that
the ritual artifact was consumed in the fire.
in Magical Practice in the Latin West: Papers from the International Conference Held at the Uni-
versity of Zaragoza, 30 Sept. – 1 Oct. 2005, ed. Richard L. Gordon and Francisco Marco Simón
(Leiden: Brill, 2010), 195–96; Il Santuario della Musica e il bosco sacro di Anna Perenna (Milano:
Electa, 2002), 17–20.
60 Roger S. O. Tomlin, Tabellae Sulis: Roman Inscribed Tablets of Tin and Lead from the
Sacred Spring at Bath (Oxford: Oxford University Committee for Archaeology, 1988), 247, nos.
112–16.
61 Gordon, “Showing the Gods,” 149–50.
62 Blänsdorf, “The Defixiones from the Sanctuary of Isis and Mater Magna in Mainz,” 147.
63 The lead content of the tablets from Bath suggests individual preparation. Tomlin, Ta-
bellae Sulis, 82–84.
64 Hamori, Women’s Divination, 6.
Display
According to the account of the discovery at Cyprus, a number of selenite tablets

were mounted on the walls of the shaft with gypsum. One of the selenite artifacts
preserves suspension holes (fig. 1, p. 299), suggesting that the object was man-
ufactured with the intent to hang it from the wall of the shaft. In a number of
locations around the Mediterranean, curse tablets were displayed publicly, often
within temple precincts, although in some cases, the tablets had been rolled or
folded in order to obscure the text from those who might read it. The display of
tablets within sanctuaries places this ritual act squarely within the realm of tem-
ple practice, indicating that ritual personnel took an active role in cursing.
Fourteen folded lead sheets from the temple of Demeter at Cnidus provide
a close parallel to the Cypriot tablets. Excavating in the mid-nineteenth centu-
ry, C. T. Newton found the tablets around statue bases and portions of a statue
of Demeter. A number of the sheets preserved suspension holes, indicating that
they had been hung up.65 Similarities in the Cnidian inscriptions suggest that
a formulary or model text would have been shared among the practitioners.66
Temple personnel were likely responsible for the creation of the artifacts, and
viewed these objects as appropriate dedications to the goddess. Once the com-
plaint had been lodged with the goddess, temple personnel may have taken an
active role in resolving the conflict that precipitated the curse.67
Numerous other tablets from the Mediterranean preserve features such as
suspension holes that suggest that the responsible party intended to display the
artifact, with many deriving from temple contexts.68 Curses against thieves, for
example, frequently were intended to be displayed, and at least six examples
65 Charles Thomas Newton, A History of Discoveries at Halicarnassus, Cnidus, and Bran-
chidae (London: Day & Son, 1863), 724; Audollent (DTAud cxvi) denies the existence of these
holes, but this may be a result of later decay.
66 Henk S. Versnel, “Beyond Cursing: The Appeal for Justice in Judicial Prayers,” in Magika
Hiera: Ancient Greek Magic and Religion, ed. Christopher A. Faraone and Dirk Obbink (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1991), 72.
67 Henk Versnel, “Writing Mortals and Reading Gods: Appeal to the Gods as a Dual Strate-
gy in Social Control,” in Demokratie, Recht und Soziale Kontrolle im klassischen Athen, ed. David
Cohen and Elisabeth Müller-Luckner (München: Oldenbourg, 2002), 68–72; “Πεπρημένος. The
Cnidian Curse Tablets and Ordeal by Fire,” in Ancient Greek Cult Practice from the Epigraphical
Evidence, ed. Robin Hägg (Stockholm: Paul Aströms Förlag, 1994), 146; Christopher A. Faraone,
“Curses, Crime Detection and Conflict Resolution at the Festival of Demeter Thesmophoros,”
JHS 131 (2011): 25–44. On the role of temple personnel in facilitating justice at other sites in Asia
Minor, see Angelos Chaniotis, “Under the Watchful Eyes of the Gods: Divine Justice in Hellen-
istic and Roman Asia Minor,” in The Greco-Roman East: Politics, Culture, Society, ed. Stephen
Colvin, Yale Classical Studies (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 11–13.
68 Versnel, “Writing Mortals and Reading Gods,” 56–59; Versnel, “Prayers for Justice, East
and West: Recent Finds and Publications since 1990,” in Magical Practice in the Latin West:
Papers from the International Conference Held at the University of Zaragoza, 30 Sept. – 1 Oct.
2005, ed. Richard L. Gordon and Francisco Marco Simón (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 281 n. 22.
were discovered in temples.69 Henk Versnel has advocated for a separate clas-
sification of some ritual tablets as prayers for justice, differentiating these objects
from traditional forms of cursing.70 As Esther Eidinow has argued, many curses
embody a desire to confront and manage risk, particularly with regard to a fu-
ture event, such as a court case, or to ongoing animosity. Curses reflect anxieties
about the future, and often reframe an aggressive act as a defensive maneuver in-
tended to forestall an imagined act by the target.71 Prayers for justice respond to
a perceived injustice and were intended to both remedy the wrong and forestall
future abuse. The distinction between curses and prayers for justice relies on the
text of the inscription, downplaying potential congruencies in the ritual process-
es that produced the artifacts. Prayers for justice, like other forms of curses, were
intended to affect change through ritual means, and individuals, as members of
the community, determined whether this ritual form was considered acceptable
practice by local specialists.72
On Cyprus, ritual specialists descended the shaft in order to mount the tablets
on the walls, but these objects would have been visible to only the practitioners
and the gods.73 Even so, the act of display may have served any number of po-
tentially overlapping purposes. The tablets may have proclaimed the desire of the
principal for resolution, or asserted the justification for bringing down a curse
on the target. Many of the tablets refer to justice and injustice, suggesting a de-
sire for resolution, irrespective of guilt or innocence. Like votive objects, some
curses may have been a physical testament to an agreement between the divinity
and the principal. Ritual specialists likely were instrumental in facilitating the
resolution that the tablets desired, either through direct mediation or through
the more common avenue of gossip within the social network.74
69 Christopher A. Faraone et al., “Micah’s Mother (Judg. 17:1–4) and a Curse from Carthage
(Kai 89): Canaanite Precedents for Greek and Latin Curses against Thieves?” JNES 64 (2005):
171.
70 On this category, Versnel suggests seven characteristics that typify prayers for justice, in-
cluding the presence of name of the principal and a tone of supplication, but he concedes that
there are a significant number of tablets that are “borderline cases” which combine features of
aggressive curses, and supplicatory prayers for justice. Versnel, “Prayers for Justice, East and
West,” 179–80.
71 Eidinow, Oracles, Curses, and Risk, 228–32.
72 Kindt, Rethinking Greek Religion, 113; Hamori, Women’s Divination, 25.
73 Roger S. O. Tomlin, “Cursing a Thief in Iberia and Britain” in Magical Practice in the Latin
West: Papers from the International Conference Held at the University of Zaragoza, 30 Sept.–1 Oct.
2005, ed. Richard L. Gordon and Francisco Marco Simón (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 250.
74 Collins, Magic in the Ancient Greek World, 86–88; Eidinow, Envy, Poison, and Death,
254–57.
Conclusion
The inscribed lead and selenite tablets from Cyprus represent a substantial cor-
pus of evidence for ritual practices during the late second and third centuries
CE. This period witnessed religious transformation throughout the Mediterra-
nean, and was marked by social crises, imperial instability, and the increasing
importance of Christianity. Comparative evidence suggests one possible model
for understanding the production and deposition of these artifacts: that ritual
personnel, familiar with religious language, gestures and formulae, amassed and
managed ritual procedures, including some ritual techniques and invocations
that made their way to Cyprus from other locations. These individuals oversaw
and may have created and deposited the ritual objects.
Curses responded to local needs and concerns, and ritual practices reflected
the ideas of community regarding acceptable and unacceptable behavior by both
ritual specialists and amateurs. On Cyprus, analysis of the archaeological context
of the artifacts and their inscriptions can provide some hints about the individu-
als who created the objects. The ritual tablets were products of a local communi-
ty, in which the principal worked with a specialist to produce a power object. The
practitioners made use of a formulary that provides evidence for the compilation
of ritual texts, likely from a variety of sources. The process can be compared to
ritual procedures in Egypt, where priests, monks, or other individuals with ritu-
al expertise were associated with the production of power objects. The intricate
nature of the spells, and the evidence for compilation, suggests an active, learned
group of practitioners. The Cypriot ritual specialists deposited the tablets in a
specific, presumably important location. The practitioners produced more than
240 artifacts over the period in which the space was in use. The number and
treatment of the tablets can be compared to examples from sanctuary sites, such
as those at Corinth, Cnidus, and Mainz. At these sites, it seems likely that ritu-
al personnel associated with a local temple were responsible for the production
and display or deposition of the tablets. This comparative evidence suggests that
the Cypriot cache was likewise the product of professionals who may have been
tied to a temple or other collective organization. In situations of perceived injus-
tice, the practitioners served as an important recourse, either to manage risk or
to ensure a just outcome.
The artifacts from Cyprus, however, cannot be associated securely with a tem-
ple or a specific religious institution, either by provenance or by evidence from
the inscriptions. No temple of Demeter and Kore is attested near Agios Tychon
or Amathous. Inscriptional evidence locates a temple to the Demeter and Kore
at Hellenistic Kourion, the site originally specified as the findspot of the cache,
but it is unclear whether the temple was still active in the Roman period.75 Mit-
75 Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” ANRW 2.18.3: 2184. The British were active in the
ford suggests that the tablets are the products of Jewish-Cypriot mages, a much-
cited ethnic group in the literary record, but the evidence for Jewish activity at
Amathous is also limited for this period.76 By the fifth and sixth centuries, Chris-
tian basilicas had been constructed at both Kourion and Amathous.77 There is
also evidence for the cult of Theos Hypsistos, the “Most High God,” who was the
focus of third-century devotion on Cyprus and in Asia Minor. A cippus dedicat-
ed to the god is known from Agios Tychon; in addition, a number of funerary
monuments, some of which bear similarities to votive offerings, have been dis-
covered in the countryside around Amathous.78 Despite the extensive invoca-
tions preserved on the tablets, the inscriptions of the curse tablets are catholic in
their devotion, calling upon multiple divinities, but making no specific mention
of those gods for whom we have clear evidence for ritual personnel or even func-
tioning religious structures in the third century.
Archaeological evidence does not permit us to know the precise nature of the
shaft in which the tablets were deposited, but it is clear that the artifacts were
placed deep beneath the earth, in an area that must have resonated with ideas
about the dead and their spiritual locations. The area around Agios Tychon likely
served as a cemetery for Amathous, and therefore offered enormous potential for
the practitioner, who believed himself or herself capable of harnessing this force
for ritual use. Within this mortuary zone, ritual personnel may have been able
to access the world of the dead through the shaft, depositing imprecations to the
demones without the danger of pollution associated with coming into direct con-
tact with the bodies of the deceased.
The third century, when the tablets were probably deposited, witnessed the
decline of many of the physical structures associated with religious practice on
Cyprus as elsewhere. At Amathous, the temple of Aphrodite, long a mainstay of
cult on the island, went out of use, but it was not replaced by a Christian church
until the fifth century.79 Despite the absence of built structures, local individu-
als continued to practice religious devotion, perhaps led by ritual personnel pre-
viously associated with polis cult who had moved apart from these traditional
area around Kourion in the late nineteenth century, but it is unlikely that a well would have been
placed near the location of the temple of Demeter and Kore, given its elevation (Stuart Swiny,
personal communication).
76 Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” ANRW 2.18.3, 2205. A fourth-century inscription
locates a rabbi at Lapethus, and a synagogue is known from fifth or sixth century Salamis. There
likewise is some evidence for Jewish activity at the site of Kourion in the Hellenistic period, but
little afterwards. Pieter W. van der Horst, “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,” Zutot 3 (2003): 115–17.
77 William Tabbernee, “Asia Minor and Cyprus,” in Early Christianity in Contexts: An Ex-
ploration across Cultures and Continents, ed. William Tabbernee (Grand Rapids: Baker Academ-
ic, 2014), 314.
78 Edmond Pottier and Mondry Beaudouin, “Inscriptions de l’île de Chypre,” BCH 3 (1879):
167, no. 12.
79 Pierre Aupert, Guide to Amathous (Nicosia: Bank of Cyprus Cultural Foundation and the
Cyprus Department of Antiquities, 2000), 67–70, 72–75.
physical spaces, taking on new roles in local communities. At Amathous, the

individuals who created the tablets were literate professionals, conversant with
multiple religious traditions, who engaged in rites that incorporated a variety of
cultural elements. The religious landscape of late antique Egypt is not dissim-
ilar. There, the Egyptian temple declined as a central focus of community life.
The period of transition witnessed the increasing prominence of Christian reli-
gious structures and personnel, some of whom were similarly engaged in provid-
ing magical services.80 The Cypriot tablets may derive from a comparable peri-
od of transition, when ritual specialists were engaging in rites that were neither
aligned exclusively with traditional local cults or Christianity, and were neither
exclusively “magic” nor “religion.”
80 Peter Brown, “The Rise and Function of the Holy Man,” JRS 61 (1971): 80–101; Jonathan
Z. Smith, Map Is Not Territory: Studies in the History of Religions (Leiden: Brill, 1978), 186–89;
David Frankfurter, “Syncretism and the Holy Man in Late Antique Egypt,” JECS 11 (2003): 339–
85; “Where the Spirits Dwell: Possession, Christianization and Saint-Shrines in Late Antiqui-
ty,” HTR 103 (2010): 27–46; Christianizing Egypt: Syncretism and Local Worlds in Late Antiquity
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2018): 87–103.
Epiphanius’s Library
Andrew S. Jacobs
Εἶπε πάλιν, ὅτι ἀναγκαία τῶν Χριστιανῶν βιβλίων ἡ κτῆσις

τοῖς ἔχουσι. Καὶ αὐτὴ γὰρ καθ᾽ ἑαυτὴν τῶν βιβλίων ἡ ὄψις,
ὀκνηροτέρους ἡμᾶς πρὸς τὴν ἁμαρτίαν ἐργάζεται, καὶ πρὸς
δικαιοσύνην μᾶλλον διανίστασθαι προτρέπεται.
He said another time that the acquisition of Christian books is
necessary for those who can. For the very sight of books makes
us shy away more from sin and rather urges us to be roused to
righteousness.
Apophthegmata Patrum Epiphanius 8
Modern Anglophone scholarship has little patience with Epiphanius, bishop

of Constantia (Salamis) from 367 to 403: these scholars view him as a menda-
cious anti-intellectual whose baleful influence in late antiquity promoted in-
tolerance and fractiousness. These same scholars, however, rely heavily on the
texts preserved by Epiphanius. R. C. P. Hanson wrote that his most famous work,
the heresiological compendium Panarion, is “of immeasurable value because it
preserves for us so much material which would otherwise have been lost, even
though it is presented by a writer who is narrow-minded at best and very silly at
worst.”1 Epiphanius is in fact the only source for dozens of early Christian texts
that would otherwise be lost, from parabiblical sources to fourth-century doc-
uments preceding the Council of Constantinople in 381.2
Even the most detailed literary study of the Panarion of the twentieth centu-
ry focuses almost solely on its sources: “This documentation,” Aline Pourkier
wrote, “makes his work precious to us,”3 suggesting that the best approach to
Epiphanius’s work is “an archaeological analysis (une analyse fouillée) … which
1 R. C. P. Hanson, The Search for the Christian Doctrine of God: The Arian Controversy, 318–
381 A. D. (London: T. & T. Clark, 1988), 658. On Epiphanius’s role in modern scholarship, see
my discussion in Epiphanius of Cyprus: A Cultural Biography of Late Antiquity, Christianity in
Late Antiquity (Oakland: University of California Press, 2016), 1–8 and 263–67.
2 Pierre Nautin, “Épiphane,” Dictionnaire d’histoire et de géographie écclesiastique 15 (1963):
617–31, at 627, provides a partial list of documents which we have only through Epiphanius.
3 Aline Pourkier, L’hérésiologie chez Épiphane de Salamine, Christianisme antique 4 (Paris:
Beauchesne, 1992), 92, echoing the earlier sentiment of her Doktorvater Pierre Nautin, “Épi-
phane,” 627: “C’est par cette documentation que son ouvrage est précieux.”
134 Andrew S. Jacobs
always takes account of [Epiphanius’s] sources and seeks to delimit their usage
in a rigorous fashion.”4 Pourkier continues a project begun by the “founding
fathers” of early Christian source criticism, who sought in the nineteenth cen-
tury to extract more authentic and valuable anti-heretical works from Epipha
nius’s text.5
Such a distinction between negatively valued “husk” and positively valued
“kernel” characterized nineteenth-century source critical theological history, but
also persists into our own day.6 Twentieth- and twenty-first-century source crit-
ical approaches to Epiphanius bear the added mark of our post-Walter Bauer
quest for authentic sources for “alternative” early Christianities.7 Students of
Gnosticism and Jewish-Christianity conduct their own “archaeological analy-
sis” designed to recover texts that originated with Sethians or Ebionites.8 Major
recent work on Marcion has likewise carefully – almost surgically – retrieved
verses out of his lost Evangelion and Apostolikon from Epiphanius’s Refutation,9
4 Pourkier, Hérésiologie, 497. Nautin goes so far as to describe the Panarion as “une nouvelle
édition de l’ouvrage d’Hippolyte, mise à jour et augmentée de quarante-huit hérésies;” Nautin,
“Épiphane,” 626–27.
5 Especially R. A. Lipsius, Zur Quellenkritik des Epiphanios (Vienna: Wilhelm Braumüller,
1865), which (like Pourkier’s monograph) focuses on rescuing Hippolytus’s Syntagma from Epi
phanius; Lipsius revisits his discussion of Hippolytus’s text in Die Quellen der ältesten Ketzer-
geschichte: neu untersucht (Leipzig: Barth, 1875). See also Charles Henry Beeson, Hegemonius:
Acta Archelai, GCS 16 (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1906), who collates sections of Pan. 66 (against Mani)
with Latin translations of an otherwise non-extant anti-Manichaean text and Pierre de Labri-
olle, Les sources de l’histoire du Montanisme: Textes, grecs, latins, syriaques, Collectanea Fribur-
gensia n. s. 15 (Fribourg: Librairie de l’ Université, 1913), who describes his project on xxxi–lxxvi,
esp. l–lxiii.
6 Adolf von Harnack famously deployed this distinction between husk (Schale) and kernel
(Kern) in his lectures published as Das Wesen des Christentums (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1900), 7,
9, 35, 36, 113, 182; and in English as What is Christianity? trans. Thomas Bailey Saunders (New
York: Putnam, 1901), 12, 15, 130, 179, 217.
7 The influence of Walter Bauer’s Rechtgläubkeit und Ketzerei im ältesten Christentum was
felt in English-speaking scholarship in the 1960s and 1970s, simultaneous with the dispersion of
“new” early Christian sources such as the texts from Nag Hammadi. The text was translated into
English in 1971; Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity, ed. Robert A. Kraft and Gerhard
Krodel (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1971); but we should see this translation project (spear-
headed by the Philadelphia Seminar on Christian Origins) as a symptom of Bauer’s growing in-
fluence, rather than the root cause. See the minutes of the 1966–1967 meetings of the Philadel-
phia Seminar on Christian Origins during which Bauer was discussed: J. Reumann and R. Kraft,
“Walter Bauer: The Man and His Book” (presented at the Philadelphia Seminar on Christian
Origins, Philadelphia, PA, 20 September 1966), minutes available http://ccat.sas.upenn.edu/
psco/archives/psco04-min.htm, accessed 16 June 2015.
8 Bentley Layton, The Gnostic Scriptures (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 185–214;
Bart D. Ehrman and Zlatko Pleše, The Apocryphal Gospels: Texts and Translations (Oxford: Ox-
ford University Press, 2011), 210–15; Petri Luomanen, Recovering Jewish-Christian Sects and Gos-
pels, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 110 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 251–52, updating A. F. J. Klijn,
Jewish-Christian Gospel Tradition, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 17 (Leiden: Brill, 1992).
9 Dieter T. Roth, The Text of Marcion’s Gospel (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 270–346; Judith M. Lieu,
Marcion and the Making of a Heretic: God and Scripture in the Second Century (Cambridge:
Epiphanius’s Library 135
and more recent studies of Montanism (the New Prophecy) have focused as
much on the recovery of authentic Montanist “oracles” as earlier scholars did on
authentic anti-Montanist refutations.10 These scholars who follow the assump-
tion that Epiphanius is otherwise “unbelievable” (not to mention “very silly”)
also assume, possibly due to his perceived intellectual limitations, that he repro-
duced his earlier sources “quite slavishly.”11
Yet despite this desire to recover sources from Epiphanius, no one has yet
critically studied Epiphanius’s library.12 Other fourth-century Christian authors
have received more serious bibliographic investigation, especially Eusebius of
Caesarea and Jerome (about whom more below).13 By reading Epiphanius pri-
marily as a sourcebook, modern scholars have perhaps uncritically assumed
that Epiphanius’s library was analogous to his acquisitive contemporaries’: well-
stocked and capacious. Our appreciation for Epiphanius’s sources even amelio-
rates our otherwise unpleasant image of Epiphanius if – at least – we can reduce
him to an irritating but invaluable patristic library.14
Certainly the bishop showed a deep interest in books, a fact that emerges in
his own writings and those of his contemporaries. In his discussion of the “Gnos-
tic” heresy in the Panarion Epiphanius remarks: “They have a lot of books,”15
Cambridge University Press, 2015), 193–96 and 238–42 (discussion of Epiphanius’s citations of
Marcion’s Bible) and 209–33 and 242–69 (discussions of Marcion’s Bible that rely on Epiphanius
and other anti-Marcionite sources).
10 Christine Trevett, Montanism: Gender, Authority, and the New Prophecy (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1996); Ronald A. Heine, The Montanist Oracles and Testimonia,
Patristic Monograph Series 14 (Macon: Mercer University Press, 1989).
11 Lipsius describes Epi phanius as “kein eben sehr glaubwürdiger Schriftsteller” and as
someone who “sehr sklavisch” relied on his earlier sources; Quellenkritik, 1. By contrast, Pour-
kier remarks that Epiphanius follows Hippolytues “loin … de servilement;” Hérésiologie, 146.
12 It is important to distinguish the particular material and intellectual categories of texts,
books, and sources (and, of course, “libraries”): see Guglielmo Cavallo, “Libri, lettura, e bibliote-
che nella tarda antichità: Un panorama e qualche riflessione,” Antiquité Tardive 18 (2010): 9–19.
13 On Eusebius: Andrew Carriker, The Library of Eusebius of Caesrea, Supplements to Vig-
iliae Christianae 67 (Leiden: Brill, 2003); Sabrina Inowlocki, Eusebius and the Jewish Authors:
His Citation Technique in an Apologetic Context, Ancient Judaism and Christianity 64 (Leiden:
Brill, 2006); Inowlocki, “Eusebius’ Construction of a Christian Culture in an Apologetic Con-
text: Reading the Praeparatio evangelica as a Library,” in Reconsidering Eusebius: Collected
Papers on Literary, Historical, and Theological Issues, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 107
(Leiden: Brill, 2011), 199–223; Anthony Grafton and Megan H. Williams, Christianity and the
Transformation of the Book: Origen, Eusebius, and the Library of Caesarea (Cambridge: Har-
vard University Press, 2006), 133–232. On Jerome: Megan H. Williams, The Monk and the Book:
Jerome and the Making of Christian Scholarship (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006).
14 Grafton and Williams, Transformation, 92: “Epiphanius, for all that modern scholars have
questioned his intellectual seriousness, was an avid compiler of curious texts.”
15 Epiphanius, Pan. 26.8.1: Καὶ τὰ μὲν βιβλία αὐτῶν πολλά. Epiphanius, Pan. 25.3.5 also ac-
cuses the Nicolaitans of “inventing some books in Ialdabaoth’s name.” Epiphanius explicitly
links these two heresies together: Pan. 25.2.1 and 26.1.3: “these [Gnostics] are yoked together
(συνεζευγμένοι) with those who follow Nicolaus.” On this incident, see Young Richard Kim,
later revealing that he actually met these heretics.16 Readers of this chapter often
focus on the deceptive scheme of the Gnostic women who attempt to seduce Epi
phanius,17 but just as significant for Epiphanius are the heretics’ “many books,”
as he relates:
The ones introducing this enticing story (ἀγώγιμον μῦθον τοῦτον) were quite lovely in
their visual form (μορφῇ), but in their depraved minds they possessed all the unsightliness
(ἀμορφίαν) of the Devil. But the merciful God protected me from their depravity, such
that after I read their books and knew their true opinion (μετὰ τὸ ἀναγνῶναι ἡμᾶς καὶ τὰς
βίβλους αὐτῶν καὶ ἐπιστῆσαι τὸν νοῦν τῇ ἀληθείᾳ) – and not being carried off by it – I es-
caped without taking their bait.18
The image of a studious (even nerdy) young monk using his love of books to es-
cape the seductive grasp of heretics captures in miniature a major theme of the
Panarion:19 his fellow orthodox should not judge a book solely by its cover, but
investigate below the surface. Epiphanius at the beginning of the treatise posi-
tions himself as the expert who, through “love of learning” (ἐκ φιλομαθίας), has
collected eyewitness accounts, his own recollections, and the “refutations of ear-
lier authors” (διὰ συνταγμάτων παλαιῶν συγγραφέων).20 Heretics will lie, but
books (among other sources) will reveal their deceptions.
Other Christians also recall Epiphanius as particularly studious and book-
ish. Jerome, his close ally for the last decades of the bishop’s life, praised Epipha
nius as “full of knowledge,”21 a scholar who had mastered five languages (pre-
Epiphanius of Cyprus: Imagining an Orthodox World (Ann Arbor: University of Michican Press,
2015), 35–43.
16 Epiphanius does not specify that the Gnostics he met were in Egypt, but he does recall
later of the Sethians: “Perhaps, I think, it was in the country of Egypt that I also encountered this
heresy (for I don’t recall exactly where I encountered it)” (Pan. 39.1.2). According to Sozomen,
Hist. eccl. 6.32.3, Epiphanius was “educated by the best monks” in Egypt. Pourkier, Hérésiologie,
30, posits (plausibly) that he went as a young man to Egypt “y poursuivre ses études chez un
rhéteur” and was “attiré par la vie monastique.” Notably, we find the same narrative in Jerome’s
Vit. Hil. 2 ascribed to Epiphanius’s monastic mentor, Hilarion.
17 See James E. Goehring, “Libertine or Liberated: Women in the So-called Libertine Gnos-
tic Communities,” in Images of the Feminine in Gnosticism, SAC, ed. Karen L. King (Philadel-
phia: Augsburg Fortress Press, 1990), 329–44.
18 Epiphanius, Pan. 26.17.8. Emphasis added.
19 Perhaps even the image of a “chest” (panarion) would evoke for readers the capsa or
cistae containing scrolls, or other containers used to carry books (I thank the audience at the
17th International Conference on Patristic Studies at Oxford for making this suggestion): see
George W. Houston, Inside Roman Libraries: Book Collections and Their Management in An-
tiquity, Studies in the History of Greece and Rome (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina
Press, 2014), 180–83.
20 Epiphanius, Pan. proem 2.2.4. See, similarly, Pan. 26.18.1: “Some of these [heresies] I have
encountered, others I have come to know through documents (συγγραμάττων), and some from
the oral reports and testimony of trustworthy men, able to reveal the truth to me.”
21 Jerome, Epist. 64.22.1: of Epiphanius’s treatise De XII Gemmis, “You will find it most
full of knowledge (plenissimam scientiam).” See also Jerome, Comm. Isa. 15.54.11–12 and Comm.
Ezech. 9.28:11 ff.
sumably, in part, in order to read more books).22 Rufinus, Epiphanius’s enemy

in the late fourth-century Origenist controversy, was willing to believe that the
bishop had read six thousand volumes of Origen’s works (although he then ac-
cused him of plagiarizing the dead theologian).23 Jerome, in his reply to Rufi-
nus, denies that Origen even wrote that many books, but continues that, if he
had, Epiphanius could certainly have read them: “If indeed Origen had written
6,000 books, a most learned man (vir eruditissimus), educated from childhood in
sacred texts, might have been able to bring himself to read others’ works for the
sake of curiosity and knowledge (pro curiositate et scientia).”24 After Epiphanius’s
death his bookish reputation persisted. A saying attributed to Epiphanius in the
Apophthegmata Patrum extols the virtues of acquiring “Christian books,” which
can make us “shy away from sin.”25 In the Life of Epiphanius, perhaps compos-
ed within a generation or two of the bishop’s death,26 the newly-converted saint
joins a monastery that supports itself by producing copies of the Scriptures.27
Epiphanius’s bookish reputation ultimately derives from two interrelated ele-
ments of his surviving writings: the extent to which he preserves other texts and
the degree to which he portrays himself as a reader of diverse kinds of books.
I approach these two aspects of Epiphanius’s library in sequence.28 First, I ask
what can we know about Epiphanius’s physical library: what books did he have
22 Jerome, Ruf. 2.22 and 3.6.
23 Rufinus, Adult. Libr. Orig. 14. Rufinus does not name Epiphanius but the “blind item” in
his defense of Origen was apparently clear to all of his readers as Jerome’s response makes clear.
24 Jerome, Ruf. 2.22. Jerome is, of course, also defending his own reading of Origen here;
nonetheless, it is significant that he is “drafting” off of Epiphanius’s own bookish and learned
reputation.
25 Apophthegmata Patrum Epiphanius 8. Although, perhaps due to Epiphanius’s negative
spiritual reputation in modern scholarship, Guy Stroumsa’s fine essay, “On the Status of Books
in Early Christianity,” in Being Christian in Late Antiquity: A Festschrift for Gillian Clark, ed.
Carol Harrison, Caroline Humfress, and Isabella Sandwell (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2014), 57–73 at 68, attributes this saying (and several other “pro-book” sayings) to Hilarion
rather than to Epiphanius.
26 So Claudia Rapp, “The Vita of Epiphanius of Salamis: An Historical and Literary Study,”
2 vols. (DPhil thesis, Oxford University, 1991), 1:99–103.
27 Vita Epiphanii 12–13; Epiphanius also keeps aside forty nomismata from his otherwise
dispersed inherited wealth so he can buy some Bibles. Jerome, Vit. Hil. 25.2, describes Epipha
nius’s monastic mentor Hilarion as having copied out a codex of the Gospels as a young man;
I note above (n. 16) that several elements of Hilarion’s vita seem to echo Epiphanius’s life. Epi
phanius’s training as a scribe is not unlikely: in addition to his own scribal staff (see below, n. 71)
we might consider the scribal work of Evagrius and Rufinus, both (like Epiphanius) trained
in Egyptian monasticism: see Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 38.10; Rufinus, Apol. Hier. 2.11. On
monks, holy men, and “pious scribal activity,” see Claudia Rapp, “Holy Texts, Holy Men, and
Holy Scribes: Aspects of Scriptural Holiness in Late Antiquity,” in The Early Christian Book,
Catholic University of America Studies in Early Christianity, ed. William E. Klingshirn and
Linda Safran (Washington: Catholic University of America Press, 2007), 194–222.
28 For a similar project, see the scholarship on Eusebius (cited above n. 13) as well as David
Lincicum, “Philo’s Library,” in The Studia Philonica Annual, Studies in Hellenistic Judaism 26,
ed. David T. Runia and Gregory E. Sterling (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2014), 99–114.
and to what extent can we reconstruct the material conditions of his citational
compositions, particularly given our paucity of other direct evidence for book-
collecting in late ancient Cyprus? I then turn to his conceptual library: when and
why does Epiphanius refer to books (both his own and others’), even when he
does not have copies of them at hand? What kind of “order of books” does Epi
phanius construct, and what does it tell us about his particular construction of
late ancient Christian culture?29
Epiphanius’s Physical Library
A quick survey of Epiphanius’s major surviving writings reveals that he refers

to non-biblical authors or texts about 241 times.30 He refers to specific texts
(with or without authors) around 130 times, ranging from the very specific (like
the “Greater Questions of Mary”) to the very vague (like “a book” ascribed to
Elxai).31 Of these hundreds of references, he actually cites from them around
eighty times.32 The shortest citations are just a couple of words;33 the longest
cover dozens of pages in the modern critical edition.34 In addition there are
multiple places where scholars can detect an uncited source that Epiphanius re-
29 Roger Chartier, The Order of Books: Readers, Authors, and Libraries in Europe Between
the Fourteenth and Eighteenth Centuries, trans. Lydia G. Cochrane (Stanford: Stanford Univer-
sity Press, 1994), 2: “The historian’s task is thus to reconstruct the variations that differentiate the
espaces lisibles – that is, the texts in their discursive and material forms – and those that govern
the circumstances of their effectuation – that is, the readings, understood as concrete practices
and as procedures of interpretation.”
30 My count treats each reference to a book or author discretely; Epiphanius does (of course)
refer to individual authors or texts multiple times: he refers to 146 distinct authors, whom he
refers to 220 times (that is, seventy-four of those references are to previously mentioned au-
thors). I exclude mention of specific biblical books (or references to Scripture) but do include
references and citations of specific versions, as these imply a physical book being consulted. Ac-
cording to my count Epiphanius refers to authors alone (that is, with no text associated with
their name) just over one hundred times; the majority (about eighty percent) of these references
to authors are to pagans. Epiphanius refers to texts alone (that is, without any author attached to
the title) only about twenty times; most of these texts are heretical apocrypha.
31 Epiphanius, Pan. 26.8.2.3; 19.1.4 and 19.4.3–6.
32 By citation I mean explicit quotation of words signaled in Epiphanius’s text. On the vexed
issue of citation and citationality in ancient literature, and its varied methods and contexts, see
Inowlocki, Eusebius, 4–7, 33–47 and Annewies van den Hoek, “Techniques of Quotation in
Clement of Alexandria: A View of Ancient Literary Working Methods,” VC 50 (1996): 223–43.
Mark DelCogliano, “The Literary Corpus of George of Laodicea,” VC 65 (2011): 150–69, at 165
n. 65, notes that “Epiphanius explicitly cites twenty-two documents” using a variety of intro-
ductory rubrics. My count includes all explicit citations of any length throughout Epiphanius’s
corpus (although my count of full documents and extensive documentary citations with rubrics
in the Panarion agrees with DelCogliano’s).
33 For instance, Epiphanius, Pan. 31.2.5, Χάος πρώτιστα θεῶν, citing Hesiod, Theog. 116:
πρώτιστα Χάος γένετ᾽.
34 Epiphanius cites significant pages of Irenaeus’s Haer. at Pan. 31.9.1–32.8 and 34.2.1–20.12;
produces more or less verbatim.35 A maximalist reading of Epiphanius’s oeuvre

might claim that he possessed a copy of every author, book, or text to which he
refers or which we can infer he relied upon. Such a maximalist reading is, how-
ever, uncalled for. It seems unlikely that Epiphanius possessed works by the fif-
teen pagan naturalists he refers to in the opening pages of the Panarion,36 or the
forty-four pagan philosophers he describes in the treatise On Faith appended to
the Panarion.37 Like many of his contemporaries, Epiphanius would more likely
have had access to a handbook or epitome of philosophical or naturalist writ-
ers.38
It would also be economically astounding if Epiphanius had a personal library
comprising hundreds of books. Our conception of ancient libraries is, perhaps,
overshadowed by the most famous examples: the personal collection of Cicero,
the public libraries at Rome or Alexandria, and the remains of the Villa of the
Papyri at Herculaneum all skew our sense of what constituted a realistic book
collection in the ancient world.39 Such collections resonate too easily with our
own experience of book collecting as relatively easy and inexpensive. Books in
antiquity were very costly to produce and copy.40 Even the “codex revolution,”41
which increased both the usable amount of writing surface and the amount that
a very long chunk of Methodius’s Res. at Pan. 64.12.1–62.14; and long excerpts of his own prior
works at Pan. 42.11.1–13.5, 74.2.1–10.9, and 78.2.1–24.6.
35 For instance, Epiphanius, Pan. 35.1.3–7 cites Irenaeus without signaling he is doing so;
Epiphanius, Pan. 37 (against Noetus) closely paraphrases (and sometimes seems to quote di-
rectly) a treatise of Hippolytus. Pan. 42 (against Sabellians) must be citing a preexisting source
(as Epiphanius describes the long-dead Sabellius as being a “recent” [πρόσφατος] heretic [Pan.
42.1.1]), but no author or text is mentioned.
36 Epiphanius, Pan. proem 2.3.1.
37 Epiphanius, De fide 9.5–48.
38 Pourkier presumes Epiphanius possessed “at least two” philosophical doxographies (par-
ticularly as his descriptions of certain major philosophers shift at different points in the Pan-
arion); Hérésiologie, 480. On Epiphanius’s reliance on handbooks, see Jürgen Dummer, “Ein
naturwissenschaftliches Handbuch als Quelle für Epiphanius von Constantia,” Klio 55 (1973):
289–99.
39 The bibliography on ancient libraries has grown apace in recent decades: Lionel Cas-
son treats the general outline of library history; Libraries in the Ancient World (New Haven:
Yale University Press, 2001). Yun Lee Too addresses its conceptual production, primarily in the
Roman period; The Idea of the Library in the Ancient World (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2010). Houston assesses the material and literary evidence for personal book collection pri-
marily in the late Republic and early Empire; Inside Roman Libraries (Chapel Hill, NC: Univer-
sity of North Carolina Press, 2014). I have also found extremely valuable the essays in Ancient Li-
braries, ed. Jason König, Katerine Oikonomopoulou, and Greg Woolf (Cambridge: Cambridge
40 Although it can only give a general sense of relative costs, Diocletian’s Edict on Maxi-
mum prices places the maximum fee for a scribe writing one hundred lines of text at the same
rate as a day’s labor for a farmhand.
41 On which the classic remains T. C. Skeat and Colin Roberts, The Birth of the Codex (Ox-
ford: Oxford University Press, 1983); see also Harry Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early
Church: A History of Early Christian Texts (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 49–81.
could be contained in a single volume, reduced the overall costs of book produc-
tion only slightly.42 The slim evidence we have for personal book collections in
the Roman Empire suggests a library like that uncovered at Herculaneum,43 or
Cicero’s multilocal collection,44 was the exception rather than the rule.45
Even two of the most well-known Christian libraries of the fourth century
may mislead us when imagining Epiphanius’s physical collection of books. The
library at Caesarea, based (most likely) on the personal library of Origen, sup-
plemented by Pamphilus in the late third century, enlarged by Eusebius in the
fourth century,46 and still growing by the time of Epiphanius,47 was doubtless
an impressive collection. Andrew Carriker estimates that, in Eusebius’s time, it
numbered somewhere around four hundred titles (and possibly thousands of in-
dividual scrolls).48 Yet it was also a collection whose growth spanned more than
a century and which relied, at key moments, on the sponsorship of wealthy pa-
trons.49 By Epiphanius’s day, the church of Caesarea had likely taken on finan-
cial responsibility for the collection. We hear of similar “church libraries” by the
fourth century in Rome and Jerusalem,50 and very possibly sponsored collec-
42 T. C. Skeat estimates the savings at about twenty-five percent; “The Length of the Stand-
ard Papyrus Roll and the Cost-Advantage of the Codex,” ZPE 45 (1982): 169–76. As Skeat points
out: “The cost of writing would have remained the same, and this would have been the great-
er part of the expense;” “The Origin of the Christian Codex,” ZPE 102 (1994): 263–68, at 265.
43 G. W. Houston, “The Non-Philodemus Book Collection in the Villa of the Papyri,” in
König, Oikonomopoulou, and Woolf, Ancient Libraries, 183–208, at 185–86.
44 T. Keith Dix, “‘Beware of Promising Your Library to Anyone’: Assembling a Private Li-
brary at Rome,” in König, Oikonomopoulou, and Woolf, Ancient Libraries, 209–34.
45 G. W. Houston surveys several book lists and papyri remains and finds that most iden-
tifiable collections typically numbered in the dozens, not hundreds; “Papyrological Evidence
for Book Collections and Libraries in the Roman Empire,” in Ancient Literacies: The Culture of
Reading in Greece and Rome, ed. William Johnson and Holt Parker (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2009), 233–67. Williams also posits that “professional literates might have had access to
ten or twenty books, rarely more;” Monk and the Book, 147.
46 On the building up of this library from the time of Origen to Eusebius, see Carriker, Li-
brary of Eusebius.
47 Jerome describes the efforts of Euzoius, bishop of Caesarea in the late 370s, to “restore
the already corrupt library of Origen and Pamphilus to parchment” (Vir. ill. 113); possibly con-
verting deteriorating scrolls into codices or converting papyrus to more durable parchment (or
both); on the former suggestion see Carriker, Library of Caesarea, 23–24; on the latter see Gam-
ble, Early Christian Books, 159. Epiphanius is the next entry in Jerome’s bibliographic treatise
(Vir. ill. 114). See also Carriker, Library of Eusebius, 25–26, on later fourth-century use of the li-
brary at Caesarea.
48 Carriker, Library of Eusebius, 30–36.
49 Origen’s work was famously bankrolled by his patron Ambrose (see Eusebius, Hist. eccl.
6.23.1–2), and Eusebius reports some patronage for the library from Constantine, who ordered
some number of “Bibles” copied from it (Vit. Const. 4.36–37). Pamphilus may have contributed
his own wealth to building up the library (Eusebius, Mart. Pal. 11, claims he was of a noble family
in Beirut), see Carriker, Library of Eusebius, 13.
50 Eusebius refers to a library in Jerusalem; Hist. eccl. 6.20.1. Jerome, ep 49.3, refers Pamma-
chius (resident in Rome) to the ecclesiarum bibliothecis. According to the (later) Liber Pontifica-
lis 1 and 39, an episcopal library was established by Julius I and Damasus. On the development
tions under episcopal control existed at major sites such as Antioch and Alexan-
dria.51 We lack the evidence, however, to discover whether the churches of Cy-
prus had established any such archive or library in Epiphanius’s day.52
Similarly, it is difficult to imagine that Epiphanius could marshal the re-
sources to construct a personal library on the scale of Jerome. Megan Williams
estimates that, at its height, Jerome’s library may have numbered in the hun-
dreds, “if not thousands of codices.”53 The value of such a library, Williams cal-
culates, would have been equal to “a senatorial fortune.”54 While some of Je-
rome’s library was no doubt acquired through his own ingenuity,55 we can infer
from his boast at the death of his friend and patron Paula that the once wealthy
Roman widow “left her daughter in great debt,”56 and that at least some of her
fortune supported Jerome’s “senatorial” library. Epiphanius was also friendly
with wealthy Christian patrons (including Paula); their donations, however,
supported monastic and ecclesiastic endeavors on Cyprus, not the amassing of a
personal library.57
of different types of Christian libraries, see Thomas T. Tanner, “A History of Early Christian Li-
braries from Jesus to Jerome,” Journal of Library History 14 (1979): 407–35.
51 Gamble, Early Christian Books, 154–69. Some of these collections, from which Epipha
nius may have acquired more recent theological documents, may have resembled public ar-
chives more than book collections.
52 We might infer from the later Life of Epiphanius that it was precisely Epiphanius who
managed to reroute local resources to the church (and memories of scandal surrounding such
fundraising): Vita Epiphanii 63–65, 74–75, 83, 96.
53 Williams, Monk and the Book, 154. Later Williams specifies “at least a thousand codices of
the same length as a copy of the Aeneid;” Monk and the Book, 187. It is unclear how many indi-
vidual titles Williams intends here, since the average codex could contain several works. Some
texts, such as an individual copy of the Hexapla, would take up several codices. Williams es-
timates around twenty codices; Monk and the Book, 169.
54 Williams, Monk and the Book, 187. She refers several times to Jerome’s library “after the
aristocratic model;” Monk and the Book, 165, 168, 201, 216. Williams estimates the value at 2.5
million denarii, according to Diocletian’s Edict on Maximum Prices as well as estimates on
the cost of papyrus. The denarius no longer circulated in Jerome’s day, but was still a notional
amount signaling the day’s wage for an unskilled laborer; see A. H. M. Jones, The Later Roman
Empire, 284–602: A Social and Economic History (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press,
1986), 1:438–43; Mireille Corbier, “Coinage and Taxation: The State’s Point of View, A. D. 193–
337,” in Cambridge Ancient History, vol. 12: The Crisis of Empire, A. D. 193–337, ed. Alan Bow-
man, Peter Garnsey, and Averil Cameron (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 327–
92, at 338.
55 Jerome contains a request for a “list” of books (including new copies) from a wealthy Ital-
ian named Florentius living in Jerusalem (Epist. 5.2). The letter dates to Jerome’s early monastic
career (in Syria in the 370s) and represents an early attempt to solicit bibliographic patronage.
56 Jerome, Epist. 108.15.7. On the range of Paula’s senatorial wealth, see Andrew Cain, Je-
rome’s Epitaph on Paula: A Commentary on the Epitaphium Paulae, OECT (Oxford: Oxford
57 Jerome mentions donations from Paula during a visit to Cyprus en route to the Holy
Land, but made directly for monks (fratres)(Epist. 108.7.3); Palladius lists Epiphanius among
those bishops to whom Olympias “bestowed gifts of lands and money” (κτήματα ἀγρῶν καὶ
χρήματα ἐδωρήσατο) (Dialogus de vita Joanni Chrysostomi 17).
We do have some indication that Epiphanius sought out books from col-
leagues. When Basil of Caesarea, in reply to Epiphanius’s request for infor-
mation on the Magusians, replies that “they have no books among them” (oὔτε
γὰρ βιβλία ἐστὶ παρ᾽ αὐτοῖς), it is reasonable to assume that Epiphanius had
asked about their books and possibly hoped that Basil might include copies, or
summaries, in his reply.58 He may have had better luck in other requests. While
he knows, for instance, of several letters written by Arius to Eusebius of Nic-
omedia, he reports that “one of these has come into my hands,” perhaps (like
Athanasius’s letter to Epictetus of Corinth)59 out of the archives of the Alexan-
drian bishop himself.60 Epiphanius bases much of his refutation of the Anomoi-
an heresy on a rebuttal of Aetius’s Syntagmation, “a little work which I acquired”
(πονημάτιον τὸ εἰς ἡμᾶς ἐλθόν).61 Where this treatise came from he does not
say; perhaps if more of Epiphanius’s letters survived, we could trace out his bib-
liographic networks.
Lacking any evidence for an enormous personal library, or control over an im-
pressive church library, it makes more sense to imagine that Epiphanius owned
a modest collection of books. Epiphanius likely possessed copies of those texts
from which he quoted extensively: Irenaeus’s treatise Against Heresies, Methodi-
us’s treatise On the Resurrection, and previous works by Epiphanius himself (the
most cited author in the Panarion).62 He quotes at length from Origen’s Homilies
on Psalms,63 as well as other “heretical” texts: the Ebionite “Gospel of the He-
brews,” Ptolemy’s Letter to Flora, and a mythologically inflected “book” com-
posed by Valentinians.64 Epiphanius cites significantly from a treatise against
Mani,65 and preserves several letters and documents from participants in fourth-
century Trinitarian debates which we must assume he possessed.66 To these we
58 Basil, Epist. 258.4. While Epiphanius does include the Magusians in his list of “foreign”
philosophies in De Fide 12.5, 13.1, the information he includes does not rely on Basil’s report.
59 Epiphanius, Pan. 77.3.1–13.5.
60 Epiphanius, Pan. 69.5.1–3.
61 Epiphanius, Pan. 76.10.5.
62 See my discussion below.
63 Pourkier thinks Epiphanius also knew Origen’s Homilies on Samuel, and (given his ob-
session with Origen’s interpretation of Genesis 2–3) Epiphanius must have, at some time, seen
a copy of a commentary on that book; Hérésiologie, 479. He knows of Origen’s troublesome De
principiis in the 370s (he cites it in Ancoratus 63.2–4), but does not mention or cite it in the Pan-
arion; he quotes it again (briefly) in his Epistula ad Ioannem Hierosolytanum 4.
64 Epiphanius, Pan. 30.13.1–8; 31. 4. 11–6.10; 33.3.1–7.10.
65 The so-called “Acts of Archelaus” form the core of his chapter against Manichaeism, esp.
at Pan. 66.25.3–31.8. See above, n. 5.
66 Epiphanius, Pan. 69.6.1–7 (Arius’s letter to Eusebius of Nicomedia); 69.7.2–8.5 (Ari-
us’s letter to Alexander of Alexandria); 69.9.3–6 (Constantine’s circular against Arius and his
creed); 71.1.8 (Photinus’s speech to Basil); 72.2.1–3.5 (Marcellus of Ancyra’s apology to Julius of
Rome); 72.6.1–10.3 (Acacius of Caesarea’s Antilogion against Marcellus); 72.11.1–12.5 (statement
of faith by Marcellus of Ancyra’s disciples); 73.2.1–11.1 (Council of Ancyra statement); 73.12.1–
22.8 (letter of George of Laodicea); 73.25.1–26.8 (Council of Seleucia statement); 73.29.1–33.5
might add some parabiblical texts, such as the Didascalia, which he cites several
times (as the Diataxeis of the apostles);67 we note in addition texts like the Pro-
toevangelium of James and Jubilees, which he does not cite explicitly but whose
historical narratives he has incorporated quite thoroughly into his own works.68
We have arrived, already, at more than a dozen works, some quite substantial in
size, in Epiphanius’s possession.
What of some other major texts we know Epiphanius relied on, but which he
does not explicitly cite? Can we assume he owned copies of these? Two impor-
tant – yet uncited – sources for Epiphanius were the historical works of Eusebius
and the antiheretical treatise (or treatises) of Hippolytus. Yet, as Pourkier notes
several times, Epiphanius’s use of Eusebius is sloppy: she suggests he relied on
Eusebius mainly from memory.69 The antiheretical writings of Hippolytus, as
studies have demonstrated time and again, provide a structure and significant
content for close to half of the Panarion’s heresies.70 Yet unlike Irenaeus, Hippo-
lytus is never quoted by Epiphanius.71 We might posit that he owned a copy of
Hippolytus’s work, but chose (for whatever reason) not to cite it directly. Given
his detailed citations of Irenaeus, however, this explanation raises more ques-
tions than it solves. We might also posit that, instead of working from a text of
Hippolytus, Epiphanius was working from notes.
Epiphanius composed the Panarion, like all of his extant works, in stretches
of dictation, which his amanuensis would then transcribe and send out to the
(sermon by Melitius of Antioch); 76.11.1–12.27 (Syntagmation of Aetius); 77.21.1–9 (Paulinus of

