Cult of Relics C 01

Prehistory and Early Chronology of the Cult of Relics
The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

Robert Wiśniewski
Print publication date: 2018

Print ISBN-13: 9780199675562
Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: February 2019
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780199675562.001.0001
Prehistory and Early Chronology of the Cult of

Relics
Robert Wiśniewski
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780199675562.003.0001
Abstract and Keywords

This chapter presents the framework which will be referred to throughout this
book and begins with a presentation of the biblical ‘prehistory’ of the cult of
relics. It demonstrates that the veneration of the martyrs in the pre-
Constantinian period was clearly a distinct phenomenon from the cult of relics
as it emerged in the mid-fourth century. The novelty of the latter phenomenon
consisted in the belief in the miraculous power of relics and in the new, hitherto
unknown practices it involved. Even though a few literary episodes found in late
antique literature seem to attest that this belief and practices started to develop
earlier, this chapter argues nevertheless that they cannot contradict its principal
argument, namely that a profound change in the attitude toward saints’ bodies
occurred no earlier than in the middle decades of the fourth century.
Keywords: biblical, cult of relics, veneration of martyrs, pre-Constantinian period, fourth century
This book will argue that in the mid-fourth century Christianity witnessed an
entirely new phenomenon: in the space of no more than one generation, people
born into a society which accorded due respect to the physical remains of the
dead, but nonetheless commonly shuddered at the very thought of touching
them, came to seek physical closeness to the bodies of martyrs in the newly
formed belief that these were endowed with a supernatural power. This new
phenomenon, however, had not come out of nothing. Certain features of
Christianity preconditioned the emergence of the cult of relics, even if they did
not lead on their own to its rise. Some of them, such as admiration for the
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martyrs and the belief in the resurrection of the body, can be traced back to the
very early period of Christian history. Others, such as the beliefs in the sanctity
and power of certain material objects and places as well as in the intercession of
the saints, developed at later dates but still before the mid-fourth century.
There is one other reason which makes me focus in this chapter on a more
distant past. The bulk of the evidence for the cult of relics dates back to the
period starting in the 350s, but there are sources which seem to suggest that at
least some elements of this phenomenon may have appeared earlier. The sources
in question might even indicate that we are dealing with beliefs and practices for
which our surviving evidence is relatively late, but which were actually present
in Christian religiosity from a very early date. In this chapter I will analyse these
pieces of evidence in order to see which features of the cult of relics can be
traced to the pre-Constantinian period. Then, I will discuss the fourth-century
evidence of the emerging phenomenon up to the 360s. This evidence, presented
in chronological order, will demonstrate when the new beliefs and practices
started to appear. The trigger mechanism of the shift in mentality—the shift that
marks the beginning of the cult of relics—will be discussed in Chapter 2.
(p.9) The Biblical Background