Antioch’s statement of faith).
67 Epiphanius, Pan. 45.4.5; 70.10.1–12, 10.6, 11.3–4, 12.3, 14.1; 80.7.1.
68 As several scholars have noted, Epiphanius’s historical narrative in the Panarion (and in
certain parts of the Ancoratus) are influenced in structure and specific details by Jubilees (which
he names at Pan. 39.6.1); see William Adler, “The Origins of the Proto-Heresies: Fragments from
a Chronicle in the First Book of Epiphanius’s Panarion,” JTS 41 (1990): 472–501; Jeremy Schott,
“Heresiology as Universal History in Epiphanius’ Panarion,” ZAC 10 (2007): 546–63; and An-
nette Yoshiko Reed, “Retelling Biblical Retellings: Epiphanius, the Pseudo-Clementines, and the
Reception-History of the Book of Jubilees,” in Tradition, Transmission, and Transformation from
Second Temple Literature through Judaism and Christianity in Late Antiquity, Proceedings of the
Thirteenth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls
and Associated Literature, Jointly Sponsored by the Hebrew University Center for the Study of
Christianity, 22–24 February, 2011, ed. Menahem Kister, Hillel I. Newman, Michael Segal, and
Ruth A. Clements (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 304–21. Epiphanius clearly relies on the narrative of the
Protoevangelium Jacobi in Pan. 79, but does not explicitly cite or refer to it.
69 Pourkie, Hérésiologie, 108–10, 478.
70 I do not engage here with the question of whether the Philosophoumena and Contra Noe-
tum were written by Hippolytus and part of his larger Refutatio contra omnes haereses. Scholars
on all sides of the issue agree that Epiphanius depended in larger part on the structure of the
Refutatio and text of the Contra Noetum. Given that much of the Refutatio does not survive, Epi
phanius’s reliance upon it is deduced through triangulation with other texts based on it, such as
Ps.‑Tertullian and Filastrius.
71 Epiphanius names Hippolytus as a source at Pan. 31.33.1 along with “Clement [presum-
ably of Alexandria] and Irenaeus,” at the conclusion of one of his extensive citations of Irenaeus.
dedicatee(s).72 During this dictation session, Epiphanius would have multiple

texts available to him, both books from which he might read relevant passages
(sometimes at great length) and notebooks which he would have prepared ahead
of time.73 These notebooks might contain details about heresies, upon which
he might elaborate orally, his own ideas for refutations, or notes from others’
works taken down earlier.74 Given his somewhat loose reliance upon Eusebius
and Hippolytus, it seems fair to infer that he did not have these texts in front of
him during composition, but rather his notes on their works. We can then ask:
did he own copies of Eusebius’s Chronicle or Hippolytus’s Refutation? Or had he
consulted them on site – perhaps in Caesarea, or Antioch, or Alexandria – and
kept only his notes on their works? We know that he himself copied texts for
later use.75 He might also have taken careful notes on such complex texts as Hip-
polytus’s Refutation or Eusebius’s Church History and used these sources with-
out possessing his own copies.76 His proximity to Caesarea and Antioch, as well
as frequent visits to the environs of Jerusalem, must have provided opportuni-
ties for Epiphanius to acquire whole books where he could, borrow others for a
time, and take notes on those to which he only had temporary access.77 When
we step back and consider the evidence for Epiphanius’s material library closely,
72 Epiphanius used the same amanuensis, Anatolius, for both the Ancoratus and Panarion.
Anatolius was a member of the Constantian clergy, perhaps especially trained in dictation: An-
coratus 119.16 (he is one of the “slaves of the Lord”); De Fide 25.3 (he is one of the “brothers” and
Hypatius, the copyist, is a “fellow deacon”). As Williams notes, professional writing staff (nota-
rii, librarii) were famously expensive; Monk and the Book, 209–10. On the growth of clerical and
monastic scribes in the East, see Chrysi Kotsifou, “Books and Book Production in the Monas-
tic Communities of Byzantine Egypt,” in Klingshirn and Safran, Early Christian Book, 48–66.
73 Williams describes Jerome’s procedure in similar fashion; Monk and the Book, 204–7. On
the use of notes and notebooks in composition, see van den Hoek, “Techniques of Quotation,”
225–27 and notes. See also Jocelyn Penny Small, Wax Tablets of the Mind: Cognitive Studies of
Memory and Literacy in Classical Antiquity (London: Routledge, 1997), 156–59, although Small
insists (pp. 160–77) that ancient authors relied much more on their memory (including their
memory of notes and notebooks) during composition. Given the degree to which Epiphanius
cites his sources – sometimes for dozens of pages – we should conclude that he had developed a
habit of having texts in front of him, even as he orally composed for his secretary.
74 Epiphanius refers explicitly to the “summarized notes” (σύντομος ὑπομνηματική) he pre-
pared from Marcion’s biblical texts in preparing his refutation (Pan. 42. 11. 16).
75 Epiphanius, Pan. 31. 6. 10: When he has finished quoting from “the book” of Valentinus
(whose title he seems to have forgotten) he says: “And these are the pieces from their books or-
ganized by me” (μέρους τῶν βιβλίων αὐτῶν παρατεθέντα ἕως ὧδέ μοι), suggesting that he co-
pied and organized his extracts.
76 Although it is a later example (seventh century), among the papyri finds at Tura were
notes on the first books of Origen’s Contra Celsum: see Jean Scherer, Extraits des livres I et II du
Contre Celse d’Origène: D’après le papyrus no 88747 du Musée du Caire (Cairo: Institut français
d’archéologie orientale, 1956).
77 For instance, Epiphanius refers to the “seventy letters” written by Alexander of Alexan-
dria to bishops, but refers specifically to those written to bishops in Palestine (Caesarea, Ma
carius, Gaza, Ascalon, Jamnia, Tyre), as if these are the copies he saw personally (Pan. 69.4.3–
4). Likewise, he mentions Photinus’s “speech to Basil” (Pan. 71.1.8) which he summarizes (Pan.
a clear picture of the episcopal researcher emerges: while owning an impressive

(but not vast) collection of books, Epiphanius also likely leveraged more remote
resources to collect information which he could then collate and paraphrase in
his own words.
Epiphanius’s Intellectual Library
A recent study notes, “The ancient library is … a deliberate configuration of in-
tellectual culture.”78 We should also attend to the intellectual contexts of the li-
brary implied in Epiphanius’s writings, the cultural “order of books” Epiphanius
conjures through this chain of names, titles, sources, and citations.79 Studies of
patristic citation have lately emphasized that citation is a rhetorical act with its
own significance beyond simply preservation of sources.80
Tabulation of Epi pha
nius’s references reveals a few notable trends (see
Table 1). Manuscripts of biblical translators (as distinct from “Scriptures,” which
are often cited without referring to material books) appear several times, more
often referred to than quoted. Although on one occasion Epiphanius chastises
Origen for pedantically dropping the names of these translators, Epiphanius
himself is not averse to similar pedantry.81 Yet Epiphanius refers very seldom to
non-biblical Jewish authors:82 twice in the Panarion he refers to Jewish “repeti-
tions” (δευτερώσεις) written by “Moses, Akiba, Judah, and the sons of the Has-
moneans,” but does not cite them.83 At another place in the Panarion he sum-
marizes Philo’s description of the Therapeutae.84 In On Weights and Measures he
71.2.1–4) but does not quote from, and assiduously notes information from the colophon (the
stenographers [ταχυγράφοις] and notaries [μεμοραδίοις] and destinations of copies).
78 Too, Idea of the Library, 5, 9.
79 Chartier, Order of Books.
80 Inowlocki, Eusebius, 4: “Quotation technique is a rhetorical process in its own right.”
See also Jeremy Schott, “Plotinus’s Portrait and Pamphilus’s Prison Notebook: Neoplatonic and
Early Christian Textualities at the Turn of the Fourth Century C. E.,” JECS 21 (2013): 329–62.
81 Compare Epiphanius, Pan. 64.10.1 (“Next, as it is [Origen’s] custom to dazzle with the
[biblical] versions, he says, ‘Likewise, Theodotion, Aquila, and Symmachus ….’”) with Pan.
65.4.5.
82 As I note in Table 1, Epiphanius refers on a few occasions to texts we might call “para-
biblical,” ascribed to biblical figures (Isaiah, Ezekiel, the apostles) but accepted as authoritative
texts. Other texts ascribed to biblical figures he specifically identifies as heretical forgeries.
83 Epiphanius, Pan. 15.2.1, 33.9.4. The term δευτερώσεις, which corresponds (more or less)
to the Hebrew mishnayot, appears in Christian writings about Jews as early as Origen (Comm.
Cant. praef.), as well as in Eusebius (Dem. ev. 6. 18. 36) and Epiphanius’s contemporary Jerome
(Epist. 121.10). Scholars debate whether the term refers directly to formative rabbinic sages (and,
if so, to what extent these Christian sources provide reliable evidence for those sages). For a rela-
tively optimistic view, see Hayim Lapin, Rabbis as Romans: The Rabbinic Movement in Palestine,
100–400 CE (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 158–62.
84 Epiphanius, Pan. 29.5.1–3. Pourkier has demonstrated that Epiphanius is not relying on
Table 1: Citations in Epiphanius’s Major Works† by Source Type

Source type Number of references Total length of citations*
Public documents 1 no citation
Jewish authors 6 3 sentences (summary)
Biblical manuscripts 21 9 verses
Parabiblical texts 6 2 pages
Pagan authors 87 2 pages
Heretics 67 27 pages
Orthodox 54 275 pages
† Ancoratus, Panarion, De mensuris et ponderibus, Epistula ad Ioannem Hierosolytanum
* For consistency, length calculated according to recent English translations
refers to Josephus once (and once more in the Panarion) and also to the Letter of
Aristeas.85 It is not accurate to say that Epiphanius is not interested in Jews and
Judaism, as they play a major role in his thinking about Christian community
and identity.86 But as authors and textual sources, they seldom appear – that is,
they do not form a significant part of Epiphanius’s intellectual library.87
By contrast, Epiphanius mentions pagan authors with tremendous frequency:
of the roughly 240 texts and authors mentioned in his works, he refers to pagan
authors more than eighty times. Yet he actually cites very few of these authors,
instead linking them together into chains of cultural knowledge: “naturalists,”
“philosophers,” “poets,” “atheists,” and so forth. The majority of his references
are to Christians, about evenly split between those he identifies as heretics and
orthodox. By a vast majority of cited works, the orthodox far outweigh the he-
retical, covering hundreds of pages in the critical editions. Yet Epiphanius names
more heretical authors and texts than orthodox ones. What are we to make of
this welter of references and citations, the numerous pagans and heretics, the
highly cited orthodox, the barely present Jews?
It may be useful, once more, to compare Epiphanius’s intellectual library to
the more famous libraries of his day: those of Eusebius and Jerome. Eusebius of
Eusebius in his summary of this portion of De vita contemplativa, but that he also likely does not
have the text (which he calls “On the Jessaeans”) at hand; Hérésiologie, 441–47. Epiphanius also
does not mention that Philo is Jewish.
85 Epiphanius, De mensuris et ponderibus 9 (Aristeas), 74 (Josephus); Pan. 30.4.1 (Josephus).
Unlike Eusebius, who acknowledges the pagan identity of “Pseudo-Aristeas” (so Inowlocki,
Eusebius, 236), Epiphanius in this brief passage seems to take the letter at face value.
86 See my Remains of the Jews: The Holy Land and Christian Empire in Late Antiquity, Div-
inations (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2003), 44–51 and Christ Circumcised: A Study in
Early Christian History and Difference, Divinations (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania
Press, 2012), 100–18.
87 As I have noted elsewhere, while preoccupied with Jews and Judaism, Epiphanius also
represents them as easily and entirely knowable to Christian eyes; see Remains of the Jews, 44–
47. What he cannot infer from their biblical history is apparently not worth collecting in their
books.
Caesarea is notable not only for the amount of texts he cites in his works but also
the function of his citationality:88 as Sabrina Inowlocki has demonstrated, Euse-
bius’s intellectual library serves an apologetic function.89 He cites pagan, Jewish,
and Christian texts (both early and contemporary) in order to construct a place
for Christianity with respect to its non-Christian predecessors and neighbors.
In apologetic works like the Gospel Preparation, but also in historical works like
the Church History, Eusebius places pagan and Jewish texts in “horizontal” and
“vertical” relation to his Christian culture.90 Some pagans and Jews, for instance,
stand in harmony with the Gospel, demonstrating its eternal truth; while other
pagans and Jews stand in cacophony with the Gospel, demonstrating the error of
authors who refuse Christian truth.91 Eusebius’s apologetic use of these texts is
not merely oppositional, therefore, but rather a way of constructing a Christian
history out of the textual remains of the past: a new way of thinking about Chris-
tian historical identity through texts and authors.92
This bibliographized Christianity is not merely about a Scriptural canon or
even a library of Christian “fathers,” but rather calls up a comprehensive and to-
talizing Christian order of all books, from Moses and Plato to Origen and Por-
phyry.93 For Eusebius, early in the fourth century, this order of books provides
a scaffolding on which to construct a church history.94 For Jerome, at the end
of that century, the books and authors have become the content of that history:
“church history as bibliography,” in Mark Vessey’s catchy phrase.95 The Latin
transplant to the East, who translated and expanded Eusebius’s Chronicle, like-
wise rewrote the Church History as a list of “Christian authors” in a treatise De
scriptoribus ecclesiasticis (also known De viris inlustribus).96
88 On Eusebius’s introduction of documentary history see classically Arnaldo Momigliano,

“Pagan and Christian Historiography in the Fourth Century A. D.,” in The Conflict Between Pag-
anism and Christianity in the Fourth Century (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963), 79–99.
89 See also Aaron Johnson, “Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica as Literary Experiment,” in
Greek Literature in Late Antiquity: Dynamism, Didacticism, Classicism, ed. Scott Fitzgerald
Johnson (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), 67–89.
90 Inowlocki, Eusebius, 59–62.
91 On cacophony, polyphony, and symphony in Eusebius’s citations of Christian and non-
Christian texts, see Inowlocki, Eusebius, 67.
92 Schott places Eusebius’s citational composition in tension with the related Platonic
school of Plotinus and Porphyry; “Plotinus’s Portrait,” 329–62.
93 Inowlocki, “Eusebius’ Construction,” 214–16.
94 Schott, “Plotinus’s Portrait,” 349: “The work [Church History] is structured around two
basic scaffolds: the chronology worked out in his own Chronicle, on the one hand, and the li-
brary’s πίνακες, or catalogs, on the other.”
95 Mark Vessey, “Literature, Patristics, Early Christian Writing,” in The Oxford Handbook of
Early Christian Studies, ed. Susan Ashbrook Harvey and David G. Hunter (Oxford: Oxford Uni-
versity Press, 2008), 42–65, at 47. See also Mark Vessey, “Augustine among the Writers of the
Church,” in A Companion to Augustine, ed. Mark Vessey (London: Blackwell, 2012), 240–54, at
246–47.
96 The treatise is traditionally known as De viris illustribus, following the title of the (mostly
Jerome’s historical bibliography positions Christian culture in complex rela-

tionship to its non-Christian “others.” He positively compares his enterprise to
the bygone venture of pre-Christian literati: “Hermippus the Peripatetic, Anti-
gonus Carystius, the learned Satyrus, Aristoxenus the musician …. Varro, San-
tra, Nepos, Hyginus” and, above all, Suetonius, the model invoked by Jerome’s
dedicatee, Dexter.97 But Jerome also positions this work as an intellectual pro-
phylactic against the smears of (more) contemporary pagan detractors: “Let
Celsus, then, learn, and Porphyry and Julian, those rabid dogs barking against
Christ, let their followers learn – those who think that the church has had no
philosophers, no orators, no men of learning … and recognize instead their own
ignorance.”98 This Christian order of books supersedes an illustrious pagan past
and triumphs over a recalcitrant pagan present.99 Furthermore, by collating only
Christian authors in his historical bibliography, Jerome surpasses Eusebius in
suggesting that this Christian triumph is total. Once the preface is concluded, no
pagan authors need to appear before Christian eyes.100
Epiphanius’s intellectual library shares many features with Eusebius’s and Je-
rome’s. First, Epiphanius’s pattern of reference creates complex cultural affin-
ities and contrasts with a “pagan” literary past. Although he rarely cites pagan
authors, he mentions their names with surprising frequency.101 Sometimes they
are models for his own Christian orthodox literary production, sometimes they
are models for his heretical opponents.102 The parade of forty-four Greek philos-
lost) Suetonius volume after which Jerome’s dedicatee (Dexter) supposedly asked him to model
the work. Jerome himself refers to the text, in his opening sentence, as a work on ecclesias-
ticos scriptores (Vir. ill. praef.1). He also specifically refers to Eusebius’s Historia ecclesiastica as a
model for the work (Vir. ill. praef.3).
97 Jerome, Vir. ill. praef.1. Much like Epiphanius’s parade of naturalists in the proem of the
Panarion, this list of biographers may be drawn from a secondary source such as Suetonius him-
self; so Pierre Courcelle, Late Latin Writers and Their Greek Sources, trans. H. E. Wedeck (Cam-
bridge: Harvard University Press, 1969), 79.
98 Jerome, Vir. ill. praef.7.
99 On the construction of pagan literature as “classical” in late ancient Christian culture,
see C. M. Chin, Grammar and Christianity in the Late Roman World, Divinations (Philadelphia:
University of Pennsylvania Press, 2007).
100 The one exception which proves the rule is Seneca (Vir. ill. 12), included because of his
purported correspondence with Paul. Jerome’s performative ambivalence about “pagan” texts
appears early in his career in his letter to Eustochium (Epist. 22.30). In Ruf. 1.30–31 Jerome
(somewhat implausibly) claims, when Rufinus recalls this famous episode (Apol. Hier. 2.6–7),
that he merely remembers his Latin authors from his youth. See the trenchant discussion of
Chin, Grammar and Christianity, 77–82.
101 Such aesthetic juxtaposition of “pagan” and Christian may locate Epiphanius a bit more
squarely in his Cypriot context: compare the elaborate mosaic plan of the fifth-century House
of Eustolios which casually mentions Christ as well as Apollo. On the House of Eustolios, see
also in this volume the introduction by Nasrallah, and chapters of Michaelides, and Papageor-
ghiou and Bakirtzis.
102 Compare the naturalists in his preface (above, n. 36) who inspire his heresiographical
writing with the “poets” who inspire Valentinus’s mythographical writings (above, n. 64).
ophers in On Faith on their face serve as a negative contrast to Christian truth:

they represent just some of the “maidens without number” of Song 6:8, con-
demned along with the “eighty concubines” who are the heresies of the Pan-
arion.103 As part of Epiphanius’s order of books, however, these pagan authors
also play a positive role in the production of Christian culture, as a sign of Chris-
tian erudition.104 Epiphanius can rattle off a “partial” (but still very long) list of
authors, and let the reader assume that his Christian library contains all those
Greek philosophers left unnamed.105 Unlike Eusebius, Epiphanius feels no need
to quote these pagan authors to invoke their errors (or, on occasion, their affin-
ities with Christian truth); nor, like Jerome, does Epiphanius feel the need to
remove these books entirely from his intellectual library. He lets them stand, as
both proof of his own mastery and as warning to those who think error has been
fully eradicated.106
Likewise the dozens of heretical texts and authors, frequently invoked but
less frequently cited, form an integral part of the masterful library of the fourth-
century orthodox Christian. The complete Christian library allows the orthodox
to discern the truth that heretics conceal face-to-face. Just as Epiphanius evokes
pagan authors “without number” in On Faith, his casual references to a multi-
tude of uncited heretical volumes create a penumbra of heterodox books “out
there,” potentially available and able to be absorbed into the Christian order of
books.107 The inclusion of these “cacophonic” voices (to use Inowlocki’s term)
in his conceptual library allows Epiphanius to expand Christian orthodoxy to all
corners of human thought: even texts written to spread error become tools for
the promotion of truth.
Although the mention of pagan and heretical texts and authors outnumbers
orthodox authors more than two to one, the citation of orthodox authors vastly
drowns out the meager citations of the pagans, heretics, and Jews. Close to one
103 Epiphanius, De Fide 9.1–48.

104 See similarly C. M. Chin, “Origen and Christian Naming: Textual Exhaustion and the
Boundaries of Gentility in Origen’s Commentary on John 1,” JECS 14 (2006): 407–36.
105 Epi phanius acknowledges that these philosophers represent only a “fraction”
(πολλοστημόριον) of the bizarre opinions in the world (the metaphorical “maidens” are, after
all, without number). Todd Berzon, Classifying Christians: Ethnography, Heresiology, and the
Limits of Knowledge in Late Antiquity (Oakland: University of California Press, 2016), has noted
that by remarking upon the “endless” nature of human error, Epiphanius acknowledges the epis-
temological impossibility of his project in the Panarion.
106 The lists of pagan authors no doubt also serve an antiquarian function: see my “Epipha
nius of Salamis and the Antiquarian’s Bible,” JECS 21 (2013): 437–64.
107 For instance, Epiphanius names many books of the Nicolaitans and Gnostics, but also
mentions “books in Ialdabaoth’s name,” “many books about Ialdaboath and in the name of
Seth,” and “other Gospels in the names of the disciples” (Pan. 25.3.5, 26.8.1); he lists several
books of the Sethians by name, and then adds “others of Moses and in others’ names” (Pan.
39.5.1); and he mentions the “spurious books” of the Melchizedekians (Pan. 55.1.5) and the “sev-
eral treatises” of Bardesan (Pan. 56.1.2).
quarter of the Panarion comprises citations of orthodox authors. Some of the

quotations fill dozens of pages in the critical edition and translation: we must
imagine Epiphanius sitting for some time, even hours, reading page after page of
Irenaeus or Methodius aloud while his amanuensis took dictation. The result is
a kind of orthodox chorus of voices – “polyphony” is Inowlocki’s term – united
together to produce truth.108 Yet the truth they produce, even in this choral or-
thodoxy, relies heavily on the inclusion and recapitulation of other, cacophonous
voices. The three longest quotations in Epiphanius’s writings, all found in the
Panarion, are from Irenaeus, Methodius, and Epiphanius himself, and all three
comprise summaries of the myths and doctrines of heretics. The longest quo-
tation from Irenaeus gives a detailed account of Valentinian cosmogony;109 the
excerpt from Methodius is introduced as “an epitome of Origen”;110 and Epipha
nius’s refutation of Marcion quotes and summarizes “Marcion’s Bible.”111 Epi
phanius conjures orthodox voices primarily to explain heresy, often in the heret-
ics’ own terms. While in Epiphanius’s intellectual library orthodox books hold
pride of place, the pages of these books nonetheless speak with the voices of the
heretic. Epiphanius’s library is polyglossic: it contains multiple voices, even over-
lapping on the page. Pagans who provide a framework for heretical myths and
for the production of orthodox truth mingle with heretics captured and ven-
triloquized in the pages of orthodox books (who are themselves reperformed in
Epiphanius’s voice).
What kind of culture emerges out of Epiphanius’s distinct order of books,
of so many different voices? It is, first and foremost, a totalizing culture, the
discourse of which, to quote Jeremy Schott, “purports to comprehend truth in
its entirety while granting no room for difference and dissent.”112 Schott fur-
ther characterizes Epiphanius’s heresiology as “a philosophy of history that un-
locks encyclopedic knowledge – a knowledge that comprehends the full span of
human history and the very origins of the world’s peoples.”113 Unlike Eusebius’s
historical polyphony, which apologetically resolves into a single Christian voice
as the reader approaches the present,114 Epiphanius’s polyphony never resolves.
108 “Polyphony” is the apposite term because the explicitness of the citation makes the dif-
ferent voices – Irenaeus and Epiphanius, for example – distinct: Inowlocki, Eusebius, 67. See
also Schott, “Plotinus’s Portrait,” 359: “The writing of a work like the Preparation involved a
veritable chorus.”
109 Epiphanius, Pan. 31.9.1–32.8 = Irenaeus, Haer. praef.–1. 11. 11.
110 Epiphanius, Pan. 64.12.1–64.14 = Methodius, Res.
111 Epiphanius, Pan. 42.11.1–13.5. Epiphanius remarks that he wrote this treatise “some years
ago” (Pan. 42.10.2).
112 Schott, “Heresiology as Universality,” 563, referring to Averil Cameron, Christianity and
the Rhetoric of Empire: The Development of Christian Discourse, Sather Classical Lecture (Berke-
ley: University of California Press, 1991). See also my Remains of the Jews, 23–24.
113 Schott, “Heresiology as Universality,” 563.
114 Schott, “Plotinus’s Portrait,” 355.
It remains embodied in his intellectual library: a collection of books drawn from

pagans, heretics, orthodox, Jews, all left in a productive tension that can only
speak to a singular Christian truth. It is the multivolume library of an imperial
Christianity, drawn in from all quarters of the known world, placed in a particu-
lar order designed to reveal a truth greater than the sum of their parts.
Conclusions: Books and Readers
By the late fourth century, Christian book-culture had been brought resolutely
into the public sphere.115 The scriptural canon became an issue for public pro-
nouncement,116 while a parallel canon of “church fathers” began to emerge in
theological disputations held under imperial sponsorship.117 The production of
a library in antiquity was always a social process, from the dictation of words
to an amanuensis to the circulation of published works through networks of
readers.118 This social process of Christian books and readers in the late fourth
century was enacted on a broader stage, spanning the Mediterranean: imagine
Augustine outside Milan hearing from Nebridius “the African” the story of two
imperial agents in Trier converted by a “book” about Antony of Egypt.119 Epi
phanius’s Cypriot library, although modest in size, also hints at this newly im-
perial scope of Christian book-culture: as he visits libraries, writes to fellow bish-
ops for new texts, borrows books, takes notes, even makes his own copies, the
episcopal researcher at work charts the growing networks of Christian books, a
larger “library” that is both represented in and exceeds Epiphanius’s personal
book collection in Constantia.
Epiphanius’s intellectual library is yet more ambitious: reaching back to the
earliest Greek philosophers, stretching forward to his own literary production
(itself destined for recirculation, recapitulation, and citation),120 this library
115 Gamble, Early Christian Readers; John S. Kloppenborg, “Literate Media in Early Christ
Groups: The Creation of a Christian Book Culture,” JECS 22 (2014): 21–59.
116 David Brakke, “Canon Formation and Social Conflict in Fourth-Century Egypt: Atha-
nasius of Alexandria’s Thirty-Ninth Festal Letter,” HTR 87 (1994): 395–419; David Brakke, “A
New Fragment of Athanasius’s Thirty-Ninth Festal Letter: Heresy, Apocrypha, and the Canon,”
HTR 103 (2010): 47–66.
117 On these parallel processes of canonical (re-)production, see Mark Vessey, “The Forg-
ing of Orthodoxy in Latin Christian Literature: A Case Study,” JECS 4 (1996): 495–513. On the
invention of the “fathers” in the West, see Éric Rebillard, “A New Style of Christian Argument
in Christian Polemic: Augustine and the Use of Patristic Citations,” JECS 8 (2000): 559–78; and
Schott, “Plontinus’s Portrait,” 356–57.
118 Schott, “Plontius’s Portrait,” 358–60.
119 Augustine, Conf. 8.14–15. On the particular monastic production of books and readers
in the fourth century, which also encompasses communities from Egypt to Gaul, see Rebecca
Krawiec, “Monastic Literacy in John Cassian: Toward a New Sublimity,” CH 81 (2012): 765–95;
and “Literacy and Memory in Evagrius’s Monasticism,” JECS 21 (2013): 363–90.
120 Soon after the publication of the Panarion – perhaps even during Epiphanius’s lifetime –
carves out a totalizing social space in which all books and readers produce Chris-
tian truth – even if they resist it. Like the Roman Empire in which this Christian
book-culture was emerging, Epiphanius’s library also encompasses – but never
eradicates – difference and otherness.121 In earlier centuries, aristocratic Roman
libraries were spaces for the display of imperial reach: not only books acquired
(and translated) from conquered spaces, but artwork as well, as Greg Woolf has
noted: “Both books and paintings were most often acquired by war, or else pur-
chased and reproduced at great cost. Either means of acquisition signaled the
power and status of their founders.”122 Suggesting both economic and intellec-
tual capacity, the growing Christian library of the late fourth century was – like
its non-Christian imperial predecessors – “an expression of power.”123 Epipha
nius’s library canonized “holy fathers” but also celebrated their triumph over de-
vious heretics; we can view his library as a kind of lavish imperial triumph: gen-
erals (like Irenaeus, Hippolytus, and Epiphanius himself) marching before their
bowed and shamed captives (the heretics), all represented by a vast and diverse –
but unified – orders of books.124
Woolf also notes that “the consequences of book collection are unpredict-
able.”125 I have suggested here that Epiphanius’s physical library and intellectual
library both produce a social and cultural space of empire: past and present, or-
thodox and heretic, Christian, pagan, and Jew, all corralled into a single order
of triumphant books and made to speak of eternal, orthodox truth. This library
serves quite a different purpose in our own day. The triumphal order of books
constructed by Epiphanius in his library has become the captive of a new order
of knowledge, which would rather extract and reproduce otherwise “lost” texts
and rescue them from Epiphanius’s intolerant clutches. When we read Ptole-
my’s Letter to Flora, we no longer hear Epiphanius’s voice reading that text in
an episcopal office in Constantia on Cyprus, even though it is only through Epi
phanius’s voice that we possess it. This repristination of lost texts, this “archae-
ological” approach to Epiphanius’s library, is itself “an expression of power,” with
which we should, at some point, come to terms.
an “epitome” of the work circulated, known (in Greek) as the Anakephalaioseis; while these
eventually circulated as part of the Panarion manuscript tradition, scholars agree they were not
composed by Epiphanius. On Epiphanius’s heresiographic influence, see Averil Cameron, “How
to Read Heresiology,” in The Cultural Turn in Late Ancient Studies: Gender, Asceticism, Histori-
ography, ed. Dale B. Martin and Patricia Cox Miller (Durham: Duke University Press, 2005),
193–212, esp. 197–200.
121 See Jacobs, Christ Circumcised, 6–10, 17–19.
122 Woolf, “Introduction: Approaching the Ancient Library,” in König, Oikonomopoulou,
and Woolf, Ancient Libraries, 1–20, at 6 and see Too, Idea of the Library, 191–214.
123 Too, Idea of the Library, 9.
124 On the evocation of Roman triumph in antiquarian literature, see Trevor Murphy, Pliny
the Elder’s “Natural History”: The Empire in the Encyclopedia (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2004), 154–64.
125 Woolf, “Introduction,” 9.
Cypriot Autocephaly, Reconsidered
Young Richard Kim
In 1958, Glanville Downey published a short article that explored the contested
claim of the island of Cyprus to ecclesiastical autocephaly, that is, the authority
to consecrate its own bishops, a right that the patriarchs of Antioch in the fifth
century claimed was theirs.1 As an expert on the history of late antiquity and in
particular on the city of Antioch, Downey was in a good position to examine
this dispute from the perspective of the Syrian capital. Perhaps his most impor-
tant observation was the significant role that early fourth-century imperial pro-
vincial organization played in setting up this disagreement.2 Antioch apparently
justified its claim partly through an appeal to its civil authority of the city over
the diocese of Oriens, whose chief administrator, the comes Orientis, resided in
Antioch.3 This administrative shuffling was initiated by the emperor Diocletian,
and it had a lasting effect on interregional imperial and ecclesiastical relations in
late antiquity and early Byzantium. One line of logic followed that since the main
governor of Cyprus was subordinate to the comes in Antioch, the ecclesiastical
hierarchy should follow suit. Downey then examined the specific arguments laid
out in the fifth century, mainly at the Council of Ephesus in 431,4 and then the
1 Glanville Downey, “The Claim of Antioch to Ecclesiastical Jurisdiction over Cyprus,”

APSP 102 (1958): 224–28.
2 See Glanville Downey, A History of Antioch in Syria: From Seleucus to the Arab Conquest
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1961); Downey, Antioch in the Age of Theodosius the
Great (Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 1962); Downey, Ancient Antioch (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1963).
3 The other dimension to their claim was, of course, the Council of Nicaea and its canons,
namely canons 4 and 6. On the comes, see J. Liebeschuetz, Antioch: City and Imperial Admin-
istration in the Later Roman Empire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1972), 110–14.
4 For a summary of the context for and proceedings of the Council of Ephesus, see Peter
L’Huillier, The Church of the Ancient Councils: The Disciplinary Work of the First Four Ecumen-
ical Councils (Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1996), 143–79, and 164–70, spe-
cifically on the canon regarding Cyprus. In fact, in the months leading up to the Council of
Ephesus, John, the patriarch of Antioch, had turned to the magister militum Flavius Dionysi-
us, a military official, to order both the governor of Cyprus and the bishops not to select a suc-
cessor for the vacant see of Constantia. See A. H. M. Jones, The Later Roman Empire 284–602,
Vol. 1 (Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 1964), 376–77, who suggests that John used
this official because he did not have a working relationship with the comes Orientis; repeated
by L’Huillier, Church of the Ancient Councils, 165. On the actual proceedings of the Council of
Ephesus, specifically the deliberations leading to the eighth canon on the status of Cyprus as
154 Young Richard Kim
“conclusion” of the quarrel in 488, with the famous story of the miraculous dis-
covery of the burial site and body of Saint Barnabas, an event which ultimately
confirmed the apostolic roots of the island and therefore its rightful claim to au-
tocephaly. Downey’s article did well to identify the roots of the problem in the
early fourth century and to explore some of the competing arguments of the dis-
pute in the fifth, but it left vacant much of the space in between and his point of
view was colored by his expertise in the imperial history of Antioch.
With respect to the Cypriot perspective, several scholars and theologians
broached the subject throughout the last century (often repeating earlier assess-
ments),5 but the most important studies were produced by Enrico Morini in
1979, Father Benedict Englezakis in 1986, and most recently Andreas Mitsides
in 2005 in the monumental multi-volume Ιστορία τῆς Κύπρου, published by the
Institute of Archbishop Makarios III.6 Morini’s study focused almost exclusively
on the final resolution of the dispute in the late fifth century and the role that
the Barnabas tradition played in establishing the apostolic pedigree of the island
(thus legitimizing its claim to autonomy and proscribing any arguments in op-
position). While both Englezakis and Mitsides wrote as clerics in the Church of
Cyprus and were staunch defenders of the tradition of unbroken, ecclesiastical
independence of the island, each nevertheless offered further depth and detail to
the question of autocephaly. Englezakis connected the arguments laid out by the
Cypriots in the fifth century to developments in the fourth century. In particular,
he discussed the importance of the life and legacy of Epiphanius in solidifying
the island’s claim to autocephaly. Mitsides’s contribution examined the entire
history of the dispute, including the fate of Cyprus’s independence well after the
fifth century up to the present, and he drew on a wide range of studies, particu-
larly by scholars writing in modern Greek.
well as copies of the letters sent to Cyprus by Dionysius, see Eduard Schwartz, Acta Conciliorum
Oecumenicorum: Concilium Universale Ephesenum 1.7 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1929), 118–22.
5 For example, see John Hackett, A History of the Orthodox Church of Cyprus (London:
Methuen, 1901), 13–43; Simon Vailhé, “Formation de l’ Église de Chypre (431),” Échos d’Orient
13.80 (1910): 5–10; Hippolytos Michaelides, “Περὶ τὸ αὐτοκέφαλον τῆς Ἐκκλησίας τῆς Κύπρου,”
Απόστολος Βαρνάβας 2.3, no. 45 (1931): 797–801; George F. Hill, A History of Cyprus, Vol. 1: To
the Conquest by Richard the Lion Heart (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1940), 273–
79; Raymond Janin, “Chypre,” in Dictionnaire d’histoire et de géographie ecclésiastiques 12 (Paris:
Letouzey et Ané, 1953), c. 791–95; Constantine Tsirpanlis, “The Origins of Cypriot Christianity,”
The Patristic and Byzantine Review 12 (1993): 25–31.
6 Enrico Morini, “Apostolicitá ed autocefalia in una chiesa orientale: la leggenda di S. Barn-
aba e l’autonomia dell’arcivescovato di Cipro nelle fonti dei secoli V e VI,” Studi e ricerche
sull’oriente cristiano 2 (1979): 23–45. Benedict Englezakis’s article was originally published
in Greek, but translated by Norman Russell as “Epiphanius of Salamis, the Father of Cypri-
ot Autocephaly,” in Studies on the History of the Church of Cyprus, 4th–20th Centuries (Brook-
field, VT: Variorum, 1995), 29–40. Andreas Mitsides, “Το Αὐτοκέφαλον τῆς Ἐκκλησίας τῆς
Κύπρου,” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου, Τόμος Γ: Βυζαντινή Κύπρος, ed. T. Papadopoulos (Nicosia:
΄Ιδρυμα Αρχιεπισκόπου Μακαρίου Γ΄, 2005), 129–54, which also includes ample references to
other studies in modern Greek on the autocephaly of Cyprus.
Cypriot Autocephaly, Reconsidered 155
The aim of this essay is to synthesize the insights offered by these studies with
additional considerations that seem to have gone unnoticed or have been under-
emphasized, and to argue that the church in Cyprus in late antiquity determined
its theological and ecclesiastical destiny on its own terms, exhibiting a spirit of
independence despite the gravitational pull of Antioch. However, disputes over
ecclesiastical autonomy were (and are) thorny issues; and despite any seeming
clarity offered by historical or theological arguments, Christian leaders in antiq-
uity continued to struggle with their colleagues over power and authority. Nev-
ertheless, I will argue that the quintessential act that epitomized this Cypriot
autonomous impulse was the selection and consecration in 367 of Epiphanius
as lead bishop of the island. He was, for all intents and purposes, an outsider,
originally from Palestine, and so his elevation to the see in Salamis/Constantia
was not only surprising but also indicative of the mindset of the bishops of the
island. Epiphanius was already at this point in his long and illustrious career
known for his dedication to the monastic way of life and his theological ortho-
doxy, which for much of the fourth century represented a minority position in
the Greek East. His selection came several years before he completed his here-
siological masterpiece, the Panarion, and before he engaged in ecclesiastical af-
fairs well beyond Cyprus. But it was no accident that he was chosen to become
the leader of the Cypriot Christian community, and in time the island under his
leadership became a bastion of pro-Nicene orthodoxy and a greenhouse of mo-
nastic flourishing.7 Although he has been marginalized in modern scholarship,
Epiphanius was a central (and popular) figure in the ecclesiastical politics of the
late fourth century.8 Indeed, Andrew Jacobs’s contribution to this volume dem-
onstrates the extent to which Epiphanius’s life and work – in this case through a
close examination of his “library” – are lenses through which we can see a more
complicated picture of the competing visions of culture and empire that charac-
terized late antiquity.
The Fourth Century
Our analysis begins with the fourth century, whose advent, as we are all well
aware, marked a drastic turn in the fortunes of Christianity in the Roman em-
pire. A newfound freedom opened the door to very public disputes over the-
ology and ecclesiology that encompassed the entire Mediterranean world and
involved not only Christians in positions of power but also the emperors them-
7 Jerome, Epist. 108.7.3.
8 For recent reassessments of the life and legacy of Epiphanius, see Young Richard Kim,
Epiphanius of Cyprus: Imagining an Orthodox World (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press,
2015); Andrew S. Jacobs, Epiphanius of Cyprus: A Cultural Biography of Late Antiquity, Chris-
tianity in Late Antiquity 2 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2016).
selves.9 Furthermore, beginning with Constantine, the church also came to enjoy
heretofore-unimagined access to the imperial court and all of the financial and
legal benefits that could come with it. The stakes became much higher, and cor-
respondingly so did the intensity of the political rivalries and ecclesiastical quar-
rels. Even as Christians were compelled to rethink and rewrite their narratives
in this new dispensation, they began to wrestle with the reality of an empire and
a state that was no longer the perceived apparatus of persecution and the pur-
view of the powers of darkness. Indeed, this might be one way to frame the con-
troversy over the theology associated with Arius: Christians had a difficult time
conceptualizing and articulating a theology that could accommodate Christ and
Caesar as kings, respectively in heaven and on earth.10
The Council of Nicaea was intended to resolve the debate engendered by the
theological questions raised by Arius, but in fact we know how little was set-
tled by this first ecumenical gathering. Two bishops of Cyprus, Cyril of Paphos
and Gelasius of Salamis, were present at the Council of Nicaea and were count-
ed among the signatories.11 While their mere attendance at the synod and even
endorsement of its proceedings do not necessarily allow us to conclude anything
certain about their theological convictions or ecclesiastical alignment, we can
at least suggest that in the early fourth century the church in Cyprus was en-
gaged in affairs beyond the confines of the island. It is also noteworthy that in
the order of signatures that has survived, Cyprus was designated as a separate
province (listed between Isauria and Bithynia), apart from that of Syria and An-
tioch. In addition, the fifth-century ecclesiastical historian Socrates informs us
that another Cypriot attended the council, the bishop of Tremithous, Spyridon, a
9 The bibliography on the theological and ecclesiastical disputes of the fourth century is
massive. Three important recent studies are Lewis Ayres, Nicaea and Its Legacy: An Approach
to Fourth-Century Trinitarian Theology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004); John Behr,
The Nicene Faith, Formation of Christian Theology 2 (Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary
Press, 2004); Khaled Anatolios, Retrieving Nicaea: The Development and Meaning of Trinitarian
Doctrine (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2011). Now classic examinations (and often in disagreement),
among others, include: Manlio Simonetti, La crisi ariana nel IV secolo, Studia Ephemeridis “Au-
gustinianum” 11 (Rome: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum, 1975); Thomas Kopecek, A His-
tory of Neo-Arianism, 2 vols. (Cambridge, MA: The Philadelphia Patristic Foundation, Ltd.,
1979); Robert Gregg and Dennis Groh, Early Arianism – A View of Salvation (Philadelphia: For-
tress Press, 1981); Rowan Williams, Arius: Heresy and Tradition (London: Darton, Longman, and
Todd, 1987); Hanns Christof Brennecke, Studien zur Geschichte der Homöer: der Osten bis zum
Ende der homöischen Reichskirche, BHT 73 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1988); Richard Hanson,
The Search for the Christian Doctrine of God: The Arian Controversy, 318–381 A. D. (Edinburgh:
T&T Clark, 1988).
10 See Raymond Van Dam, The Roman Revolution of Constantine (Cambridge: Cambridge
11 Heinrich Gelzer, Patrum Nicaenorum Nomina (Leipzig: Teubner, 1898), 46–49, 69, 75
(missing Gelasius), 113, 137, 159, 211; Cuthbert H. Turner, Ecclesiae occidentalis monumenta iuris
antiquissima 1.1 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1899), 80–81.
miracle worker whose presence would rhetorically serve to affirm the orthodoxy
for which Nicaea stood.12
But as recent scholarly works have shown, neither the council nor its famous
creed were immediately recognized as the hallmarks of orthodoxy, and only
decades later did the events of 325 become an integral feature of the rhetoric of
right and wrong Christianity.13 Of course the figure who looms largest in this
shift in discourse was Athanasius, and for better or for worse much of the infor-
mation on what unfolded in the decades following Nicaea comes from his own
writings, which undoubtedly reflect his perspectives and rhetoric.14 Still, Atha-
nasius was a political and ecclesiastical giant, a polarizing figure both in late an-
tiquity and today, and he became the representative voice and heroic figure of
the pro-Nicene perspective, which for much of the fourth century was the mi-
nority view, especially in the Greek East.15 For his relentless defense of what he
believed to be orthodox Christianity, Athanasius clashed with bishops and em-
perors alike, making many enemies along the way, and he was sent into exile or
hiding on five different occasions. Athanasius maintained a strong base of sup-
port in the West, but among the eastern regions he explicitly mentioned Cyprus
as one of his supporters at the Council of Serdica in 343, a contested gathering
whose proceedings were dominated by decidedly pro-Nicene (primarily) west-
ern bishops.16 In the list of signatories to the letter circulated from the council
to other churches in the Mediterranean, the representatives from Egypt are fol-
lowed by those of Cyprus and then by those of Palestine.17 So with the Cypriot
12 Rufinus, Hist. 10.5; Socrates, Historia ecclesiastica 1. 8. 12, 1.12.1–8. Cf. Sozomen, Historia
ecclesiastica 1.11.1–11. On Spyridon, see Paul van den Ven, La légende de S. Spyridon éveque de
Trimithonte, Bibliothèque du Muséon 33 (Louvain: Publications Universitaires, Institut Orien-
taliste, 1953).
13 See Ayres, Nicaea, 85–104, 140–44; Ayres, “Athanasius’ Initial Defense of the Term
Ὁμοούσιος: Rereading the De decretis,” JECS 12 (2004): 337–59; Xavier Morales, La théologie
trinitaire d’Athanase d’Alexandrie, Collection des Études Augustiniennes, Série Antiquité 180
(Paris: Institut d’Études Augustiniennes, 2006).
14 On the problems of Athanasius as our major source for understanding the fourth centu-
ry, see David Gwynn, The Eusebians: The Polemic of Athanasius of Alexandria and the Construc-
tion of the ‘Arian Controversy’ (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007).
15 The bibliography on Athanasius is equally enormous, but see: Timothy D. Barnes, Atha-
nasius and Constantius: Theology and Politics in the Constantinian Empire (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 1993); David Brakke, Athanasius and the Politics of Asceticism (Ox-
ford: Oxford University Press, 1995); Annick Martin, Athanase d’Alexandrie et l’Église d’Égypte
au IVe siècle (328–373), CÉFR 216 (Paris: École française de Rome, 1996); Khaled Anatolios,
Athanasius: The Coherence of His Thought (London and New York: Routledge, 1998).
16 Athanasius, Apol. sec. 1. Cf. Athanasius, H. Ar. 28.2; Ep. Jov. 2. On the Council of Serdica,
see Martin Tetz, “Ante omnia de sancta fide et de integritate veritatis: Glaubensfragen auf der
Synode von Serdika (342),” ZNW 76 (1985): 243–69; Hanson, Search, 293–306; Stuart G. Hall,
“The Creed of Sardica,” StPat 19 (1989): 173–84; Barnes, Athanasius and Constantius, 71–81; Mar-
tin, Athanase, 422–36; Morales, La théologie, 259–65; Mark DelCogliano, “The Date of the Coun-
cil of Serdica: A Reassessment of the Case for 343,” Studies in Late Antiquity 1 (2017): 282–310.
17 Athanasius, Apol. sec. 50.
endorsement of the Council of Nicaea as a starting point, it seems that in the

subsequent decades the Christian leaders on the island sided with the theologi-
cal and ecclesiastical position maintained by Athanasius of Alexandria. The Pal-
estinian link is equally important, as will be evident in a moment, because of its
connection to the election of Epiphanius as metropolitan of the island. Howev-
er, before we turn to the famous heresiologist, let us consider for a moment the
significant goings on in the city of Antioch during the course of the fourth cen-
tury.
Troubles in Antioch
Sometime between 413–417, during the papacy of Innocent I and the patriar-
chate of Alexander I in Antioch, the latter had written to the former, asserting
his right to jurisdictional control over the churches in Cyprus.18 Unfortunately,
Alexander’s original letter is no longer extant, but Innocent’s response survives,
and it is possible to extrapolate some of the arguments made in the patriarch’s
original letter. Alexander had conceded that the Cypriots, not holding to the ca-
nons of Nicaea and thus submitting to the authority of Antioch, took it upon
themselves to ordain their own bishops but did so because they had been “vexed
by the power of the Arian impiety.”19 It seems that in Alexander’s reasoning, An-
tioch’s loss of ecclesiastical control over Cyprus was only temporary, exacerbated
by the extenuating circumstances of the previous century, but now in his think-
ing it was appropriate to reclaim what had been lost.20
Indeed, the city of Antioch in the fourth century was a locus of intense and
seemingly never-ending theological and ecclesiastical disputes, and at one point
saw no less than four rival claimants to the see.21 In addition, as already noted,
the city was an administrative capital, with a strategic location that also served at
times as an imperial base, and it was also an intellectual, cultural, and religious
18 Innocent I, Epistulae 24. Innocent affirmed Alexander’s assertion of ecclesiastical author-
ity over the diocese, including Cyprus. The date range is suggested by Fergus Millar, A Greek
Roman Empire: Power and Belief under Theodosius II 408–450 (Berkeley: University of Califor-
nia Press, 2007), 137. Janin, “Chypre,” 794, asserts 416.
19 Innocent I, Epistulae 24.3.
20 In addition, Downey suggests that Alexander was “naturally anxious to rebuild the pres-
tige of Antioch,” and one method of doing so was to acknowledge Antioch’s authority over the
provinces in its purview; History of Antioch, 457.
21 This was the so-called Meletian schism, for which see: Thomas Karmann, Meletius von
Antiochien: Studien zur Geschichte des trinitätstheologischen Streits in den Jahren 360–364
n. Chr., RST 68 (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2009). See also Kelley Spoerl, “The Schism at
Antioch since Cavallera,” in Arianism after Arius: Essays on the Development of the Fourth Cen-
tury Trinitarian Conflicts, ed. Michel R. Barnes and Daniel H. Williams (Edinburgh: T&T Clark,
1993), 101–26, and the classic study by Ferdinand Cavallera, Le schisme d’Antioche (IVe–Ve siècle)
(Paris: Picard, 1905).
hub in the eastern Mediterranean.22 The stakes were high in Antioch, and there
were many different parties with competing interests. With the ascendancy of
non-Nicene Christians in the Greek East in the years following the Council of
Nicaea, one of the heroes of the pro-Nicene camp, Eustathius, was deposed as
bishop of Antioch. Still, there remained in the city an eponymous faction always
loyal to him, led by Paulinus, who would become one of the eventual compet-
ing claimants to the see.23 The full-blown Meletian Schism began in 360 with
the consecration of Meletius as the bishop of Antioch, who was subsequently
deposed and exiled in 361 after just a few months in office, primarily because
his theological alignment did not match the Homoian powers that held sway at
court during this time. He was replaced by Euzoius, who occupied the see until
his death in 376. Meanwhile, Paulinus himself was consecrated as bishop of An-
tioch by Lucifer of Cagliari, likely in early 362. Much later, in late 376 or early
377, the fourth contender, Vitalius, was ordained as bishop by Apollinarius of
Laodicea.
The ecclesiastical situation in Antioch throughout the middle decades of the
fourth century was in complete disarray. The bishop who held the see and en-
joyed imperial support was Euzoius, but from the point of view of the Christian
leadership in Cyprus and other pro-Nicenes he was undoubtedly a heretic. Even
after the “resolution” of the fourth-century Trinitarian debates at the Council of
Constantinople in 381, the church hierarchy of Antioch was still in dispute, as
the successors and supporters of Meletius and of the old Eustathian party still
clashed over their respective choice for bishop. Thus, Antioch was simply in no
position to assert any kind of ecclesiastical jurisdiction over pro-Nicene Cyprus,
nor would the denizens of the island have tolerated any intervention by a bishop
they considered to be theologically illegitimate. It should then come as no sur-
prise that we hear no word whatsoever about any Antiochene claims over Cy-
prus, because there was no such claim made in the fourth century. In fact, the
opposite may have happened, that is, the metropolitan of Cyprus may have inter-
vened in and adjudicated in the episcopal dispute in Antioch.
22 See the references to the works by Downey above in notes 1 and 2, and also Paul Petit,
Libanius et la vie municipale à Antioch au IVe siècle après J.‑C., Bibliothèque archéologique et
historique 62 (Paris: Paul Geuthner, 1955); André J. Festugière, Antioch païenne et chrétienne: Li-
banius, Chrysostome et les moins de Syrie (Paris: de Boccard, 1959); Downey, History of Antioch
in Syria; Liebeschuetz, Antioch; Jaclyn L. Maxwell, Christianization and Communication in Late
Antiquity: John Chrysostom and His Congregation in Antioch (Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press, 2006); Isabella Sandwell, Religious Identity in Late Antiquity: Greeks, Jews, and Chris-
tians in Antioch (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007); Christine Shepardson, Con-
trolling Contested Spaces: Late Antique Antioch and the Spatial Politics of Religious Controversy
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2014).
23 Karmann, Meletius von Antiochien, 20–50.
Enter Epiphanius
The exact circumstances and process by which Epiphanius became the bishop
of Constantia (otherwise known as Salamis) and thus the lead bishop of the is-
land are unclear. The Vita Epiphanii provides a rather elaborate story, full of ha-
giographical tropes, in which Epiphanius decided to travel to Cyprus to visit his
mentor, the ascetic exemplar Hilarion, who had found refuge near the city of
Paphos.24 There Hilarion told him that he ought to make his way to Salamis to
avoid a storm at sea on his return journey. Epiphanius, however, boarded a ship
bound for Askalon and ended up being shipwrecked and washed ashore in Sala-
mis. Meanwhile the bishops of Cyprus had convened to elect a new bishop for
Salamis, and among them was a venerable confessor-bishop named Pappos. Be-
fore Epiphanius was to depart for Palestine, he went to the city market where he
was spotted by Pappos and his associates, who invited him to pray with them
in the church. Epiphanius demurred that he was unqualified to lead prayers at
church, at which point Pappos ordained Epiphanius against his will as deacon,
presbyter, and then bishop. Pappos explained that God had revealed to him that
he would find the next bishop of Salamis in the marketplace.25 Thus according
to the Vita, the selection of Epiphanius was miraculous and divinely sanctioned.
We ought not to put too much stock into the specific details of the hagio-
graphical account, but we can detect an underlying concern in the Vita to explain
how a non-Cypriot native of Palestine became the leader of the Christian com-
munity on the island. I have explored elsewhere, building on the work of other
scholars, the possible circumstances that made possible the elevation of Epipha
nius to the see of Constantia, which include unfavorable developments in Epi
phanius’ homeland, the likely presence and influence of Hilarion on the island,
and, as suggested above, the pro-Nicene, Athanasian orientation of the church
in Cyprus.26 When Epiphanius was elected in 367, he was serving as the abbot of
the monastery he had founded in his home region of Eleutheropolis in Palestine,
a position that he had held at this point for about thirty years.
We know only a few details about this phase of his life, and they come from
two autobiographical anecdotes Epiphanius included in the Panarion.27 While
we must exhibit caution in how readily we accept his recollection of these events,
we nevertheless see in them two features characteristic of the public persona Epi
phanius constructed for himself. First, Epiphanius recounted a story about the
conversion to Christianity of Joseph of Tiberias, a one-time high official at the
24 For the Vita, see Claudia Rapp, “The Vita of Epiphanius of Salamis – A Historical and Lit-
erary Study,” 2 vols. (D. Phil. thesis, Worcester College, Oxford University, 1991).
25 On this sequence of events, see Vita Epiphanii 55–62.
26 Kim, Epiphanius of Cyprus, 141–57.
court of the Jewish patriarch.28 The setting was an occasion when Epiphanius
lodged at Joseph’s home in Scythopolis, a region known to be an “Arian” hotbed
with a heretic bishop. Also staying there was Eusebius of Vercelli, a pro-Nicene
stalwart who had been exiled after the Council of Milan in 355.29 It should come
as no surprise that Eusebius was also a staunch ally of Athanasius. From this
anecdote, we see that Epiphanius’s orthodoxy was reflected clearly in the com-
pany he kept. Second, Epiphanius described his confrontation with the leader of
a heretical sect known as the Archontics.30 In this story, Epiphanius portrayed
himself as a heresy-hunter and a defender of orthodoxy, acting as a sheepdog
protecting its flock and as an arbiter of true and false Christianity. Therefore,
whatever the circumstances were in which Epiphanius became the lead bishop of
Cyprus, the Christian leadership on the island must have known that they were
getting a candidate with extensive monastic experience, important pro-Nicene
connections, and impeccable orthodox credentials.
While we simply cannot know if there was a dearth of suitable candidates on
the island itself, the fact remains that the Cypriots selected an “outsider” to lead
their church. And given the ecclesiastical and political circumstances of the east-
ern Mediterranean, their choice was bold and provocative. In 367, the archbish-
op at Constantinople was Eudoxius, a prominent figure among the Homoians,
and the imperially recognized bishop of Antioch was Euzoius, while the emperor
of the east was Valens, who supported the Homoian position.31 Thus in a sea of
theological and ecclesiastical opposition, Cyprus elected a Palestinian monk to
the see of Constantia. It is quite possible that the Cypriots had no idea just how
prominent Epiphanius would become in the years to come. Not only would he
28 Epiphanius, Pan. 30.5.1–8. On the Joseph of Tiberias episode, Stephen Goranson, “The
Joseph of Tiberias Episode in Epiphanius: Studies in Jewish and Christian Relations” (PhD diss.,
Duke University, 1990). See also Frédéric Manns, “Joseph de Tibériade, un judéo-chrétien du
quatrième siècle,” in Christian Archaeology in the Holy Land: New Discoverie: Essays in honour
of Virgilio C. Corbo, SBFCMa 36, ed. G. Bottini, L. di Segni, E. Alliata (Jerusalem: Franciscan
Printing Press, 1990), 553–60; Timothy Thornton, “The Stories of Joseph of Tiberias,” VC 44
(1990): 54–63; Stephen Goranson, “Joseph of Tiberias Revisited: Orthodoxies and Heresies in
Fourth-Century Galilee,” in Galilee Through the Centuries: A Confluence of Cultures, Duke Ju-
daic Studies 1, ed. E. Meyers (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1999), 335–43; Andrew S. Jacobs,
“Matters (Un-)Becoming: Conversions in Epiphanius of Salamis,” CH 81 (2012): 27–47; Jacobs,
Epiphanius of Cyprus, 88–92.
29 On Eusebius, see Victor De Clercq, “Eusèbe de Verceil,” in Dictionnaire d’histoire et de
géographie ecclésiastiques 15 (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1963), c. 1477–83; Enrico dal Covolo, Rena-
to Uglione, and Giovanni Vian, eds., Eusebio di Vercelli e il suo tempo, Biblioteca di scienze reli-
giose 133 (Rome: Libreria Ateneo Salesiano, 1997); Daniel A. Washburn, “Tormenting the Tor-
menters: A Reinterpretation of Eusebius of Vercelli’s Letter from Scythopolis,” CH 78 (2009):
731–55.
30 Epiphanius, Pan. 40.1.1–9.
31 On Valens, see Brennecke, Studien zur Geschichte der Homöer; Noel E. Lenski, Failure of
Empire: Valens and the Roman State in the Fourth Century A. D., Transformation of the Classical
Heritage 34 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002), 211–63.
compose the massive Panarion in the mid-370s, but he would also involve him-
self – some would say meddle – in international ecclesiastical affairs that even-
tually saw him confront even the archbishop of Jerusalem, John, and the arch-
bishop of Constantinople, John Chrysostom.32
But Epiphanius’s earliest ecclesiastical intervention, if we are to trust his own
recollection, took place either in late 376 or early 377, when he traveled to Anti-
och to adjudicate a dispute between two of the rival claimants to the see of the
Syrian capital. The rivals were Paulinus, the “successor” to Eustathius and an
unwavering pro-Nicene, and Vitalius, also a pro-Nicene but a disciple of Apol-
linarius of Laodicea, whose Christology was increasingly becoming a source of
alarm.33 Epiphanius assessed the doctrinal orthodoxy of both Paulinus and Vi-
talius, and in the course of his investigation he found the latter to have hereti-
cal views regarding the incarnation of Christ and therefore disqualified Vitalius.
Furthermore, using the document known as the Tome to the Antiochenes, written
under the auspices of Athanasius and the church in Egypt, Epiphanius tested the
orthodoxy of Paulinus. He found him to be a true believer and subsequently en-
dorsed him as the rightful bishop of Antioch. Thus, despite the fact that there
was already an apparently pro-Nicene bishop of Antioch in the person of Mele-
tius, Epiphanius, the lead bishop of Cyprus, decided that Paulinus was the true
bishop, even traveling to Rome in 382 to advocate Paulinus’s case before Pope
Damasus.34
Round 2: The Council of Ephesus
After the epistolary exchange between Alexander of Antioch and Innocent I of
Rome, the issue apparently remained unresolved, although it is certain that the
see of Antioch (under Patriarchs Theodotus and John) maintained its claim to
ecclesiastical oversight of Cyprus.35 It seems that Innocent also agreed, at least
tentatively, that the Cypriots had violated the canonical practice.36 The dispute
simmered in the ensuing years and boiled over in the months leading up to the
Council of Ephesus in 431. Troilus, the metropolitan bishop of Constantia and
therefore leader of the Cypriot churches, died in the spring months of 431. Some-
time during his tenure, he had visited Antioch on some business tangential to the
autocephaly question, and there the clerics of the city evidently mistreated him
physically, perhaps because of this very issue.37 And so upon Troilus’s passing,

33 Epiphanius, Pan. 77.20.1–24.5. Kim, Epiphanius of Cyprus, 159–72.
34 Jerome, Epist. 108.6.1, 127.7.1.
35 L’Huillier, Church of the Ancient Councils, 165.
36 Innocent, Epistulae 24.3.
37 Schwartz, Acta Conciliorum, 118, lines 28–32, describes the abuse. Downey, “The Claim,”
Patriarch John in Antioch seized the opportunity to assert his authority over Cy-
prus by requesting that the magister militum per Orientem, Dionysius, write two
letters to be dispatched to Cyprus. One letter went to Theodorus, the civil gov-
ernor of the island (dated 21 May, 431), and the other to the bishops of Cyprus,
forbidding them to elect a successor until the bishops at the upcoming council
in Ephesus pronounce on the issue, or if they had already done so, to appear at
the council to explain themselves.38 As both Downey and Jones have made clear,
John’s recruitment of an imperial official was at the least irregular, and the proper
official to be consulted (if at all) should have been either the praetorian prefect of
the East or the comes Orientis, the former with his office in Constantinople and
the latter in Antioch. Jones suggests that John likely had no influence over the
praetorian prefect and the comes either would have consulted with the prefect,
his superior, or was not friendly to the patriarch.39 That John sought to use the
magister militum Dionysius (or any government official) in this dispute demon-
strates the Antiochene perspective of the coordinate parallel hierarchy of eccle-
siastical and secular authority. However, as Jones points out, even this is compli-
cated by the fact that the governor of Cyprus, as a civil authority, was technically
not subject to the magister militum.40 In the end, it did not matter who sent the
letters, because the Cypriots acted on their own accord and duly elected Rhegi-
nus as their metropolitan. The only question that remains unanswered is whether
or not they did so before or after receiving the communications from Antioch.
If they did so before, then clearly the Cypriots were acting on what they believed
was their right; if after, perhaps we can perceive additionally an act of defiance
against the claims of Antioch.
Since the Council of Ephesus itself was driven largely by the agenda of Cyril
of Alexandria, a request from John and the delegation from Antioch to delay the
start was not only rejected, but the commencement of the council was expedited
to 22 June. When John and his cohort finally arrived on 26 June, they refused to
participate in Cyril’s council and instead held their own. In the weeks following,
the disputes escalated with mutual condemnations, depositions, and finally im-
perial intervention.41 The delegation from Cyprus was led by metropolitan bish-
225, suggests that Troilus had been consecrated before Innocent’s campaign to reclaim what he
thought was lost authority. Hence the physical attack was the Antiochene (literal!) way of beat-
ing Troilus into submission.
38 Schwartz, Acta Conciliorum, 120, lines 12–31, 37–43, 121, lines 1–9. On the magister mili-
tum, see Liebeschuetz, Antioch, 114–18.
39 Downey, “The Claim,” 226–27; Jones, Later Roman Empire, 376–77; L’Huillier, Church of
the Ancient Councils, 165.
40 Jones, Later Roman Empire, 377, although he does suggest that the respective ranks of
both men would have implied an assumed submission of one to the other. This fact was rec-
ognized by the Cypriot delegation and recorded in the acta; Schwartz, Acta Conciliorum, 119,
lines 2–5.
41 On all of these affairs see L’Huillier, Church of the Ancient Councils, 146–54.
op Rheginus of Constantia, who was accompanied by Zeno of Kourion and Eva-

grius of Soloi. During one of the early meetings, Rheginus had made clear where
his loyalties lay when he openly opposed Nestorius.42 In fact, the Cypriot align-
ment with the Alexandrian line, as I have argued elsewhere, reaches back to the
fourth century to the island’s participation at the Council of Nicaea, affirmation
of Athanasius at the Council of Serdica, and bishop Epiphanius’s avowed ad-
miration of and continuity with his Alexandrian hero.43
Hence, in the later session when the Cyprus issue was actually addressed, the
delegation from Antioch was absent and therefore the perspective presented was
entirely that of the Cypriots. In the acta of the council we have a transcript of
the discussion that took place between the council and the Cypriot delegation.44
Rheginus had brought with him and presented the letters from Dionysius. When
asked by the council what the Cypriots thought Antioch’s intentions were, bish-
op Evagrius replied that the city was, “attempting to possess our island and to
snatch away the right of ordination for itself, against the canons and the cus-
tom that prevailed from the very beginning,” to which the synod inquired, “So
it appears that Antioch has never ordained the bishop in Constantia?” Zeno, the
bishop of Kourion, responded: “From [the time of] the holy apostles, never can
they prove that Antioch presided over and ordained [the bishop of Constantia],
that neither it nor anyone else ever consulted the island as regards to ordina-
tion.”45 The unequivocal view of the bishops of Cyprus was that the island, from
era of the apostles forward, had always been independent.
The inquiry continued with a recollection of canon 6 of the Council of Nicaea,
which seemed to imply that Antioch had the privilege of jurisdictional oversight
(although with no specific mention of which provinces), in particular with re-
spect to the ordination of bishops, and a request from the inquirers to the Cyp-
riots for further explanation.46 Again, Zeno firmly declared that in their own
province the metropolitan was always chosen by the Cypriots, and it seems that
at this point in the discussion one of the underlying issues was the relationship
between the ecclesiastical and provincial organization and hierarchy of leader-
42 The original invitee was metropolitan Troilus. See Anna Crabbe, “The Invitation List to
the Council of Ephesus and Metropolitan Hierarchy in the Fifth Century,” JTS 32 (1981): 369–
400.
43 See Kim, Epiphanius of Cyprus, 104–37.
44 The date for this meeting in the acta is 31 August, but should be read as 31 July, pace
L’Huillier, Church of the Ancient Councils, 164; based on Charles Hefele, Histoire des conciles 2.1
(Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1908), 332–34. On the complexities of reconstructing the sessions and
proceedings of the council, see Thomas Graumann, “‘Reading’ the First Council of Ephesus,”
in Chalcedon in Context: Church Councils 400–700, ed. Richard Price and Mary Whitby (Liver-
pool: Liverpool University Press, 2009), 27–44. I am grateful to Richard Price for sharing with
me portions of his (yet unpublished) translation of the acta.
45 Schwartz, Acta Conciliorum, 121, lines 21–28.
ship, which in part served as the basis of the Antiochene claim. When asked by
the synod who had ordained the previous three metropolitans – Troilus, Sabinus,
and Epiphanius – Zeno indicated that each had been chosen only by those in Cy-
prus, a practice that extended all the way back to apostolic times, and that Anti-
och never had any hand in the ordination of bishops on the island:
Both these holy bishops who are now remembered and the most holy bishops who pre-
ceded them and those from [the time of] the holy apostles, all of them orthodox, were or-
dained by those in Cyprus and never was the bishop of Antioch in possession of the terri-
tory or someone else able to ordain in our eparchy.47
Scholars who have studied the proceedings of the council do not discuss at all
the significance of Epiphanius. However, the synod’s inquiry about Rheginus’s
predecessors went only as far back as Epiphanius, who was called aoidimos
(ἀοίδιμος), that is, “sung about in song,” which speaks volumes about the repu-
tation that the famed heresiologist had even into the fifth century.48 The Cypri-
ots had chosen him, an outsider, as their leader, and his reputation for defending
the orthodox faith and combatting heresy had reached legendary status.49 For
those gathered at Ephesus, this must have been an important component to the
argument that Cyprus had always been autocephalous, and at this point in the
inquiry, the synod moved to a concluding resolution.50 Noticeably absent from
the entire exchange between the representatives of the Council of Ephesus and
the Cypriot delegation was any mention at all of Barnabas (more on this below).
For this particular gathering, as recorded in the acta, the ordination of the pre-
vious three metropolitans, including the legendary Epiphanius, by the bishops
of Cyprus was strong evidence of the ecclesiastical independence of the island:
Therefore, it seems fitting to the holy and universal synod, that to each province the rights
belonging to it from the beginning and from on high, in accordance with the ancient right
to rule, be preserved clear and free from compulsion, for each metropolitan, free from
fear, to fully receive secure equality in the conducting of his own affairs. And if someone
produces a decree contesting that which has now been determined, it seems to the all-holy
and ecumenical synod that this is invalid.51
In “canon” 8, the council affirmed the independence of Cyprus:

If, as is asserted in memorials and orally by religious men who have come before the
Council – it has not been a continuous ancient custom for the bishop of Antioch to hold
ordinations in Cyprus, – the prelates of Cyprus shall enjoy, free from molestation and vio-
lence, their right to perform by themselves the ordination of bishops.52
48 Schwartz, Acta Conciliorum, 121, line 41.
49 Whereas modern scholarly assessments have minimized and marginalized his signifi-
cance in the fourth century. See Kim, Epiphanius of Cyprus, 1–13.
50 Englezakis, “Epiphanius of Salamis,” 38.
52 The “canon” was actually a resolution passed by the council. For commentary on this
Scholars have emphasized that here in the canon (as in the acta) we see the con-
ditional extension of autocephaly to Cyprus, which thus suggests that even the
Council of Ephesus hesitated to affirm full rights of self-rule for the church on
the island and included an “out” clause if indeed Cyprus did not always have the
right to ordain its own bishops.53 However, at the same time, the Council upheld
the Cypriot claim (granted, there was no representation from Antioch), and as
we will now see, the patriarch of Antioch resorted to another argument alto-
gether to assert the authority of the city over the island. In other words, Antioch
could not prove that it had ever ordained the bishops of Cyprus.
Conclusion: Barnabas and the “Final” Word
Decades after the Council of Ephesus, Antioch, under the leadership of its non-
Chalcedonian bishop Peter the Fuller, would try again to assert control over Cy-
prus.54 But if our earliest source for the ensuing events is to be trusted, the na-
ture of the argument had changed.55 After he was repudiated by the Cypriots for
his theology, Peter contended that, “The Word of God was made known in Cy-
prus from Antioch, and indeed the church in Cyprus should be under the see of
Antioch, since it happens to be the apostolic and patriarchal see.”56 Rather than
build a case based either on established (but temporarily suspended) practice or
on the parallel ecclesiastical and imperial hierarchies, now the patriarch of Anti-
och asserted his control over Cyprus on the fact that the Gospel had been intro-
duced to the island from Antioch.57 He was making an apostolic argument. Thus,
the justifications for ecclesiastical oversight of the island made in the first half of
the century by the patriarchs Alexander and John were abandoned for what was
seemingly a weightier, biblical claim.
This time, it took the miraculous intervention of Barnabas himself to settle
the matter once and for all.58 The apostolic saint revealed the location of his bur-
ial site in a dream to archbishop Anthemios of Constantia, who led a procession
canon, see William Bright, The Canons of the First Four General Councils of Nicaea, Constant-
inople, Ephesus and Chalcedon, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Clarendon, 1892), 135–39 (translation from
136).
53 Bright, Canons, 136; Downey, History of Antioch, 464–65; L’Huillier, Church of the Ancient
Councils, 168.
54 On the emperor Zeno and Peter the Fuller, see Downey, History of Antioch, 484–502.
55 The encomium of Saint Barnabas (Laudatio in apostolum Barnabam) was written some-
time in the middle or late sixth century (Downey, “The Claim,” 227 n. 31) by a Cypriot monk
named Alexander. The Greek text (with Latin translation) is found in Acta Sanctorum, Junii
Tomus Secundus (Paris: Victorem Palmé, 1867), 431–47. The Latin version is also available in
PL 87.3.
56 Acta sanctorum, 443.
57 See the narrative arc in Acts 11:19, 13:4–12, 15:39. Downey, “The Claim,” 227–28.
58 There had emerged likely at the end of the fifth century an expanded narrative of the
to the exact spot where the saint’s body was found, clutching a copy of the Gospel
of Matthew, penned in the Cypriot’s own hand.59 A delegation from the island
presented the sacred text to the emperor Zeno, who in 488 recognized the eccle-
siastical independence of the island of Cyprus, affirming the right of the bishops
of the island to choose for themselves their own metropolitan without the inter-
ference or approval of any other patriarch.60 The emperor’s decision is perhaps
also the best evidence for the validity of the monk Alexander’s account of the ar-
gument made by Peter the Fuller (who enjoyed the favor and support of Zeno),
because the emperor went against the claim of the Antiochene patriarch.61 This
miraculous discovery was proof positive of Cyprus’s apostolic pedigree, and the
island, which had contended confidently at Ephesus about its independence
since biblical times, now had its undisputed champion. Just as the other great pa-
triarchs of the Greek East rooted their authority on the life and legacy apostles –
Peter for Antioch, James for Jerusalem, Mark for Alexandria – so too could the
metropolitan of Cyprus proudly claim Barnabas. Thus, in the end Cypriot auto-
cephaly was fully affirmed without qualification, resting on the shoulders of an
adopted son, Epiphanius, and a native son, Barnabas, both of such immeasurable
stature that even today we can find these saints painted together in the churches
in Cyprus, a testament to the independent spirit of the island.62
saint’s life in the Acta Barnabae. See Maximilian Bonnet, ed., Acta Philippi et Acta Thomae acce-
dunt Acta Barnabae (Leipzig: Herman Mendelssohn, 1903), 292–302.
59 Alexander Monachus, Laudatio in apostolum Barnabam 38–50; Severus of Antioch, Epi-
stulae 108 (PO 14:266); Theodore the Reader, Historia ecclesiastica 2.2 (PG 86.1:184); George
Cedrenus, Historia compendium (PG 121:673); Joel, Chronographia (PG 139:264). On these
narratives about the manuscript, see also AnneMarie Luijendijk’s chapter in this volume.
60 The dating of the emperor’s decree and the discovery of the relics of Barnabas, however,
are a matter of some dispute due to disparities in the sources. See Morini, “Apostolicitá ed auto-
cefalia,” 34 n. 26 (I follow his dating of the event to 488). According to the tradition, Zeno also
granted to the metropolitan of Cyprus the right to wear imperial purple, wield a scepter, and
sign his name with red ink.
61 Downey, History of Antioch, 485.
62 On the iconography of Barnabas and Epiphanius in Cyprus, see Andreas Stylianou and
Judith Stylianou, The Painted Churches of Cyprus: Treasures of Byzantine Art (London: Trigraph
for the A. G. Leventis Foundation, 1985).
The Gospel of Matthew in the Acts of Barnabas
through the Lens of a Book’s History
Healing and Burial with Books
AnneMarie Luijendijk1
Three passages in the Acts of Barnabas allude to a manuscript containing the

Gospel of Matthew. This chapter contextualizes the Acts of Barnabas’s use of
this book within the larger function of books in antiquity as texts and as objects,
especially in healing and burial practices. It argues that a manuscript, both as
imagined and as an actual object, played a distinct role in how the Acts of Bar
nabas contributed, among other narratives, to arguments for Cypriot ecclesiasti-
cal independence.2
Letter from Severus of Gaza to Thomas of Germanicea
A few decades after the composition of the Acts of Barnabas, in a letter written
after the year 518, the prolific Greek author, theologian, and hymnographer Sev-
erus of Gaza, former patriarch of Antioch, wrote to bishop Thomas of German-
icea about a text-critical problem.3 The issue is whether a soldier pierced Jesus’s
side after Jesus was already deceased (as in the Gospel of John) or while he was
still alive. The latter, Severus maintained, was a textual corruption in manuscripts
of the Gospel of Matthew. As definite proof for his position, Severus reports his
1 I thank Laura Nasrallah and Brent Nongbri for their generous feedback, my research
assistants Jonathan Henry and Nathan Johnson for their excellent help in many different ways,
and Shanon FitzGerald for his keen eye in proofreading this. My thanks also go to Susan Falcia-
ni Maldonado of the Trexler Library, Muhlenberg College, for sending me the image of P. Oxy.
VIII 1077 for publication.
2 On the topic of the Cypriot autocephaly, see also the chapter by Young Kim in this vol-
ume.
3 The recipient of the letter is Thomas of Germanicea. The letter can only be tentatively
dated between 519–538, between when Thomas was deposed and when Severus died. Jean Mau-
rice Fiey mentions Thomas as one of the bishops deposed in 519; Saints syriaques (Princeton:
Darwin, 2004), 189, no. 446. Severus addressed several letters to him. He may be the Thomas
who appears among the bishops publishing canons in 535 and died in exile in Samosata in 542.
On Severus, see below.
170 AnneMarie Luijendijk
investigation of a manuscript that he examined while visiting Constantinople

a few years earlier during the patriarchate of Macedonius (494–511). Preserved
only in Syriac translation, the letter reads:
But that our Lord Jesus Christ our God was pierced in the side with a lance by that sol-
dier after he gave up the ghost, and blood and water came forth from it in a miraculous
manner, the divine John the Evangelist recorded, and no one else wrote about this. But
certain persons have clearly falsified the Gospel of Matthew and inserted this same pas-
sage, when the contrary is the fact, in order to show that it was while he was alive that the
soldier pierced his side with the spear, and afterwards he gave up the ghost. This ques-
tion was examined with great carefulness when my meanness was in the royal city, at
the time when the affair of Macedonius was being examined, who became archbishop
of that city, and there was produced the Gospel of Matthew, which was written in large
letters, and was preserved with great honor in the royal palace, which was said to have
been found in the days of Zeno of honorable memory in a city of the island of Cyprus
buried with the holy Barnabas, who went about with Paul and spread the divine preach-
ing; and, when the Gospel of Matthew was opened (‫)ܘ�ܕ ̣ܗ ̣ܘ ܐܘ��ܢ ܕ��ܝ ܐܬ��ܚ‬,
it was found to be free from the falsification contained in this addition, of the story of the
soldier and the spear.⁠4
This passage contains much of interest, including text critical issues and theo-
logical debates on the nature of Christ (especially the violent and gory details
surrounding Jesus’s death). My focus, however, is on the story of the manuscript
of the Gospel of Matthew kept in the imperial palace at Constantinople that Sev-
erus examined.
Severus, the epistolographer, was born in 465 and hailed from Gaza. He
served as patriarch of Antioch following his nomination in 512. Because of his
monophysite leanings, he was banned from office in 517 or 518. He died in 538
or 539.5 Severus must have seen the Matthean manuscript sometime during the
years he spent in Constantinople, from 508–511.6 In his lifetime he witnessed the
dispute about and eventual success of the Cypriot church in the movement for
ecclesiastical independence, or autocephaly, from Antioch. Severus supports his
text-critical position not with just any manuscript. He refers to what he consid-
ered an authoritative text: namely, the manuscript buried together with the re-
4 Edition and translation: E. W. Brooks, “To Thomas, Bishop of Germanicea” (PO 14:266–
67).
5 On Severus, see Pauline Allen and C. T. R. Hayward, Severus of Antioch (London: Rout-
ledge, 2004); Fiey, Saints syriaques, 173, no. 405. See also Enrico Norelli, “Actes de Barnabé,” in
Écrits apocryphes chrétiens, ed. Pierre Geoltrain and Jean-Daniel Kaestli, vol. 2 of Bibliothèque
de la Pléiade 442 (Paris: Gallimard, 2005), 623 n. 1.
6 Severus indicates that he saw the book during the time when Macedonius was embroiled
in controversy. On Severus in Constantinople, see Fiey, Saints syriaques, 173: “En 508 il vint à
Constantinople, avec 200 moines, pour demander justice à l’empereur des molestations subies
par ses moines. Il resta dans la capitale jusqu’en 511”; and Iain Torrance, Christology after Chal-
cedon: Severus of Antioch and Sergius the Monophysite (Norwich: Canterbury Press, 1988; repr.,
Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock, 1998), 4.
The Gospel of Matthew in the Acts of Barnabas through the Lens of a Book’s History 171
mains of the apostle Barnabas, discovered at Cyprus during Severus’s own life-
time. Several other authors also mention this manuscript.
In his Church History, sixth-century lector Theodore Anagnostes explains the
circumstances around the find:
The remains of the apostle Barnabas were found in Cyprus [at the time of Zeno I, 474–491]
under a carob tree, with the Gospel of Matthew, by Barnabas’s own hand, on his chest (ἔχον
ἐπὶ στήθους τὸ κατὰ Ματθαῖον εὐαγγέλιον ἰδιόγραφον τοῦ Βαρνάβα). On these grounds,
the Cypriots form an autocephalous metropolis of their own and are not subject to Anti-
och. But Zeno deposited said Gospel in his palace, in [the Chapel of] St. Stephen [478].7
Although Theodore is a lector by profession at the Hagia Sophia in Constant-

inople, he, unlike Severus, does not indicate whether he saw the manuscript.
Around the middle of the fifth century,8 Alexander, a Cypriot Monk from
the Monastery of Barnabas in Salamis, composed a Laudatio on the apostle Bar
nabas in which he reports a similar tradition regarding the discovery of this text:
The bishop rose, worshipped the Lord, assembled all his holy clergy and the Christ-lov-
ing people, and went out to the place which had been shown to him, under the sign of the
cross and with great preparation. Then he said a prayer and ordered that the place be dug
up. When they had dug a little they found a cave closed with stones. Rolling these away
they found the coffin; uncovering it they found the sacred remains of the holy and glorious
apostle Barnabas, giving forth the fragrance of spiritual grace. They found also the gospel
lying on his breast (εὗρον δὲ καὶ τὸ εὐαγγέλιον, ἐπὶ τὸ στῆθος αὐτοῦ κείμενον).9
The story, as we shall see, is that this Gospel book was presented to emperor
Zeno as a sign of the primacy of the Cypriot church. As a result, Zeno granted
the island its desired independence from Antioch, where, as noted above, Sever-
us had been patriarch.
Severus consulted the manuscript for a scholarly reason. But in antiquity, as
today, books were artifacts signifying more than just repositories of texts. For
7 Edition: Günther Christian Hansen, ed., Theodoros Anagnostes Kirchengeschichte, GCS 3

(Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1971), 121, Epitome 436. Translation: Hans A. Pohlsander, Greek Texts
of the Fourth to Thirteenth Centuries, Vol. 7 of Sources for the History of Cyprus, ed. Paul W. Wal-
lace and Andreas G. Orphanides (Nicosia: Cyprus College, 1990), 45; italics my own.
8 A precise date cannot be established, but the time of composition is between the years
530 and 566. See Peter van Deun and Jacques Noret, eds., Hagiographica Cypria: Sancti Barna-
bae laudatio auctore Alexandro monacho et Sanctorum Bartholomaei Barnabae vita e menologio
imperiali deprompta, CCSG 26 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1993), 15–21, esp. 21. Michel van Esbroeck
preferred a narrower date range of 543–553; Michel van Esbroeck, “L’opuscule sur la croix d’Al-
exandre de Chypre et sa version géorgienne,” Bedi Kartlisa. Revue de la kartvélologie 37 (1979):
102–21, cited approvingly by Van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 16 and 16 n. 10. On this text, see
also Bernd Kollmann and Werner Deuse, eds., Alexander Monachus, Laudatio Barnabae. Lob-
rede auf Barnabas, Fontes Christiani 46 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007).
9 Edition: Van Deun, Sancti Barnabae laudatio, 116–17, ll. 758–72. See also Pohlsander,
Sources for the History of Cyprus, 7:51–52, no. 37.2; 45, 31.6. Translation: Paul W. Wallace in ibid.
On this text, see also Efthymiadis in this volume. Note that the Laudatio mentions “the gospel
lying on his breast” but does not identify the manuscript as the Gospel of Matthew.
the ancients, manuscripts could be relics that possessed healing and apotropaic
functions.10 Indeed, as French Medieval historian and paleographer Jean Vezin
notes, in the Christian world of late antiquity and beyond, books were held in
special regard because of their scarcity, their cost, and the trouble suffered by the
scribes who transcribed them.11 It is in this bookish milieu that the author of the
Acts of Barnabas – writing a few decades earlier than Severus, Theodore, and Al-
exander – mentions a manuscript featuring the Gospel of Matthew.
The Acts of Barnabas12
Pseudonymously narrated by John Mark, Barnabas’s cousin (cf. Acts 13:4; Col.