Before we turn to the evidence concerning the second and third centuries, it is
important to refer to the scriptural background of the cult of relics. It will serve
not so much to study an early phase of its development, for there is hardly any
continuity in this respect between biblical times and Late Antiquity, but to see
what the late antique reader could have found in the texts normative for
Christian beliefs and customs.
The cult of relics, as a regular practice, is absent from the Bible, but a few
intriguing passages could have provided a scriptural justification for this
phenomenon. First of all, two short Old Testament episodes seem to show that
the bones of prophets could have been endowed with special power. According
to the First Book of Kings, a man instructed his sons to bury him in the tomb of
the prophet who had foretold the fall of the sanctuary in Bethel. He gave the
following reason for this:
lay me by his bones, that my bones may be preserved with his bones. For
the word will surely come to pass which he spoke by the word of the Lord
against the altar in Bethel, and against the high houses in Samaria.1
The words in italics can be found only in the Septuagint and in its Latin
translation known as the Vetus Latina. They are absent from Jerome’s Vulgate
(and likewise from the modern translations based on the Masoretic Hebrew
text). Still, late antique Christians knew this passage in the version quoted
above. However, the sequel of the story, which can be found in the Second Book
of Kings,2 shows that if the bones of the prophet actually survived the
destruction of Bethel, it did not happen because they had any sort of intrinsic
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power. The reason was that King Josiah, who demolished the schismatic
sanctuary and the surrounding graves, decided not to destroy the tomb of the
prophet who had foretold his deed. Thus, the phrase read in context does not
really testify to a belief in the supernatural power of the prophet’s body and
nothing suggests that late antique Christians should have thought otherwise.3
A more relevant passage can be found in the Second Book of Kings:
And Elisha died, and they buried him. And the bands of the Moabites came
into the land, at the beginning of the year. And it came to pass as they
were burying a man, that behold, they saw a band [of men], and they cast
the man into the grave of Elisha: and as soon as he touched the bones of
Elisha, he revived and stood up on his feet.4
(p.10) This episode strongly suggests that the healing power remained in the
bones of the famous prophet who had performed diverse miracles in his lifetime.
Even if there is no other passage like this in the Old Testament, these words
were read as a testimony to the power of the relics of saints. Such a reading of
this passage, however, appears only at the end of the fourth century; earlier
authors consider this story to be true and interesting, but isolated, and do not
expect a similar thing to happen again.5
In the New Testament we can hardly find a suggestion that the physical remains
of any person could hold any sort of supernatural power, of course with the
important exception of the resurrected body of Christ, which, however, can
hardly be qualified as a relic. Yet two episodes mention a kind of contact relic. A
woman having an issue of blood is healed having touched Jesus’ garment, and
‘handkerchiefs and aprons’ of Paul the Apostle cure illnesses and chase away
evil spirits.6 Of course, neither of these passages tells about the power of a dead
body and, as we will see later on, for over two centuries following the
composition of the New Testament, we cannot see any continuity in the practice
of touching the clothes of holy people in the hope of regaining health which
would date back to apostolic times. Still, this is an important piece of evidence,
as it testifies to the existence of a belief that miraculous power can be
transmitted in a physical way—such a belief was indeed essential for the
development of the cult of relics. In this short section, however, I have covered
all instances of biblical references to relics—or rather the list of biblical
passages which came to be used with reference to the cult of relics only after
the phenomenon in question was already well in place.
Pre-Constantinian Christianity: Four Cases

For post-New Testament Christianity of the second and third centuries we have
no record of an established custom of unearthing the bodies of martyrs or
looking for healing at their graves. Yet, as has been said above, there are a few
pieces of evidence which date back or at least refer to this period and tell about
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episodes which strangely resemble the practices of the later centuries. Their
credibility, interpretation, and significance have to be examined.
The first passage calling for a reflection in this context comes from the
Martyrdom of Polycarp, bishop of Smyrna, who was burnt at the stake around
(p.11) the middle of the second century. In the closing paragraphs of the
Martyrdom we read the following:
Thus we later picked up his bones, which are dearer than precious stones
and finer than gold, and laid them to rest where it was appropriate. The
Lord will grant that we, as far as we can, shall gather there in joy and
gladness, and celebrate the birthday of his martyrdom, both in
remembrance of those who have already fought the contest, and for the
training and preparation of those who will do so in the future.7
The author of the Martyrdom of Polycarp presents himself as an eyewitness. Yet