4:10),13 the Acts of Barnabas is based loosely upon the canonical Acts of the
Apostles but has also major divergences.14 It describes the separation between
10 See, for instance, David Frankfurter, “The Magic of Writing and the Writing of Magic-the
Power of the Word in Egyptian and Greek Traditions,” Helios 21 (1994): 189–221.; Frankfurter,
“Narrating Power: The Theory and Practice of Magical Historiola in Ritual Spells,” in Ancient
Magic and Ritual Power, ed. Paul Mirecki and Marvin Meyer, RGRW 129 (Leiden: Brill, 1995),
455–76, which talks about Gospel codices; Jan Bremmer, “From Books with Magic to Magical
Books in Ancient Greece and Rome?” in The Materiality of Magic, ed. Dietrich Bosschung and
Jan Bremmer (Paderborn: Wilhelm Fink, 2015), 241–70. On the touching of Medieval manu-
scripts, see, for instance, Kathryn Margaret Rudy, “Dirty Books: Quantifying Patterns of Use
in Medieval Manuscripts Using a Densitometer,” Journal of Historians of Netherlandish Art 2
(2010): 1–44; Kathryn M. Rudy, Piety in Pieces: How Medieval Readers Customized Their Manu-
scripts (Cambridge: Open Book, 2016).
11 “Dans le monde chrétien de la Basse Antiquité et du haut Moyen Age, le livre était consi-
déré avec une attention particulière à cause de sa rareté, de son prix et de la peine endurée par
les scribes qui le transcrivaient;” Jean Vezin, “Les livres utilisés comme amulettes et comme re-
liques,” in Das Buch als magisches und als Repräsentationsobjekt, ed. Peter Ganz, Wolfenbüttler
Mittelalter-Studien 5 (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1992), 101.
12 The full title of the text is: “The Travels and the Martyrdom of the Holy Apostle Bar
nabas.” The Acts of Barnabas, while not unknown, has not received as much scholarly atten-
tion as other Acta, even among the “younger” acts. For instance, J. K. Elliott in his monumental
book on the apocryphal New Testament, notes only: “The story tells of John Mark’s account of
the activities and death of Barnabas in Cyprus; the date of the composition is probably fifth to
sixth century. No summary is provided here;” The Apocryphal New Testament: A Collection of
Apocryphal Christian Literature in an English Translation (Oxford: Clarendon, 1993), 523. See
also the overview in István Czachesz, Commission Narratives: A Comparative Study of the Ca-
nonical and Apocryphal Acts, Studies on Early Christian Apocrypha 8 (Leuven: Peeters Pub-
lishers, 2007), 184 n. 1.
13 In other words, John Mark is the inscribed author, see also Czachesz, Commission Narra-
tives, 194. On possible references to New Testament figures, see Glenn E. Snyder, “The Acts
of Barnabas. A New Translation and Introduction,” in New Testament Apocrypha: More Non
canonical Scriptures, ed. Tony Burke and Brent Landau (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2016), 317
n. 3.
14 For a comparison of the two Acts, see Richard Adelbert Lipsius, Die apokryphen Apos-
telgeschichten und Apostellegenden: Ein Beitrag zur altchristlichen Literaturgeschichte (Braun-
schweig: C. A. Schwetschke und Sohn, 1884), 285. The Acts of Barnabas supplements the ca-
Paul and Barnabas and Barnabas’s work converting the population of his native
Cyprus to Christianity in dispute with local pagans and Jews. In this text, “the
Jews” finally kill Barnabas and burn his remains. Mark and several companions
manage to secure the ashes and bury them in a cave together with the Gospel of
Matthew, a book that Barnabas had previously used to heal and teach. Mark then
escapes to Alexandria where he founds the Egyptian church. According to this
narrative, the Cypriot church predates the Egyptian church founded by Mark in
Alexandria.15
While many of the other apostolic acts circulated already in the second cen-
tury, the Acts of Barnabas was composed only at the end of the fifth century.16
Scholars agree that its author is a Cypriot. This is evident not only from the au-
thor’s knowledge of geography17 but also his major stake in the text, namely,
proving Cyprus’s deep and early apostolic roots, and thus providing grounds
for Cypriotic ecclesiastical independence,18 an issue to which I will later return.
nonical Acts by providing the information on what happened after Barnabas and Mark came
to Cyprus, as announced in the Acts 15:39: “Barnabas took Mark with him and sailed away to
Cyprus;” Czachesz, Commission Narratives, 185.
15 See also Norelli, “Actes de Barnabé,” 642 n. 26: “notre texte se rattache ici à la légende
de la fondation de l’Église d’Alexandrie par Marc, attestée pour la première fois par Eusèbe …”
16 See Marek Starowieyski, “Datation des Actes (Voyages) de S. Barnabé (BHG 225; ClAp
285) et du Panégyrique de S. Barnabé par Alexandre le Moine (BHG 226; CPG 7400; ClAp
286),” in Philohistôr: miscellanea in honorem Caroli Laga septuagenarii, ed. Antoon Schoors and
Peter van Deun (Leuven: Peeters, 1994), 193–98. Also, most recently, Snyder, “The Acts of Bar
nabas,” 324.
17 Snyder notes that “many of the most important cities in Cyprus are mentioned explicitly
in this unit. … Practically all of these locations are associated with the fifth-century church dis-
trict of Cyprus and with earlier or contemporary ‘pagan’ sites;” “The Acts of Barnabas,” 323. Ac-
cording to Marek Starowieyski, in light of the autocephaly, the author of the Acts of Barnabas
emphasizes that the apostle visited the places where there are main churches in Cyprus at the
time of his writing in the fifth century. But for Alexander the Monk, writing after the composi-
tion of the Acts of Barnabas, the apostle’s tomb warrants the autocephaly of the island. See also
Starowieyski, “Datation des Actes (Voyages) de S. Barnabé et du Panégyrique de S. Barnabé,”
196. Note also the remarks of Philip Young: “the geographical and cultural details of the ac-
count in the Acts of Barnabas are so specific and different from the story told in Acts that they
demonstrate that the writer had a firsthand knowledge of Cyprus and was, most likely, a native
of the island himself. We can hypothesize a Christian Cypriot with the text of the New Tes-
tament in hand creating a new work based on and suggested by it in which the hero is his fellow
Cypriot Barnabas instead of the foreigner Paul;” “The Cypriot Aphrodite Cult: Paphos, Rantidi,
and Saint Barnabas,” JNES 64.1 (2005): 37–38. Already Lipsius noticed this: “Die Genauigkeit,
die seine Angaben überall, wo wir sie noch controliren können, auszeichnet, verbürgt uns die
Richtigkeit auch der übrigen Notizen, mit denen er unsere topographischen Kenntnisse berei-
chert …. Die genaue Bekanntschaft des Verfassers mit der Topographie von Cypern und der
gegenüberliegenden Küste erweist ihn deutlich als einen Cyprier von Geburt;” Die apokryphen
Apostelgeschichten und Apostellegenden, 288, 290.
18 This is commonly noted in scholarship; see, e. g. Lipsius, Die apokryphen Apostelgeschich-
ten und Apostellegenden, 291–93; Aurelio de Santos Otero, “Acta Barnabae (Ps.‑Marcus),” in
New Testament Apocrypha, ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher, trans. R. McL Wilson, rev. ed. (Cam-
bridge: J. Clarke & Co., 1991), 2:465–66. On the ecclesiastical independence of the island, see
Barnabas, the main character of the Acts, ranks among the most intriguing
figures of the New Testament.19 Paul mentions him as a close companion (1 Cor.
9:6; Gal. 2:1–14), and the Acts of the Apostles features him frequently (4:36; 9:27;
11:22, 30; 12:25; 13:1, 2, 7, 43, 46, 50; 14:12, 14, 20; 15: 2, 12, 22, 25, 35–39). The Acts
of the Apostles also specifies Barnabas’s connection to Cyprus, introducing him
in this way: “There was a Levite, a native of Cyprus, Joseph, to whom the apos-
tles gave the name Barnabas (which means ‘son of encouragement’)” (Acts 4:36).
Whereas Paul’s voice has been preserved loudly through his many transmitted
writings, Barnabas’s has not.20
As a consequence of this silence, the Cypriot apostle has not received much
attention in modern scholarship. The anonymous fifth-century author of the
Acts of Barnabas, however, fully realized the significance of his compatriot and
used him to provide evidence in support of the independent ecclesiastical stat-
also Glanville Downey, “The Claim of Antioch to Ecclesiastical Jurisdiction over Cyprus,” APSP
102 (1958): 224–28; Starowieyski, “Datation des Actes (Voyages) de S. Barnabé et du Panégy-
rique de S. Barnabé”; E. Morini, “Apostolicita ed autocefalia in una Chiesa orientale: la leggen-
da di S. Barnaba e l’autonomia dell’arcivescovato di Cipro nelle fonti dei secoli V e VI,” Studi e
Ricerche sull’Oriente Cristiano Roma 2 (1979): 23–45; Benedict Englezakis, “Epiphanius of Sa-
lamis, the Father of the Cypriot Autocephaly,” in Studies on the History of the Church of Cy-
prus, 4th-20th Centuries, ed. Benedict Englezakis, trans. Norman Russell (Aldershot: Ashgate,
1995), 29–39; Andreas Mitsides, “Τὸ Αὐτοκέφαλον τῆς Ἐκκλησίας Κύπρου,” in History of Cy-
prus, Vol. 3: Byzantine Cyprus, ed. Theodoros Papadopoullos (Nicosia: Archbishop Makarios
III Foundation, Office of Cypriot History, 2005), 129–54; David M. Metcalf, Byzantine Cyprus
491–1191 (Nicosia: Cyprus Research Centre, 2009), 308–10. See also the chapter by Efthymia-
dis in this volume. On the aftermath of the autocephaly, see Joseph P. Huffman, “The Donation
of Zeno: St Barnabas and the Origins of the Cypriot Archbishops’ Regalia Privileges,” JEH 66
(2015): 235–60.
19 See the chapter by James Carleton Paget in this volume. About Barnabas as a historical
figure, Bernd Kollmann notes: “That Barnabas belongs among the truly significant individuals
in early Christianity has occasionally been recognized;” Joseph Barnabas: His Life and Legacy
(Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2004), 2. After the relatively frequent mentions of Cyprus
and Barnabas in Pauline epistles and especially Acts, “we know practically nothing about this
history of Christianity in Cyprus during the first three centuries of our era;” Norelli, “Actes
de Barnabé,” 622. In the fourth century, the island appears again on the Christian scene with
three Cypriot bishops at the Council of Nicaea in 325 and twelve at Council of Sardica in 342–
3. Around the year 400, Cyprus has fifteen bishops (Jerome, Letter 92). See Norelli, “Actes de
Barnabé,” 622; Pohlsander, Sources for the History of Cyprus. On the figure of Barnabas, see
also Bernd Kollmann, Joseph Barnabas. Other traditions associate Barnabas with the city of
Milan, see, e. g., Lipsius, Die apokryphen Apostelgeschichten und Apostellegenden, 305–16; Sta-
rowieyski, “Datation des Actes (Voyages) de S. Barnabé et du Panégyrique de S. Barnabé,” 193:
“la légende milanaise: du séjour de S. Barnabé à Milan parle un ouvrage tardif, l’Historia Da-
tiana (XIe siècle).”
20 If we want to move “Beyond the Heroic Paul,” as Melanie Johnson-DeBaufre and Laura
Nasrallah have advocated, Barnabas would be one from whom we could get a different image
and different discussion partner. See their “Beyond the Heroic Paul: Toward a Feminist and De-
colonizing Approach to the Letters of Paul,” in The Colonized Apostle: Paul through Postcolonial
Eyes, ed. Christopher D. Stanley, Paul in Critical Contexts (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2011),
161–74. But there are only writings pseudonymously attributed to Barnabas.
us – autocephaly – for the island.21 The work of the Acts of Barnabas in establish-
ing Cyprus’s authority forms part of a larger development. As Claudia Rapp ana-
lyzes the broader context, “in the course of the fifth century … the Cypriots were
creating a written record of their own Christian traditions that indicates a strong
sense of local pride. The vehicle for this articulation is the cult of local saints and
the composition of hagiographical works.”22 Rapp observes that the years follow-
ing the episcopate of Epiphanius were “precedent-setting” at Cyprus – materially,
with the building of numerous churches to accommodate a growing body of be-
lievers, and ecclesiastically, with the Cypriot ecclesiastical authorities not recog-
nizing the see of Antioch as its superior.23 The Acts of Barnabas played a key role
in this promotion of Cyprus.
The ecclesiastic-political aim of the Acts of Barnabas is rather overt: it is the
story connected with the successful movement for the autocephaly of Cyprus.
Besides the star role assigned to the apostle Barnabas himself, the artifact of the
manuscript with the Gospel of Matthew plays a decisive role in this quest. In
three passages (chs. 15, 22, and 24), the author mentions a special book contain-
ing the Gospel of Matthew connected with Barnabas. These narratives around
the gospel book have three features worth investigation: first, the book as in-
strument of healing; second, as tool for teaching; and third, as object buried with
Barnabas’s remains.
The Acts of Barnabas confronts us with aspects of the materiality of texts, both
real and imagined. In what follows, I will analyze and contextualize the three epi-
sodes involving this Gospel of Matthew in the Acts of Barnabas in which this
book serves as a magical healing object, as a grave gift, and as an apostolic relic.
21 See Lipsius, Die apokryphen Apostelgeschichten und Apostellegenden, 290: “Der Zweck der
περίοδοι ist im Allgemeinen kein andrer, als der, den Barnabas als den Apostel Cyperns dar-
zustellen, die Einrichtung des dortigen Kirchenwesens und die Weihe der ersten Bischöfe auf
ihn zurückzuführen, vor Allem aber sein Grab für Cypern in Anspruch zu nehmen.” Lipsius
concludes that the Acts of Barnabas is not an innocuous legend, but a deliberate and skilled for-
gery (“keine harmlose Legende, sondern eine planmässige, übrigens mit grossem Geschick ins
Werk gesetzte Fälschung”); Die apokryphen Apostelgeschichten und Apostellegenden, 297. On the
church-political aim of the Acts of Barnabas, see also Czachesz, Commission Narratives, 190–93.
But Czachesz argues that the Acts of Barnabas have other purposes besides the church-political
one, namely around the figure of John Mark and his complex role in the narrative.
22 Claudia Rapp, “Christianity in Cyprus in the Fourth to Seventh Centuries: Chronologi-
cal and Geographical Frameworks,” in Cyprus and the Balance of Empires: Art and Archaeology
from Justinian I to the Coeur de Lion, ed. Charles Anthony Stewart, Thomas W. Davis, and An-
nemarie Weyl Carr, American Schools of Oriental Research Archeological Reports 20 (Boston:
ASOR, 2014), 34. According to Rapp, “What is new and unique to Cyprus is the fact that the vast
majority of its saints that are celebrated in Byzantine hagiography had the rank of bishop” Rapp,
“Christianity in Cyprus,” 35.
23 Rapp notes about identity that this begins in “the period just after Epiphanius’ episcopate,
which was equally precedent-setting in its disregard for the authority of Antioch as in its efforts
to accommodate unprecedented numbers of converts in the large basilicas;” Rapp, “Christianity
in Cyprus,” 34.
Aurelio de Santos Otero remarks that for the author, both the gospel given as
grave gift and the role of John Mark as the narrator guarantee the genuineness of
the apostle’s relics.24 Yet attention to Barnabas’s relics seems to me only a second-
ary aim of the text; note that the Cypriots did not send the apostle’s ashes to Con-
stantinople. The Acts of Barnabas’s primary goal was to make a plausible case
for Cypriot autocephaly, and that in its very materiality, the manuscript that was
sent to Constantinople bolstered that claim in lieu of the apostle’s relics. The Acts
of Barnabas functioned as more than a literary defense. Indeed, the text apolo-
getically provides a story for the autocephaly of Cyprus and its primacy among
churches. The text also functioned as the companion to the artifact it discusses,
a book containing the Gospel of Matthew that purportedly possessed magical,
healing qualities. The manuscript was sent as a precious gift to Constantinople
where Severus claimed to have consulted it several decades later. That artifact is,
unfortunately, now lost.25
Healing Manuscript
The first reference to the gospel book in the Acts of Barnabas appears in chapter
15, where it functions as a tool for healing the sick people whom the apostle en-
counters. The passage reads:
Τίμων δὲ συνείχετο πυρετῷ πολλῷ· ᾧ καὶ ἐπιθέντες τὰς χεῖρας εὐθέως ἀπεστήσαμεν τὸν
πυρετὸν αὐτοῦ, ἐπικαλεσάμενοι τὸ ὄνομα τοῦ κυρίου Ἰησοῦ. ἦν δὲ ὁ Βαρνάβας μαθήματα
παρὰ Ματθαίου εἰληφὼς βίβλον26 τῆς τοῦ θεοῦ φωνῆς καὶ θαυμάτων καὶ διδαγμάτων
σύγγραμμα· ταύτην ἐπετίθει τοῖς ἀσθενοῦσι Βαρνάβας κατὰ τὴν ἀπαντῶσαν ἡμῖν χώραν,
καὶ εὐθέως τῶν παθῶν ἴασιν ἐποίει.
And Timon was afflicted by much fever. And having laid our hands upon him, we imme-
diately removed his fever, having called upon the name of the Lord Jesus. And Barnabas
24 “Both John Mark’s role as reporter and that of the copy of Matthew’s Gospel (see cc.
15, 22, 24) are inventions of the author as a guarantee of the authenticity of the relics of the
apostle Barnabas discovered centuries later in the neighbourhood of the town of Salamis;” de
Santos Otero, “Acta Barnabae (Ps.‑Marcus),” 465–66. See also already Lipsius: “die beiliegende
Evangelienschrift, … diente zur Legitimation der aufgefundenen Überreste;” Lipsius, Die apok-
ryphen Apostelgeschichten und Apostellegenden, 295.
25 “Es ist klar, dass Pseudo-Markus auf diese Notiz ein besonderes Gewicht legt. An drei
verschiedenen Stellen seiner Erzählung erwähnt er dieses von Barnabas mit sich geführte Evan-
gelienbuch. Da nun von einer ächt geschichtlichen Erinnerung keine Rede sein kann so bleibt
nur übrig diesen Zug aus der späteren Legende von der Auffindung der Reliquien des Barnabas
zu erklären”; Lipsius, Die apokryphen Apostelgeschichten und Apostellegenden, 290–91.
26 A text critical issue presents itself here: one of the Greek recensions, the Parisian manu-
script (BNP gr. 1470, dated 890, indicated in the editions with the siglum P), reads βιβλίον, just
as the book is referred to later in the text, in chapter 25 in the other recension reconstructed
by Bonnet (Σ). See the apparatus in Maximilianus Bonnet, ed., Acta Philippi et Acta Thomae
accedunt Acta Barnabae (Leipzig: Mendelssohn, 1903), 297. See also Snyder, “The Acts of Bar
nabas,” 323 n. 23.
had received teachings from Matthew, a book of the voice of God, and a written composi-
tion of miracles and lessons. This (book)27 Barnabas laid upon the sick in each place that
we came to, and it immediately made a cure of their sufferings. (Acts Barn. 15)28
After healing Timon by the laying on of hands and calling upon the name of the
Lord Jesus – similar to healings in the Acts of the Apostles – Barnabas abruptly
and without explicit motivation begins to perform healings by placing upon the
afflicted his book with Matthew’s teaching.29 Apparently that sufficed for the au-
thor and the intended audience, because there is no further information on how
the healing was done.30 On the narrative level of the text, the short encounter
with the Matthean book functions to introduce to the audience the manuscript
that will reappear later in the text associated with Barnabas’s death and burial, in
chapters 22 and 24, and connects the manuscript with Barnabas already during
his lifetime.31
By introducing the book here as an instrument of healing, the author appeals
to a practice attested in many different kinds of sources: written sources – pre-
scriptive and descriptive – and archaeological.32 This is part of a larger, transcul-
tural phenomenon. As sacred objects, books are imbued and infused with holy
properties, including the ability to heal. I distinguish two related practices: heal-
ing with specific biblical books (the Gospel or Psalter, for instance) and Gospel
amulets, especially those with phrases from the Gospel of Matthew.
27 The antecedent of ταύτην is ἡ βίβλος.

28 Edition: Bonnet, Acta Philippi et Acta Thomae accedunt Acta Barnabae, 297. For a recent
translation, see Snyder, “The Acts of Barnabas,” 332. See also Pohlsander, Sources for the History
of Cyprus, 32, no. 9. Walker’s translation of μαθήματα with “documents” seems unsupported to
me; Alexander Walker, “The Acts of Barnabas,” in Apocryphal Gospels, Acts, and Revelations,
ANF 8 (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1870), 297. See Lampe, PGL s. v. μάθημα B3: “teaching, doctrine
of apostles.” See also Czachesz, Commission Narratives, 186 n. 7: “We do not quite see the point
in the complicated identification of Barnabas’s book, evidently meant to be a copy of the Gos-
pel of Matthew. … In patristic Greek μαθήματα often means Scripture or Gospel … but here it
might be a pun on Ματθαῖος (as A. Hilhorst suggests to me).”
29 In the canonical Acts, the apostles heal by the laying on of hands and by calling upon
the name of the Lord Jesus. Generally, this passage reminds of Peter and Paul’s “extraordina-
ry miracles” in the canonical Acts of the Apostles – healings with handkerchiefs, aprons, and
shadows.
30 The mention of the book here appears almost as an afterthought. Is this a sign of redac-
tion, a passage inserted into an already existing narrative? According to Czachesz, the Acts of
Barnabas is based on the earlier Acts of Mark; Commission Narratives, 194. Or is it perhaps the
clumsy writing style of the author?
31 See also Norelli, “Actes de Barnabé,” 637 n. 15: “l’auteur fait intervenir ici un exemplaire
de l’Évangile de Matthieu qui a joué un rôle décisif dans la reconnaissance de l’autocéphalie de
l’Église de Chypre. … Il raconte ici que cet Évangile fonctionnait déjà comme une relique du
vivant de Barnabé.”
32 By referring to the Matthean teachings as “the voice of God” and as “a written speech of
wonders and lessons” (βίβλον τῆς τοῦ θεοῦ φωνῆς καὶ θαυμάτων καὶ διδαγμάτων σύγγραμμα),
the author gives us a glimpse of a theology of divine inspiration of a written (not oral) gospel,
which fits in its time of writing.
We find multiple examples of healing with specific biblical books in antiquity.

As Rapp has noted, “It was a common belief that the Bible codex could act as a
miracle-working object with apotropaic and protective powers.”33 Late antique
miracle stories involving books, mainly Gospels or the Psalter, include exorcisms
and conversions, especially in monastic literature.34 Books also functioned as
artifacts for spiritual healing. Cypriot bishop Epiphanius of Salamis attributed
to the “mere sight” of Christian books the capacity to reduce sin and stimulate
righteousness, although he mentions neither the Gospel of Matthew nor Bar
nabas explicitly.35
Such practices were geographically widespread. Several decades before the
Acts of Barnabas was composed, two influential ecclesiastical leaders – Augus-
tine in Hippo, North Africa and John Chrysostom in Antioch, Syria – both ap-
preciated the healing properties of gospel books.36 As a headache remedy, Augus-
tine advised placing the Gospel of John above one’s bed.37 Augustine preferred
the curative capacities of the Johannine Gospel to amulets, although, as we shall
see shortly, others thought that the Gospel and the amulet functioned similarly.
Closer to Cyprus, Christians in Syria also used gospel manuscripts apotropai-
cally at their bedside. From a homily on 1 Corinthians by John Chrysostom, we
glean that his parishioners, too, would hang a gospel manuscript at their bedside,
a practice that he discourages in favor of monetary donations.38 It is debated
33 Claudia Rapp, “Holy Texts, Holy Men, and Holy Scribes: Aspects of Scriptural Holiness
in Late Antiquity,” in The Early Christian Book, ed. William E. Klingshirn and Linda Safran,
CUA Studies in Early Christianity (Washington, D. C.: Catholic University of America Press,
2007), 199.
34 “Hagiographical stories illustrate this; the ‘small book [of the Gospels]’ produced by a
traveling monk from his bag was able to exorcise a demon and restore the health of a young
girl. In this instance, the power of the gospel codex was effective regardless of the worthiness
of its owner, as the guilt-ridden monk admitted that he had just stolen it;” Rapp, “Holy Texts,
Holy Men, and Holy Scribes,” 199. The example comes from John Moschus, Pratum spirituale 8,
edition by Elpidio Mioni, “Il Pratum spirituale di Giovanni Mosco: Gli episodi inediti del Cod.
Marciano greco II, 21,” OCP 17 (1951): 90–91.
35 As quoted by Rapp: “‘The acquisition of Christian books is necessary for those who can
use them. For the mere sight of these books renders us less inclined to sin, and incites us to be-
lieve more firmly in righteousness;’” “Holy Texts, Holy Men, and Holy Scribes,” 197. In that
sense, Rapp interprets the book here “as a reminder of the message it contained.”
36 See also Joseph E. Sanzo, Scriptural Incipits on Amulets from Late Antique Egypt: Text, Ty-
pology, and Theory, STAC 84 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 172.
37 “When you have a headache, we commend you if you put the gospel by your head and do
not hurry to an amulet. For human frailty has come to this, and men who hurry to amulets must
be so lamented that we rejoice when we see that a man, confined to his bed, is tossed by fever
and pain and yet has placed no hope anywhere else except that he put the gospel by his head, not
because the gospel was made for this but because it has been preferred to amulets.” Augustine,
Tract. Ev. Jo. 7.12.1, trans. John W. Rettig, St. Augustine: Tractates on the Gospel of John 1–10, FC
78 (Washington, D. C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1988), 165.
38 “Since not even the Gospel hanging by our bed is more important than that alms should
be laid up for you; for if you hang up the Gospel and do nothing, it will do you no such great
good. But if you have this little coffer, you have a defense against the devil, you give wings to
whether Chrysostom refers here to entire gospel codices or to gospel amulets.39

Moreover, the passage leaves also open whether these manuscripts, whatever
they were, would be used for healing.40 While Augustine and Chrysostom refer
to the practice of hanging a gospel by one’s bed, they do not mention placing the
manuscript upon the sick person, as in the Acts of Barnabas.41
Such practices of treating sacred texts as healing devices extend past Gospels
and the Psalter. The prayers of Daniel the Stylite, the early fifth-century Con-
stantinopolite pillar saint, functioned in a way similar to the Matthean Gospel
in the Acts of Barnabas. Daniel’s Vita (no. 88) introduces a certain Hippasius, a
man so humble in faith that when someone in his household became sick, he felt
unworthy to approach the saint in person and instead requested his prayers via
letter. Daniel would comply. “On receiving the holy man’s written reply, he [Hip-
pasius] would lay the letter, as if it were the miracle working hand of Jesus, on the
sufferer and immediately he received the fruits of his faith.”42 This is thus a case
where a manuscript accomplished the healing.
your prayer, you make your house holy, having meat for the King there laid up in store.” In
Hom 1 Cor 16.9.7 (PG 61.373). Trans. Schaff, NPNF 12:262. See also Sanzo, Scriptural Incipits, 161.
About entire gospel codices around necks: Amoun, a hermit, with a biblical codex around his
neck; Sanzo, Scriptural Incipits, 164, citing Palladius, Hist. Laus. 8.1–3; Maximus, pupil of Martin
of Tours wore a gospel codex, a paten, and a chalice around his neck; Sanzo, Scriptural Incipits,
164, citing Gregory of Tours, Glor. conf. 22.
39 Sanzo, Scriptural Incipits, 162: “I maintain here that there are reasons to believe that
Chrysostom and Augustine were not referencing the use of entire Gospel codices, but artifacts
with select passages from the Gospels.”
40 Sanzo, Scriptural Incipits, 162, makes the following pertinent caveats: “the relevance of
this patristic evidence is questionable for a discussion of the extant amulets from late antique
Egypt since this evidence does not come from Egypt. It is by no means certain that ritual prac-
tices known to Chrysostom and Augustine in Antioch or North Africa respectively would nec-
essarily correspond to that of Egyptians in the chora.” The issue is whether we can assume the
same rituals known from these church leaders in North Africa and Asia Minor for other regions,
in this case, Cyprus. Sanzo’s second caveat is also relevant: namely, that both church fathers
wrote prescriptive accounts, not descriptive; Scriptural Incipits, 162. “What we have are the tes-
timonies of two men, who would like to eradicate or to domesticate a ritual practice in accord-
ance with their social and theological programs.” Sanzo further notes: “both authors seem to
presuppose that the use of these Gospel artifacts was a widespread phenomenon. The implied
ubiquity of these artifacts suggests that Chrysostom and Augustine had in mind small collec-
tions of passages from the Gospels, analogous to the rather common ritual devices we have dis-
cussed in this study;” Scriptural Incipits, 163–64.
41 Maximus, disciple of Martin of Tours, also practiced this. See Sanzo, Scriptural Incipits,
161–64.
42 “Here I think it would be reasonable to make known the faith which lay hidden in Hip-
pasius, the ‘second centurion’ (Matt 7:5–13; Luke 7:2–10). This man was so rich in the great pov-
erty of Christ that the cures performed by Christ’s disciples he accepted as though wrought by
the Lord Himself; for if any one of his house, be it son or daughter or man-servant or maid ser-
vant, fell ill or suffered from anything, he judged himself unworthy to seek the intercession of
the Saint, but would send letters asking for the Saint’s prayers;” Elizabeth A. S. Dawes and Nor-
man Hepburn Baynes, eds., Three Byzantine Saints: Contemporary Biographies Translated from
the Greek (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1948), 88. See also Rapp’s comment on this story: “Clearly,
Placing biblical texts or saint’s prayers was not only considered efficacious for
sick humans; animals too could benefit. The Corpus Hippiatricorum Graecorum
(fourth or fifth century, so roughly contemporary with the Acts of Barnabas) in-
structs that a papyrus with Ps 48 (“trembling took hold of them there, pains as
of a woman in labor,” Ps 48:6) should be placed upon a horse experiencing diffi-
culties giving birth.43
By portraying Barnabas with this iatro-magical Gospel book, the author of
the Acts of Barnabas expects the readership to be familiar with these practices
of healing through physical contact with sacred texts, broadly construed. Yet we
also find evidence of the healing powers of the Gospel of Matthew in particular.
Amulets preserved in the Egyptian sands provide one part of the answer as to
why the Acts of Barnabas feature the Gospel of Matthew in particular as a heal-
ing text. As Theodore de Bruyn has shown, one particular phrase from the Gos-
pel of Matthew, Matt 4:23/9:35, is frequently quoted in Late Antique amulets.44
De Bruyn collected seven amulets that cite Matt 4:23–24 (in a slightly abbrevi-
ated form):45 “And Jesus went about all of Galilee, teaching and preaching the
gospel of the kingdom, and healing every disease and every infirmity among the
people. And his fame spread into all of Syria, and they brought him those who
were ill, and Jesus healed them.”46
it was the combination of the holy man’s prayer and his handwriting that wrought the healing;”
“Holy Texts, Holy Men, and Holy Scribes,” 215.
43 Eugen Oder and Carl Hoppe, eds., Corpus hippiatricorum Graecorum. Hippiatrica Pa-
risina, Cantabrigiensia, Londinensia, Lugdunensia. Appendix 2 2 (Stuttgart: Teubner, 1971),
2:141. Ἐὰν μὴ δύναται γεννῆσαι ἵππος. Γράψον εἰς τὰς δύο πλευρὰς αὐτῆς τὸν τεσσαρακοστὸν
ἕβδομον ψαλμὸν ἕως τοῦ ἐκεῖ ὠδῖνες ὡς τικτούσης. (no. 3). See also Christoph Markschies,
“Heilige Texte als magische Texte,” in Heilige Texte, Religion und Rationalität. Geisteswissen-
schaftliches Colloquium 1, ed. Andreas Kablitz and Christoph Markschies (Berlin, Boston: De
Gruyter, 2013), 113.
44 Theodore De Bruyn, “Appeals to Jesus as the One ‘Who Heals Every Illness and Every In-
firmity’ (Matt 4:23, 9:35) in Amulets in Late Antiquity,” in The Reception and Interpretation of
the Bible in Late Antiquity. Proceedings of the Montréal Colloquium in Honour of Charles Kan-
nengiesser, 11–13 October 2006, ed. Lorenzo DiTommaso and Lucian Turcescu, The Bible in An-
cient Christianity 6 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 65–82. De Bruyn notes that “among Greek papyri
amulets that incorporate Christian motifs, Jesus’ power to heal is often epitomized in the lan-
guage of Matt 4:23/9:35. Only a few other passages of scripture, specifically the opening verses of
Psalm 90 LXX (Psalm 91) and the Lord’s Prayer, appear more frequently in amulets;” “Appeals
to Jesus as the One,” 69.
45 From De Bruyn, “Appeals to Jesus as the One,” 66–69.
1. P. Oxy. VIII 1077, sixth cent.
2. P. Berl. Inv. 6096, sixth cent.
3. P. Oxy. VIII 1151, fifth cent.
4. P. Turner 49, late fifth, early sixth cent.
5. P. Coll.Youtie II 91, late fifth, early sixth cent.
6. BGU III 954, sixth cent.
7. P. Köln VIII 340, fifth or sixth cent.
46 The Greek of these verses in the New Testament (NA28) is: Καὶ περιῆγεν ἐν ὅλῃ τῇ
Γαλιλαίᾳ διδάσκων ἐν ταῖς συναγωγαῖς αὐτῶν καὶ κηρύσσων τὸ εὐαγγέλιον τῆς βασιλείας καὶ
One of these amulets is especially relevant for the passage in the Acts of Bar
nabas about healing with the Gospel of Matthew. The amulet, paleographically
dated to the sixth century, was found at the Middle Egyptian city of Oxyrhyn-
chus. Written on the flesh side of a piece of vellum of 11.1 by 6 cm, the text is di-
vided in cross-shaped sections around the drawing of the bust of a male figure;
and then for added decoration, the corners are cut off while it was folded (P. Oxy.
VIII 1077).47 It reads:
Ἰαματικὸν εὐαγγέλιον κατὰ Ματθαῖον· καὶ περιῆγεν ὁ Ἰ(ησοῦ)ς ὅλην τὴν Γαλιλέαν,
διδάσκων καὶ κηρύσσων τὸ εὐαγγέλιον τῆς βασειλείας καὶ θεραπεύων πᾶσαν νόσον ⟦καὶ
πᾶσαν νόσον⟧ καὶ πᾶσαν μαλακίαν ἐν τῷ λαῷ καὶ ἀπῆλθεν ἡ ἀκοὴ αὐτοῦ εἰς ὅλην τὴν
Συρίαν, καὶ προσήνενκαν αὐτῷ τοὺς κακῶς ἔχοντας καὶ ἐθεράπευσεν αὐτοὺς ὁ Ἰ(ησοῦ)ς.
Healing Gospel according to Matthew. And Jesus went about all of Galilee, teaching and
preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing every disease {and every disease} and
every infirmity among the people. And his fame spread into all of Syria, and they brought
him those who were ill, and Jesus healed them.48
For the medicinal Matthean manuscript featured in the Acts of Barnabas, this
amulet’s opening words, “Healing Gospel according to Matthew” with the ad-
jective ἰαματικόν added to the Gospel title claiming the text’s healing power, is
particularly relevant. The rest of the document cites Matt 4:23–24 in abbreviat-
ed version.49 Furthermore, the number of contemporaneous Christian amulets
quoting these phrases from the Matthean Gospel is significant for Barnabas’s
claim; the healing capacities of the Gospel of Matthew are soundly established,
both textually and historically. How much more so, then, the copy that Barnabas
reportedly received from Matthew himself?
θεραπεύων πᾶσαν νόσον καὶ πᾶσαν μαλακίαν ἐν τῷ λαῷ. Καὶ ἀπῆλθεν ἡ ἀκοὴ αὐτοῦ εἰς ὅλην
τὴν Συρίαν· καὶ προσήνεγκαν αὐτῷ πάντας τοὺς κακῶς ἔχοντας ποικίλαις νόσοις καὶ βασάνοις
συνεχομένους [καὶ] δαιμονιζομένους καὶ σεληνιαζομένους καὶ παραλυτικούς, καὶ ἐθεράπευσεν
αὐτούς.
47 Editio princeps: Arthur S. Hunt, “1077. Amulet: St. Matthew’s Gospel iv,” in The Oxy-
rhynchus Papyri, vol. VIII, ed. Arthur S. Hunt (London: Egypt Exploration Society, 1911), 10–11,
no. 1077 and plate I = PGM 2:211, no. 4; Joseph Van Haelst, Catalogue des papyrus littéraires juifs
et chrétiens, Série Papyrologie 1 (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 1976), 341; TM 61805; Theo-
dore S. De Bruyn and Jitse H. F. Dijkstra, “Greek Amulets and Formularies from Egypt Con-
taining Christian Elements: A Checklist of Papyri, Parchments, Ostraka, and Tablets,” BASP 48
(2011): 186–87, no. 19; Sanzo, Scriptural Incipits, 96–97.
48 ACM, 33, no. 7 (modified). Images in Christian amulets written in Greek are rare: only
five (perhaps six) out of a corpus of 188 amulets have them; see Jitse Dijkstra, “The Interplay
between Image and Text on Greek Amulets Containing Christian Elements from Late Antique
Egypt,” in The Materiality of Magic, ed. Jan N. Bremmer and Dietrich Boschung, Morphomata
20 (Paderborn: Wilhelm Fink, 2015), 287. Dijkstra discusses this amulet and concludes that the
image depicts the person who commissioned the amulet; “The Interplay between Image and
Text,” 285–86.
49 Compared to the NA28 text, omitted are the words ποικίλαις νόσοις καὶ βασάνοις
συνεχομένους [καὶ] δαιμονιζομένους καὶ σεληνιαζομένους καὶ παραλυτικούς.
Despite this interest in the Gospel of Matthew as an instrument of healing, the

author of the Barnabas Acts does not quote these verses, Matt 4:23–24, explicitly,
but perhaps alludes to them, writing: “This Barnabas laid upon the sick in each
place that we came to, and it immediately made a cure of their sufferings.”50 As a
matter of fact, the Acts of Barnabas has very few biblical quotations – especially
compared to contemporary monastic tractates that are liberally larded with bib-
lical quotations and allusions. In not explicitly quoting the passage from Mat-
thew, the writer of the Acts of Barnabas is not alone. De Bruyn found “only a few
allusions to the phrase [in Christian apocrypha].”51 Or was, perhaps, the positive
mention of Syria in the Matthean verses distracting for our Cypriot author, who
was after all intent on providing a context for the independence of Cyprus from
exactly that Antioch, Syria?
In addition to the well-documented curing properties of the Gospel of Mat-
thew, I propose that this gospel may have been chosen for two other reasons.
Current New Testament scholarship generally accepts that the Gospel of Mark is
the oldest gospel text, used by the author of the Gospel of Matthew to compose
its text. Thus, for modern readers there is some irony in having John Mark in-
troduce Matthew’s Gospel. The early Church, however, maintained the primacy
of Matthew. Therefore, in promoting the primacy of Cyprus, the author of these
Acts paired Barnabas with what was then considered the most authoritative Gos-
pel.52 Furthermore, I suspect that the emphasis on this one Gospel may also con-
stitute a subtle polemic against the elevated status of the Four Gospel harmony
in Syria, just at the time that this became contested. Theodoret, bishop of Cyr-
rhus, near Antioch, in the first half of the fifth century, writes that he destroyed
no fewer than two hundred copies of the Diatessaron in his diocese.53 By virtue
of Matthew’s primacy-authority and polemic value, then, the Cypriot apostle
Barnabas finds a powerful ally in the Matthean text.
50 ταύτην ἐπετίθει τοῖς ἀσθενοῦσι Βαρνάβας κατὰ τὴν ἀπαντῶσαν ἡμῖν χώραν, καὶ εὐθέως
τῶν παθῶν ἴασιν ἐποίει. On Jesus’s disciples as traveling physicians, see Giovanni Battista Baz-
zana, “Early Christian Missionaries as Physicians: Healing and Its Cultural Value in the Greco-
Roman Context,” NovT 51 (2009): 232–51.
51 De Bruyn, “Appeals to Jesus,” 74.
52 Czachesz argues that the current version of the Acts of Barnabas deliberately downplays
John Mark, observing: “It is … remarkable that the ABarn never identifies John Mark with the
writer or the gospel wearing his name, but pays much attention to the Gospel of Matthew, re-
ferring to the ties between its author and Barnabas;” Commission Narratives, 203. According
to Czachesz the Acts of Barnabas incorporate stories originally about Mark to supplement the
sparse sources about Barnabas; Commission Narratives, 204.
53 Theodoret of Cyrrhus, Haer. fab. 1:20 (PG 83:372). See William Lawrence Petersen, Ta-
tian’s Diatessaron: Its Creation, Dissemination, Significance, and History in Scholarship (Leiden:
Brill, 1994), 41–42.
Teaching with the Book
The second mention of this book comes in Acts Barn. 22, in which Barnabas uses
the Gospel “to teach the Jews.”
22 Ἀναχθέντων δὲ ἡμῶν ἐν πλοίῳ ἀπὸ τῆς Κιτιέων, ἤλθομεν ἐπὶ Σαλαμίνῃ, καὶ κατήχθημεν
ἐν ταῖς λεγομέναις Νήσοις, ἔνθα κατείδωλος ὁ τόπος ὑπῆρχεν· κἀκεῖ γὰρ πανηγύρεις καὶ
σπονδαὶ ἐγίνοντο. εὑρόντες δὲ κἀκεῖ πάλιν Ἡρακλείδην, ἐδιδάξαμεν αὐτὸν πῶς κηρύσσειν
τὸ τοῦ θεοῦ εὐαγγέλιον καὶ καθιστάναι ἐκκλησίας καὶ λειτουργοὺς ἐν αὐταῖς. εἰσελθόντων
δὲ ἡμῶν ἐν Σαλαμίνῃ, κατηντήσαμεν εἰς τὴν συναγωγὴν τὴν πλησίον τῆς ἐπιλεγομένης
βιβλίας· κἀκεῖ εἰσελθόντων ἡμῶν ἀναπτύξας ὁ Βαρνάβας τὸ εὐαγγέλιον ὅπερ ἦν λαβὼν
παρὰ Ματθαίου τοῦ συνεργοῦ ἤρξατο διδάσκειν τοὺς Ἰουδαίους.
And after we embarked on a ship from Citium, we went on to Salamis, and we disembarked
on the so-called islands, where the place was idol-ridden, for it was there also that festivals
and libations occurred. There, having found Herakleides again, we taught him how to
proclaim the gospel of God and to station churches and (establish) officials in them. And
when we entered into Salamis, we arrived at the synagogue nearby the chosen book. There,
after we entered and he opened it, Barnabas began to teach the Jews the gospel that was
taken from Matthew, the co-worker. (Acts Barn. 22)54
This transitional passage, with its detailed use of geography, accomplishes a lot
within the text: The apostles’ itinerary leads the small group to encounter pagan
idols and celebrations, a bishop who founds churches and ordains clergy, and
Jews in their place of worship. It ends with Barnabas teaching Jews from his Mat-
thean gospel book in that synagogue, which will soon cause the apostle’s death.
Thus, in just a few lines, this passage touches on all the major themes of the Acts:
pagans and Jews (the two opposition parties), the establishment of Christian in-
stitutions, the martyrdom of Barnabas, and the Matthean gospel book.
The description of this artifact in the three passages in the Acts of Barnabas
is of interest from a book-historical perspective. In the first passage (ch. 15), the
author used the word βίβλος for it, probably imagining a book in codex for-
mat.55 The fact that the opening of the book is indicated in chapter 22 with the
verb ἀναπτύσσω actually supports this contention. Indeed, as Roger Bagnall has
shown, this verb signifies the unfolding or opening of any text – not, as pre-
viously assumed, the unrolling of a scroll.56 Barnabas uses the gospel codex to
teach the Jews.57
54 Edition: Bonnet, Acta Philippi et Acta Thomae accedunt Acta Barnabae, 300. Translation:
Snyder, “The Acts of Barnabas,” 334 (modified). See also Walker, “The Acts of Barnabas,” 299.
55 According to Lampe, PGL 297a, it is a “written roll or papyrus codex; hence book, whether
roll or codex, irrespective of its material.”Christians early on preferred the codex format and, by
the fifth century, the papyrological record indicates that Christian books were produced almost
exclusively as codices. Czachesz argues that the author imagines a scroll and not a codex; Com-
mission Narratives, 204 n. 62. See also the text critical note above.
56 See Roger S. Bagnall, “Jesus Reads a Book,” JTS 51 (2000): 577–88. Bagnall concludes:
“There are no passages in which ἀναπτύσσω refers clearly to unrolling a book-roll or any other
This passage expounds on the canonical Acts of the Apostles, in which Paul’s
preaching in synagogues provokes the hostility of local Jews. In particular, this
section exegetically develops Acts 13:5, which mentions multiple synagogues at
Salamis: “When they arrived at Salamis, they proclaimed the word of God in the
synagogues of the Jews.”58 Although the passage in the Acts of Barnabas is un-
likely to represent actual encounters either in the first century or at the time of its
writing in the fifth century, Jews and Jewish synagogues are attested at Cyprus in
the Hellenistic and Roman period and probably also at this time.59
rolled object; indeed the evidence points strongly to the use of ἀναπτύσσω to refer to the un-
folding hinged or codex-style objects;” “Jesus Reads a Book,” 586. On the frescoed walls of their
churches, Byzantine Cypriots encountered Barnabas portrayed with a codex in his left hand, but
these depictions are much later than the sources discussed here. Many other saints are depicted
equally with codices. A fresco in the apse of the Church of the Holy Apostles at Perachorio in
Cyprus depicts Barnabas next to Epiphanius of Salamis, their names written to the right of the
portrait. Both have a nimbus and are donned out in episcopal vestments. And they each hold
a codex in their left hand. See A. Megaw and E. Hawkins, “Church of the Holy Apostles at Per-
achorio, Cyprus,” DOP 16 (1962), 309–10, fig. 19, and also mention in the Index of Medieval
Art. For a severely damaged portrait of Barnabas, see S. Boyd, “Church of the Panagia Amas-
gou, Monagri,” DOP 28 (1974), 287, figs. 10–11. Similarly, at the church of Panaghia tou Arakos
in Lagoudhera, Cyprus, Barnabas is depicted next to Epiphanius as a nimbed bishop holding a
draped codex in his hand (just as Epiphanius; other figures in this apse hold scrolls with pray-
ers). See A. Nicolaides, “Église de la Panagia Arakiotissa à Lagoudéra, Chypre: Étude iconogra-
phique des fresques de 1192,” DOP 50 (1996), figs. 7–8; and David Winfield and June Winfield,
The Church of the Panaghia tou Arakos at Lagoudhera, Cyprus: The Paintings and Their Painterly
Significance, Dumbarton Oaks Studies 37 (Washington, D. C.: Dumbarton Oaks Research Li-
brary and Collection, 2003), 92–98, figs 23–40; color pl. 8. In short, in this period, Barnabas was
imagined with a codex, in line with the contemporary format for a gospel book.
57 It is also noteworthy, as Czachesz points out, that according to Eusebius, Mark “preach-
es the gospel that he also wrote down. Consequently, the use of the notable book in the ABarn
(and the silence about Mark being the writer of a Gospel) might be also a sign of the blending
of two traditions – which in this book happens to the benefit of Barnabas and at the expense of
Mark;” Commission Narratives, 204–5.
58 Acts 13:4–6 (NA28): Αὐτοὶ μὲν οὖν ἐκπεμφθέντες ὑπὸ τοῦ ἁγίου πνεύματος κατῆλθον εἰς
Σελεύκειαν, ἐκεῖθέν τε ἀπέπλευσαν εἰς Κύπρον καὶ γενόμενοι ἐν Σαλαμῖνι κατήγγελλον τὸν
λόγον τοῦ θεοῦ ἐν ταῖς συναγωγαῖς τῶν Ἰουδαίων. εἶχον δὲ καὶ Ἰωάννην ὑπηρέτην. Διελθόντες
δὲ ὅλην τὴν νῆσον ἄχρι Πάφου εὗρον ἄνδρα τινὰ μάγον ψευδοπροφήτην Ἰουδαῖον ᾧ ὄνομα
Βαριησοῦ.
59 On evidence for Jews at Cyprus, see Pieter W. van der Horst, “The Jews of Ancient Cy-
prus,” ed. S. Berger, M. Brocke, and I. Zwiep, Zutot 3 (2003): 110–120; van der Horst, “The Jews
of Ancient Cyprus,” in Jews and Christians in Their Graeco-Roman Context: Selected Essays on
Early Judaism, Samaritanism, Hellenism, and Christianity, WUNT 196 (Tübingen: Mohr Sie-
beck, 2006), 28–36. Van der Horst concludes that “The literary evidence combined with the epi-
graphical material shows that throughout the Hellenistic, Roman, and early Byzantine periods,
Jews lived on Cyprus. … In spite of the devastating blow they received from the Romans, it is
certain that the Jews were able to re-establish themselves on the island after some time. … The
evidence from the third through seventh centuries CE leaves no doubt about that,” and that in-
scriptions attest to a Jewish presence in six towns: Salamis, Paphos, Kourion, Golgoi, Constan-
tia, and Lapethos, and others; “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,” 35–36. Van der Horst mentions the
Acts of Barnabas in passing as legendary; “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,”, 31 n. 19. For the epi-
The use of the phrase πλησίον τῆς ἐπιλεγομένης βιβλίας to modify the word
synagogue in the Acts of Barnabas is puzzling, and scholars have wrestled with
its meaning.60 “Biblia” is not an otherwise known Cypriot place name.61 In my
interpretation, the phrase does not so much provide information about the syn-
agogue as it does about Barnabas and his book. “Biblia” at once refers back to
the book mentioned in Acts Barn. 15 and anticipates its burial with the martyred
apostle in Acts Barn. 24 and its eventual, implicit discovery.62 In the Acts of Bar
nabas, just as in the canonical Acts, “the Jews” do not accept the gospel, and Bar
nabas’s proclamation of it leads to his death.63 The burial of the apostle with the
gospel book is our next point of interest.
Burial with a Book
The third mention of the Matthean gospel book in the Acts of Barnabas comes
at the very end of the narrative. After “the Jews” kill Barnabas and burn his
body to dust, they wrap his ashes in linen and place them in a lead contain-
er, intending to discard it in the sea. But Barnabas’s companions, John Mark,
Timon, and Rhodon, intercept the vessel and bury it in a cave, together with his
gospel book:
ἀποκεκρυμμένον δὲ τόπον εὑρόντες ἐν αὐτῷ ἀπεθέμεθα σὺν τοῖς μαθήμασιν οἷς
παρέλαβεν παρὰ Ματθαίου.
graphic evidence, see Hanswulf Bloedhorn and David Noy, eds., Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis
III: Syria and Cyprus, TSAJ 102 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004).
60 Scholars have rendered the passage in different ways: Walker translated it as “the syn-
agogue near the place called Biblia;” “The Acts of Barnabas,” 299. Snyder “at the nearby syn-
agogue of the Chosen Scroll;” “The Acts of Barnabas,” 334. Czachesz wonders whether “Biblia”
is an epithet of the synagogue, referring to Acts 6:9: ἐκ τῆς συναγωγῆς τῆς λεγουμένης τῶν ἀπὸ
Κιλικίας, admitting that “this makes the grammatical structure clumsy;” Commission Narra-
tives, 188 n. 14. On the terminology of the book, see discussion below. Czachesz remarks that
this is also the place of Barnabas’s martyrdom. In the next section (Acts Barn. 23) Barnabas is
dragged by the neck from the synagogue outside of the city; Commission Narratives, 188.
61 One solution is to emend the text to read Byblia for Byblos in Phoenicia, taking it as
an epithet of Aphrodite; so Usener, quoted in Bonnet, Acta Philippi et Acta Thomae accedunt
Acta Barnabae, 300. See also Norelli, “Actes de Barnabé,” 640 n. 22. This modification, however,
seems far-fetched and has not found current supporters.
62 See also Snyder; “The Acts of Barnabas,” 323 n. 23: “It is difficult to determine, even with-
in the historical narrative of Acts Barn., whether the synagogue referenced was understood to
have its name prior to the narrated event or whether it received its name later; perhaps in ref-
erence to the ‘scroll’ Barnabas received from Matthew …. For, by reading Acts Barn. 7:2 [AML
15] and 8:1 [AML 22] together, it is normally inferred that the ‘scroll’ (Σ) or ‘book’ (P) in ques-
tion is some form of extant Gospel of Matthew. In any case, Matthew’s gospel is ‘rolled out’ by
Barnabas like a scroll.”
63 On the negative construction of Jews in Acts, see Lawrence M. Wills, “The Depiction of
the Jews in Acts,” JBL 110 (1991): 631–54; Shelly Matthews, Perfect Martyr: The Stoning of Stephen
and the Construction of Christian Identity (Oxford University Press, 2012).
And after finding a place that was hidden [in the cave], we put him away in it, with the
teachings which he had received from Matthew. (Acts Barn. 24)64
This is the last we hear about this Matthean book in the Acts of Barnabas. The
narrative concludes shortly after this: John Mark and his companions narrowly
escape “the Jews” and flee to Alexandria, where Mark establishes the church.
In describing the burial of Barnabas’s remains with a book, the Acts of Bar
nabas appeals to the practice of giving books as grave goods.⁠ We should dis-
tinguish between actual books found in graves and the role of the discovery of
buried books in the literary imagination. Archaeologically attested book burials
are rare in the Greco-Roman world, but narratives about book discoveries from
graves become a well-known genre in antiquity that proved long lasting.
Books were precious objects in the ancient world.65 Few people had access
to them, and even fewer possessed books.66 The high cost of producing books
as well as the magic of fleeting words preserved on a material page plays a role in
the concept of books as funerary gifts. Obviously, a buried text cannot be repro-
duced anymore. The exemplar is required to reproduce the text and the process
of copying is time intensive. Their high value and irreplaceability make books
striking – and rare – burial gifts.
An expensive book as funerary gift could be compared to tools buried with
craftspeople or experts. For instance, multiple physicians, at Cyprus and else-
where, were interred with their surgical instruments.67 A buried book could thus
represent a professional tool. Indeed, some ancient scholars, long before the com-
position of the Acts of Barnabas, expressed the wish to be accompanied by books
in their final resting place, and occasionally Jewish sages were interred with ob-
solete scrolls.The third-century BCE Cynic philosopher Cercidas of Megalopolis
wanted to be buried with the first two books of the Iliad.68 And the first-century
BCE Latin poet Sextus Propertius specified in one of his carmina that, in con-
trast to the customary funerary pomp for a man of his stature, he preferred to
64 Edition: Bonnet, Acta Philippi et Acta Thomae accedunt Acta Barnabae, 301. Translation
(modified): Snyder, “The Acts of Barnabas,” 355.
65 On the costs of book production, see Roger S. Bagnall, Early Christian Books in Egypt
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009), 50–69.
66 Harry Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of Early Christian Texts
(New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995); George W. Houston, Inside Roman Libraries: Book
Collections and Their Management in Antiquity (Chapel Hill: UNC Press Books, 2014); Anne
Marie Luijendijk, “A New Testament Papyrus and Its Documentary Context: An Early Christian
Writing Exercise from the Archive of Leonides (P. Oxy. II 209/𝔓10),” JBL 129 (2010): 575–96.
67 For a Cypriot example of an instrumentarium, see Demetrios Michaelides, “A Roman
Surgeon’s Tomb from Nea Paphos I,” Report of the Department of Antiquities of Cyprus (1984):
315–32; G. V. Foster, K. Kanada, and D. Michaelides, “A Roman Surgeon’s Tomb from Nea Pa-
phos. Part 2: Ancient Medicines: By-Products of Copper Mining in Cyprus,” Report of the De-
partment of Antiquities (1988): 229–34.
68 Wolfgang Speyer, Bücherfunde in der Glaubenswerbung der Antike: Mit einem Ausblick
auf Mittelalter und Neuzeit (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1970), 57.
be brought to his grave with just three books, intended as a gift to the chthonic
goddess Persephone.69 The express desire for being buried with a book, how-
ever, suggests that this was not a self-evident practice; if it were, these authors
would not have to ask for it in their funerary arrangements. Indeed, as Wolfgang
Speyer argues, books as grave gifts are not part of Greek and Roman burial ritu-
als.70 More contemporaneous with the Acts of Barnabas, rabbinic sources con-
tain this motif of a book as grave gift, but then specifically an out-of-use scroll: In
a discussion about the sacrality of synagogue objects in the Babylonian Talmud,
we read: “And Rava said: A Torah scroll that has become worn may be interred
(‫ )גונזין‬by the side of a Torah scholar, and in this regard, even one who studies
halakot” (Meg. 26b).71 A deceased scholar is thus interred with a defunct book
roll as a respectful way of discarding the sacred material. That (rabbinic) Jews do
not commonly bury Torah scrolls with corpses is clear from a passage in B. Qam.
17a. It states that a Torah scroll was put on King Hezekiah’s casket as a sign of his
obedience to the Law: “[In the case of Hezekiah] they placed the scroll of the Law
upon his coffin (‫ )על מטתו‬and declared: ‘This one fulfilled all that which is written
there.’ But do we not even now do the same [on appropriate occasions]? We only
bring out [the scroll of the Law] but do not place [it on the coffin].” The sacred
text is part of the rabbinic funerary service, but not the burial. Placing a scroll on
a bier was the exception rather than the rule.
Instead of book burials, it seems that certain scholars donated their books
after death. According to Jerome’s Life of Hilarion, the Cypriot saint bequeathed
his meager possessions, including “a gospel (euagelium),” to Hesychius.72 And
69 “So, whenever death shall close my eyes, let me tell the arrangements you are to observe
at my funeral … Enough, yes grand enough, will be my funeral train, did it amount to three rolls
of verse for me to present to Persephone as my most precious gift” (sat mea, sat magnast, si tres
sint pompa libelli, quos ego Persephonae maxima dona feram). Propertius, Carmen 2.13 (Goold,
LCL). See also Speyer, Bücherfunde in der Glaubenswerbung der Antike, 45.
70 Speyer (Bücherfunde in der Glaubenswerbung der Antike, 47) concludes: “Wir können
also feststellen, daß für Griechen und Römer das Buch als Grabbeigabe nichts bedeutet hat.”
And ibid., 45–46: “Ein solcher Brauch wird weder von irgendwelchen glaubwürdigen Schrift-
stellern bezeugt, noch wird er durch den archäologischen Befund erwiesen.” This is clear also
from archaeology. For instance, when Bernard Grenfell and Arthur Hunt arrived at the Egyp-
tian city of Oxyrhynchus in 1896, they began digging for papyri in the necropolis because they
expected to find book rolls in graves. However, these Greco-Roman graves did not yield any
texts. It was when they turned to the city’s ancient rubbish heaps that they discovered the largest
manuscript find of Greco-Roman antiquity. See Bernard P. Grenfell and Arthur S. Hunt, “Ex-
cavations at Oxyrhynchus (1896–1907),” in Oxyrhynchus: A City and Its Texts (London: Egypt
Exploration Society, 2007), 347.
71 ‫ואמר רבא ספר תורה שבלה גונזין אותו אצל תלמיד חכם ואפילו שונה הלכות‬. (The root ‫ גנן‬also
forms the noun genizah; in this respect, the Cairo Genizah is particularly relevant). Bavli texts
and translation from Isadore Epstein, ed., The Babylonian Talmud, 18 vols. (London: Soncino,
1978). I thank Eric Jarrad for the translation of this passage (that I slightly modified).
72 The Latin reads: “igitur octogesimo aetatis suae anno, cum absens esset hesychius, quasi
testamenti uice breuem manu propria scripsit epistulam, omnes diuitias suas ei derelinquens,
euangelium scilicet et tunicam sacceam, cucullam et palliolum;” Jerome, Vit. Hil. 32 (SC
in Antinoë, Egypt, Palladius’s anonymous ascetic neighbor willed her copy of

Clement of Alexandria’s Commentary on Amos to him on her deathbed.73
Rarely have books been found in Graeco-Roman graves through document-
ed archaeological expeditions. A famous example of book burial is the so-called
Derveni papyrus, a carbonized roll with an Orphic text from the fourth century
BCE, found near Thessaloniki, Greece.74 Most instances of buried books come
from Egypt, because the practice was part of Egyptian funerary ritual and, of
course, Egypt’s climatological circumstances are favorable for the preservation
of organic materials such as papyrus and parchment.75 Indeed, giving books as
grave gifts is best known from Pharaonic Egypt’s Book of the Dead, a practice that
continued into the Roman period.76 These books-as-grave-gifts are intended for
use in the afterlife. In that sense, the text was not considered lost, but preserved
as a necessary companion for the deceased.
Few cases of books buried in graves are attested from late antiquity, the peri-
od that concerns us here. In God’s Library: The Archaeology of the Earliest Chris-
tian Manuscripts, Brent Nongbri analyzes what we can know securely about the
archaeology and date of the earliest surviving Christian manuscripts from Egypt
through meticulous archival research. One of his conclusions is that Christian
books are seldomly discovered with bodies: “While there is some evidence for
this practice among Christians in Late Antique Egypt, it is not nearly as wide-
spread as is sometimes claimed.”77 In fact, according to Nongbri, there are just
three instances of Christian books as grave gifts that have a somewhat secure ar-
508:294). For a translation, see “Life of Hilarion by Jerome,” in Early Christian Lives, ed. Caro-
linne White, Penguin Classics (London: Penguin Books, 1998), 114: “In the eightieth year of his
life, then, while Hesychius was absent, Hilarion wrote him a short letter in his own hand, as a
kind of will, leaving all his wealth to him (that is, his copy of the Gospels and the sackcloth tunic,
hood and cloak), for his servant had died a few days earlier.”
73 Hist. Laus. 60. Robert T. Meyer, trans., Palladius: The Lausiac History, ACW 34 (West-
minster, MD: Newman Press, 1965).
74 See Gábor Betegh, “Papyrus on the Pyre,” ActAnt 42.1–4 (2002): 51–66; Gábor Betegh,
The Derveni Papyrus: Cosmology, Theology, and Interpretation (Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press, 2004), 56–59. See also Colin H. Roberts, Buried Books in Antiquity: Habent Sua Fata
Libelli (London: Library Association, 1963); Speyer, Bücherfunde in der Glaubenswerbung der
Antike.
75 According to Speyer it is a religious difference, not a climatological one, that books are
not preserved in Greek and Roman graves: “Zu Unrecht würde man einwenden, daß die Feuch-
tigkeit des Bodens in den griechisch-römisch besiedelten Gebieten die Rollen aus Papyrus und
Pergament schnell zerstört haben könne;” Bücherfunde in der Glaubenswerbung der Antike, 47.
76 See Burkhard Backes and Jacco Dieleman, eds., Liturgical Texts for Osiris and the De-
ceased in Late Period and Greco-Roman Egypt: Liturgische Texte für Osiris und Verstorbene im
spätzeitlichen Ägypten; Proceedings of the colloquiums at New York (ISAW), 6 May 2011, and
Freudenstadt, 18–21 July 2012 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2015).
77 Brent Nongbri, God’s Library: The Archaeology of the Earliest Christian Manuscripts (New
Haven: Yale University Press, 2018), 91. Nongbri also emphasizes how the working of the (il-
licit) antiquities market obscures our knowledge. Most Christian manuscripts with a securely
known archaeological provenance were actually discovered on ancient trash heaps; see Anne-
chaeological provenance: “the Akhmim Enoch and Peter codex, Budge’s Coptic
Deuteronomy codex, and the Mudil Psalter.” He concludes: “Aside from these
three cases … I am not aware of other credible reports of early Christian books
being found in tombs in Egypt.”78
These exceptional cases of books-as-grave-goods merit a brief discussion, be-
cause, as it turns out, some of their modern discovery stories bear striking sim-
ilarities to the narratives around the Matthean codex associated with Barnabas.
That is in particular the case with the earliest example, the Budge codex, a Cop-
tic codex from the fourth to fifth century with Deuteronomy, Jonah, and the
Acts of the Apostles.79 Its editor, E. A. Wallis Budge, relates that in 1911 certain
Egyptians (“natives,” in his words, whom he leaves anonymous)80 had found the
codex wrapped in linen at the feet of a corpse laying in a wooden coffin placed in
a tomb near el-Ashumein, ancient Hermopolis.81 Upon visiting this tomb, Budge
made several sweeping inferences, namely that the corpse in the tomb was that
of an ascetic, who had not only owned the codex, but also had handwritten it and
had been buried by his disciples.82 To state the obvious, these assumptions have
no basis in the archaeological evidence as we would interpret it with our current
scholarly methods. It does make for an appealing narrative.83 But the story is
eerily reminiscent of the narratives of Barnabas and his codex, especially Theo-
Marie Luijendijk, “Sacred Scriptures as Trash: Biblical Papyri from Oxyrhynchus,” VC 64 (2010):
217–54.
78 Nongbri, God’s Library, 97–98.
79 Edition: E. A. Wallis Budge, Coptic Biblical Texts in the Dialect of Upper Egypt (London:
British Museum, 1912). H. I. Bell established the date post quem for the codex from a small cache
of fifteen fragmentary papyrus documents from Hermopolis and dating to before the year 320
that had been reused to stiffen the codex’s cover; “Mr. Bell’s Description of the Papyrus Frag-
ments which Formed the Cover of the Ms. Oriental No. 7594,” in Coptic Biblical Texts, xvii.
80 See also Eva Mroczek who ends her essay with an analysis of the Orientalizing stereotypes
prevalent in many modern manuscript origin stories; “Batshit Stories: New Tales of Discovering
Ancient Texts,” Marginalia Review of Books, 22 June 2018, https://marginalia.lareviewofbooks.
org/batshit-stories-new-tales-of-discovering-ancient-texts/.
81 E. A. Wallis Budge, By Nile and Tigris: A Narrative of Journeys in Egypt and Mesopotamia
on Behalf of the British Museum between the Years 1886 and 1913 (London: John Murray, 1920),
2:372–73. See here especially the discussion by Nongbri, God’s Library, 93–95. As Nongbri also
notes, the provenance narrative is problematic.
82 Budge, By Nile and Tigris, 2:373: “I questioned the finder of the MS. (manuscript) very
closely, and then went at once with him to look at the tomb and the coffin in which he had found
the MS., and I was convinced that the coffin was made in the Roman Period. From what I could
see in and about the tomb I assumed: (1) That the man who was in the coffin with the MS. was a
Christian, and probably a ‘solitary’ or anchorite of especial holiness; (2) that the MS. found be-
tween his feet was his own property; (3) that he had copied it with his own hands, and valued it
highly, and always had it with him or near him during his lifetime; (4) that he had been buried
by his disciples, who either found the coffin empty … or had turned out its occupant to make
room for their master; (5) that the man with whom the MS. was buried lived either towards the
end of the fourth or early in the fifth century of our Era at the latest.”
83 As Mroczek remarks, “there is always an element of fictionality, of story-telling, in how
we recount the provenance of ancient sources;” “Batshit Stories.”
dore Anagnostes’s assertion, quoted at the beginning of this chapter, that Bar
nabas had written it himself. Budge’s discovery narrative thus forms part of a
longstanding literary topos.84 The second example of a Christian book found in a
grave is the al-Mudil codex, a manuscript with the Coptic Psalter from the fourth
or fifth century found buried beside the head of a young girl in a cemetery in
middle Egypt.85 Thirdly, the Codex Panopolitanus, also known as the Akhmim
Codex (respectively the ancient and modern name of its find place), containing
Greek fragments of Enoch and of both the Gospel and Apocalypse of Peter, was
found in 1886–7 by the French archaeologist Urbain Bouriant, who claimed that
it was a monk’s grave, also without conclusive evidence.86 The codex dates from
the eighth century and is thus significantly more recent than our chronological
focus. Both Bouriant and Budge concluded that the book was the property in
life and death of a monk,87 assumptions that cannot be sustained. Perhaps these
three examples of Christian manuscripts from Egyptian graves attest to a contin-
uation of earlier Egyptian practices.88 But in spite of the enduring connections
between Cyprus and Egypt, these practices are too poorly attested even in Egypt
to be of significant influence for the composition of the Acts of Barnabas.
84 For this larger topic, see also Mroczek’s publications on manuscript discovery stories,
especially “True Stories and the Poetics of Textual Discovery,” BSR 45 (2016): 21–31; and “Bat-
shit Stories.”
85 See Gawdat Gabra et al., Der Psalter im oxyrhynchitischen (mesokemischen/mittelägyp-
tischen) Dialekt (Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag, 1995). This find is unfortunately not
well documented. Gabra is respectfully skeptical about the “excavations” (“Ausgrabungen,” in
brackets); Der Psalter im oxyrhynchitischen Dialekt, 23. The archaeologists did not preserve any
human remains or other organic material besides the codex from the grave, he complains, nor
were pictures taken during the excavations. Gabra interprets the Christian copy of the psalter
in the Egyptian grave as a continuation of Egyptian practices; Der Psalter im oxyrhynchitischen
Dialekt, 24.
86 Urbain Bouriant, “Fragments grecs du livre d’ Énoch,” in Mémoires publiés par les mem-
bres de la Mission archéologique française au Caire, IX 1 (Paris: Leroux, 1892), 93–147, at 93–94.
As Peter van Minnen notes, the deceased person was not necessarily a monk; “The Greek Apoc-
alypse of Peter,” in The Apocalypse of Peter, ed. J. N. Bremmer and István Czachesz, Studies on
Early Christian Apocrypha 7 (Leuven: Peeters, 2003), 17–18.
87 In his Pratum spirituale, John Moschus recounts an anecdote about an anchorite called
John, who lay dead in his cave for many years, “holding a gospel-book 〈enhanced with〉 a silver
cross.” The anchorite, however, is not buried with the book. The implication of the story seems
that he was reading the book until he died, emphasizing his intensive Bible study. See John
Moschus, The Spiritual Meadow, trans. John Wortley, Cistercian Studies Series 139 (Kalamazoo,
MI: Saint Joseph’s Abbey, 1992), 70.
88 Martin Krause, “Das Weiterleben ägyptischer Vorstellungen und Bräuche im koptischen
Totenwesen,” in Das römisch-byzantinische Ägypten, Akten des internationalen Symposions 26.–
30. September 1978 in Trier (Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1978), 85–92 (especially at 90). Krause
presents, however, only the example of the Achmim codex. There is a current discussion about
whether the Nag Hammadi codices were intended as funerary gifts for a private person; so Ni-
cola Denzey Lewis and Justine Ariel Blount, “Rethinking the Origins of the Nag Hammadi Co-
dices,” JBL 133 (2014): 399–419. This is disputed by Lance Jenott and Hugo Lundhaug, The Nag
Hammadi Codices and Late Antique Egypt, STAC 97 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015).
Returning to Cyprus, its climate does not tolerate the preservation of organic
materials, so it is difficult to ascertain whether books were buried there. A recent
study of eighty early Christian burials from the fifth through the mid-seventh
century at Cyprus concluded that few of them contained associated artifacts.89
The absence of books in graves would fit the larger evidence base we have dis-
cussed above.
To take stock: we have seen that books as funerary gifts are attested only
sparsely in the archaeological record, even in Egypt. Although the Acts of Bar
nabas’s depiction of the burial of the writings of Matthew with the ashes of Bar
nabas could correspond roughly with contemporaneous practices, which could
lend it an air of credibility, the interpretative context for this passage turns out to
be not archaeology but literature.
The literary representation of buried books and their discovery – what Eva
Mroczek calls the “poetics of textual discovery” – provides insights into the mo-
tifs of the composer.90 As Mroczek notes, the discovery of a special manuscript is
a well-known literary trope in antiquity, just as it is today. In several publications,
Mroczek demonstrates that ancient and modern discovery stories share certain
genre-specific features, operating around such issues as veracity, fear of losing
the past, the thrill of discovery, historiography, and Orientalism.91 In that sense,
manuscript discovery stories function as “paratexts.”92
Although the Acts of Barnabas ends with the burial of the manuscript and
does not tell of its subsequent finding, I argue that the concept of the eventual
discovery motivates its composition. The prologue to the Apocalypse of Paul and
its larger literary milieu constitutes a model for the composer of the Acts of Bar
nabas.93
89 See Sherry C. Fox et al., “The Burial Customs of Early Christian Cyprus: A Bioarchae-
ological Approach,” in Bioarchaeology and Behavior: The People of the Ancient Near East
(Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2012): 60–79. From these remains it appears that the
people buried in these cemeteries were not necessarily or likely the ones who would own books.
90 Mroczek, “True Stories and the Poetics of Textual Discovery.”
91 Mroczek is not only interested in the historicity of these stories, “getting it right” – be-
cause find stories then and now have larger implications – but also in the stories as stories. She
notes: “Read as such, these stories – whether or not they are true – can tell us a great deal about
ourselves as heirs to a literary and scholarly tradition. Not only telling such stories, but also
questioning their veracity, are narrative practices with a history;” True Stories and the Poetics
of Textual Discovery, 22.
92 See also Eva Mroczek, “Batshit Stories.”
93 The discovery story of the Apocalypse of Paul itself stands in a larger literary tradition of
the miraculous finding of texts, especially the books of King Numa and the Ephemeris belli Troi-
ani by Dictys of Crete; so Speyer, Bücherfunde in der Glaubenswerbung der Antike, 51 f. Speyer
shows that these three narratives share the same literary scheme, that Dictys’s preface is aware
of the Numa story, and the prologue of the Apocalypse of Paul of the Dictys story or a similar
narrative; Speyer, Bücherfunde in der Glaubenswerbung der Antike, 65. On Dictys’s preface as
literary fiction, see also Nicholas Horsfall, “Dictys’s Ephemeris and the Parody of Scholarship,”
Illinois Classical Studies 33–34 (2009): 41–63.
The Apocalypse of Paul is a late fourth-century text that supposedly nar-

rates the heavenly visions the apostle Paul alludes to in 2 Cor. 12:1–5.94 A pro-
logue, preserved in multiple manuscripts, describes how the text, together with
the Apostle’s sandals, was miraculously discovered in a marble chest within the
foundation of Paul’s house in Tarsus during the reign of emperor Theodosius I,
its location revealed in a dream by an angel.95 In this case, the text narrates its
own discovery with a story that functions to legitimize it as a long-lost first-per-
son account of the apostle Paul.
The Apocalypse of Paul and the Acts of Barnabas, among others, are what
Paul Dilley calls narratives of the “invention of Christian tradition.” According
to Dilley, “these texts were presented as lost but recovered ‘official documents’
of an earlier age, and widely circulated, in a bid to influence imperial policy and
public opinion.”96 These invented Christian foundation stories, including the
Acts of Barnabas, also are characterized by anti-Judaism.97
While it is difficult to prove, it is likely that the composer of the Acts of Bar
nabas knew other Christian invention narratives.98 Compared to other inven-
tion stories, however, the Acts of Barnabas diverges on two points: First, as noted
above, it does not narrate the actual discovery of the relics of the apostle and a
long-lost text. Acts of Barnabas 24 is the last we hear about the book in the text.
But although this passage does not mention the finding of the buried remains ex-
plicitly, it anticipates the inventio. Indeed, as we have seen at the beginning of this
chapter, subsequent authors do in fact supply this information. Here we see the
composer’s ingeniousness, for by ending the narrative with the book burial, he
94 An excellent study of this text is the dissertation by Kirsti Barrett Copeland, “Mapping the
Apocalypse of Paul: Geography, Genre and History” (Ph. D. diss., Princeton University, 2001).
95 Pierluigi Piovanelli, “The Miraculous Discovery of the Hidden Manuscript, or the Par-
atextual Function of the Prologue to the Apocalypse of Paul,” in The Visio Pauli and the Gnos-
tic Apocalypse of Paul, 2007, 23–49. This is part of a literary trope. Also, the location of Saint
Stephen’s relics was similarly said to be revealed in a dream; see Piovanelli, “The Miraculous
Discovery of the Hidden Manuscript,” 38. Piovanelli provides other examples. See also Speyer,
Bücherfunde in der Glaubenswerbung der Antike. The supposed discovery of the book with the
apostle’s footwear recalls 2 Tim 4:13: “When you come, bring the cloak that I left with Carpus at
Troas, and my scrolls, especially the parchments.”
96 Paul C. Dilley, “The Invention of Christian Tradition: ‘Apocrypha,’ Imperial Policy, and
Anti-Jewish Propaganda,” GRBS 50 (2010): 588.
97 Dilley, “The Invention of Christian Tradition,” 588–89.
98 Rapp discusses whether the inventio of the Apocalypse of Paul influenced the Acts of
Barnabas: “We might well ask whether the inventio of Barnabas’s body only a few decades later,
also accompanied by a relevant codex, was more than just coincidence, especially in view of the
geographical proximity of Cyprus to Cilicia and the fact that Barnabas was accompanied on his
first missionary journey to the island by Paul, who was a native from Tarsus;” “Holy Texts, Holy
Men, and Holy Scribes,” 32. She presumes (ibid., 32–33), plausibly, that “A tale of this nature
would have traveled fast, regardless of distance and language barriers. It might have made the
Cypriots receptive to an analogous miraculous discovery on their now soil that would enable
them to press the advantage of their apostolic roots.”
subtly presupposes the manuscript discovery. This is what later church authors
such as Severus of Gaza, Alexander the Monk, and Theodore Agnostes believed.
Second, the narrative does not involve the revelation of a long-lost text, such
as in the Apocalypse of Paul, but rather the Gospel of Matthew, an authoritative,
familiar gospel. Again, this is a deliberate and shrewd move on the part of the
composer: Instead of introducing a text supposedly written by Barnabas himself,
for instance, the composer chose the Gospel of Matthew. This choice of text, as
well as the attribution of the Acts of Barnabas to John Mark and a deep reliance
on the canonical Acts, all lend easy and widely shared credibility to the narrative
and its underlying claim for Cypriot autocephaly.
Thus, in its story of Barnabas’s use of Matthew and burial with the book, the
Acts of Barnabas employs a well-known literary motif, adapting it skillfully to
lend the story plausibility and acceptance.
Conclusions
This chapter examined the Acts of Barnabas through the lens of book history,
showing that its author used the image of a book as one way to legitimize the ec-
clesial-political argument for autocephaly behind his text and connect it firmly
to an artifact. These are not the only means of arguments in the Acts; anti-Juda-
ism and antedating contemporary bishoprics to the apostolic age are among the
others. But as we have seen, references to the Matthew manuscript run as a red
thread through the text.
Books are not just for scholarly activities such as reading and teaching. They
are also objects, for a text cannot exist without a material carrier. It is the combi-
nation of words and materiality that makes books so effective. The author of the
Acts of Barnabas understood that books are powerful instruments, as he exploits
the image of a book with Matthew’s teachings in three sections of his text. In doing
so, he endows this book with multiple forms of authority and appeals to multiple
bookish practices. Writing in the first person as John Mark, the supposed author
of the eponymous gospel, he traces the genealogy of the book to Matthew, tradi-
tionally understood as the author of the first gospel, and to the apostle Barnabas
as owner and user. This apostolic lineage endows the book with power. The Acts
of Barnabas portrays this book as a healing instrument and as a grave gift. Ritual
practices with books in medical and funerary contexts are more widely attested
in ancient Mediterranean society, which lends the description in the Acts of Bar
nabas credibility and by extension also the larger purpose behind the text.
Whereas in the canonical Acts, the apostles heal by calling on the name of
Jesus and laying on of hands, in the Acts of Barnabas, the apostle uses the book
to perform the healing, using especially the power of the Gospel of Matthew as
a “healing gospel” as it is also known from numerous contemporary amulets.
In describing the burial of the saint’s remains with a book, the author may
draw on an actual, albeit elite and fairly rare, practice of giving as funerary gifts
manuscripts as precious or professional objects. But more likely, it improvises
on the literary trope of the imagined discovery of a new text. The burial signifies
the distinctiveness of the manuscript and underlines that the person receiving
the manuscript in death had a special relationship with it in life. The mention
of the manuscript burial at the end of the text also functions to hint at the pos-
sibility of its discovery in a later time. This indeed is what we found in later au-
thors such as Alexander the Monk. Theodore Anagnostes augments the claim by
stating not only that it was Barnabas’s own book, but also that the apostle had
copied it himself.
This brings us back to the letter of Severus of Gaza discussed at the begin-
ning of this chapter. Severus’s comment to Thomas of Germanicea about check-
ing a manuscript in Constantinople with the Gospel of Matthew attributed to
Barnabas provides extra historical depth to the Acts of Barnabas and its time of
composition in the fifth century. Based on Severus’s claim of the presence of such
a manuscript in Constantinople, one can imagine that a Cypriot delegation to
the imperial capital advocating for their island’s autocephaly presented multiple
forms of evidence, physical and textual, that all traced back to the authoritative
apostolic age. We can assume that they donated a codex with the Gospel of Mat-
thew that the apostle Barnabas supposedly had used during his own life time.
But in order to appreciate this codex, they also needed to present the Acts of
Barnabas, which claimed to be an eyewitness account narrated by John Mark,
the author of the second gospel. These Acts were essential to contextualize and
appreciate that manuscript. The codex functioned as tangible evidence for the
narrative recounted in the Acts of Barnabas. As we know, eventually the Cypri-
ots were successful and the island gained its desired independent ecclesiastical
status.
The Cyprus Treasures since their Discovery
A Re-Evaluation
Ioli Kalavrezou
The Cyprus or Lambousa treasures, as they are often called, are two finds that
have brought to light extraordinary objects in metalwork of the highest quality
and craftsmanship. Τhey were deliberately hidden to avoid destruction, possibly
from an invading army such as that of the Arabs in 649 CE, as is suggested by the
production date of some of the objects.1
Their discovery and find history are complicated, and rumors and truth have
become much entangled. Their history offers a number of versions as to the find
spots, the contents, the number of objects found, and the people involved. This is
especially true for the first of the Lambousa treasures.2 With this paper, I would
like to reexamine these two exceptional treasures, which came to light through
two accidental finds on Cyprus at the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of
the twentieth centuries. There is no need to present the treasures in their entirety
here, since they are well known and well documented.3 I would, however, like
to mention some salient details briefly, if only to recall the extraordinary rarity,
value, and quality of the finds. Next, through a few selected items, I suggest that a
reassessment is overdue to see if it is possible to propose a probable type of owner
1 Denis Feissel, “Jean de Soloi, un évêque chypriote au milieu du viie siècle,” Travaux et
Mémoires 17 (2013): 219–36. For the date given earlier to the Arab invasions see: Philip Grierson,
“The Kyrenia Girdle of Byzantine Medallions and Solidi,” NumC 15 (1955): 55–70, esp. 69–70.
2 The complete find is listed in Andreas Stylianou and Judith Stylianou, The Treasure of
Lambousa (Nicosia: Zavallis, 1969), in Greek with English preface and summary. The history
of the first find and all that has been revealed since its discovery in 1897 is retold by Robert
Merrillees, “The Modern History of the First Lambousa Treasure of Byzantine Silverware from
Cyprus,” AJ 89 (2009): 389–403. For an overall evaluation of the finds, see David M. Metcalf,
Byzantine Cyprus, 491–1191, Texts and Studies in the History of Cyprus 62 (Nicosia: Cyprus Re-
search Centre, 2009), Appendix, “Conspicuous Wealth in 6th and 7th century Cyprus. The Lam-
bousa Treasures, including the David Plates,” 51–59.
3 The first publications of the silver objects were by O. M. Dalton, “A Byzantine Silver Treas-
ure from the District of Kerynia, Cyprus, now preserved in the British Museum,” Archaeologia
67 (1900): 159–74; O. M. Dalton, Catalogue of Early Christian Antiquities and Objects from the
Christian East in the Department of British and Mediaeval Antiquities and Ethnography of the
British Museum (London: British Museum, 1901); see also the bibliography of this treasure in
Merrillees, “The Modern History of the First Lambousa Treasure.”
196 Ioli Kalavrezou
or household that might have possessed these objects during the sixth and sev-
enth centuries.
In recent years through study of archival documentation, particularly official
and private letters, the history of these treasures has become clearer, especially
when one realizes that they seem to have been found not very far apart from
each other.4 Briefly, the two treasures, found a few years apart in 1897 and 1902,
come from an area not precisely identified but described as part of the ruinous
buildings of the Roman town of Lambousa, the ancient town of Lapithos on the
northern coast of Cyprus, one of the fourteen bishops’ sees of the early Chris-
tian period. In both cases the hoards were discovered by laborers from the near-
by village of Karavas, the harbor of Lambousa, who were quarrying the ruins of
this town for building materials and treasures. The silver dishes of the second
treasure were walled-in in a niche and the gold jewelry was found in a jar buried
under the pavement of a structure.5
Both treasures had been divided up among the discoverers and, like many
clandestine finds, they were sold to various antiquities dealers and other individ-
uals. All the objects from this treasure found their way to Paris, and from there
most pieces of the first find were bought by the British Museum in London in
1899.6 A large part of the second treasure was sold to J. P. Morgan, which then
was given by his son to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York in 1917.7
A smaller part of the second treasure was impounded by the local government
of Cyprus before it could be taken out of the country and is now in the Cyprus
Museum in Nicosia.8 Additionally, a number of objects circulated independ-
4 See Merrillees, “The Modern History of the First Lambousa Treasure,” and note 2 above.
The second treasure and the history of the find was first published by O. M. Dalton, “A Second
Silver Treasure from Cyprus,” Archaeologia 60 (1906): 1–24. See also H. Evans, The Arts of By-
zantium (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2001), 34–36.
5 Stylianou, The Treasure of Lambousa, 65–66, n. 13a.
6 See Merrillees “The Modern History of the First Lambousa Treasure,” 389–402.
7 For the history of the second treasure see: C. Entwistle, “‘Lay not up for yourselves treas-
ures upon earth’: The British Museum and the Second Cyprus Treasure,” in Through a Glass
Brightly: Studies in Byzantine and Medieval Art and Archaeology Presented to David Buckton, ed.
C. Entwistle (Oxford: Oxbow, 2003), 226–35.
8 P. Dikaios, A Guide to the Cyprus Museum, 3rd ed. (Nicosia: Department of Antiquities,
Republic of Cyprus, 1961). In Cyprus are three of the silver dishes belonging to the series of
David plates: one of the middle-sized ones with the Marriage scene, and two small ones with
the representations of David killing the bear and David fighting the lion. Beyond these three
David dishes in the hands of the Cyprus authorities there were still in 1904 several other objects
that have been described by O. M. Dalton in a confidential memorandum, now in the archives
of the British Museum. These are listed by Entwistle, “The Second Cyprus Treasure,” 229: “one
large gold or silver gilt buckle, two non-figural plates, one with a cross monogram and nielloed
scroll, the other with a cross and similar scroll, five coins, two bronze lamps, a lamp stand, two
one-handled jugs and three ewers”. Further there are additional pieces not mentioned by Dalton
either in his publication or the memorandum but listed in the British Museum Central Archives,
Colonial Office Correspondence (1904) and in the British Museum Department of Medieval and
Modern Europe, Archives, Trustees Reports, vol. 3, 181–82. However, they are now in unknown
The Cyprus Treasures since their Discovery 197
ently. They found buyers in a variety of places and are now housed in different
museums, mainly in the United States.9
Of the two hoards the second treasure, mostly now in the Metropolitan Mu-
seum of Art with the additional pieces in the National Museum of Nicosia, has
been given more attention because of the exceptional set of nine plates with rep-
resentations of the life of David, the king of the Old Testament. These plates have
become famous in the art history world not only because of their extraordinarily
great value but mainly for the unique subject matter and remarkable craftsman-
ship.10
Between them, the plates depict a series of events from the early life of David
as related in 1 Kings 16:12–18:27 (LXX), from his anointment by Samuel and con-
frontation with and victory over Goliath, to David’s marriage to Saul’s daughter.
The set of plates (fig. 1, p. 302) consists of three different sizes: one large single
piece almost fifty cm in diameter, which also depicts the most important event
of the narrative: The Battle of David and Goliath. Four medium-sized plates of
twenty-six cm in diameter, almost half the diameter of the large one, display
scenes of a more ceremonial nature: David’s anointment by Samuel, the intro-
duction of David to Saul, Saul arming him for the battle, and David’s marriage
to Michal, a reward for his victory, over which Saul is presiding. The ceremonial
and official nature of these scenes is created by an architectural element set be-
hind the figures: a colonnade, with an open central arch where the main char-
acters are set, is repeated in all four scenes. It also creates a symmetrical organ-
ization to the scenes. The last group consists of four small plates of fourteen cm
diameter depicting secondary or background scenes. In one, David fights a lion;
in another, he kills a bear; both display his natural gift of physical strength (cf. 1
Sam 17:34–35; LAB 59–60). A third depicts David playing the harp, another of
his talents, while a messenger summons him to be anointed; and a fourth fea-
locations. See the list in Entwistle, “The Second Cyprus Treasure,” 230. Important to mention
here are the pieces that have not been mentioned in the literature: one golden scepter, one gold-
en helmet, four large gold buckles, and twelve small gold buckles and additional gold necklaces.
See also A. Stylianou and J. Stylianou, The Treasures of Lambousa. They mention three silver
plates with nielloed ivy leaf scrolls and the monogram ΘΕΟΔΩΡΟΥ, (not those in the Nation-
al Museum of Nicosia) which, it is assumed, are now at Dumbarton Oaks and the Walters Art
Museum in Baltimore, in addition to the one in the Metropolitan Museum. In other words, the
treasure is much richer than previously realized.
9 Specifically, these are the silver dishes with the monogram ΘΕΟΔΩΡΟΥ mentioned in
footnote 8. In addition, the medallion mentioned in the Dalton letter was purchased in 1955
by Dumbarton Oaks (BZ.1955.10.1); see Erica Dodd, Byzantine Silver Stamps, Dumbarton Oaks
Studies 7 (Washington, D. C.: Dumbarton Oaks Publications, 1961), 126–27, nos. 33, 37–39, 54.
Also Marvin Ross, “A Byzantine Gold Medallion at Dumbarton Oaks,” DOP 11 (1957): 247–61,
and Philip Grierson, “The Date of the Dumbarton Oaks Epiphany Medallion,” DOP 15 (1961):
221–24.
10 Kurt Weitzmann, “Prolegomena to a Study of the Cyprus Plates,” Metropolitan Museum
Journal 3 (1970): 97–111.
198 Ioli Kalavrezou
tures David in conversation with a soldier.11 These scenes are set in the open
landscape.
What has become important for understanding these plates and for estab-
lishing the possible owner of all these objects are the five control stamps that all
plates have on their backside. These stamps are very important and guarantee
the quality of the silver. One of them has the portrait of the emperor Herakleios
(610–641), more precisely, a portrait from the years 613–629/30 when he still
wore a short beard before adopting a long beard in the later years of his rule.12
The workmanship of these silver plates is of exceptionally high quality. This can
be especially seen in the formation of the figures, as well as the careful detail, and
the surface treatment of the scenes (fig. 2, p. 303).
Since their discovery on Cyprus in 1902, the set of nine plates, although often
referenced in histories of Byzantine art, had not been carefully studied until de-
tailed research began in the 1970s. A number of independent articles by different
authors gave similar interpretations to the scenes depicted on the plates. They
were interpreted as objects belonging to the tradition of the official imperial lar-
gitio or largesse of large silver missoria given by emperors when commemorating
the success of their rule.13 Since the silver stamps identify the emperor Herak-
leios, several scholars, for example Susan Spain and Steven Wander, who were
the first scholars to interpret the representations of these plates, saw in the narra-
tive sequence of scenes a correspondence between the reign of David and that of
the present emperor.14 They associated the figure of David with Herakleios and
his war victories and especially with a specific event: his single combat with the
Persian general Razatis in 627.15 A parallel was thus established with the battle
of David and Goliath.
In 2000, however, Ruth Leader questioned this very specific identification of
the emperor Herakleios as David on a number of grounds.16 For example, she
argued that Missoria, as these plates would have to be identified if they were im-
perial gifts, usually have an inscription or a portrait of the emperor who is being
commemorated, which is absent here. This had also been pointed out by Marlia
11 The scene is often interpreted as the Confrontation of Eliab, who accused David of pride
and insolence, but this is not a satisfying explanation in my opinion.
12 Dodd, Byzantine Silver Stamps, 58–66.
13 As for example that of the emperor Theodosius found in Spain, now in Madrid, Jutta
Meischner, “Das Missorium des Theodosius in Madrid,” Jdl 111 (1996): 389–432.
14 Steven Wander, “The Cyprus Plates and the Chronicle of Fredegar,” DOP 29 (1975) 345–
46; Susan Spain Alexander, “Heraclius, Byzantine Imperial Ideology, and the David Plates,” Spec
52 (1977): 217–37.
15 According to the stamps the last possible date for the production of the plates would be
the year 629/30. Therefore, the date of the battle, 627, is too close, in my mind, to the last pos-
sible production date of the David plates to actually commemorate this event and having the in-
spiration and time for the plates to be produced.
16 Ruth Leader, “The David Plates Revisited: Transforming the Secular in Early Byzantium,”
The Art Bulletin 82 (2000): 407–27.
Mango.17 The large number of plates – nine making up a set – would not have
been a typical gift of largess. In addition, one could also argue that the choice
of scenes from the life of David are from his youth, before his becoming king,
which would be inappropriate for a missorium. Although the anointment scene
is included, it is in order to show God’s selection of David until the time would
come for his kingship. Leader instead understands the David plates to continue
the tradition known from other silver ensembles from the mid-fourth century,
as for example, the Achilles plate of the Kaiseraugst treasure, which forms part
of a hoard of domestic silver.18 On that plate a series of scenes from the life of
Achilles are exclusively concerned with his life before he went to fight in the
Trojan war. It differs from the David plates in that the eleven scenes are all de-
picted on a single large plate, in a central medallion and on the rim and not on
nine individual plates. But it is similar in concept, in that it focuses on the early
life of the hero rather than his mature stage.19 Leader concludes that the choice
of David can be seen as a Christianized form of the ancient educational tradi-
tion of the hero myth. Emphasis is given to the formation of the hero/leader in
preparation for his future successes.20 This can be seen as part of paideia, a word
carrying the dual meanings of culture and education. In the late antique period
the elite continued to value paideia as an important part of their self-definition.21
This kind of expression is to be expected, especially amongst the local aristocracy
of a province, for example, when a provincial governor would display his social
standing and connections to the capital and the throne.
A presentation of other portions of the Lambousa treasure will make this con-
nection to paideia and power clearer. Most of the gold jewelry from the second
treasure is now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.22 There are two
gold necklaces with pendants, another with emeralds and pearls, a pair of wide
openwork bracelets of the same design, and several sets of earrings. These are
pieces of great value, belonging to an affluent household. Although they are jew-
17 Marlia Mundell Mango, “Imperial Art in the Seventh Century,” in New Constantines: The
Rhythm of Imperial Renewal in Byzantium, 4th–13th Centuries, ed. Paul Magdalino (Aldershot,
Eng.: Variorum, 1994): 109–38, esp. 131.
18 Leader, “The David Plates Revisited,” 421–23.
19 The series of images of young David in the Paris Psalter manuscript in the Bibliothèque
nationale (ms. gr. 139), suggest a very similar reading since it depicts the talents and character-
istics of a hero and leader before he reveals himself to the world. I argue this in Images of Legiti-
macy: the Paris Psalter (in preparation).
20 It is very similar to the idea that the literary genre of “Mirrors of Princes” was part of the
educational readings for the young children of the imperial family. See Dimiter Angelov’s dis-
cussion in “Three Kinds of Liberty as Political Ideals in Byzantium, Twelfth to Fifteenth Cen-
turies,” in Proceedings of the 22nd International Congress of Byzantine Studies. Sofia, 22–27 Au-
gust 2011, vol. 1: Plenary Papers (Bulgaria: Bulgarian Historical Heritage Center, 2011): 311–31.
21 Leader, “The David Plates Revisited,” 421, 423–24.
22 Metropolitan Museum list of objects in Entwistle, “The Second Cyprus Treasure,” 229, al-
though several other pieces seem to have emerged and are now in different collections.
200 Ioli Kalavrezou
elry, they were not all necessarily pieces for the women of the household. One
of the gold necklaces was most likely to be worn by a man, as well as two other
objects of great rarity. These two gold objects of the second treasure might help
in reconstructing the type of owner or household that all these precious objects
might have belonged to in the years between the end of the sixth and the first
half of the seventh centuries. The first is a large medallion pendant of solid gold,
now at Dumbarton Oaks, which has a representation of the enthroned Virgin
and Child on one side and the Baptism of Christ on the other, often referred
to as the “Epiphany” medallion.23 The second important object is a belt or gir-
dle composed of massive gold medallions of the emperor Maurice Tiberius, as
well as a number of solidi (fig. 3, p. 304).24 Unfortunately, the belt is not com-
plete. What is missing is the central clasp/buckle and possibly additional solidi
to bring it to a length (ca. ninety cm) that would fit around the waist of an adult
male (it currently measures only 67.5 cm).25 In the part that survives, there are
four large medallions depicting the emperor Maurice (r. 582–602), which are set
in the center, the most prominent place of a belt. These medallions seem to be
the last such type celebrating the consulship of an emperor that were struck spe-
cifically, according to Philip Grierson, to be presented as gifts to high officials
and nobles, each weighing around 26.5 grams.26 It is important to realize that
these are struck, meaning that they are issued by the imperial mint and are not
imitation medallions, as often the case, which are usually poured. They depict
Maurice in a quadriga, illustrating the pompa circensis of the consular games.
Beyond these medallions in the center of the belt, on either side of the missing
clasp there are an additional thirteen solidi, all also unusual and quite rare. There
are nine solidi of Maurice, again of great rarity, one of Theodosius II (r. 402–450),
and four of the brief joint rule of Justin I and Justinian in 527, which are also very
rare. The selection of these rare solidi is in sharp contrast to the ordinary run of
late Roman and early Byzantine coin ornaments. According to Grierson, the so-
lidi of Maurice are probably like the four consular medallions which would have
formed part of an imperial gift made to a member of the bureaucracy when the
emperor took the office as consul. As such, there would be few of these to com-
23 Ross, “A Byzantine Gold Medallion at Dumbarton Oaks”; A. H. S. Megaw, “Early Byzan-
tine Art in Cyprus,” Kypriaka Grammata 21 (1956): 171–82, fig. 6; Grierson, “The Date of the
Dumbarton Oaks Epiphany Medallion,” 221–24; Handbook of the Byzantine Collection (Wash-
ington, D. C.: Dumbarton Oaks Publications, 1967), 51, no. 181; A. Stylianou and J. Stylianou,
The Treasures of Lambousa, 45–49, figs. 33–34 (see n. 2).
24 Gift of J. Pierpont Morgan, 1917; 17.190.147; 1991.136 ca. 583, reassembled after discovery.
Grierson, “The Kyrenia Girdle of Byzantine Medallions and Solidi,” 55–70, pls. VI–VIII; Kurt
Weitzmann, ed., Age of Spirituality: Late Antique and Early Christian Art, Third to Seventh Cen-
tury (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1979), 71–72, no. 61.
25 One coin was bought and added to the belt in 1991. Coin (acc. no. 1991.136) joined with
additional coins and medallions to make a girdle (acc. no. 17.190.147).
26 Grierson, “The Kyrenia Girdle of Byzantine Medallions and Solidi,” 58.
memorate this event. These would be part of the gift of the medallions. Origi-
nally Grierson believed that the medallions and consular solidi were to be dated
in the year 602, the year when Maurice assumed the office of consul for a sec-
ond time. Recognizing the closeness of the workmanship between the four large
consular medallions of the girdle and the “Epiphany” medallion, which Grierson
dates to 6 January 584, he re-evaluated the arguments and placed them in 583,
the year of Maurice’s first consulship.27
Imperial medallions such as these were often mounted into jewelry by their
recipients to boast of their highly favored status in society. They were pieces for
display on the front of the wearer either as belts or as jewelry in a variety of chain
assemblages. They were also recognized as part of the insignia of a high office
since they were personally given by the emperor. As a distinguishing honor, the
belt very likely belonged to the owner of the treasure who, as a high official,
would have received these special medallions and solidi from the emperor. Such
objects were not available to private citizens. Additionally, these large consular
medallions are quite unusual because of their weight. Each medallion consists of
the gold of six solidi in weight.28 Six solidi pieces would go to officials of one of
the highest ranks, that of vir illustris, within the senates of Rome and Constant-
inople, which would also include provincial governors.29
In the case of the girdle (and “Epiphany” medallion; here I am talking only of
the girdle), the recipient presumably received the four medallions of a weight of
six solidi because of his very high position. Since this object was found on Cy-
prus, it is most likely that the owner was a provincial high official on the island.
Few dignitaries in the empire could show a girdle weighing more than a pound
of gold, “the equivalent of a quarter of a year’s salary of an average provincial
governor.”30 Thus, with this object we have a hint of the kind of social environ-
ment to which these objects belonged. The additional consular coins of Maurice
also help with dating: according to Grierson, they are very rare, because Mau-
rice held this consulship only for five days between Christmas and the new year,
putting them in the last days of the year 583.31 To possess several of them shows
that the owner rose to a very high rank during the reign of Maurice. Since the
27 Grierson changed his mind about the date to 583 in 1961 (“The Date of the Dumbar-
ton Oaks Epiphany Medallion,” 233 n. 18). Wolfgang Hahn, Moneta imperii Byzantini: Rekon-
struktion des Prägeaufbaues auf synoptisch-tabellarischer Grundlage, vol. 3: Von Heraclius bis
Leo III / Alleinregierung (610–720) (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissen-
schaften, 1981) agrees with the date of 583 for the large medallions and suggests 602 for the solidi
on the evidence of legend variations.
28 A. Sambon, “Trésor d’orfèvrerie et d’argenterie trouvé à Chypre et faisant partie de la col-
lection de M. J. Pierpont Morgan,” Le Musée 3 (1906): 121–29.
29 B. Näf, Senatorisches Standesbewusstsein in spätrömischer Zeit (Freiburg: Freiburg Uni-
versitätsverlag, 1995), 21–22.
202 Ioli Kalavrezou
silver dishes that were found in the same structure are of a slightly later date, a
decade later, we can probably assume that the same individual who had served
under Maurice was still alive and had continued his career under Herakleios.
Three additional solidi on the belt depict Justin together with Justinian seated
frontally on thrones. They are of an issue that was struck for a period of only five
months in 527.32 Two of them have been given a more distinct setting. Beyond
the mount of a flat gold band wider than those of the coins, they have an ad-
ditional circle of beaded wire, which enlarges the diameter and gives further re-
lief. They are attached in the central section of the girdle connecting the two cen-
tral medallions (see fig. 4, p. 304). Next to the second pair of medallions on the
outer sides, two of the consular solidi of Maurice have received the same distinct
mount. Clearly these were chosen to be visible in the front of the belt because of
their rarity. Although they now might not be in the exact original position, they
are distinguished from the remaining solidi of the belt. The two solidi of Justin
and Justinian were a dynastic issue, chosen, in my opinion, because of their un-
usual iconographic theme: the two emperors seated frontally on the throne next
to each other. After almost two hundred years of no direct male heir born to an
emperor, Maurice had a son just born, a Porphyrogennetos. Now there was an
heir, a successor to the throne.33 Just as Justin on his solidi was presenting Jus-
tinian as his designated successor, these coins in my view should be seen as an
allusion to Maurice’s son. The name chosen for this boy was Theodosius, recall-
ing Theodosius II, the son of Arcadius, the last Porphyrogennetos of 401, which
was not accidental.
The second object that connects this individual and probable owner of the
treasures with the imperial court in Constantinople is the exceptionally large
gold medallion and its chain from the same jewelry find mentioned above, now
at Dumbarton Oaks (fig. 5, p. 304).34 On the front the medallion has the en-
throned Virgin and Child between two adoring angels, which occupies the upper
two thirds of the obverse side of the medallion. Below are two smaller scenes,
one of the Nativity without the Virgin and only the infant in the manger, and
the Adoration of the Magi, where the Virgin is shown seated holding the Christ
child on her lap. It bears the inscription, “Christ, our God help us” (“Χ[ΡΙCΤ]Ε
Ο Θ[ΕΟ]C ΗΜWN ΒΟΗΘΙCΟΝ ΗΜΙΝ”).35 On its reverse is the representation
33 Grierson, “The Date of the Dumbarton Oaks Epiphany Medallion,” 222.
34 Ross, “A Byzantine Gold Medallion at Dumbarton Oaks,” 261, confirms from x-ray ev-
idence that the medallion was struck, not cast. Cf. Grierson, “The Date of the Dumbarton Oaks
Epiphany Medallion.”
35 Heinrich Karpp, “‘Christus, unser Gott,’ Erwägungen zu den Inschriften und dem Bild-
programm eines byzantinischen Goldmedaillons aus der Zeit um 600,” in Studien zur spät-
antiken und byzantinischen Kunst: Friedrich Wilhelm Deichmann gewidmet, Monographien
Römisch-germanisches Zentralmuseum. Forschungsinstitut für Vor- und Frühgeschichte 10
(Bonn: Habelt, 1986), 121–36, at 121 and fig. 39. Karpp discusses the theological significance of
of the Baptism of Christ, with the inscription in Greek, “This is my beloved son,
in whom I am well pleased” (ΟΥΤΟΣ ΕΣΤΙΝ Ω ΥΕΙΟΣ ΜΟΥ Ο ΑΓΑΠΙΤΟΣ ΕΝ
Ω ΕΥΔΟΚΗΣΑ, Matt 3:17 [with several spelling mistakes]).36 This medallion,
like the medallions of the belt, was struck and not cast, and its weight is more
than one hundred grams, both facts that make it most unusual. Commonly, only
coins and commemorative medallions with monetary value were struck by im-
perial privilege, so it is plausible that this medallion was made for an imperial
occasion commemorating a personal event. Marvin Ross and Philip Grierson
both agree that such an event could be the baptism of Theodosius, the Porphy-
rogennetos son of Emperor Maurice, who was baptized on the Feast of Epipha-
ny, 6 January 584.37 The image of the enthroned Virgin and Child on the front
introduces the themes relevant to the recent historical family events. The quot-
ed inscription on the back makes the subjects depicted – the Birth and the Bap-
tism – relevant in several respects to Theodosius’s birth, to his baptism, and in
another dynastic sense the father-son relationship. Such objects are very rare in
at least two ways. First, such occasions do not occur very often, and second, the
workmanship of this object is impressive in its detail, especially considering that
it was struck. To have received such a personal gift from the emperor Maurice
places the destined receiver very close to the emperor and the court in Constant-
inople. Who was he?
Finding the Owner: Theodore and his Objects
At this point we have to turn to a few other pieces from the two treasures, where
the name Theodore appears on different silver objects. It is the only reference to
an individual that can possibly be associated with and proposed as the owner of
at least some of these rich vessels.
A great part of the first Lambousa treasure is today in the British Museum.
It consists of twenty-eight different objects, all made of silver. It includes a bowl
with a half-length portrait of a saint, most likely a military saint judging from
his garments. This bowl can be dated by the five control stamps between 641 and
651 from the reign of Emperor Constans II.38 A hexagonal censer or lamp with
medallions of Christ, the Virgin, and four saints dates from the reign of Phokas
the inscriptions, especially the phrase “Christ our God,” which he sees playing a role in the the-
ological discussions regarding the nature of Christ in the sixth and seventh centuries. He mis-
identifies, however, the seated figure of Joseph who pensively raises his arm towards his head as
the prophet Balaam, who has no place in the iconography of the Nativity, when trying to con-
nect it to the political climate in relation to Persia.
36 Karpp, “‘Christus, unser Gott,’” 122.
37 Grierson, “The Date of the Dumbarton Oaks Epiphany Medallion,” 223.
38 Dodd, Byzantine Silver Stamps, no. 78; Weitzmann, Age of Spirituality, 548–49, no. 493.
204 Ioli Kalavrezou
(602–610).39 A flat plate with a central medallion with a leaf pattern in niello
and a cross in the center can also be dated by its control stamps to the reign of
Tiberius I (578–582), which makes it the oldest object of the treasures, except
the solidi of Justin and Justinian used in the belt.40
In addition, there are twenty-five pear-shaped spoons, eleven of which have
leaping animals of great variety.41 The leaping animals are most unusual. We
know of spoons with inscriptions of various wise sayings, virtues, apostolic
names, or which were possibly used for communion, but the animals are quite
atypical. The animals are all within the pear-shaped bowls of each spoon, which
are also engraved on the underside with a foliate pattern and are attached by
means of a disc to an elaborate baluster handle. The running animals include a
griffin, panther, lion, lioness, stag, bear, boar, bull, hare, and horse. This combi-
nation of animals probably alluded to the hunt and would have been an appro-
priate subject for high-status domestic cutlery, since hunting was one of the pas-
times of that society. Among the spoons without decoration, there is one that
stands out because on the hexagonal part of the handle it has an engraved in-
scription, filled in with niello. It reads ΘΕΟΔWΡΟΥ, of Theodore, suggesting the
owner or user of that spoon.42
Several plates, mentioned above, have in their center a cross monogram with
the name of ΘΕΟΔWΡΟΥ in the genitive, in niello surrounded by a vine.43
39 Dodd, Byzantine Silver Stamps, no. 35.
40 Dodd, Byzantine Silver Stamps, no. 28. There is a second plate in Nicosia in the Cyprus
Museum of Antiquities that is identical to this one in the British Museum with the same vine
leaf design and a cross in its center. It has also the same outer border and the thin frame around
the vine and central cross. Thus, these two silver plates were produced by the same workshop.
In the museum in Nicosia unfortunately the silver plates are all displayed together and given
one date, that of the three David plates that through the control stamps fall into the years 613–
29. The plate with the cross should, however, be dated to the reign of Tiberius II Constantine
between 578 and 582. In the Nicosia Cyprus Museum there are two additional plates: one with
a cross but of completely different wreath design and workmanship, and another with a cross
monogram that can be read as ΑΝΤΩΝΙΟΥ that is, “of Antony.” They are considered to be part
of the Lambousa treasure.
41 However, these are not all the objects found in this first treasure, since not all were bought
by the museum. Additional pieces are mentioned in some of the records and letters in the ar-
chives of the museum; see the history of the find in Merrillees, “The Modern History of the First
Lambousa Treasure.”
42 Stefan R. Hauser, Spätantike und frühbyzantinische Silberlöffel. Bemerkungen zur Produk-
tion von Luxusgütern im 5. bis 7. Jahrhundert, JACErg 19 (Münster: Aschendorff, 1992), Spoon
Group 8.1.
43 They are mentioned here and there in the various lists of these finds. Although consid-
ered as part of the larger plate in the British Museum through a comparison of the niello vine in
the framing of the medallions on the plates, the dates of these plates with the cross monograms
with the name Theodore are of a later date and cannot be seen as a set with the one in the Brit-
ish Museum with the cross in its center. The name Theodorou in the genitive is clearly readable;
however, within the letter Δ (delta) at the bottom of the monogram, there seems to be a further
stroke that could be read as an additional letter, that of an A (alpha). Until now this has not been
explained and remains an open question. It could simply be a matter of design.
These have been variably assigned to the first or second Lambousa treasure.
Three of these plates are now in the United States, two supposedly from the sec-
ond find and possibly one from the first. They were bought at different times dur-
ing the 1950s.44 Although of different sizes, these plates all have the same con-
trol stamps on their underside, giving them a date between 610 and 613, the early
years of Herakleios’s reign, when he still wore a short beard.45 Although some-
times described as patens, these plates are clearly domestic and continue a type
of Roman dish with a rosette or other emblem at the center, often even a small
cross by the sixth and seventh centuries, like the one in the British Museum,
mentioned above. Flatter than the explicitly dedicated church patens with a large
cross, none of these plates can be directly associated with a church, either by in-
scription or by provenance.46
Helpful in grounding these treasures in a specific environment is the bowl of
24.3 cm diameter with the representation of the military saint in its center, now
housed in the British Museum. From an iconographic point of view, compared
to an approximately contemporary icon with two military saints from Sinai, now
in Kiev, he can be possibly identified as one of them, Sergius, a fourth-century
Christian martyr who was officer in Galerius’s army at the time of his co-reign
with Maximianus.47 He wears the traditional chlamys with a tablion in the front
and a prominently displayed torque around his neck, a type of necklace of a de-
sign made of a central large medallion and four coins, of which we have similar
examples. This torque indicates his high position in the army. Sergius together
with Bacchus and a number of other military saints were very popular through-
out late antiquity, especially favored by high officials in the Byzantine military
hierarchy. Theodore, who bore the name of a military saint, surely would have
favored an image of a military saint. Several details hint at an early stage of the
development of the iconography of military saints. No name is assigned to the
44 Marlia Mundell Mango, The Silver from Early Byzantium: The Kaper Koraon and Related
Treasures (Baltimore: Trustees of the Walter Art Gallery, 1986), nos. 103–105. See also Walters
Art Museum acq. no. 57.652, Metropolitan Museum of Art acq. no. 52.25.2; Dumbarton Oaks
Museum BZ 1960.60. See also Merrillees, “The Modern History of the First Lambousa Treas-
ure,” 395 with details. Although sometimes they are mentioned as possibly belonging to the first
Lambousa treasure because of the similarly decorated larger silver plate with the medallion with
the cross, these plates have different dates of production according to their control stamps. Thus,
they are not the same set.
45 The plates at Dumbarton Oaks and the Metropolitan plate have the same dimensions of
13.4/5 cm diameter. The one at the Walters has a diameter of 25.5 cm.
46 The British Museum is still describing it as a church treasure, since in the original sale it
was claimed that it was found near the monastery church of Acheiropoietos three miles outside
of Lambousa. At that time, almost all Byzantine silver was claimed to be part of church treas-
ures, and it was easier to label it as such. Now, it is becoming clearer that this treasure too was
of secular use.
47 Acquisition no. 1899,0425.2; Dodd, Byzantine Silver Stamps, no. 78; D. Buckton, Byzanti-
um: Treasures of Byzantine Art and Culture (London: Published for the Trustees of the British
Museum by British Museum Press, 1994), no. 135.
206 Ioli Kalavrezou
figure. The saint holds his tunic with his left hand, in an unusual and delicate
gesture. He places the cross away from his body to his right side, while the cross
in depictions of martyrs is usually held in front of the chest, not to the side. This
cross is instead placed on top of a pole, more like a military standard than a mar-
tyr’s cross.
This bowl should be seen as part of the household, possibly a military family
of a highly positioned officer, Theodore, to whom all these objects from the first
Lambousa treasure belonged. Of all the objects found in this first find this is the
latest acquisition in that home, dating from the reign of Emperor Constans II
(641–651).48 According to S. R. Hauser, this treasure is to be considered as be-
longing to a household and not to a church.49 The name of Theodore as the
owner of the spoon and the plain silver plates connects these objects, as well as
the two treasures.
In my search to identify the individual Theodore, who might have owned at
least part of these treasures, I was able to locate another object that has the same
cross monogram with the name ΘΕΟΔWΡΟΥ in the genitive, as seen in the
plates (fig. 6, p. 305).50 The buckle, now in the collection of the Walters Art Mu-
seum, dates to the sixth or early seventh century and is supposedly from Syria.
Since there is no archaeological documentation or evidence of its discovery,
I suspect that it is one of those objects that disappeared from the second treasure
but which was described in the early list of the objects of the find in the British
Museum archives.51 A large gold buckle is among them but is missing from the
actual belt. The belt itself, when sold, had been separated into its individual parts
and later reassembled in the form in which it is now displayed. The objects of the
second Lambousa find, especially the gold and jewelry pieces, changed hands
and were distributed among finders and various dealers who were specializing
in bringing objects from Syria, Egypt, and Palestine to Europe and the United
States. I would like to see this buckle as part of the original belt, a very distin-
guished type of belt, worn only by very prominent individuals in the hierarchy
of governmental officials of the Byzantine administration. This would tie the belt
to the other objects with the name Theodore, to the individual who served under
Maurice and was honored for his distinguished service by receiving from the
48 The dates of production of all these objects begin with the reign of Maurice in 583 and
continue to the early years of the reign of Herakleios. The silver bowl with the military saint falls
right before the first Arab invasion in 649 which would suggest a date before that year between
641–649. If the invading Arab army was the cause for hiding all these treasures the date is very
close indeed.
49 See Hauser, Spätantike und frühbyzantinische Silberlöffel, 49–55.
50 This object (Walters Art Museum acc. no. 57.545) is 2.9 x 7.9 x 0.9 cm and may have been
found near Hamas, Syria. It was bequeathed to Walters Art Museum by Henry Walters. See Dor-
othy Miner, ed., Early Christian and Byzantine Art. An Exhibition held at the Baltimore Museum
of Art, April 25–June 22, [1947] (Baltimore: Trustees of the Walters Art Gallery, 1947), no. 468.
51 See note 8.
emperor the belt. He may have held the position of Governor of Cyprus, a posi-
tion that an illustris could hold. We can also assume that this individual was still
in an economically, if not administratively, high position under Herakleios about
twenty-seven years later, to have had silver dishes made with a monogram of his
name in their central medallions. The belt with the four medallions and con-
sular solidi dates from Maurice’s consulship of the year 583 and the plates with
the monogram from 610 to 613, thus a chronological span between these objects
stretches close to three decades. The individual who could have owned at least
some of these objects would have had to be around sixty years of age at that time.
Among the number of individuals named Theodore in John Martindale’s
Prosopography of the late sixth and seventh centuries there is a Theodore record-
ed on an inscription who is on Cyprus, probably in the late sixth century. He is
honored in an acclamation as comes.52 Beyond this information, we do not know
anything further about this individual. There is, however, another Theodore,53
who, according to the Anthologia Gr. I. 36, seemed to have had himself depict-
ed in the narthex of the church of John the Theologian in Ephesos thanking the
archangel (Michael) for his career. This Theodore, according to the dedicatory
inscription, is recognized as illustris (or illustios in the Greek) and possibly twice
gained the title of proconsul (anthypatos). As a military figure, to have approach-
ed the archangel Michael for assistance and acknowledgement makes obvious
sense, but to have his image depicted in that great church suggests that he was a
very distinguished person. He is described in vv. 3–6 to be wearing the belt of a
magister (officiorum), an honorary title that makes him an illustrios, while also
proconsul. I mention him here for two reasons: first, because the belt was clearly
the visible evidence of his high standing in the painting, which was specifically
mentioned, and secondly because Ephesos is clearly an important city, especially
in that period and is on the way if one would travel from Cyprus to Constant-
inople for any official business. The Theodore of the Lambousa treasures thus
had to be an individual of similar standing and honors. It is very likely that he
is the Theodore of this wall painting as mentioned in the Anthologia. The belt
makes this case most probable since there cannot be many individuals named
Theodore with this honorary distinction in this period and this area.
In the early decades of the seventh century, several momentous events took
place. In the year 602 Maurice and his son Theodosius, whose baptism was
commemorated by the “Epiphany” medallion, were murdered by Phocas, who
through this murder managed to usurp the throne in Constantinople. In the
meantime, Herakleios the Elder, the exarch of Africa, began a revolt against Pho-
cas, placing his son Herakleios at the head of the revolting troops. After taking
52 John Robert Martindale, Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire (527–641 AD), vol. 3
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), no. 94.
53 Martindale, Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire 3, no. 54.
208 Ioli Kalavrezou
over Egypt, Herakleios, the son, succeeded over a period of two years (608–610)
to march into Constantinople, where he was declared emperor on 5 October
610, following the murder of Phocas the previous day.54 The preparation and
organization of this strategic plan took some time and needed to be well struc-
tured. His first move was to settle for a while on the island of Cyprus to prepare
his campaign towards Constantinople.55 Evidence for his longer stay on Cy-
prus, rather than a brief passing through with his troops, is the establishment of
a mint to strike coins with his name and the title Δεσπότης (Despotes) and the
building of additional arches to the aqueduct in the city of Constantia, the an-
cient town Salamis on the east coast of Cyprus.56 One key person on Cyprus
with whom Herakleios would have had to be in contact and possibly plan and or-
ganize his next moves would have been the governor of Cyprus, conceivably the
Theodore we have encountered. We can assume that he was a supporter of Her-
akleios who wanted to remove the usurper Phocas, his benefactor’s murderer.
The silver plates with his monogram are dated to immediately after Herakleios
succeeded to the throne and were possibly acquired when visiting the new em-
peror in Constantinople.57 But how can the set of David plates be connected to
the same household or even individual? After all, with the exception of the gold-
en belt, they are the most valuable and impressive silver objects of the treasure.
It is very probable that these plates, with their particular subject matter, were
a gift from the newly settled emperor in Constantinople, given in recognition of
the help and support he received while on Cyprus preparing to gain the throne.
The successful Herakleian coup d’état of 608–610 was after all launched via Cy-
prus. Typically, the plates have been given the latest date of production within
the possible range of the control stamps, which span from 613 to 629. The reason
for this late date was the parallel reading of the battle of David with Goliath with
the combat of Herakleios and the Persian general Razatis that took place in 627.
This does not need to be the case. They may have been produced nearer to the
earlier date of 613, bringing them closer to the years when Herakleios was pre-
paring his advance from Cyprus to reach the throne in Constantinople. Consid-
ering the times and historical events, the subject chosen for their decoration –
that of the young David – is relevant to the situation and presents the stages of
54 Evangelos Chrysos, “Ὀ Ἡράκλειος στην Κύπρο (609/610)” (=Herakleios on Cyprus), in

Πρακτικά Συμποσίου Κυπριακής Ιστορίας, Λευκωσία 2–3 Μαΐου 1983 (Ioannina: University of
Ioannina Press, 1984), 53–62.
55 Chrysos, “Herakleios on Cyprus,” 61.
56 Chrysos, “Herakleios on Cyprus,” 53–57; P. Grierson, “The Consular Coinage of ‘Hera-
clius’ and the Revolt against Phocas 608–610,” The Numismatic Chronicle (1950): 71–93; C. Mor-
risson, Catalogue de monnaies byzantines de la Bibliothèque nationale, vol. 1 (Paris: Bibliothèque
nationale, 1970), 251.
57 Merrillees reports that “We now know that it evidently contained an additional seventeen
pieces of silver, some of which were probably plates;” “The Modern History of the First Lam-
bousa Treasure,” 395.
preparation for a future ruler. Most importantly, the idea and literary topos of an
apparently unassuming individual, who nourishes his virtues and talents until
the time is ready for them to be revealed, could have been part of the intellectual
spirit of the time that Herakleios spent on Cyprus. It is a subject relevant to the
period of Herakleios’s own preparations to realize his designed plan to reach the
imperial throne. The idea of a future leader chosen by God, predestined to save
the empire, may have been part of the imperial ideology already developed by
this period. Herakleios or Theodore might have had common discussions and
seen parallels between the God-appointed David and Herakleios’s beliefs and
goals to gain the throne. This understanding of these objects fits nicely with Ruth
Leader’s interpretation. It reflects the shift to an Old Testament figure of great
strength and potential leadership, thematically continuing the classical tradition
of edification by example, such as Achilles in the Iliad, but shifting it to a bib-
lical hero.
Conclusions
This chapter demonstrates that it is possible that both Lambousa treasures were
owned by one household, which included a high government official, Theodore,
among its members. Theodore was closely associated with Constantinople, a fact
supported by the evidence of the belt and the Dumbarton Oaks medallion, not
to mention all of the other objects of the highest quality of craftsmanship and
value, which were probably all produced in Constantinople. The figure of the
military saint on a personal dish is an additional indication that the owner may
have belonged to the military aristocracy on Cyprus in the late sixth and early
seventh centuries. The David plates should also then be placed in their role as
luxury and display items within this secular context. The luxurious spoons, with
their running animal imagery, referencing the hunt, would also nicely connect
to the theme of the young warrior David hunting and killing wild animals until
his final victory over Goliath. Any object from these treasures should be consid-
ered and studied not only as an isolated object, but also as part of a treasure with
the variety of items belonging to one household. The belt as much as the silver
plates can be understood as part of the life of the elite society in which honor and
wealth were displayed. All this material should be studied in the context of all
the other evidence from late antique Cyprus, especially the great display of the
mosaic floors from the various villas, intended to show both wealth and culture.
The Cult of Saints in Late Antique Cyprus
and the Apostolicity of its Churches
The Testimony of Greek Hagiography
Stephanos Efthymiadis
Whether it was slow and lingering or sudden and unexpected, the end of poly-
theism in Cyprus came about in a religious landscape marked by diversity. This
pluralism featured the coexistence of a large number of cults of pagan deities, in-
cluding the Aphrodite of Amathous and Palaipaphos, Zeus Olympius at Salamis,
the Apollo at Kourion and Keryneia, or the less prominent Greek and Phoeni-
cian cults observed in small sanctuaries scattered all over the island.1 This plu-
ralism emerges from Cyprus’s identity as a crossroads that has had a variety of
spiritual and secular creeds regularly grafted upon it, which have then become
an integral part of its geographical and cultural identity. Moreover, this religious
plurality clearly bears the marks of the distribution and division of its soil into
separate units which, despite any obvious interlocking and interdependence,
must each have claimed their right to autonomy and independent existence in
the religious, political, and other spheres. This chapter examines the cult of saints
in late antique Cyprus as reflected in the hagiographies of the period, and to what
extent this picture remained unchanged, or at least retained some of its basic
features, in the transition from Roman to Early Christian Cyprus. More impor-
tantly, I shall discuss the institutional and intellectual contexts within which this
literature on saints was composed, as well as the issues underlying its composi-
tion. As I will try to show, diversity and plurality were properties that marked the
1 For these cults, see Terence B. Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” ANRW 2.18.3, 2178–
2211. A notable case of a non-Greek cult is that of Eshmun, the Phoenician counterpart of As-
clepius, worshipped at Kition (Mitford, “The Cults of Roman Cyprus,” 2187). For the question
of transition from paganism to Christianity in Cyprus see Marcus Rautman, “From Polytheism
to Christianity in the Temples of Cyprus,” in Ancient Journeys. A Festschrift in Honour of Eugene
Numa Lane, ed. Cathy Callaway (The Stoa: A Consortium for Electronic Publication in the Hu-
manities, 2002; available online http://www.stoa.org/hopper/text.jsp?doc=Stoa:text:2001. 01. 001
4); and Georgios Deligiannakis, “The Last Pagans of Cyprus: Prolegomena to a History of Tran-
sition from Polytheism to Christianity,” in Church Building in Cyprus (4th to 7th Centuries) – a
Mirror of Intercultural Contacts in the Eastern Mediterranean, ed. Marietta Horster, Doria Nic-
olaou, and Sabine Rogge, Schriften des Instituts für Interdisziplinäre Zypern-Studien 12 (Mün-
ster: Waxmann, 2017), 29–50.
212 Stephanos Efthymiadis
religious landscape of Cyprus well after the expansion and prevalence of Chris-
tianity on the island.
To this end I shall chiefly explore a body of texts that recount the adventures
and achievements of saints, who, apart from the apostle Barnabas, were all bish-
ops, that is, they corresponded to a single paradigm of sanctity. In this period
their cults, along with those of saints of universal acclaim, like St. Andrew and
St. Thecla, were also attested in epigraphic material. Relatively few Christian in-
scriptions that bear the name of a saint, dedicatory or otherwise, are known.
Other evidence is found in sigillography, i. e., the inscriptions on lead seals
owned by the clerics of the island, where they bear either the names of known
saints or other signs of devotion to some saint or saints.2
Although contradictory and conflicting as historical documents, the Lives of
local saints and the inscriptions found in a precise geographical milieu intersect
at one crucial point: they both provide insights into the local domain. Hagiog-
raphy and epigraphy both attest to the local situation. In an empire as highly
centralized as the late Roman, historical sources tend to be “centralized” too,
paying little attention to the provinces, and, if they do venture into the hinter-
land, most of the references are to major urban centers and the frontier zone.
By contrast to other literary sources, hagiography was one of the rare forms of
literature to be implanted and grown in the periphery.3
What constitutes the hagiography or rather the hagiographies of late antique
Cyprus is far from easy to define. A comprehensive survey would encompass
a wide spectrum of texts ranging from those pertaining to local saints (those
whose pious activities were wholly or mainly carried out on the island), to
those who excelled elsewhere, yet received the praise of local hagiographers. In
what follows I shall concentrate on the former, inasmuch as it is mainly thanks
to their hagiographical dossier that we gain an insight into several issues that
must have preoccupied ecclesiastical circles in late antique Cyprus. This hagiog-
raphy celebrating local saints must have gained momentum from the late fifth
to the seventh century, a time when hagiographical writing became fashionable,
especially in the eastern Mediterranean. The Bollandist Hippolyte Delehaye was
certainly right when he introduced his extensive study on the saints of Cyprus
with the statement that there were few provinces of the Eastern Roman Empire
2 For the scanty evidence about the cult of saints in Cyprus that we obtain from extant epi-
graphic material, see Doria Nicolaou, “H κυπριακή επιγραφική κατά τον 4ο έως τον 7ο μ. Χ.
αιώνα,” in Epigraphy, Numismatics, Prosopography and History of Ancient Cyprus: Papers in
Honour of Ino Nicolaou, ed. Demetrios Michaelides (Uppsala: Åströms förlag, 2013), 245–272.
For sigillographic evidence see David M. Metcalf, Byzantine Lead Seals from Cyprus (Nicosia:
Cyprus Research Centre, 2004), 340–380; and David M. Metcalf, Byzantine Lead Seals from Cy-
prus, vol. 2 (Nicosia: Cyprus Research Centre, 2014), 243–300.
3 See the points made in Stephanos Efthymiadis, “Introduction,” in The Ashgate Research
Companion to Byzantine Hagiography, vol. I: Periods and Places, ed. idem (Farnham/Burlington,
VT: Ashgate, 2011), 9–10.
The Cult of Saints in Late Antique Cyprus and the Apostolicity of its Churches 213
that were so well represented in Byzantine hagiographical collections as Cy-

prus.4
Trying to slot Cyprus’s hagiographical production into the grand scheme of
things and bring out the links it might have had with the general flourishing
of the genre in that period can be misleading, however. To make this move too
quickly risks glossing over the rather introverted and self-referential character of
Cypriot hagiography. In other words, relating Cypriot hagiography to the overall
pattern of production at that time and to contemporary trends may show its ex-
ternal literary influences, but it ignores its inner world, namely its commitment
to debates that must have preoccupied the ecclesiastical elite of the region for a
considerable period of time.
Cypriot hagiography is intertextual but extremely diverse in terms of narra-
tive structure and models of writing. This results in an overall lack of literary
uniformity and thematic homogeneity. In some cases, the language and style
match the status of the celebrated saint. For example, the linguistic and stylis-
tic sophistication that characterizes the Life of St. Tychon, Bishop of Amathous,
is entirely appropriate for extolling the achievements of a bishop. Yet sophisti-
cation is absent from other texts in which it would have been more natural to
expect it, namely, those dedicated to more eminent prelates such as the theolo-
gian bishops Epiphanios and Spyridon. In their extant biographies, the fictional
element is strong and the narrative is filled with episodes (miraculous or not)
that have been stitched together but hardly present a coherent whole.5 Cypriot
hagiographic literature is unified, however, in its overwhelming enthusiasm for
4 Hippolyte Delehaye, “Saints de Chypre,” AnBoll 26 (1907), 161. Apart from Delehaye’s
seminal but now partially dated study, comprehensive surveys of the late antique hagiography
of Cyprus include Vera von Falkenhausen, “Bishops and Monks in the Hagiography of Byzan-
tine Cyprus,” in Medieval Cyprus: Studies in Art, Architecture, and History, ed. Nancy Patterson-
Ševčenko and Christopher Moss (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 21–33; Claudia
Rapp, “Christianity in Cyprus in the Fourth to Seventh Centuries: Chronological and Geo-
graphical Frameworks,” in Cyprus and the Balance of Empires: Art and Archaeology from Jus-
tinian I to the Coeur of Lion, ed. Charles A. Stewart, Thomas W. Davis, and Annemarie Weyl
Carr, ASOR Archaeological Reports 20 (Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research, 2014),
29–38; Claudia Rapp, “Cypriot Hagiography in the Seventh Century: Patrons and Purpose,” in
Κυπριακὴ Ἁγιολογία. Proceedings of the First International Conference, ed. Theodoros Yangou
and Chrysostomos Nassis (Agia Napa-Paralimni, 2015), 397–411; and Bernard Flusin, “L’ha-
giographie chypriote et le modèle de la sainteté épiscopale,” in Le saint, le moine et le paysan:
Mélanges d’histoire byzantine offerts à Michel Kaplan (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2016),
213–228.
5 For the Life of Epiphanios, divided into two parts, the one authored by John, a disciple of
the saint (BHG 596), the other by Polybius of Rhinokouroura (BHG 596), see PG 41, cols. 24–
112. For a new but still unpublished edition by Claudia Rapp, “The vita of Epiphanius of Salamis:
An Historical and Literary Study,” 2 vols. (D. Phil. thesis, Oxford University, 1991). The Life of
St. Spyridon by Theodore of Paphos (BHG 1647–1647b) is largely based on earlier disparate ma-
terial; see Paul van den Ven, ed., La légende de S. Spyridon évêque de Trimithonte (Louvain: Pub-
lications universitaires, 1953), 1103. According to its editor, this Life was completed in 655: van
den Ven, La légende de S. Spyridon, 86*–88*.
the legendary. This is primarily manifested in the recurring appropriation of ac-

counts, themes, and scenes that hark back to biblical leitmotifs.
The Laudatio of Saint Barnabas the Apostle

as a Historical Document
It is no accident that the only piece that can be read as a historical document, in
the sense that it provides information about persons with a historical presence
and events of wider importance, is the oft-quoted Laudatio of Saint Barnabas
the Apostle by Alexander the Monk (BHG 226/CPG 7400).6 Significantly, this
piece is unique in that it is not pseudepigraphic, that is, the name of the author
is neither invented, nor suspected of being a pen-name. It is not by chance that,
of all the late antique hagiographers writing about Cypriot saints, Alexander the
Monk was the most determined to leave us some hints about his project. The title
itself specifies that the piece was commissioned by the presbyter and incumbent
of the church of St. Barnabas, built for the purpose of receiving the saint’s relics,
once lost but now found.7 For this edifice the author reserves a detailed descrip-
tion, thereby implicitly acknowledging his familiarity with the place.8
Divided into two sections, referring to two quite different periods, the apos-
tolic age and the decades following the Council of Chalcedon (451), this text has
a double generic identity. The first part traces the genealogy and relates the bi-
ography of St. Barnabas, in an apocryphal/hagiographical account, whereas the
second chronicles “recent events” in a fashion peculiar to the genre of ecclesiasti-
cal history.9 By virtue of these two thematic entities, the author achieves the dual
purpose of re-assessing the predominantly Cypriot background of St. Barnabas
and of providing full justification for the detachment of the Church of Cyprus
from the Antiochene see.
The Laudatio’s first and more legendary part attributes to Barnabas the initi-
ative of visiting Rome, the capital of the empire, before anyone else (πρὸ παντὸς
ἑτέρου). By this, the encomiast presumably means that Barnabas went to Rome
before any of the other apostles, and thus raises Barnabas’s profile as an evange-
6 Peter van Deun, ed., Hagiographica Cypria: Sancti Barnabae Laudatio auctore Alexandro
Monacho et Sanctorum Bartholomaei et Barnabae Vita e menologio imperiali deprompta, CCSG
26 (Turnhout-Leuven: Brepols, 1993), 83–122.
7 Van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 83: Ἀλεξάνδρου μοναχοῦ ἐγκώμιον εἰς τὸν ἅγιον
Βαρνάβαν τὸν ἀπόστολον, προτραπέντος ὑπὸ τοῦ πρεσβυτέρου καὶ κλειδούχου τοῦ σεβασμίου
αὐτοῦ ναοῦ, ἐν ᾧ ἱστορεῖται καὶ ὁ τρόπος τῆς ἀποκαλύψεως τῶν ἁγίων αὐτοῦ λειψάνων.
8 See vv. 826–843; Van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 119.
9 The first section ends in v. 569 (Van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 107) whereas the second
begins with a short reference to the healing powers of St. Barnabas’s relics located in the so-
called “place of health” in the city of Salamis and continues with chronicling the events which
occurred in the reign of the emperor Zeno.
list.10 What is more, Barnabas’s links with Paul are downplayed and Barnabas is
depicted as being similarly linked with Peter. According to the Laudatio, once
Barnabas had suffered martyrdom in Salamis at the hands of some Syrian Jews
(perhaps a hint of Cypriot anti-Antiochene sentiments of a later time period!),
John Mark took care of his body and then left to meet first Paul and then Peter.
As to the historical element, considerable space is allotted in the second,
more historical portion of the narrative to presenting the controversy between
Antioch and Cyprus over the issue of autocephaly as having been initiated by
the “sinister figure” of the miaphysite Peter the Fuller (ca. 469–488). He, once
established in the patriarchal see of Antioch, anathematized the Council of
Chalcedon and reclaimed all the previous rights of his patriarchate. The ensu-
ing discovery of the apostle’s grave and relics, brought about thanks to the reve-
latory dreams of the bishop of Salamis, is the necessary precursor to the Church
of Cyprus being granted autocephalic status by the emperor Zeno (474–491) in
a synod held in Constantinople.11 The manuscript copy of St. Matthew’s Gospel
found with St. Barnabas’s relics is given to the emperor as a present and, in the
author’s words, “has been kept in the imperial palace until the present day.”12
The wording suggests that the monk Alexander and his composition belong to
a period somewhat later than these events, which nevertheless, as has convinc-
ingly been argued,13 cannot be far removed from the mid-sixth century. As can
10 The passage reads as follows: ἐκεῖθεν, ὑπὸ τοῦ ἁγίου Πνεύματος ὁδηγούμενος,
ἐξελθών, διῆλθεν εὐαγγελιζόμενος τὰς πόλεις πάσας καὶ χώρας, ἕως τοῦ ἐλθεῖν αὐτὸν εἰς τὴν
μεγίστην Ῥώμην· αὐτὸς γὰρ πρὸ παντὸς ἑτέρου τῶν τοῦ Κυρίου μαθητῶν ἐκήρυξεν ἐν Ρώμῃ τὸ
εὐαγγέλιον τοῦ Χριστοῦ; see vv. 365–69; Van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 98.
11 For the historical circumstances which laid the groundwork for the grant of autocephaly
to the Church of Cyprus see, inter alia, Glanville Downey, “The Claim of Antioch to Ecclesiasti-
cal Jurisdiction over Cyprus,” APSP 102/3 (1958): 224–228; Enrico Morini, “Apostolicità ed au-
tocefalia in una Chiesa orientale: la leggenda di S. Barnaba e l’autonomia dell’arcevescovato di
Cipro nelle fonti dei secoli V e VI,” Studi e Ricerche sull’Oriente Cristiano 2 (1979): 23–45; Bene-
dict Englezakis, “Epiphanius of Salamis, the Father of the Cypriot Autocephaly,” in Studies on
the History of the Church of Cyprus, 4th–20th Centuries, ed. Benedict Englezakis, trans. Norman
Russell (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1995), 29–39; Andreas Mitsides, “Τὸ Αὐτοκέφαλον τῆς Ἐκκλησίας
Κύπρου,” in History of Cyprus, vol. 3: Byzantine Cyprus, ed. Theodoros Papadopoullos, (Nico-
sia: Archbishop Makarios III Foundation, Office of Cypriot History, 2005), 129–54; and David
M. Metcalf, Byzantine Cyprus 491–1191 (Nicosia: Cyprus Research Centre, 2009), 308–10.
12 See v. 815–816 (Van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 118).
13 For a pertinent analysis undertaken by Michel van Esbroeck of another text by the same
Alexander, the Treatise on the Invention of the Holy Cross, see “L’opuscule sur la croix d’Al-
exandre de Chypre et sa version géorgienne,” Bedi Kartlisa. Revue de la kartvélologie 37 (1979):
102–21. This mid-sixth-century dating was accepted also by the text’s editor, van Deun, Hagio-
graphica Cypria, 14–21. While considering that its date is not indicative of the time when this
author was active per se, John W. Nesbitt, the translator of this work into English, also con-
siders Alexander a sixth-century author; see “Alexander the Monk’s Text of Helena’s Discov-
ery of the Cross (BHG 410),” in Byzantine Authors: Literary Activities and Preoccupations; Text
and Translations Dedicated to the Memory of Nicolas Oikonomides, ed. John W. Nesbitt (Leiden:
Brill, 2003), 29–33. For another English translation of the same text see Roger Scott, “Alexander
the Monk, Discovery of the True Cross,” in, Metaphrastes or Gained in Translation, ed. Marga-
be inferred from its patristic excerpts and other elements, the Laudatio is cer-
tainly a learned endeavor. It is perhaps the single piece of hagiography written
in late antique Cyprus that appears to have aspired to appeal to an audience be-
yond the locals.
Should the mid-sixth-century dating of the Laudatio prove correct (and there
are no serious arguments against it), it may be legitimately asked what triggered
the commissioning of this hagiography. What was happening during the reign of
Justinian, in, say, the 540s or 550s, that prompted its composition? Unlike all the
other texts dedicated to local saints, this is a work totally devoid of anti-pagan
polemic. In addition, the Laudatio was very concerned to emphasize the strong
ties of its founder with Salamis, which served as the focus of his missionary-
apostolic activity on the island and the epicenter of his post mortem cult. This
focus, of course, serves to support contemporaneous arguments for the auto-
cephaly of the Church of Cyprus.
Several details of the Laudatio indicate this recurring concern about Bar
nabas’s missionary-apostolic activity at Salamis in particular and the usefulness
of this story for supporting the Cypriot church’s autocephaly. One example is
found at the end of the second section of the text, where Alexander gives the
date of the annual commemoration of Barnabas in three different dating sys-
tems: the first according to the Romans, the second according to the Cypriot
citizens of Constantia-Salamis, and the third according to the Asians, namely
the Paphians.14 Listing the latter two dating systems indicates regional rivalry,
if not hostility. The author implicitly discredits the way in which the other bish-
oprics attempt to settle the Cypriot claim to autocephaly, and assigns this suc-
cess exclusively to the see of Salamis. A second example, found in a digression
that the author inserts into his narrative at the point where he makes detailed
reference to Peter the Fuller, also reveals an agenda regarding Barnabas and the
priority of Salamis’s bishopric. Alexander reproaches “those among us” (ἐκ τῶν
ἡμετέρων) who unscrupulously accept “this novelty,” meaning the introduction
of the words “the crucified for our sake” (ὁ δι’ ἡμᾶς σταυρωθεὶς) at the end of
the Trisagion hymn. For all its vagueness, this reference to “us,” repeated to-
wards the end of this digression, seems to hint at a part of the Cypriot popula-
ret Mullett (Belfast: Belfast Byzantine Enterprises, 2004), 157–84; Scott opts for a dating of this
work before 614, see Scott, “Alexander the Monk,” 158. For a dating of the Laudatio between 518
and 648, see Marek Starowieyski, “Datation des Actes (Voyages) de S. Barnabé (BHG 225; ClAp
285) et du Panégyrique de S. Barnabé par Alexandre le Moine (BHG 226; CPG 7400; ClAp 286),”
in Philohistôr: Miscellanea in honorem Caroli Laga septuagenarii, ed. Antoon Schoors and Peter
van Deun (Leuven: Peeters, 1994), 193–98.
14 See v. 844–850 (Van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 120): τὴν δὲ ἡμέραν τῆς ἐνδόξου
μνήμης τοῦ τρισμακαρίου ἀποστόλου καὶ γενναίου μάρτυρος Βαρνάβα ἐδικαίωσαν γίνεσθαι
καθ’ ἑνιαυτόν, κατὰ μὲν Ῥωμαίους τῇ πρὸ τριῶν εἰδῶν Ἰουνίων, κατὰ δὲ Κυπρίους Κωνσταντιεῖς
μηνὶ Μεσωρὶ τοῦ καὶ δεκάτου ἑνδεκάτῃ, κατὰ δὲ Ἀσιανοὺς ἤτοι Παφίους μηνὶ Πληθυπάτῳ τοῦ
καὶ ἐννάτου ἐννεακαιδεκάτῃ.
tion which sided with the “heresy” and which disputed the primacy of the see
of Barnabas.15
St. Herakleidios and St. Auxibios: Localizing Hagiography
Similarly, it is worth looking at some other hagiographical texts from late antique
Cyprus which, for all their poverty of historical veracity, invite us to investigate
not just their surface but their underlying argument and message. The lengthiest
is an apocryphal account referring to St. Herakleidios, bishop of Tamassos and
a disciple of St. Barnabas (BHG 743).16 It is presented as the work of the saint’s
legendary disciple Rhodon. In his words, he took on the task of writing it at the
behest of a certain holy father Theodore and in line with the hypomnēmata of
their common father-in-Christ, St. Mnason, apparently St. Paul’s host and dis-
ciple in Palestine mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles (21:16).17 Hypomnēmata
is a technical term exclusively used in association with the apostles and their
biographies.18 This terminology is especially interesting since the text takes the
form of a travelogue, resembling the narrative of the Acts of the Apostles, but de-
scribing journeys restricted to the island.
Despite having the usual title of Life and Conduct (Βίος καὶ πολιτεία) in the
codex unicus in which it has been preserved (Parisinus gr. 979), this text does
not follow the normal biographical model, but unfolds as a continuous first-per-
son account introduced in medias res and filled with dialogues, many personal
names, and toponyms. The concatenation of successive miraculous stories filled
15 See vv. 639–664 (Van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 110–11): ἐνταῦθα δὲ γενόμενος τοῦ
λόγου, ἡδέως ἂν ἐροίμην τοὺς ἐκ τῶν ἡμετέρων ἀβασανίστως παραδεξαμένους τὴν καινοτομίαν
ταύτην, ἁπλότητι λογισμοῦ καὶ οὐ κακίᾳ γνώμης. Τίνος χάριν, ἀδελφοί μου, καταλιπόντες ἐν
τούτῳ τῷ μέρει τὴν τῶν πατέρων ὀρθόδοξον διδασκαλίαν, τὴν ἐφευρεθεῖσαν ὑπὸ τῶν αἱρετικῶν
καινοτομίαν κατεδέξασθε.
16 Edition of the Greek text by François Halkin, “Les actes apocryphes de saint Héraclide
de Chypre disciple de S. Barnabé,” AnBoll 82 (1964): 133–69; edition of the Armenian text by
Michel van Esbroeck, “Les actes arméniens de saint Héraclide de Chypre,” AnBoll 103 (1985):
115–62. Van Esbroeck argues in favor of the priority of the Armenian legend, which must have
drawn on an earlier Greek model: see Esbroeck, “Les actes arméniens,” 118–23. Notably, in the
Armenian version Heraklides is introduced as a former priest of idols: Esbroeck, “Les actes ar-
méniens,” 128–29.
17 No biography of St. Mnason survives; a brief entry can be found in the Synaxarion of
Constantinople on Oct. 19: see Hippolyte Delehaye, Synaxarium Ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae,
Acta Sanctorum, Propylaeum ad Acta Sanctorum Novembris (Brussels: Apud Socios Bollandia-
nos, 1902), col. 150.
18 For attestations of this term and an inquiry into its meaning see Elisabeth Schiffer,
“Ὑπόμνημα als Bezeichnung hagiographischer Texte,” in Wiener Byzantinistik und Neogräzistik.
Beiträge zum Symposium Vierzig Jahre Institut für Byzantinistik und Neogräzistik der Universität
Wien. Wissenschaftliches Symposion im Gedenken an Herbert Hunger (4.–7.12.2002), ed. W. Hö-
randner et al. (Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2004), 397–407.
with violence consistently conveys the impression of a Cyprus in the process of

conversion from paganism to Christianity. The saint confronts the followers of
the old gods, though he does not always succeed in effecting their conversion.
What is more, he faces a great deal of hostility and, as a result, is forced to move
from one place to another. The author reserves a whole section in the narrative
for Paphos,19 where the holy man’s mission met with failure; yet he refrains from
going into details about this, contenting himself instead with offering snapshots
of the antique world, such as the young girls with loose hair Herakleidios en-
countered at Kourion, perhaps an allusion to the phenomenon of ritual prostitu-
tion.20 These local allusions present a complete contrast with the usual narratives
of the lives of Christian holy men, whose activity is generally set in an utterly nat-
ural, quasi-biblical environment. In this text, instead, the author conjures local
details: the saint and his disciples dwell in a cave on the outskirts of Tamassos, re-
side by the fountains, and – once Herakleidios has become a bishop – baptize in
the island’s river water. These elements implicitly conjure up the idea of a Cyprus
on the borderline between the ancient and the new world and an island divided
in two: the one part receptive to Christian teaching, the other stony ground for
the new religion.
In keeping with the Bollandists’ scholarly tradition, which was primarily con-
cerned with proving and disproving the historicity of saints, François Halkin cast
serious doubts on the existence of this martyr-bishop who, as a follower of the
apostle founder of the Church of Cyprus, twice receives a passing mention in the
Acts of St. Barnabas (BHG 225).21 There is no doubt that, having been portrayed
as an apostolic figure in the sense of a missionary and a wonderworker, Hera
kleidios is inscribed in the apocryphal/hagiographical tradition of St. Barnabas
in order to bolster the authority of the church of Salamis-Constantia and, by ex-
tension, that of his see of Tamassos too.
The same tenets prevail in the much more realistic reconstruction of Cyprus
in the apostolic age as it emerges from the Life of St. Auxibios (BHG 204), which
19 Reference to Paphos starts with a passage which looks corrupt; ch. 7, Van Deun, Hagio-
graphica Cypria, 147. It continues in a longer, though still relatively short, one; ch. 9, Van Deun,
Hagiographica Cypria, 151.
20 See ch. 9, Van Deun, Hagiographica Cypria, 151–52: εἶπε πρὸς Μνάσωνα ὁ πατὴρ
Ἡρακλείδιος· “Δῶμεν αὐτοῖς (i. e., the Paphians) τὸ λουτρὸν τῆς ζωῆς.” Γεναμένης δὲ πάσης
τῆς ἀποκρίσεως, ἐβαπτίσθησαν ἄνδρες ὡσεὶ ιε΄. Εἷς δὲ ἐξ αὐτῶν τὴν χεῖραν ἔχων ξηρὰν ὑγιὴς
ἐγένετον. Τῶν δὲ πολιτῶν ἀκουσάντων τὸ γεγονός, ἐλθόντες πλήθει ἐδίωξαν ἡμᾶς ἀπὸ τὸν
τόπον ἐκεῖνον. Καὶ ἤλθαμεν ἐν τόπῳ Κουρίῳ· καὶ δὴ εἰσελθόντες, ἦσαν λυσίκομαι κόραι
τρέχουσαι καὶ πλήθη πολλά. Λαβὼν δὲ ἡμᾶς ὁ ὅσιος πατὴρ Ἡρακλείδιος ἐξήλθαμεν ἐκεῖθεν.
21 See chs. 17 and 22, ed. R. A. Lipsius and M. Bonnet, Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha, vol.
2, part 2 (Leipzig: Apud Herrmannum Mendelssohn, 1903), 298 and 300. It will suffice to cite
the following words at the end of his introduction: “si l’autorité d’un apocryphe du Ve siècle ne
suffit manifestement pas pour garantir l’apostolicité du saint évêque, elle ne suffit pas davan-
tage pour démontrer qu’il a jamais existé;” Halkin, “Les actes apocryphes de saint Héraclide de
Chypre,” 138.
we owe to a Cypriot hagiographer writing in the first half of the seventh centu-
ry.22 Various intratextual references point to a dating in the first half of the sev-
enth century. As shown by its editor Jacques Noret, the Life displays quite a few
borrowings from the Life of St. Epiphanios (BHG 596–597) and the Life of St. Mal-
chos (BHG 1015–1016), the latter a Greek reworking of the homonymous work by
St. Jerome.23
St. Auxibios is referred to as a contemporary of St. Barnabas as well as of Her-
akleides, Archbishop of Cyprus, and St. Mark. The beginning of the biography
of St. Auxibios harks back to the similar stories of St. Alexios Homo Dei and of
St. John Kalybites (the Hut-Dweller), as Auxibios too escapes from home and
his pagan parents in Rome to travel to the East. After stopping off at Rhodes and
sailing off Pamphylia, he disembarks at Limnetes, a village four miles from Soloi.
Thereupon he meets in quick succession St. Mark, Timon, and Rhodon, all three
hiding from the Jews. To Mark’s question, “Which town do you originate from?”
Auxibios readily replies: “From the great city of Rome and I came here to become
a Christian.” There follows his baptism by St. Mark, his ordination, his initiation
into preaching the Gospel, and, most significantly, some counselling as to how to
cope with the inhabitants of Soloi, a city that, according to the story, appears to
have been the last bastion of pagan religion on the island. In what follows in the
rest of his biography, which thereafter unfolds exclusively in Cyprus, the saintly
bishop takes up the task of preaching and the evangelization of his see, which,
unlike in previous cases, proves altogether successful. Despite the author’s insis-
tence that the saint actively won over the enemies of the faith, the transition from
paganism to Christianity seems to have been affected without much opposition.
However, what is most noteworthy in this piece of hagiography is that we dis-
cern a new, more reconciliatory, approach to the treatment of episcopal cities as
compared to the previous paradigm. We are thus told that, once St. Barnabas had
suffered a martyr’s death in Salamis, St. Paul sent two holy men, Epaphras and
Tychicos, to Herakleides, the archbishop of Cyprus, to take over the Christian
leadership of Paphos and Neapolis, respectively. The same Herakleides was en-
trusted with establishing Auxibios in the see of Soloi.24 We also hear of forty Pa-
phians suffering from demonic possession who left home to come to be healed
by the saint at Soloi.25 Evidently, a shift in perspective is visible in this recon-
struction, which brings together the episcopal sees in the East of the island and
22 Ed. Jacques Noret, Hagiographica Cypria: Vita sancti Auxibii, CCSG 26 (Turnhout: Bre-
pols, 1993), 177–202. For its dating see Noret, Hagiographica Cypria, 158; and, prior to that,
Noret, “L’expédition canadienne à Soli et ses résultats pour l’intelligence et la datation de la Vie
de S. Auxibe,” AnBoll 104 (1986): 445–52.
23 See Noret, Hagiographica Cypria, 163–66.
24 See ch. 13, Noret, Hagiographica Cypria, 184–85.
25 See ch. 16, Noret, Hagiographica Cypria, 199.
those in the West under the auspices of St. Paul and of St. Herakleides, who is
presented as St. Barnabas’s successor.
The Saints of Cyprus and their Categorization
In her short but important study of the “bishops and monks in the Byzantine
hagiography of Cyprus,” Vera von Falkenhausen divided saintly Cypriot bish-
ops into two categories: (a) bishops of the fourth and fifth centuries; and (b)
bishops of the apostolic age all of whose names – apart from one (that of Aux-
ibios) – appear in the canonical Acts of the Apostles as well as various apocry-
phal Acta.26 The dividing line is drawn chiefly on the basis of the ecclesiastical
affiliations of the saintly heroes and their links with the past apostolic age, on
the one hand, and the more historical Constantinian and post-Constantinian
age, on the other. Having so far dealt only with the latter, I shall devote some
words to the former.
The theme of the island’s conversion to Christianity is central in the Life of St.
Tychon, Bishop of Amathous (Ἀμαθούντων). In the introductory chapters of this
Life (BHG 1859), ascribed to St. John the Almsgiver, Patriarch of Alexandria, the
bishop confronts his pagan accusers but in far more adverse circumstances than
those encountered in earlier texts placed in the apostolic age.27 Tychon himself
is persecuted just as much as he persecutes the pagans. He baptizes the priestess
of Aphrodite and reintroduces viniculture into his bishopric, as if it were an un-
known practice. The description of this particular activity, which is portrayed as
being completely distinct from the cult of Bacchus, takes up considerable space
in the narrative for two reasons: on the one hand, it shows the spread of vinicul-
ture across the island,28 and, on the other, it establishes the ecumenical identity
of the wonderworker saint. Notably, Tychon’s biographer dates his death and
commemoration (16 June) using the three different dating systems that we en-
countered in the Laudatio of St. Barnabas, namely, according to the citizens of
Constantia, according to the Paphians, and according to the Romans.29
26 Vera von Falkenhausen, “Bishops and Monks in the Hagiography of Byzantine Cyprus,”
23–24.
27 Edited in Hermann Usener, Leben und Wunder des heiligen Tychon (Leipzig: Teubner,
1907), 111–49.
28 For the saint as a holy figure introducing viniculture to the island, see Ilias Anagnostakis,
“Noms de vignes et de raisins et techniques de vinification à Byzance. Continuité et rupture avec
la viticulture de l’antiquité tardive,” Food and History 11 (2003): 42–48.
29 See ch. 12, Usener, Leben und Wunder, 122–123: ἐν οὐ καιρῷ τῆς σταφυλῆς ἡ πανήγυρις
τῆς αὐτοῦ πανυμνήτου κοιμήσεως γίνεται· ἑξκαιδεκάτην γὰρ τοῦ δεκάτου μηνὸς κατὰ
Κωνσταντιέας ἐφίσταται, ὅτε Παφίων ὁ ἔνατος τέτταρας ἔχειν τὰς ἡμέρας πρὸς ταῖς εἴκοσι
λέγεται· Ῥωμαῖοι δὲ τοῦτον Ἰούνιον κατὰ τὴν Λατίνων φωνὴν ὀνομάζουσι. Καὶ δεκαέξ φέρειν
αὐτὸν καὶ αὐτοὶ τὰς ἡμέρας ψηφίζουσι.
Perhaps somewhat oddly, legendary elements also appear in the Life, or

rather Lives, of an eminent historical figure such as St. Epiphanios (BHG 596–
97). A former ascetic in Palestine, he sailed to Cyprus to visit St. Hilarion in his
anchorite’s cave in Paphos. Disregarding the prophetic advice of the famous as-
cetic, he tried to leave the island, but, forced by adverse winds, ended up in Sala-
mis, the city with which he would be eternally associated. He went on to be con-
secrated bishop by Pappos, who for no less than fifty-eight years had been the
bishop of Kythria, a “deplorable city,” in the words of Epiphanios’s biographer.30
The last work of hagiography that deserves attention comes from the dos-
sier of Spyridon of Trimithous, another bishop-saint of the Constantinian age.
His seventh-century biographer, Theodore of Paphos, a serious and learned au-
thor, gives an eye-witness report about how the saint was commemorated in his
church at Trimithous on 12 December 655, his anniversary day. We are told that,
because the saint’s vita was read aloud, the congregation was able to identify an
episode recounted in the text with a scene depicted on an icon found on an ap-
sidal door of the church, over the place where the holy relic of the saint lay. In-
terestingly, the story also tells that the archbishop of Crete happened to stop by
the island on his way from Alexandria to Constantinople and was present in the
panegyris of the church of the archbishop of Salamis-Constantia, and the story
also mentions some other local prelates such as the bishops of Trimithous, Kition
and Lapithos.31 The realistic terms with which a Cypriot bishop chose to speak
about a religious community from outside his own episcopal see contrast with
the allegorical approach and regionalism that prevailed in previous hagiograph-
ical literature. It no doubt points to a reconciliatory attitude, not different from
that which we discerned in the Vita Auxibius. As Theodore of Paphos must have
been writing around the year 655, this attitude probably also reflects the endan-
gered situation in which the island found itself after the 640s and the first Arab
devastations. This situation no doubt called for solidarity.
Conclusions
From the exiguous sample of texts commented on here, we can observe different
ways of promoting the apostolicity of the episcopal sees of Cyprus. There is not
one single model and the variety of versions is symptomatic of the overall signif-
icance of the idea of apostolicity in late antique and medieval times, which re-
lates to issues such as: claims of a higher status for patriarchal and episcopal sees,
separation and division of areas of influence, rapprochement of membra disiecta,
30 See PG 41, col. 68C: ἦν δέ τις τῶν ἐπισκόπων ὅσιος ἀνὴρ χειροτονηθεὶς ἀπὸ σημείων
κε΄ τῆς Σαλαμηνέων πόλεως ἐν πόλει οἰκτρᾷ Κυθρίᾳ καλουμένῃ … ἦν δὲ τὸ … ὄνομα αὐτοῦ
Πάππος.
31 See ch. 20, ed. Paul van den Ven, La légende de S. Spyridon, 88–90.
and conflation of traditions. Hagiography contributes to all of this with its lit-
erary elaboration of old and new legends, its reshuffling of certain apocryphal
stories, and its subtle codification of underlying tensions fleshed out by long-
lasting or temporary crises.
The texts briefly discussed here were not stricto sensu meant to serve the cult
of their subjects. Had they been predominantly designed for this end, they would
have surely accommodated more details about the places where these cults were
centered and have spoken extensively about the veneration of relics and its bene-
ficial results in the form of miraculous cures. None of these texts seem to foster
interest in pilgrimage or arouse the believers’ curiosity about a precise center of
cult. Despite the details it provides about the relics of the saint, the Laudatio of
St. Barnabas too has other priorities.
The cult of saints is a multi-faceted phenomenon with historical, religious,
social, and political dimensions. The anthropological perspective and the para-
digm that has gained much currency in recent scholarship will not necessarily
be instructive in studying the phenomenon in all areas of the late Roman Em-
pire.32 A survey of the hagiographies of late antique Cyprus has shown that the
island was a case apart, a conclusion confirmed by other factors too. The rela-
tively large number of bishoprics in proportion to the island’s size that came to
form the ecclesiastical κοινὸν τῶν Κυπρίων (twelve, later fifteen) was a clear sign
of a long-established and still flourishing urban culture and, as has been point-
ed out, the necessary prerequisite for claiming autocephaly.33 Though undoubt-
edly, as proof of the continuity between ancient and Christian Cyprus, this plu-
rality of cities and episcopal sees was the island’s trump card against the claims
of external ecclesiastical authorities, it was also a problem in itself. Autocephaly,
at first sight a victory for the bishop of Salamis and seemingly all thanks to the
new Barnabas legend, did not mean that the bishop could act autocratically but
simply increased his overall influence over the island’s churches. This increased
influence must have entailed the marginalization of Paphos, no doubt the his-
toric center for the reception of Christianity on the island, which for various
reasons had started losing its primacy and power in the course of the fourth cen-
32 The argument regarding the saint being the mediator between the powerful and the weak
in society was first launched by Peter Brown in his seminal article, “The Rise and Function of the
Holy Man in Late Antiquity,” JRS 61 (1971): 80–101; reprinted with updated footnotes in idem,
Society and the Holy in Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982), 103–52.
Subsequent studies have since applied this anthropological perspective to different areas of the
vast Roman empire: see, inter alia, Raymond Van Dam, Saints and their Miracles in Late Antique
Gaul (Princeton, NJ: 1993), and several contributions to James Howard-Johnston and Paul An-
tony Hayward, eds., The Cult of Saints in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages. Essays on the
Contributions of Peter Brown (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999).
33 Evangelos Chrysos, “Cyprus in Early Byzantine Times,” in The Sweet Land of Cyprus:
Papers Given at the Twenty-Fifth Jubilee Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, Birmingham,
ed. Anthony A. M. Bryer and George S. Georghallides (Nicosia: Cyprus Research Centre; Birm-
ingham: University of Birmingham, 1993), 5.
tury. Its decline in terms of the ecclesiastical hierarchy and otherwise is clearly
illustrated in such texts as the Laudatio of Barnabas and the Life of Herakleidios.
This new fifth-century ecclesiastical landscape cried out for new alliances
and shifts in perspectives. The apostolic origins of the principal sees had to be
brought out, and hagiography had by then become a common channel for filter-
ing and disseminating all kinds of legends. The elites of episcopal sees entered
into a competition which favored a type of hagiography which was in essence
allegorical; revisiting the past through the lens of current issues, in light of these
important agendas, the cult of bishop saints was enacted or reenacted outlining
a precise sacred geography for Cyprus. This was a hagiography that could be
adapted to suit each particular see and the claims made on its behalf.
The Representation and Memory of Saints Paul,
Barnabas, Epiphanios, and Others on Wall Paintings
of Byzantine and Medieval Cyprus
Cyprus not only represents the border of Europe to the East, but it is also the
gate to the East for Europe. Geography has deeply influenced the history of Cy-
prus.1 Its geographical location, at the center of the eastern Mediterranean Sea
and only a small distance from the coasts of Syria, Palestine, Israel, Egypt, and
Asia Minor, was an important factor for the spread of Christianity.2 The influen-
tial Jewish communities that lived on the island, and mainly in Salamis, played
some part in the communication between and in the transport of the first Chris-
tians. Acts 11:19 seems to suggest as much when it states: “Now those who were
scattered because of the persecution that arose over Stephen traveled as far as
Phoenicia and Cyprus and Antioch, speaking the word to none except Jews.”
Hagiographic evidence associated with Cypriot saints has been introduced by
Stephanos Eftymiadis in the present volume. This chapter surveys iconographic
evidence in wall paintings for honoring of various apostles and saints in Cyprus,
from the earliest time period of the Acts of the Apostles and other literature in
the Christian Testament up to the twentieth century.
Traditions of Lazarus and Andrew

Cypriot Christianity associates several disciples or apostles with the island.
Traditions about Lazarus, the friend of Christ who was raised from the dead
(John 11), say that he was later consecrated as the first bishop of Kition and that
he came to Cyprus during the first persecutions. According to tradition, Lazarus
was visited by the Virgin Mary herself en route to Mount Athos.3
1 André Guillou, “Ιστορικογεωγραφική εισαγωγή (Δʹ-ΙΒʹ αιών),” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου,
vol. III, Βυζαντινή Κύπρος, ed. Theodoros Papadopoullos (Nicosia: Archbishop Makarios III
Foundation, 2005), 1–22.
2 Christos K. Oikonomou, Οι απαρχές του Χριστιανισμού στην Κύπρο (Nicosia: Archbish-
opric of Cyprus, 1991) and Oikonomou, “Η εισαγωγή του Χριστιανισμού και η θεμελίωση της
Κυπριακής Εκκλησίας,” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου, vol. III, Βυζαντινή Κύπρος, ed. Theodoros Papa-
dopoullos (Nicosia: Archbishop Makarios III Foundation, 2005), 23–105.
3 This tradition is mentioned by the Greek ecclesiastic and writer Damaskinos Stoudi-
226 Marina Solomidou-Ieronymidou and Giorgos Philotheou
Among the apostles, Cypriots long ago sought to indicate that Andrew must
have had a special relationship with Cyprus. Although there is no direct written
evidence that he visited Cyprus, there is a persistent local tradition in the Church
of Cyprus that Andrew came to the island at least as a traveler. In the eastern part
of Cyprus in the Karpasia peninsula, a famous center of pilgrimage (monastery)
is dedicated to Andrew, and a nearby spring on the rocks by the sea is linked to
Andrew’s passage. Saint Andrew appears on a mosaic medallion, amongst other
apostles, that until 1974 decorated the arch of the sanctuary of the sixth-century
Panagia Kanakaria church at Lythrankomi in the Karpasia peninsula.4 During
the Frankish period he appears in the painted decoration of many churches in a
place of honor, on his own, in a row of saints. This most likely reflects the hon-
ors attributed to Andrew during the Frankish period, also supported by the fact
that there is a chapel at the Apostolos Andreas Monastery dedicated in his name
with prominent Gothic elements that is considered to be the oldest architectural
phase of the monastery.
In hagiography and Cypriot tradition, Barnabas played an important role in
the Christianization of Cyprus. According to one interpretation of Acts, Bar
nabas, Paul, and Mark perhaps arrived in Salamis (Acts 13:4–5) around 46 CE. In
Cyprus, they travelled from east to west until Paphos, where Acts portrays even
the Roman proconsul embracing Christianity. After the disagreement between
Barnabas and Paul, the apostles went their separate ways: Barnabas and Mark
returned to Cyprus, while Paul and Silas fled to Syria and Cilicia (Acts 15:36–41).
According to apocryphal Acts of Barnabas5 (fourth century) and Ἐγκώμιον
(Laudatio) to Saint Barnabas by the Cypriot monk Alexander6 (sixth century),
Barnabas and Mark continued to assist in the spread of the Christian faith, and
tis (sixteenth century), see Damaskinos Stouditis, “Λόγος εἰς τὴν ἔγερσιν τοῦ Λαζάρου,” in
Θησαυρὸς Δαμασκηνοῦ τοῦ ὑποδιακόνου καὶ Στουδίτου τοῦ Θεσσαλονικέως (Thessaloniki: Vas.
Rigopoulou, 1983), 81–97, esp. 96–97. According to modern Cypriot historiography, this tradi-
tion also refers to an Athonite manuscript of the eighteenth century and to a nineteenth-cen-
tury Russian reference. Regarding modern Cypriot historiography’s sources on this topic, see
Charalampos G. Chotzakoglou, “Ὁ Ἅγιος Λάζαρος, οἱ μαρτυρίες γιὰ τὸν βίο του καὶ ἡ σχέση
του μὲ τὸ Κίτιον, Ξαναδιαβάζοντας τὶς πηγές,” Κυπριακαὶ Σπουδαὶ 66 (2002): 33–42. See more
discussion of Lazarus below.
4 A. H. S. Megaw and E. J. W. Hawkins, The Church of the Panagia Kanakaria at Lythranko-
mi in Cyprus: Its Mosaics and Frescoes, Dumbarton Oaks Studies 14 (Washington: Dumbarton
Oaks, 1977), 42–43, plates 53, 55, 141.
5 R. Al Lipsius and M. Bonnet, eds., Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha: Acta Philippi et acta Tho-
mae accedunt Acta Barnabae, vol. 2.2 (Leipzig: Mendelssohn, 1903; repr. Darmstadt: Wissen-
schaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1959), 292–302 (301, § 24).
6 Peter van Deun, ed., Hagiographica Cypria: Sancti Barnabae Laudatio auctore Alexan-
dro Monacho et Sanctorum Bartholomaei et Barnabae Vita e menologio imperiali deprompta,
CCSG 26 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1993), 83–122 (esp. 105–106). For collected information on Apos-
tle Barnabas’s life, acts and his death, see Archimandrite Photios Ioakeim, Οἱ ἅγιοι μάρτυρες καὶ
ὁμολογητὲς τῆς Ἐκκλησίας τῆς Κύπρου κατὰ τοὺς πρώτους χριστιανικοὺς αἰῶνες (1ος–5ος αἰ.)
(Thessaloniki: Ostracon Publishing, 2017), 93–141, see 126–27 n. 125.
The Representation and Memory of Saints Paul, Barnabas, Epiphanios, and Others 227
Barnabas encountered a martyr’s death in Salamis and was buried in a cave lo-
cated west of it. Today, he is considered the founder and patron of the Apostolic
Autocephalous Church of Cyprus. Given the authority associated with Barnabas,
one would expect his image to dominate all the iconography in the churches
of Cyprus, but this is not the case. Unfortunately, the decoration of the church
that is built on the ruins of the early Christian basilica which was built next to
the tomb of the apostle Barnabas is completely destroyed. Nonetheless, many
churches still preserve his image, such as the Church of Panagia Phorbiotissa,
Asinou, near Nikitari (1105/6), the Church of Holy Apostles at Pera Chorio, Lef-
kosia District (1060–1080), and the Church of Panagia tou Arakos at Lagoudera
(before 1192). In these churches, he occupies an important place in the sanctuary,
next to Saint Epiphanios. In the katholikon of the Monastery of Antiphonitis in
Kalogrea his figure appears in the nave (late fifteenth century).
Yet, in other Cypriot churches, the apostle Barnabas’s position in the iconog-
raphy is not as consistently deployed, in comparison with other Cypriot bishops
such as Epiphanios, Spyridon, and Herakleidios. There is only one case, in the
conch of the sanctuary of the katholikon of the Monastery of Timios Stavros tou
Agiasmati in Platanistasa (1494), where Barnabas appears as an officiating hier-
arch along with Epiphanios, Triphyllios, Spyridon, and Herakleidios.7 In con-
trast, in the narthex of the katholikon of the Monastery of Agios Nikolaos tis Ste-
gis in Kakopetria he is depicted as an apostle and not as a hierarch (thirteenth or
fourteenth century) (fig. 1, p. 306).
One of the most important facts directly linked to the apostle Barnabas is the
tradition of the discovery of his holy relics in 488 CE in Salamis by Archbishop
Anthemios of Cyprus, along with a manuscript of the Gospel of Matthew. These
were later transported to Constantinople and offered to the Emperor Zeno, who
granted the archbishop the three imperial privileges: to wear a red mantle, to
sign his name in cinnabar (a red ink), and to hold an imperial scepter. It was
through this act that the status of the Church of Cyprus as autocephalous was
confirmed,8 although the right had already been granted during the Third Ec-
umenical Council of Ephesus in 431 CE. Until the sixteenth century, the Church
of Cyprus was ranked in the Diptychs as the first Autocephalous Church after
the five patriarchates.9
7 Christos Argyrou and Diomidis Myrianthefs, The Church of the Holy Cross of Ayiasmati
(Nicosia: Bank of Cyprus Cultural Foundation, Bishopric of Morphou, 2006), 16; Chara Kon-
stantinidi, “Αρχιερατικά συλλείτουργα σε εκκλησίες της Κύπρου: Η απεικόνιση και η σύλληψη
του χρόνου,” Eikonostasion 7 (2016): 128–46, esp. 139.
8 Andreas Mitsides, “Το Αυτοκέφαλον της Εκκλησίας Κύπρου,” in Ιστορία της Κύπρου,
vol. III: Βυζαντινή Κύπρος, ed. Theodoros Papadopoullos (Nicosia: Archbishop Makarios III
Foundation, 2005), 129–54. See also the chapters by Young Kim and AnneMarie Luijendijk in
this volume.
9 On diptychs, see Robert F. Taft, Alexander Kazhdan, “Diptychs, Liturgical,” in The Oxford
The pictorial representation of this event in the history of the Church of Cy-
prus is not as well established in the iconographic programs of Byzantine and
post-Byzantine churches in Cyprus as one might expect, given its importance
to Cypriot history and authority and its direct links to the founder of Cypriot
Christianity, the apostle Barnabas. Iconography related to the story is found only
in an eighteenth-century wall painting in the cathedral of Saint John in Lefkosia,
which was the seat of the archbishop of Cyprus during the eighteenth century,
the Ottoman period. Another wall painting dating to the twentieth century at the
katholikon of the Monastery of Apostolos Barnabas in Salamis depicts the event,
but it is unknown if it had replaced an earlier, similar representation.
Barnabas’s Travel Companions
According to the Acts of the Apostles, Barnabas’s travel companion, Paul, fol-
lowed a completely different path after his separation from Barnabas. He under-
took longer journeys that established him as the “apostle to the gentiles.” In the
iconography of Cyprus and more broadly, he and the apostle Peter are consid-
ered the two great apostles;10 they are often depicted together on the central pil-
lars of churches. In the Church of the Holy Apostles in Perachorio (1060–1080)
Paul is depicted in the conch of the sanctuary along with the Virgin Mary in a
rare representation for the iconography of Cyprus.
Mark, although he is given considerable credit for contributing to the spread
of Christianity in Cyprus with his uncle Barnabas in the Acts of the Apostles, is
not particularly honored on the island. In extant iconography, he is presented as
one of the four evangelists, and is always positioned in one of the pendentives
under the dome. Up until 1974, he was also depicted in a medallion on the mo-
saic in the apse of the sixth-century Church of Panagia Kanakaria in Lythranko-
mi.11 Only one chapel – a chapel in ruins in the village of Giolou in Paphos Dis-
trict – is dedicated to his name.12
Dictionary of Byzantium, ed. Alexander Kazhdan, 3 vols. (New York: Oxford University Press,
1991), 1:637–38.
10 According to the tenth-century Synaxarion of Constantinople both saints are celebrated
together on 29 June, see Hippolyte Delehaye, ed., Synaxarium ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae e
codice Sirmondiano nunc Berolinensi. Propylaeum ad Acta Sanctorum Novembris (Brussels: Pol-
leunis & Ceuterick, 1902), 777–80.
11 Megaw and Hawkins, The Church of the Panagia Kanakaria, 45, plates 67, 68, and 140.
12 In his 1971 book on the history of the Paphos church, Ioannis Tsiknopoullos is the only
one who mentions ruins of the church dedicated to Saint Mark in Giolou. Recently, during con-
struction works for the erection of the new village church, an underground building was locat-
ed, confirming Tsiknopoullos’s references. See Ioannis Tsiknopoullos, Ἱστορία τῆς Ἐκκλησίας
Πάφου (Nicosia, n. p., 1971), 164, 166 (fig. 239). However, it was not possible to further inves-
tigate this building archaeologically or date it.
According to church fathers of the eighth century, John of Euboea and Theo-
doros Stouditis, Lazarus was consecrated as bishop in Cyprus after his resur-
rection.13 Lazarus is depicted as a hierarch in the conch of the sanctuary in the
Church of the Holy Apostles at Pera Chorio (1060–1080), in the sanctuary of
the Church of Panagia Phorbiotissa, Asinou (1105/6, subsequently covered by
a later apse), and in the narthex of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis, where he appears
much younger in age (early twelfth century). The most interesting representa-
tion of Lazarus is found in the sanctuary of the Church of Panagia tou Arakos
at Lagoudera (1192). In this wall painting, Lazarus appears bald, wearing epis-
copal vestments, and his appearance strongly resembles a funerary portrait. Ev-
idently the hagiographer wanted to offer a realistic depiction of a Lazarus who
was raised from the dead (fig. 2, p. 307).
Although there is no evidence that the apostle Silas passed through Cyprus,
he nonetheless has traditionally been connected to the island. A monastery in
ruins between Lemesos (Limassol) and Kourion is dedicated to Saint Silas. The
site is currently being excavated and the archaeological research conducted to
the present day has brought to light a basilica probably dating to the fifth centu-
ry. We believe that this research may in the future strengthen our understanding
about traditions relating Silas with Cyprus. In addition, a depiction of the apostle
Silas can be seen in the north parabema of the Church of Saint Herakleidios in
the Monastery of Agios Ioannis Lampadistis at Kalopanagiotis, where a bust of
him (ca. 1400) is depicted along with many of the seventy apostles.14
According to the fourth-century apocryphal Acts of Barnabas, attributed
to Mark, during Barnabas’s second visit to the island, Barnabas and Mark con-
secrated new bishops and thus established the Church of Cyprus.15 In Kition, as
mentioned earlier, they are said to have consecrated Lazarus, as well as Heraklei-
dios in Tamassos, Aristoklianos in Amathous, Philagrios in Kourion, Epaphras
in Paphos, Tychicos in Neapolis (Lemesos), and Auxibios in Soloi.
The apocryphal acts of Saint Herakleidios depict him as the Cypriot guide for
the apostles Barnabas and Mark during their second vist.16 According to tradi-
13 John of Euboea, “Εἰς τὸν τετραήμερον Λάζαρον,” AnBoll 68 (1950): 19–26, esp. 26; Theo-
doros Stouditis, “Kατήχησις 28, Περὶ τῆς κρατίστης διαγωγῆς ἡμῶν, ρηθεῖσα ἐν τῇ Ἑβδομάδι
τῶν Βαΐων,” Φιλοκαλία των νηπτικών και ασκητικών 18 (1996): 452–57 (esp. 456–57). The un-
derground tomb of Saint Lazarus is found in Larnaka, over which the Church of Saint Lazarus
was erected in 900 CE after a donation from Emperor Leo VI. For the Church of Saint Lazarus
see Athanasios Papageorghiou, “Ο ναός του Αγίου Λαζάρου στη Λάρνακα,” RDAC 33 (1998):
205–24. Also, Paraskevas S. Agathonos, Ο Άγιος Λάζαρος ο Τετραήμερος (Nicosia: Holy Church
of Saint Lazarus in Larnaka, 1997), and Stavros S. Fotiou, Saint Lazarus and his Church in Lar-
naca (Larnaka: Ecclesiastical Committee of the Holy Church of St. Lazarus, 2016).
14 In Greek: ἑβδομήκοντα. The title of the twelve apostles extended to other personages, in
this case to the seventy apostles. According to Luke 10:1–24, Jesus chose them and sent them out
in pairs into the world to preach the gospel.
15 See Lipsius and Bonnet, Acta Philippi et Acta Thomae accedunt Acta Barnabae, 292–302.
16 Saint Herakleidios is commemorated on September 17. For the liturgical service and an
tion, Herakleidios was baptized in the river Setrachos in the Marathasa valley. It
was on that location that the katholikon dedicated to Saint Herakleidios at the
Monastery of Agios Ioannis Lampadistis at Kalopanagiotis was built during the
tenth century. In this location, Herakleidios is depicted twice on the south side of
the north-west pier in frescoes of the thirteenth century and above the west en-
trance from narthex to nave in a fresco that dates to ca. 1400 (fig. 3, p. 308). He
is also represented in the sanctuaries of the katholikon of the fourteenth-century
Monastery of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis at Kakopetria, the Monastery of Panagia
tou Arakos at Lagoudera (before 1192) and the Monastery of Timios Stavros tou
Agiasmati at Platanistasa (1494). In Tamassos, a monastery dedicated to him was
built above his tomb.
Episcopal Saints
Saint Tychicos, Bishop of Neapolis, has a very important church dedicated to

his name that is located north of modern Lemesos (Limassol) and built above
the ruins of an early Christian basilica.17 Saint Tychicos is also depicted on a
wall painting in the Church of Panagia Phorbiotissa at Nikitari (1105/6) (fig. 4,
p. 309), on the narthex of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis at Kakopetria (early twelfth
century), and in the Church of Agios Sozomenos at Galata (1513).
The rest of the bishops, Saints Auxibios, Zenon, and Philagrios, are depicted
in medallions in the sanctuary of the Church of Panagia tou Arakos at Lagoudera
(before 1192) (fig. 5, p. 310), while in the conch of the sanctuary of the Church
of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis, Saints Auxibios and Zenon are depicted once again
in medallions (fourteenth century). Saint Auxibios, bishop of Soloi,18 holds a
special position, as he is often depicted as an officiating bishop, as is the case in
the Church of Panagia at Mοutοullas (1280). Representations of Epaphras, Phila-
extended bibliography see Theocharis Schizas, ed., Κύπρια Μηναία, vol. I (September) (Nicosia:
Archbishopric of Cyprus, 1994), 51–66. For the life of Saint Herakleidios see François Halkin,
“Les Actes apocryphes de saint Héraclide de Chypre, disciple de l’apôtre Barnabé,” AnBoll 82
(1964), 133–70. Also Georgios Kakkouras, “Άγιοι της μητροπολιτικής περιφέρειας Ταμασού και
Ορεινής,” in Ιερά Μητρόπολις Ταμασού και Ορεινής: Ιστορία – Μνημεία – Τέχνη, ed. K. Kokki-
noftas (Nicosia: Cultural Foundation of Bank of Cyprus and Holy Bishopric of Tamassou and
Oreines, 2012), 75–82.
17 Saint Tychicos is commemorated on 8 December. For the liturgical service and an ex-
tended bibliography see Theocharis Schizas, ed., Κύπρια Μηναία, vol. 4 (December) (Nicosia:
Archbishopric of Cyprus, 1997), 68–81.
18 Chariton Stavrovouniotes, “Οι Άγιοι της μητροπολιτικής περιφέρειας Μόρφου,” in Ιερά
Μητρόπολις Μόρφου: 2000 χρόνια τέχνης και αγιότητος (Nicosia: Cultural Foundation of Bank
of Cyprus, 2000), 207–28; Athanasios Papageorghiou, “Η επισκοπή Σόλων,” in Ιερά Μητρόπολις
Μόρφου: 2000 χρόνια τέχνης και αγιότητος (Nicosia: Cultural Foundation of Bank of Cyprus,
2000), 37–50.
grios, Zenon, and Ariston are found in the Church of Panagia Amasgou at Mon-
agri (late twelfth century).
Hierarchs Spyridon and Epiphanios
The hagiography of the Church of Cyprus is sealed by the presence of two prom-
inent hierarchs who were active in the fourth century: Saint Spyridon, bishop of
Tremithous, who lived between 270 and 348, and Saint Epiphanios, Archbishop
of Konstantia, who was born in 315 and died in 403, and was archbishop between
367/8 and 403. According to hagiographic tradition, Saint Spyridon, an illiterate
and humble farmer, became the bishop of Tremithous and shined with his pres-
ence at the First Ecumenical Council in Nicaea in 325 CE, in which he defended
trinitarian arguments against the alternate propositions of Arius.19 Benedict En-
glezakis reports the following on Saint Epiphanios: “During the forty years he
was high priest, Cyprus became, for the first time in its history, one of the most
important centers of the Christian world.”20
These two important saints, Spyridon and Epiphanios, are depicted in almost
all the churches in Cyprus. In the Church of Panagia tou Arakos at Lagoude-
ra (before 1192) the hagiographer painted Barnabas and Epiphanios between
the triple window of the sanctuary and further down he painted Spyridon in a
medallion. The representation of these two important Saints continued uninter-
ruptedly in all iconographic programmes of the churches of Cyprus until the
Ottoman period. One such example is the Cathedral of Saint John in Lefkosia
(Nicosia), dated to the eighteenth century.
In the iconography of the twelfth century, Saint Spyridon is typically repre-
sented in a medallion in the sanctuary; examples include the Church of Pan-
agia Phorbiotissa, Asinou, near Nikitari (1105/6), the Church of Agios Nikolaos
tis Stegis at Kakopetria (fourteenth century) (fig. 6, p. 311) and the Church of
the Holy Apostles at Pera Chorio (1060–1080). In the Church of Panagia tou
Arakos he is depicted in a medallion in the conch of the sanctuary (before 1192)
under the triple window along with saints Barnabas and Epiphanios, while in the
Church of Panagia Amasgou at Monagri (1564) he is depicted in the niche of the
triple window. Most of the time, however, Saint Spyridon is depicted as an offici-
19 Saint Spyridon is commemorated on 12 December. For the liturgical service and an ex-
tended bibliography see Κύπρια Μηναία, vol. 4 (December), 93–112. For the life of Saint Spyri-
don see Paul van den Ven, La légende de S. Spyridon, évêque de Trimithonte (Leuven: Publica-
tions universitaires, 1953), 1–103.
20 Benedict Englezakis, “Επιφάνιος Σαλαμίνος, πατήρ του Κυπριακού Αυτοκεφάλου,”
in Είκοσι μελέται διά την Εκκλησίαν της Κύπρου (Athens: National Bank of Greece Cultural
Foundation, 1996), 60; see also discussions by Young Richard Kim and Andrew Jacobs in this
volume.
ating hierarch, as in the case of the Church of Archangelos Michael at Pedoulas

(1474) and the Church of Panagia Amasgou at Monagri.21
In the Church of Archangelos Michael or Panagia Theotokos at Galata
(1514),22 and in the Church of Panagia Chrysokourdaliotissa at Kourdali (early
sixteenth century),23 Saint Spyridon is shown performing his famous miracle
with a tile, where the saint takes a clay tile in his left hand and holds it tight, fire
rises up in the air, water pours to the ground whilst the clay remains in his hand.
This miracle is said to have occurred during the First Ecumenical Council in Ni-
caea (325), a narrative intended to prove his defense of the consubstantiality of
the Trinity. However, this is probably a later folk narrative that was invented dur-
ing the Frankish period in Cyprus and passed on to the iconography in the late
fifteenth or early sixteenth century.24 Spyridon continued to have an important
role as officiating hierarch together with Epiphanios until the Ottoman period in
Cyprus, as shown in the Cathedral of Saint John in Lefkosia (Nicosia), which to
this day is the seat of the archbishops of Cyprus. A special place in the hagiogra-
phy and iconographical programmes of Cyprus is the unique representation of
the daughter of Spyridon, Irene, which is located in the narthex of the Church of
Panagia Phorbiotissa, Asinou at Nikitari (1333).
Saint Epiphanios is represented as the officiating hierarch in almost all the
iconographic programmes of the sanctuary of the churches of Cyprus.25 Some
examples include the Church of Panagia at Moutoullas (1280) (fig. 7, p. 312)
along with Saint Auxibios, the Church of Archangelos Michael at Pedoulas
(1474), the Church of Timios Stavros at Pelendri, the Church of Panagia Chryso-
kourdaliotissa at Kourdali, and many other churches in Cyprus. Particular atten-
tion must be drawn to the representation of Saint Epiphanios in the Church of
Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis at Kakopetria as the officiating Hierarch in the conch
of the sanctuary (fourteenth century), and in the narthex next to the main en-
trance where he is depicted with Basil the Great (end of the twelfth century). The
hagiographer apparently wants to demonstrate Epiphanios’s importance, since
the saint is depicted in the main entrance of the church opposite Saint Basil the
Great.
21 Andreas Stylianou and Judith A. Stylianou, The Painted Churches of Cyprus: Treasures of
Byzantine Art, 2nd ed. (Nicosia: The A. G. Leventis Foundation, 1997), 244, fig. 138.
22 Stylianou and Stylianou, The Painted Churches, 93, fig. 41.
23 Stylianou and Stylianou, The Painted Churches, 148, fig. 76.
24 This miracle is only mentioned by the Cretan monk Agapios Landos (seventeenth cen-
tury). See Ioanna Bitha, “Παρατηρήσεις στον εικονογραφικό κύκλο του αγίου Σπυρίδωνα,”
Δελτίον της Χριστιανικής Αρχαιολογικής Εταιρείας 19 (1996–1997): 251–84, esp. 275.
25 Saint Epiphanios is commemorated on 12 May. See Theocharis Schizas, ed., Κύπρια
Μηναία, vol. 7 (May) (Nicosia: Archbishopric of Cyprus, 2000), 78–94.
Saints Triphyllios, Philon, Tychon, and Nikon
Other important ecclesiastical personalities of the fourth century were Saints

Triphyllios, Philon, Tychon, and Nikon. Saint Triphyllios, the bishop of Ledra
(present-day Lefkosia) and a disciple of Saint Spyridon,26 is depicted in a medal-
lion in the conch of the sanctuary in the Church of Panagia Phorbiotissa, Asinou
near Nikitari (1105/6), in the Church of Panagia tou Arakos at Lagoudera (before
1192) and in the Church of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis at Kakopetria (fourteenth
century) (fig. 8, p. 312). Philon was the disciple of Saint Epiphanios and bish-
op of Karpasia,27 and he is depicted on an eleventh-century wall painting in the
sanctuary of the Church of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis (fig. 9, p. 313). Saint Epi
phanios also consecrated Tychon as the bishop of Amathous after 367; he is rep-
resented in a medallion in the conch of the katholikon of the Monastery of Agios
Nikolaos tis Stegis (fourteenth century). He is also depicted as an officiating hi-
erarch in the conch of the katholikon of the Monastery of Panagia tou Arakos at
Lagoudera (before 1192). Makedonios, bishop of Tamassos, who signed the Acts
of the Synod of Serdica (Sophia) in 343, is also depicted in the same church in a
medallion in the conch. Saint Nikon is depicted in the sanctuary of the Church
of Panagia Phorbiotissa, Asinou near Nikitari (1105/6) and of the Church of Pan-
agia tou Arakos at Lagoudera (before 1192). He was the bishop of Arsinoe, which
is known today as Polis Chrysochou, and he lived in the late fourth and begin-
ning of the fifth century. Even though Saint Nikon is not mentioned at all in the
synaxaria, he is referred to by Saint Neophytos the Recluse.28
Hierarchs and Saints Together
We should emphasize here the particular importance in Cypriot hagiography of

the wall paintings of the katholikons of the Monasteries of Panagia Phorbiotis-
sa Asinou near Nikitari, Panagia tou Arakos in Lagoudera (fig. 10, p. 313) and
Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis in Kakopetria (fig. 11, p. 314). They depict a panorama
of Cypriot saints, visually representing the apostolicity of the Church of Cyprus.
An even more comprehensive composition is that in Lagoudera, where Epipha-
nios, Barnabas, Spyridon, and Demetrianos are depicted in prominent positions,
and Zenon, Nikon, Philagrios, Auxibios, Herakleidios, Makedonios, and Tri-
26 Saint Triphyllios is commemorated on 13 June. See Theocharis Schizas, ed., Κύπρια

Μηναία, vol. 8 (June) (Nicosia: Archbishopric of Cyprus, 2000), 95–112.
27 Saint Philon is commemorated on 24 January. See Theocharis Schizas, ed., Κύπρια
Μηναία, vol. 5 (January) (Nicosia: Archbishopric of Cyprus, 2000), 46–59.
28 Saint Neophytos the Recluse, “ Ἐγκώμιο στὸν ἅγιο Ἀρκάδιο Ἀρσινόης,” in Ἁγίου
Νεοφύτου τοῦ Ἐγκλείστου, Συγγράμματα, vol. III (Paphos: Holy, Royal and Stavropegic Monas-
tery of Saint Neophytos, 1999), 302–16 (14:13, 17, 19).
fyllios are depicted in seven medallions. Amongst the officiating hierarchs, the
Cypriot saints Tychon and John the Merciful, bishop of Alexandria, emphasize
the character of the local church and promote various ideological messages.29
Apostle Barnabas and Saint Epiphanios are depicted in a prominent position in
the churches of Panagia Phorbiotissa and Panagia tou Arakos, since Apostle Bar
nabas is credited as the founder of the Church of Cyprus, while Saint Epiphanios
established the autocephalous status of the Church of Cyprus (fig. 12, p. 314).
In the Church of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis, sixteen hierarchs are depicted,
eight as officiating and eight in medallions. Amongst the officiating hierarchs,
the figures of the Cypriot saints Epiphanios, Triphyllios, and Saint John the Mer-
ciful stand out, while in the eight medallions the Cypriot hierarchs Spyridon,
Herakleidios, Lazarus, Auxibios, Hypatios, Tychon, and Zenon are depicted.30
Certainly, the display of Cypriot hierarchs in the apses of these two churches
cannot be coincidental. The wall paintings of the Church of Panagia tou Arakos
were completed in 1192, one year after the conquest of Cyprus by the English
King Richard the Lionheart, while the Monastery of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis
was the seat of the Orthodox Archbishop of Cyprus after the abolition of the Or-
thodox Bishops and their limitation to four Bishops by the Latins in 1260 with
the promulgation of the Bulla Cypria by Pope Alexander IV. It appears that the
hagiographers consciously tried to depict almost all the Cypriot hierarchs in an
attempt to show the apostolic succession and the apostolicity of the Cypriot Or-
thodox Church.
Saint Athanasios Pentaschoinitis
Next to those great hierarchs, whose figures adorn the churches of Cyprus, such
as Saints Barnabas, Epiphanios, Herakleidios, Auxibios, Lazarus, Tychicos, Spy-
ridon, Zenon, and Philagrios, we encounter the figure of a young deacon: Saint
Athanasios Pentaschoinitis.31 He is a Cypriot saint who lived for twenty years,
between 620 and 640 CE. The stability and peace that prevailed during the sixth
century was disturbed by the first Arab invasion, and the year 649 is often used
to mark the end of the preceding era of late antiquity and the early Byzantine
29 Chara Konstantinidi, “Αρχιερατικά συλλείτουργα σε εκκλησίες της Κύπρου,” 133.

30 Ourania Perdiki, “L’iconographie des saints Iocaux à Chypre (Xe–XVe siècles)” (PhD
diss., Aix-Marseille Université, École Pratique des Hautes Études, 2016). See Doula Mouriki,
“The cult of Cypriot Saints in Medieval Cyprus as attested by church decorations and icon paint-
ing,” in The sweet land of Cyprus, ed. A. A. M. Bryer and D. S. Georgallides (Nicosia: Achilles
Ghinis, Ltd., 1993), 237–77.
31 Georgios Philotheou, “The Church and Tomb of Agios Athanasios Pentaschoinitis:
A Significant Place of Pilgrimage on Cyprus,” in Routes of Faith in the Medieval Mediterranean,
Proceedings of an International Symposium, Thessaloniki 7–10/11/2007, ed. Evangelia K. Chatzi-
tryphonos (Thessaloniki: University Studio Press, 2008), 227–42.
period. The figure of this young Saint Athanasios who lived during the begin-
ning of the seventh century and died just before the first Arab invasion in 649
is prevalent in a large number of churches in Cyprus. Although this saint is lit-
tle known, detailed testimonies about him are written by his near-contempo-
rary, Anastasios of Sinai the Blessed.32 Testimonies referring to the birthplace
(Πεντάσχοινον) of Saint Athanasios and to his tomb coincide with those of ar-
chaeological research; these brought to light the underground tomb of the saint
and the church which was built over the tomb. These testimonies also connect
with the rich iconography seen in a great number of churches in Cyprus, such
as the Churches of Metamorphosis tou Soteros in Sotira (thirteenth century),
Agios Mamas at Louvaras (1495), Agios Sozomenos at Galata (1513), Metamor-
phosis tou Soteros in Palaichori Oreinis (sixteenth century), Agios Nikolaos at
Galataria (1560) in the Paphos District, and the oldest wall painting found in the
katholikon of the Monastery of Panagia Amasgou at Monagri dating to the be-
ginning of the twelfth century (fig. 13, p. 315).
Conclusion
Tradition declares 49 CE to be the date of Barnabas’s second visit to Cyprus

and counts as the establishing of the Orthodox Church of Cyprus. From that
date until 649 CE, when the first Arab invasion took place, orthodox tradition
celebrates six centuries of glorious ecclesiastical life in Cyprus. This chapter, by
focusing on wall paintings, has detailed the churches, monasteries, and icono-
graphic evidence that helps us to trace the Cypriot celebration of these apostles,
saints, and hierarchs.
32 Vaticanus Graecus 2592, fol. 123v (Fol. 132r–v), see Charalampos M. Bousias, Ἀκολουθία
τοῦ Ὁσίου καὶ Θεοφόρου Πατρὸς ἡμῶν Ἀθανασίου τοῦ Πεντασχοινίτου, μετὰ παρακλητικοῦ
κανόνος καὶ χαιρετιστηρίων οἴκων ἐν οἷς προσετέθη καὶ ὁ ἀνέκδοτος βίος τοῦ Ὁσίου Ἀθανασίου,
συγγραφεῖς ὑπὸ τοῦ Ὁσίου Ἀναστασίου τοῦ Σιναΐτου τοῦ Κυπρίου (Larnaka: Holy Bishopric of
Kition, 2001), 65–68. For Anastasios of Sinai see Bernard Flusin, “Démons et Sarrasins: l’au-
teur et les propos des Diègèmata stériktika d’Anastase le Sinaïte,” Travaux et Mémoires 11 (1991):
381–409.
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Figures
272 Map of Cyprus
Map of Cyprus

Sea Routes and Cape Drepanon
273
Figure 1: Topographical map of Agios Georgios tis Pegeias.

274
Figure 2: Plan of the Basilica A (After A.H.S. Megaw).

Figure 3: Bathhouse.
Figure 4: Basilica B.
Figure 5: Plan of the Basilica C and annexes.
Figure 6: Marble table.

Figure 7: Plan of the rock-cut tombs.

Figure 8: Stone quarry at Drepanon.
Figure 9: Sea route of the Annona.

Figure 10: Thin-walled cooking pot.
Figure 11: Agios Georgios tis Pegeias.

280
Henry Maguire
Figure 1: Paphos, House of Dionysos, mosaic floor in the dining room, detail: the triumph and the vine of Dionysos.
Figure 2: Paphos, House of Aion, floor mosaic, detail: Hermes and Dionysos
282
Henry Maguire
Figure 3: Nea Paphos, Christian basilica, floor mosaic, detail: “the true vine”
Figure 4: Kiti, Panagia Angeloktistos, apse mosaic, detail: the Virgin and Child.
284 Henry Maguire
Figure 5: Kourion, Episcopal Basilica, northeast chapel, wall mosaics: saints.

Figure 6: Jerusalem, burial chapel near the Damascus Gate, detail of floor mosaic:
Orpheus with Pan, centaur, and eagle.
286 Henry Maguire
Figure 7: Copenhagen, National Museum, centre portion of floor mosaic from a

church in Syria: Adam clothed.
Figure 8: Antioch, Striding Lion mosaic, detail of border: cross as a flower.

288
Henry Maguire
Figure 9: Kourion, complex of Eustolios, floor mosaic: “signs of Christ”

Figure 10: Bronze coin of Magnentius, mint of Lyons, obverse: portrait of the emperor.
Figure 11: Bronze coin of Magnentius, mint of Lyons, reverse: Chi Rho.
290 Henry Maguire
Figure 12: Gold coin of Justinian II, obverse: icon of Christ.
Figure 13: Gold coin of Justinian II, reverse: portrait of the emperor

Mosaic Workshops in Cyprus from the Fourth to the Seventh Centuries CE
291
Figure 1: The presentation and first bath of Dionysos, House of Aion, Paphos
Figure 2: Bema of the late 4th century basilica of Chrysopolitissa, Paphos
Figure 3: Nave of the 5th century phase of the basilica of Chrysopolitissa, Paphos
Mosaic Workshops in Cyprus from the Fourth to the Seventh Centuries CE 293
Figure 4: The birth and first bath of Achilles, Villa of Theseus, Paphos
Figure 5: The motif of scalloped squares in the basilica of Agia Trias, Gialousa
Figure 6: The motif of scalloped squares in the building of Eustolios, Kourion
Figure 7: Mosaic with Biblical quotations, basilica of Agioi Pente, Geroskipou

Figure 8: Mosaic in the basilica of Agioi Saranda, Tympou

Figure 9: Latchkey pattern of swastikas with single returns, “Byzantine house,” Paphos
Figure 10: Latchkey pattern of swastikas with single returns, north portico of atrium,
basilica of Chrysopolitissa, Paphos
Figure 11: Latchkey pattern of swastikas with single returns,

Katalymata ton plakoton at Akrotiri
Figure 12: Opus sectile floor, baptistery of Agios Philon

Figure 1: BM 1891,4–18.59(1). Selenite tablet, likely third century CE, from Agios Tychon,
ancient Amathous, Cyprus. Holes for suspending the tablet are visible at the top of the
artifact. Image credit: ©The Trustees of the British Museum.
Figure 2: BM 1891,4–18.1 Lead tablet, likely third century CE, from Agios Tychon, ancient
Amathous, Cyprus. In the tablet, Soterianos, also called Limbaros, curses A riston.
The tablet was found by locals excavating a deep shaft sometime before 1890. In the lower
part of the tablet, it is possible to see an inscribed line and then a series of magical sym-
bols. Image credit: ©The Trustees of the British Museum.
Figure 3: BM 1891,4–18.58. Selenite tablet, likely third century CE, from Agios Tychon,
ancient Amathous, Cyprus. The enlarged detail above shows a line of magical symbols.
Image credit: ©The Trustees of the British Museum.
302 Ioli Kalavrezou
Figure 1: The Set of David Plates from the Lambousa treasure. (Photo: After S. Wander,
“The Cyprus Plates” Metropolitan Museum Journal 8 [1973]: Fig. 1.)
The Cyprus Treasures since their Discovery: A Re-Evaluation 303
Figure 2: David, detail from the scene of the battle. (Photo: Joseph Connors.)
304 Ioli Kalavrezou
Figure 3: Golden Belt with Medallions of Maurice and other solidi,

Metropolitan Museum of Art. (Image in the public domain.)
Figure 4: Golden Belt, Central Section, Metropolitan Museum of Art.

(Image in the public domain.)
Figure 5: Gold medallion with Virgin and Child and Baptism of Christ,
Dumbarton Oaks Collection. (Photo: Dumbarton Oaks Collection.)
The Cyprus Treasures since their Discovery: A Re-Evaluation 305
Figure 6: Gold belt buckle with the cross-monogram ΘΕΟΔWΡΟΥ,

Walters Art Museum. (Image in the public domain.)
Figure 1: Kakopetria, Church of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis, Apostle Barnabas.

Figure 2: Lagoudera, Monastery of Panagia tou Araka, Saint Lazarus.

Figure 3: Kalopanagiotis, Monastery of Agios Ioannis Lampadistis,

Saint Herakleidios.
Figure 4: Nikitari, Church of Panagia Forviotissa (Asinou), Saint Tychico.

310
Figure 5: Lagoudera, Monastery of Panagia tou Araka, Saint Auxibios.

Figure 6: Kakopetria, Church of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis, Saint Spyridon.

Figure 7: Moutoullas, Church of Panagia, Saint Epiphanius.
Figure 8: Kakopetria, Church of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis, Saint Triphyllios.

Figure 9: Kakopetria, Church of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis, Saint Philon.
Figure 10: Lagoudera, katholikon of Monastery of Panagia tou Araka.

Figure 11: Kakopetria, Church of Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis.
Figure 12: Lagoudera, Monastery of Panagia tou Araka, Apostle Barnabas and
Saint Epiphanios.
Figure 13: Monagri, katholikon of Monastery of Panagia Amasgou, Saint Athanasios Pen-
taschoinitis.
Subject Index
Achilles 16, 100–101, 199, 209 Andreas, apostle, promontory of Cyprus

– Christ and 67–68 32
Acts of the Apostles 1, 18, 35, 174, 177, 189, 217 Andreas, apostle, monastery 226
– Acts of Barnabas and 59, 172–73, 183– Annex of Eustolios 5–8, 27, 55–56
84, 193 – Christianity 12–13
– Apocalypse of Paul and 191–92 – Eustolios 9–10, 16, 55, 73
– Bar Jesus 43–46 – Mosaics 6–7, 8–14, 17, 66, 90, 102–4
– Jews 50–51, 184 Antioch 8, 86–87
– Paul and Barnabas 39–43, 48–51, 58– – Autocephaly 20–21, 51, 153–54, 215
59, 184, 228, 226–27 – Barnabas 33–34, 165–67
– Sergius Paulus 46–50 – Christianity 71–70, 89
Acts of Barnabas 21, 35, 51–54, 59–61, – House of the Phoenix 106
193–94, 218 – House of the Red Pavement 95–96
– Bar Jesus, Elymas 51n113, 52, 59–60 – Library 141, 144
– Gospel of Matthew 21, 170–72, 175–77, – Meletian Schism 158–59
180–86, 189–90 – Mosaics, mosaic production 95–96,
– Healing 176–78 99–100
– John Mark 172–73, 176, 182, 193–94 Aphrodite 2, 70, 185n61
Adam 82–83 – Apollo, Adonis 70, 119, 211
Agios Georgios of Pegeia 25–28, 31–32 – Cult of 50–51, 61–62, 68, 72, 220
Agios Nikolaos tis Stegis at Kakopetria – Mosaics 19, 67, 77
227, 229–35 – Shrines, temples 42, 53, 69, 130
Agios Tychon 115, 129–30 Apocalypse of Paul 191–92, 193
Aion, House of 67, 88–89, 91, 96–97, 101 Apocalypse of Peter 190
– Dionysos 8, 19, 77 Apollinarius of Laodicea 159, 162
Alassa 19, 67, 77, 101–2 Apollo 6, 77, 211
Alexander I of Antioch 158, 162, 166 – Aphrodite and 70, 119, 211
Alexander the Monk 173n17, 193–94, 214– – Christ and 10, 15n70, 16, 55–56, 103,
17 148n101
Alexandria 30–31, 32 – Mosaics 76, 103
– Christianity 62, 71–72, 173, 186 – Phoibos 9–10, 13, 103
– Library 139, 140–41 – Temples 41, 60, 68, 72
Allegory 81, 82–83, 91, 99 Apollonius 85
Al Suadi, Soham 45–46n78 Apollos 34n8
Amathous 17, 20, 60, 61, 69, 115, 119, 130 Apophthegmata Patrum 137
– Agios Tychon 115, 129–30 Aquileia, Italy 81
– Magical texts 17, 20 Arab invasions 32, 79, 109–10, 195,
Amulets 123, 177–81 206n48, 211, 234–35
– Egyptian 179n40, 180–81 Arius, Arians 142, 156, 158, 161, 231
318 Subject Index
Arsinoe 41n53, 233 Barrett, C. K. 42n56, 48n91, 50n101

Art, Greco-Roman 65–68, 87–88 Basil the Caesarea, the Great 88, 142, 232
Athanasios Pentaschoinitis 234–35 Basilicas 63–64, 68–69, 94
Athanasius of Alexandria 142, 157–58, 161, – Agios Georgios of Pegeia 27–29, 31–32
162, 164 – Chrysopolitissa, Paphos 73, 78, 89, 98–
Augustine of Hippo 178–79 100
Augustus 37, 42, 85 – Mosaics 98–100, 104–5, 107–9
Aupert, Pierre 119 – Pagan temples and 68–69
Ausonius 15n70 Bauer, Walter 134
Autocephaly 58, 64, 74 Bell, H. I. 189n79
– Antioch 20–21, 51, 153–54, 215 Belting, Hans 88
– Cypriot 33–34, 153–54, 165–66, 170–71, Bishops, see Autocephaly
174–76, 193–94, 215–17, 222, 227 Blänsdorf, Jürgen 126
Auxibios of Soloi 22, 25, 70–71, 230 Books 21, 135–38, 140–41, 144, 151–52,
– Life of St. Auxibios 218–20, 221 178
Agia Trias of Gialousa 103–4 – see also Gospel of Matthew; Libraries
Agioi Pente of Geroskipou 109 – Burial with 185–87, 188–91, 192–93
Agios Giorgos of Pegeia Basilica A 106, – Donating 187–88
109–10 – Healing 172, 177–80, 193–94
Boskoy, Andrea 9, 10
Bagnall, Roger 10, 11, 12–13, 103n53, 183 Bouriant, Urbain 190
Bar Jesus, Elymas 20, 36–37, 41n48, 42– Bowersock, Glen 77, 88
47, 49 British Museum, London 115, 196, 203–6
– Acts of Barnabas 51n113, 52, 59–60 Brown, Peter 222n32
– As magos 44–46 Budge, E. A. Wallis, Budge codex 189–90
Barnabas 53–54, 184n56 Building of the Tablets, Corinth 124–25
– see also Acts of Barnabas Burials 29–30, 64–65, 130
– Antioch 33–34, 165–67 – Barnabas 21, 154, 166–67, 177, 185–86,
– Burial 21, 154, 166–67, 177, 185–86, 191 191
– Constantinople 176, 227 – With books 185–87, 188–91, 192–93
– Cypriot autocephaly 33–34, 153–54, – Christian 188–91
165–66, 170–71, 174–76, 215–17, 222, 227 – Jewish 186–87
– Epistle of Barnabas 1–2 Byzantine Empire 104, 184n56, 205–6
– Gospel of Matthew 21, 170–72, 175–77, – Imperial medallions 200–203
180–85
– Healing 176–77 Cameron, Alan 7n28, 88–89
– Iconography 226–28, 233–34 Cape Drepanon 17–18, 29–31
– John Mark and 34–35, 40, 51, 52–53, Carriker, Andrew 140
59–60, 172–73, 176, 226–30 Carter, Howard 123
– Kourion 59–60 Carthage 121–22
– Martyrdom 51–52, 53, 58–61, 70, 183, Cassius Dio 38, 54n120, 73
185, 215 Cathedral of Saint John in Lefkosia
– Laudatio 22, 34n7, 35, 51, 52, 53–54, ( Nicosia) 228, 231, 232
214–17, 220, 222–23 Cemeteries, see Burials
– Paul and 33–35, 36, 39–43, 48–51, 174, Christianity 53–54, 155–56
58–59, 184, 228, 226–27 – Allegory 81, 82–83, 91, 99
– Rome 214–15 – Art, Greco-Roman and 65–68, 87–88
– Salamis 36, 60, 215, 216–17, 218 – Earthquakes 64–65, 72–73
Subject Index 319
– Greek traditions, culture and 12–14, – Barnabas at 176, 227
15–16 – Council of Constantinople (381) 133,
– History, foundation 146–48, 191–92 159
– Pagan religions and 6–7, 15–16, 16–18, – Council of Constantinople (553) 86
65–68, 70–74, 211–12, 217–18 – Severus 170–71, 194
– Symbolism 12–13, 19, 89, 91 – Synaxarion of Constantinople 63,
– Triumphalism 9, 14, 148, 152 228n10
– Truth 150–52 – Trade 28, 31–32, 107
Christ Jesus Constantius 86
– Achilles and 67–68 Constantius II 65, 73, 94
– Adam, new 82–83 Corinth 124–25, 129
– Apollo and 10, 15n70, 16, 55–56, 103, Council of Chalcedon (451) 214–15
148n101 Council of Constantinople (381) 133, 159
– Dionysos and 14, 77, 78, 88–89, 96–97 Council of Constantinople (553) 86
– Emperors and 87–88 Council of Ephesus (431) 51–52, 153–54,
– Healing 176–77, 179–81, 193–94 162–66, 227
– Mosaics, floor 76–77, 78, 80–83, 88, Council of Jerusalem 33, 61
90–91 Council of Milan 161
– Name, chi rho 82, 90 Council of Nicaea, first (325) 35, 64, 93,
– Nativity 67–68, 80, 101, 202–3 156–59, 164, 231–23
Christianization of Cyprus 6–7, 15–18, 55– – pro-Nicene orthodoxy 155, 157–58,
57, 65–68, 70–74, 211–12, 217–18 160–62
– Hagiographies 58–63, 70–72, 212–14, Council of Nicaea, second (787) 86
220–21 Council of Serdica (342/3) 64, 157–58,
Chrysopolitissa of Paphos 73, 78, 89, 98– 164, 233
100, 105–7, 109 Crosses 81, 89–90
Church of Archangelos Michael at Pedou- Curses 114–15, 117–22, 127–29
las 231–32 – see also Spells
Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem 80–81 – Gods, underworld, diamones, demones
Church of Panagia tou Arakos at Lagou 4, 116–20, 130
dera 229, 231, 233, 234 – Tablets 111–12, 115–23, 124–26, 127–29
Cicero 16, 39, 42, 139–40 Cyrenaica 8
Cilicia 39, 50, 62–63, 226 Cyril of Alexandria 163
– Misis Mopsuestia 84 Cyril of Paphos 93, 156
Claudius 46–47 Czachesz, István 183n55, 184n57, 185n60
Clement of Alexandria 11n52, 52n116, 188
Cleopatra III 37 Daniel the Stylite 179
Cnidus 127, 129 Daszewski, Wiktor 77, 88, 96
Constania, Salamis David, king 21–22, 83–84
– see also Salamis – David plates 21–22, 196n8, 197–99,
– Agios Epiphanios 108 208–9
– Campanopetra 108–9 Davis, Timothy 50–51
Constans II 203, 206 de Bruyn, Theodore 180, 182
Constantine I 10, 31, 68, 85, 87, 93, 140n49, Delehaye, Hippolyte 212–13
156 Deligiannakis, Georgios 15–16
Constantine II 73 Demeter 113, 124–25, 127, 129
Constantinople 31–32, 161–63, 170–71, Demosthenes 114
201–3, 207–9, 215 Diatessaron 182
320 Subject Index
Dilley, Paul 192 – On Faith 139, 148–49

Diocletian 62, 139n40, 141n54, 153 – Hagiography 213, 221
Dionysius, Flavius 153–54n4, 163–64 – Hilarion and 25, 136n16, 137n27, 160,
Dionysios 8, 76–77, 82, 101 221
– Christ and 14, 77, 78, 88–89, 96–97 – Iconography of 227, 232, 234
– House of Aion 8, 19, 77 – On images 19, 65–66, 78, 80, 91, 98
– House of Dionysios 8n37, 19, 76, 95–96 – Jews, Judaism 145–46
Downey, Glanville 153–54m 163 – Libraries 138–44, 145–52
Drew-Bear, Thomas 10, 11, 12–13, 103n53 – Life of Epiphanius, Vita Epiphanii 137,
Dumbarton Oaks medallion 197n8, 197n9, 160, 213, 221
200, 202, 205n44, 209 – Palestine 155, 160, 221
– Panarion 4–5, 20, 133–34, 135–36, 139,
Earthquakes, fourth century (331, 342) 9, 143–44, 160–61
68, 94, 97 – Rufinus 137, 148n100
– Christianity and 64–65, 72–73 Episcopal Basilica (Kourion) 79–80
Edict of Milan (313) 68, 73, 93–94, 96 Epistle of Barnabas 1–2
Egypt 30–31, 37, 39 Eusebeia 11–12
– Alexandria 30–32, 62, 71–72, 139–41, Eusebius of Caesarea 10, 38, 135, 143–45,
173, 196 184n57
– Amulets 179n40, 180–81 – Library 20, 140, 146–49, 150–51
– Burials with books 188–90 Eusebius of Nicomedia 142
– Christians, church 162, 172–73, 186 Eusebius of Vercelli 161
– Great Magical Papyrus of Paris (PGM Eustolios 9–10, 16, 55, 73
IV ) 120–21, 122 – see also Annex of Eustolios
– Isis 119, 124–25 Evagrius of Soloi 137n27, 164
– Osiris 20, 118–19, 121 Falkenhausen, Vera von 220
– Ritual specialists, manuals 120–23, 129, Felix and Drusilla 37, 43
131 “From Roman to Early Christian Cyprus”
– Thebes 120–21, 123n47 conference 1, 23
Eidinow, Esther 128
Elymas, Bar Jesus 20, 36–37, 41n48, 42– Gabra, Gawdat 190n85
46, 47–53, 58–60 Gaius 46
Emperor images 84–88, 90–91 Galerius 62, 205
England Gelasius of Salamis 93, 156
– British Museum, London 115, 196, 203– Germany, Mainz 124–25, 129
6 Gnosticism, Gnostics 135–36
– Frampton mosaic 82 God 4–5
– Hinton St. Mary, Dorset 82 Gods, see individual gods
– Temple of Sulis, Bath 125 Gods, underworld, daimones, demones 4,
Epaphras 219, 229–31 116–20, 130
Ephesus 49 Gospel of Matthew, see Matthew, Gospel of
– Council of (431) 51–52, 153–54, 162–67, Great Magical Papyrus of Paris (PGM IV )
227 120–21, 122
Epiphanius of Salamis 2, 17, 35, 71, 184n56 Greece, Corinth 124–25, 129
– Bishop 154–55, 160–62, 164, 165 Greek epic poetry 10, 11–12, 13–14, 16
– Books, interest in 135–38, 178 – Dactylic hexameter 13–14, 15
– Citations of 138–39, 142–44, 145–46, Greek magic, cursing 113–14, 118
148–50 – Magical Papyri 118
Subject Index 321
Greek traditions, culture 12–14, 15–16 Hippolytus 143–44
Greek philosophy 148–49 Homer 10–11, 16
Grierson, Philip 200–202, 203 – Odyssey 11, 13
Hornbury, William 38n30
Hadrian 1, 16, 30, 42n59, 46 House of Aion 67, 88–89, 91, 96–97, 101
Hagiographies 17–18, 57–63, 70–72, – Dionysos 8, 19, 77
178n34, 222–23 House of Dionysos 8n37, 19, 76, 95–96
– Christianization and 58–63, 70–72, House of the Four Seasons 95–96
212–14, 220–21 House of the Red Pavement 95–96
– Laudatio of St. Barnabas 22, 34n7, 35, House of Theseus 67, 97, 100–101
51, 52, 53–54, 214–17, 220, 222–23 Huarte, North Church 82–83
– Life of St. Auxibios 218–19, 221
– Life and Conduct, Life of Herakleidios Iconoclasm, iconophobia 78, 98–99
217–18, 223 – Epiphanius 19, 65–66, 78, 80, 91, 98
– Life of Epiphanius, Vita Epiphanii 137, Icons, iconography 19, 22, 67, 88, 91, 227–
160, 213, 221 35
– Life of St. Tychon 213, 220 – Barnabas 226–28, 233–34
– Cypriot 212–14, 220–21 – Epiphanius 227, 232, 234
Halkin, François 218 – Episcopal saints 230–31
Hanson, R. C. P. 133 – Military saints 205–6
Hauser, S. R. 206 – Nativity of Christ 101
Healing – Paul 228
– Amulets 177–81 – Spyridon 227, 231–32 , 233–34
– Barnabas, Acts of Barnabas 176–78 Innocent I 158, 162
– Books 172, 177–80, 193–94 Inowlocki, Sabrina 147, 149, 150
– Christ Jesus 176–77, 179–81, 193–94 Irenaeus 20, 138n34, 139n35, 142–43, 150
– Gospel of Matthew 175–77, 180–82 Isis 119, 124–25
– Spells 122–23 Italy 81
Herakleidios 22, 61, 223, 227, 229–30 – Rome 121–22, 125–26, 139, 214–15, 219
– Life and Conduct, Life of Herakleidios
217–18, 223 Jaeger, Werner 15n73
Herakleios the Elder 207–8 James, Jamie 6–7, 9–10
Herakleios 22, 198, 202, 205–9 Jerome 20, 78, 140n47, 145n83, 219
Heretics, heretical texts 20, 135–36, 142– – Library 135, 136–37, 141, 144n73,
43, 146, 148–52 146–49
– Archontics 161 – Life of Hilarion 187–88
– Arians 142, 156, 158, 161, 231 Jerusalem 36, 72, 78, 116
– Euzoius 159 – Christian churches in 34, 80–81
– Gnostics 135–36 – Council of 33, 61
– Montanism 134–35 – Libraries, books 140–41, 144
– Paulinus 159, 162 – Portrait images 78, 80–81
– Texts 142–43, 146, 148–52 Jews, Judaism 50–52, 145–46, 215
Hermes 77, 120 – Authors 145–46
Herod the Great 37 – Bar Kokhba revolt 1, 52, 54n120
Hezekiah 187 – Blindness 44–45
Hilarion 137n25, 187–88 – Burials 186–87
– Epiphanius and 25, 136n16, 137n27, 160, – On Cyprus 18, 36–38, 50, 53–54, 59–
221 60, 73–74, 183–85
322 Subject Index
– Magicians, magos 37–38, 43–46, 50, – Philonides 63

129–30 Krause, Martin 190n88
– As persecutors 51–52, 53–54, 58–60 Κτίσις 8
– Salamis 39, 49, 50–51, 52
– Synagogues 19, 39–40, 47n85, 60, 83– Lambousa treasures 21–22, 195–96
84, 184–85 – David plates 21–22, 196n8, 197–99,
John the Almsgiver 62, 220 208–9
John of Antioch, patriarch 162–63, 166 – Dumbarton Oaks Epiphany medallion
John Chrysostom 162, 178–79 200–201, 202–3, 207, 209
John of Euboea 229n13 – Imperial medallions 200–203
John of Jerusalem 78, 162 – Military saint medallion 205–6, 209
John Mark 34–35, 40, 51, 52, 53, 59–60, – Theodore 203–7, 208–9
70, 219, 228 Lampe, G. W. H. 183n55
– Acts of Barnabas 172–73, 176, 182, 193– Laudatio 22, 34n7, 35, 51, 52, 53–54, 214–
94 17, 220, 222–23
– Barnabas and 34–35, 40, 51, 52–53, 59– Lazarus 225, 229
60, 172–73, 176, 226–30 Leader, Ruth 198–99, 209
– Egyptian church 172–73, 186 Lefkosia, see Nicosia, Lefkosia
John the Merciful 234 Levi, Doro 99–100
Jonah 81 Libanius 86–87
Jones, A. H. M. 163 Libraries 122–23, 141, 144, 151–52
Jordan, David 116, 119–20 – Alexandria 139, 140–41
Joseph of Tiberias 160–61 – of Epiphanius 138–44, 145–52
Josephus 36, 37, 43n67, 44n71, 145–46 – of Eusebius 20, 140, 146–49, 150–51
Josiah, King 116 – of Jerome 135, 136–37, 141, 144n73, 146–
Julian the Apostate 96 49
Justice 127–28 – Villa of the Papyri, Herculaneum 139–
Justin 200, 202 40
Justinian I 31, 104, 107, 200, 202, 216 Life of St. Auxibios 218–19, 221
Justinian II 90 Life and Conduct of Herakleidios 217–18,
Justin Martyr 15n73, 54n120 223
Life of Epiphanius, Vita Epiphanii 137, 160,
Kallimachos 12n57, 13 213, 221
Katalymata ton Plakoton at Akrotiri 89– Life of St. Tychon 213, 220
90, 105–6 Licinius 62–63, 96
Keener, Craig 41n47, 49n99, 50n103 Lipsius, Richard Albert 134n5, 135n11,
Kilgallen, John J. 45n74 173n17, 175n21
Kindt, Julia 113 Livadia 79
Kiti 79 Lythrankomi 79
Kition 60–61, 229
Kitzinger, Ernst 75 Magi 37n28, 43–44, 80, 112n5
Koester, Helmut 23 Magic 114–15
Kondoleon, Christine 8n34 – Greek 113–14, 118
Kourion 5–7, 9, 13, 55–56, 61, 115, 229 Magical texts 2, 20
– Barnabas at 59–60 – Amathous 17, 20
– Curse tablets 115, 129–30 – Gods, underworld, daimones 4–5
– Episcopal Basilica 79–80 – Great Magical Papyrus of Paris 120–21,
– Mosaics 67, 89 122
Subject Index 323
– Greek Magical Papyri 118 – Chrysopolitissa, Paphos 73, 78, 89, 98–
– Symbols 119–21 100, 105–7, 109
Magicians, magos 20, 112–13 – Crosses 81, 89–90
– Jewish 37–38, 43–46, 50, 129–30 – House of Aion 8, 19, 67, 77, 88–89, 91,
– Priests, priestesses 113–14 96–97, 101
Magna Mater 124–25, 126 – Mythological representations 66–67,
Magnentius 90 77, 88, 91, 96, 100–102
Maguire, Henry 8n33, 13 – Opus sectile, marble 107–9
Mahatt el Urdi 81 – Pagan gods 76–78, 80–81, 84–85, 87–
Mainz 124–25, 129 88, 90–91
Mango, Marlia 198–99 – Rainbow style, motifs 99–100, 103–5
Marcion 134–35, 150 – Roman 66–67
Mark, Gospel of 182, 184n57 – Synagogues 19, 83–84, 87
Mark, see John Mark – Syria 82–83, 96
Martindale, John 207 Mosaics, production, workshops 19, 94–95
Martyrdom 51–52, 53, 58–61, 62–63 – Antioch 95–96, 99–100
– Barnabas 51–52, 53, 58–61, 70, 183, 185, – Paphos 95, 100, 107–8
215 Mosaics, wall 79–80
Mastora, Pelli 16 Moschus, Martin 190n87
Mathews, Thomas 87–88 Mroczek, Eva 191
Matthew, Gospel of Mythological representations 66–67, 77,
– Acts of Barnabas 21, 170–72, 175–77, 88, 91, 96, 100–102
180–86, 189–90
– Healing 175–77, 180–82 Nea Paphos 8, 30, 31, 42, 59–60
Maurice 21–22, 200–203, 206–8 – see also Paphos, Paphos Constantia
Maximinus II Daia 62–63 – Achilles 16, 100–101
Megaw, A. H. S. 27, 79 Nero 37, 43
Meletius, Meletian Schism 158–59, 162 Newton, C. T. 127
Methodius 142, 150 New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art
Michaelides, Demetrios 2, 6–7, 16 196–97, 199
Miguélez-Cavero, Laura 8n36 Nicolaou, Ino 6–7, 15
Misis Mopsuestia 84 Nicosia, Lefkosia 107, 227, 233
Mitford, Terence B. 6, 9–13, 35n12, 39, – Cathedral of Saint John 228, 231, 232
130n53, 129–30 – Cyprus National Museum 196–97,
Mitsides, Andreas 154 204n40
Mnason 34, 61, 217 Noah 84
Monastery of Agios Ioannis Lampadistis Nongbri, Brent 188–89
at Kalopanagiotis 229–30 Nonnus of Panopolis 8, 14, 16
Montanism 134–35 Noret, Jacques 219
Morini, Enrico 154
Mosaics, floor 18–20, 75–76 Öhler, Markus 33n1, 34n8, 48n91, 48n93
– Anionic 98–99 Opus sectile, marble 107–9
– Annex of Eustolios 6–7, 8–14, 17, 66, 90, Origen 137, 140, 142, 145, 150
102–4 Orpheus 81, 82, 84
– Christian portraits 81–83, 87, 91 Osiris 20, 118–19, 121
– Christian symbols 18–19, 56, 78–81, 89,
91, 98 Pagan religions, so-called 68–69
– Christ Jesus 76–77, 78, 80–83, 88, 90–91 – see also individual gods
324 Subject Index
– Christianity and 6–7, 15–16, 16–18, 65– Pesch, R. 48n91

68, 70–74, 211–12, 217–18 Peter, apostle 49–50n101, 167, 177n29, 215,
– Mosaics 76–78, 80–81, 84–85, 87–88, 228
90–91 – Apocalypse of Peter 190
– Mythological representations 66–67, Peter the Fuller 166–67, 215, 216
77, 88, 91, 96, 100–102 Philo 36, 38, 44n68, 145–46
Paideia 10, 15n73, 17, 199–200 Philon 58, 233
Palestine 34n8, 206, 217 Philonides of Kourion 63
– Bishops 144n77, 157 Philostratus 85
– Cyprus and 37–38 Phoibos Apollo, see Apollo
– Epiphanius 155, 160, 221 Pilgrimage 31–32, 69, 222, 226
Pamphilus 140 Pisidian Antioch 47
Pan 81 Pliny the Elder 37, 43, 47n84, 85
Panarion 4–5, 20, 133–34, 135–36, 139, Plutarch 114
143–44, 160–61 Polyllitos 13–14
Papadopoullos, Theodoros 2 Portrait images 78, 80–83, 87, 91
Papageorghiou, Athanasios 99 Pourkier, Aline 133–34, 142n63, 143
Paphos 42–43, 58, 72 Procopius 31
– Chrysopolitissa 73, 78, 89, 98–100, Prokonnessos 32
105–7, 109 Prophets 44–45
– House of Aion 8, 19, 67, 77 Psematismenos-Trelloukkas 3
– House of Dionysios 8n37, 19, 76, 95–96 Ptolemies 30
– House of the Four Seasons 95–96 Ptolemy I 30
– House of Theseus 67, 97, 100–101 Ptolemy IX Soter II Lathyrus 37
– Mosaic production 95, 100, 107–8 Pyla-Koutsopetria 3
– Old 42, 59
– Roman empire 50–51 Quarrying 29–31
– Salamis and 41–42, 93–94, 222–23
– Sea travel 25, 30–32 Rainbow style, motifs 99–100, 103–5
– Tombs of the Kings 30, 65 Rapp, Claudia 175, 178
Pappos of Kythria 160, 221 Razatis 22, 198, 208
Paul, apostle 148n100, 215, 219–20, 228 Rheginus of Constantia 163–65
– Apocalypse of Paul 191–92, 193 Rhodon 59, 61, 185–86, 217, 219
– Bar Jesus and 44–46, 49 Ritual specialists, practitioners 112–14,
– Barnabas and 33–35, 36, 39–43, 48–51, 117–18, 120–26, 127–31
174, 58–59, 184, 228, 226–27 – Egyptian 120–23, 129, 131
– Sergius Paulus and 46–50 – Ritual manuals 122–23
Paulinus of Antioch 159, 162 – Rites the dead 120, 130
Paulinus of Nola 15n70 “From Roman to Early Christian Cyprus”
Persecution 62–63 conference 1, 23
– By Jews 51–52, 53–54, 58–60 Roman empire 33–35, 36, 39, 50, 211–12
– Martyrdom 51–52, 53, 58–61, 62–63 – Art 65–68, 87–88
– Roman empire 62–63 – Christianity 155–56
Persia, Persian empire 32, 39, 80, 109n87, – Emperor images 84–88, 90–91
198, 208 – Greek literature 10
– Magi 37n28, 43–44, 80, 112n5 – Libraries 139–40, 151–52
– Razatis 22, 198, 208 – Persecution 62–63
Personifications 8–9, 102–3 – Procouncils 39–40, 42, 46
Subject Index 325
– Roads 41–42 Spells 126
– Sergius Paulus 34–36, 39, 41n49, 46– – see also Curses
50, 53, 58–59 – Gods, underworld, diamones, demones
– Traditional cults 18–19, 50–51, 68–70, 4, 116–20, 130
72–73 – Healing 122–24
Rome 121–22, 139, 214–15, 219 Speyer, Wolfgang 187, 188n75
– Anna Perenna 125–26 Spyridon of Tremithous 2, 25, 64, 71, 93
– Barnabas 214–15 – Council of Nicaea (325) 156–57
Ross, Marvin 203 – Hagiography 213, 221
Rufinus 137, 148n100 – Iconography 227, 231–32 , 233–34
– Persecution of 62–63
Saints 230–31 Strabo 25, 37
– see also Hagiographies; individual saint Suetonius 43, 85, 148
names Symbols, symbolism 12–13, 19, 89, 91
– Cults 222–23 – Christian 12–13, 19, 89, 91
– Military 205–6 – Christian mosaics 18–19, 56, 78–81, 89,
Sakellarios, Athanasios 29 91, 98
Salamis 36, 40–42, 68, 94, 208 – Magic 119–21
– see also Constantia, Salamis Synagogues 39–40, 47n85, 60, 184–85
– Barnabas 36, 60, 215, 216–17, 218 – Mosaics 19, 83–84, 87
– Baths 65–66 Syria 39, 50, 206, 226
– Christianity 65–66, 69, 72–73 – see also Antioch
– Gymnasium 56, 65 – Christians 178, 182
– Jews 39, 49, 50–51, 52 – Jews 52, 215
– Paphos and 41–42, 93–94, 222–23 – Mosaics 82–83, 96
– Tombs 64–65
– Trajanic revolt 38, 40, 53–54, 73–74 Tacitus 43n66, 85
Samson 84 Tamassos 61, 217–18, 229–30
Sanders, Jack T. 41n48, 45n74 Tertullian 51n112, 52n116
de Santos Otero, Aurelio 176 Thebes 120–21, 123n47
Sanzo, Joseph E. 179n40 Theodore Anagnostes (Lector) 80, 171,
Schott, Jeremy 150 189–90, 193, 194
Sea travel, trade 25, 30–31 Theodore of Paphos 221
Seneca 85, 148n100 Theodoret of Cyrrhus 182
Sergius 205 Theodosius Porphyrogennetos, son of
Sergius Paulus 34–36, 39, 41n49, 46–50, Maurice 21–22, 202–3, 207–8
53, 58–59 Theodosius I 73, 78, 86–87, 192
Severus of Gaza 169–72, 193, 194 Theodosius II 80, 85–86, 89, 98, 102, 200,
Sextus Propertius 186–87 202
Silas, apostle 229 Theodotos of Keryneia 63
Snyder, Glenn E. 173n17 Theseus, House of 67, 97, 100–101
Socrates, historian 156–57 Thessaloniki, Roman Agora 66–67
Soloi 42n80, 58, 70–71, 90n66, 219 Thessalos 123n47
Solomon’s knot 80, 89 Tiberius 43, 85
Soren, David 6–7, 9–10, 11 Tiberius II Constantine 204
Source criticism 134–35 1 Timothy 11–12
Spain, Susan 198 Titus, emperor 38n32, 72
Spanoudakis, Konstantinos 14n69 Tombs of the Kings 30, 65
326 Subject Index
Trajan 38, 40, 72, 85 Vessey, Mark 147

Trajanic revolt 38, 40, 54n120, 73–71 Vezin, Jean 172
Trinitarian debates 159, 161–62, 232 Virgil 16
– Pro-Nicene orthodoxy 155, 157–58, Virgin Mary 79–80, 202–3, 225, 228
160–62 Virtues 11–12, 102–3
Triphyllios 227, 233–34 von Harnack, Adolf 134n6
Triumphalism, Christian 9, 14, 148, 152
Truman, Harry 75 Wall paintings 22, 78–80, 87, 184n58
Tsiknopoullos, Ioannis 228n12 – see also Icons, Iconography
Tychicos 229–30, 234, 309 Wander, Steven 198
Tychon of Amathous 61–62, 64, 213, 220, 230 Williams, Megan 141, 144n73
Woolf, Greg 152
Valentinian 85–86
Valentinians 142, 150 Zeno, emperor 166–67, 170–72, 215, 227
van der Horst, Peter W. 184n59 Zeno of Kourion 164–65
Versnel, Henk 128 Zeus 76, 85, 211
Vespasian 72 – Temples 40, 53, 68–70

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Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen

zum Neuen Testament

ISBN 978-3-16-156873-2 / eISBN 978-3-16-156874-9

© 2020 Mohr Siebeck Tübingen, Germany. www.mohrsiebeck.com

James Carleton Paget

Athanasios Papageorghiou and Nikolas Bakirtzis

Young Richard Kim

Marina Solomidou-Ieronymidou and Giorgos Philotheou

The conference was preceded by travels to Cyprus; AnneMarie Luijendijk and

GCS Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten drei Jahr­

Cyprus is a crossroad of the ancient eastern Mediterranean, an astonishingly

1 Sophocles Hadjisavvas, Cyprus: Crossroads of Civilizations (Nicosia: The Government of

ological Research in Cyprus: Towards Restoring the Balance addresses issues of

Our volume thus adds to a number of recent studies of and publications

Religion in Late Antique Cyprus

Late antique religion in Cyprus could be caricatured by mapping two theological

A Case Study in Religious and Theological Complexity at Cyprus:

Do the Eustolios mosaics reveal an oppressive pagan superstition, as Soren

The Mosaic Inscriptions

These personifications exceed our inclination to create boundaries between

Soren and James translate the inscription thus:

38 McFadden and Daniel, “The Excavations at Kourion,” 4–10.

The Mosaic in the Landscape of Cyprus and Antiquity

epigrams of Eustolios as an example.74 While I share Deligiannakis’s question,

Contributions in This Volume

to consecrate its own bishops, which fifth-century patriarchs in Antioch claimed

1 Charalambos Bakirtzis, “Η θαλάσσια διαδρομή Κύπρου-Αιγαίου στα παλαιοχριστιανικά

36 Demetrios Michaelides, “The Ambo of Basilica A at Cape Drepanon,” in MOSAIC,

James Carleton Paget

Bar­nabas and Paul on Cyprus:

Jews are first mentioned in Cyprus in a letter recorded in 1 Macc 15:23, dating

22 van der Horst, “The Jews of Ancient Cyprus,” 29.

Acts 13:4–12 and its Cypriot Background

Some of the information mentioned above adds verisimilitude to the account of

to whether he became a follower of Jesus remains open. Certainly it is indicated

A number of tentative observations emerge from our discussion of this pas-

95 See below.

appealing to its association with Bar­nabas, and in particular to the presence of

119 See especially Acts Barn. 19 f.

Jew.120 It is possible, of course, that partings between Christians and Jews, as

Athanasios Papageorghiou and Nikolas Bakirtzis

4 Mitford, The Inscriptions of Kourion, 353–354; Papageorghiou, “Βυζαντινή Επιγραφική,”

25 “Acta Barnabae,” 301.

idol to pieces.29 Another time, he entered a temple dedicated to Artemis, or pos-

Compared to the aforementioned hagiographic narratives, the archaeological

ropolitan or Provincial?” DUP 28 (1974): 57–88; Athanasios Papageorghiou, “L’architecture pa-

may suggest similar practices.48 In addition, the presence of Christian symbols

also been the focus of discussions on the appropriation of iconography between

further evidence, the consideration of a fourth-century date for the stylistically

Framing Memory and Narrative

An important, yet lesser-known, hagiography may help us gain a more nuanced

a smooth Christianization of the city of Soloi; a major basilica complex with

in the centuries following the establishment of Christianity and the organization

86 Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics, 7–9, 96–97.

Floor and Wall Mosaics in Cyprus

We will begin by looking at some examples of the depiction of pagan gods on

8 Wiktor A. Daszewski, Dionysos der Erlöser, griechische Mythen im spätantiken Cypern

We turn now to Christian images on the floors of Cyprus. Here, in contrast

Floor and Wall Mosaics outside Cyprus

25 Talgam, Mosaics of Faith, 246–49, figs. 326–27.

Reverence and Blasphemy of Pagan and Imperial Images

unreliable picture of the reality that is revealed by archaeology. It is on the hum-

Despite narratives portraying Cyprus’s early evangelization in the mid-first cen-

of the Syro-Palestinian coast, and Antioch in particular – something not surpris-

GCS Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten drei Jahr

Barnabas and Paul on Cyprus:

Jews are first mentioned in Cyprus in a letter recorded in 1 Macc 15:23, dating

Acts 13:4–12 and its Cypriot Background

appealing to its association with Barnabas, and in particular to the presence of

8 Wiktor A. Daszewski, Dionysos der Erlöser, griechische Mythen im spätantiken Cypern

published 26 June 2017, http://www.bbc.com/news/av/world-europe-40402816/cyprus-reveals-

63 Balmelle et al., Le décor géométrique de la mosaïque romaine, plate 189a.

Modern Anglophone scholarship has little patience with Epiphanius, bishop

sumably, in part, in order to read more books).22 Rufinus, Epiphanius’s enemy

Epiphanius’s Physical Library

A quick survey of Epiphanius’s major surviving writings reveals that he refers

produces more or less verbatim.35 A maximalist reading of Epiphanius’s oeuvre

dedicatee(s).72 During this dictation session, Epiphanius would have multiple

Epiphanius’s Intellectual Library

Table 1: Citations in Epiphanius’s Major Works† by Source Type

103 Epiphanius, De Fide 9.1–48.

32 Kim, Epiphanius of Cyprus, 211–36.

Conclusion: Barnabas and the “Final” Word

Three passages in the Acts of Barnabas allude to a manuscript containing the

The Acts of Barnabas12

Pseudonymously narrated by John Mark, Barnabas’s cousin (cf. Acts 13:4; Col.