the dating of this text, and particularly of the quoted passage, has given rise to
some vigorously discussed controversies. Some scholars considered the entire
account to be a third-century composition, while others thought that the passage
in question was interpolated in the third century, still others believed that it was
a genuine account, written shortly after Polycarp’s death.8 For our purpose, it is
important to say that whenever the Martyrdom of Polycarp was written, at the
beginning of the fourth century Eusebius of Caesarea quoted it in the form cited
above, so we are dealing with a testimony which certainly pre-dates the
development of the phenomenon in the mid-fourth century, although it is not
entirely clear by how much.
The discussion on the dating of the passage dealing with Polycarp’s burial has
been closely connected with the debate on the beginning of the cult of relics.
Those who propounded the theory of its early start take it as a strong argument
in favour of their view, while their adversaries consider it to be an interpolation.
However, the question which needs to be asked in this context is whether the
attitude of the author to the body of the martyr was really different from the
traditional Greek attitude toward the bodies of heroes who died in combat.
Christians did not invent respect for and care of the bodies of the dead,
especially of those who died a heroic death. Such an attitude was entirely
normal not just among the Jews, Greeks, and Romans, but also in most
civilizations that we know of. It suffices to mention all the pains that were taken
to recover the precious bodies of those who fell in battle described in the Iliad.
One has to be cautious and refrain from interpreting every single manifestation
of respect paid to the deceased as a sign of the cult of relics. True, the author in
question not only tells about the care for the body of the bishop, but also
announces that the anniversary of his martyrdom will be celebrated at his tomb.
Still, nothing suggests that he believed that Polycarp’s remains would be at any
point taken out of the grave or, even more (p.12) importantly, become a source
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of miraculous power. And this, as we will see in Chapter 2, was the essential trait
of the new attitude toward the remains of the martyrs: in the fourth century
martyrs ceased to be seen as mere examples to be imitated, and became
depositaries of miraculous powers able to chase away demons, heal the sick,
reveal hidden things, protect communities, punish the impious, and remit sins.9
The second piece of evidence which might suggest that Christians sought
physical contact with the bodily remains of martyrs before the fourth century
comes from the apocryphal Acts of Thomas, which date back to the early third
century.10 This is what their anonymous author says in the epilogue:
And it happened after a long time [after the death of Judas Thomas] that
one of the sons of king Mazdai had a devil, and no man was able to bind
him, because he was very violent. And king Mazdai thought in his mind and
said: ‘I will go [and] open the grave of Judas, and take one of the bones of
the Apostle of God, and will hang it upon my son, and he will be healed’ …
And he did not find the bones, for one of the brethren had taken them
secretly and conveyed them to the West. And king Mazdai took [some] of
the dust of the spot where the bones of the Apostle had lain and hung it
upon his son, and said: ‘I believe in Thee, my Lord Jesus, now that he hath
left me, who always troubleth men that they may not see the light’. And
when he had hung [it] upon his son and believed, he was healed.11
There are several intriguing elements in this story: the transfer of the body from
India, where the Apostle died, to the West; the miraculous power of the bones
and dust from the grave, and the practice of touching relics. Of course, one has
to remember that the apocryphal acts of Apostles are a very peculiar literary
genre that depicted a world destined to excite wonder, a world in which the
Apostles baptize lions, dogs speak in human voices, and St Peter brings back to
life a dried herring. The religious behaviour described in such texts does not
necessarily reflect actual practice. Still, the evidence is puzzling. This passage,
however, although present both in the Greek and Syriac versions of the text, can
hardly be part of its third-century layer. Apocrypha were extremely susceptible
to diverse redactional interventions and neither version of the Acts of Thomas in
their present form can be deemed original.12 The passage quoted above is
placed at the end of the text, the part most easily affected by interpolations.
Indeed, the preceding chapter of the Acts ends with the Apostle’s martyrial
death, which, however, does not put an end to, but gives momentum to the
development of his Church: ‘And the Lord wrought with them, and many were
added unto the faith,’ says the author. This sounds very much like the last
sentence of the story. The last chapter seems to have been added later, and it is
quite easy to show why and when this happened.
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(p.13) The essential information which this chapter brings is that of the
transfer of the powerful body of the Apostle to the West. The text is not specific
about the place of its deposition, but we know that the body of Thomas was
venerated in Edessa, where the Acts were most probably written. Interestingly,
the evidence of the tomb of Thomas in Edessa is quite late. Eusebius, who wrote
in his Church History in the 320s about the mission of Thomas in Parthia, does
not seem to know about the transfer of his body to Edessa, a city which he
otherwise mentioned on several occasions.13 The story of the transfer is attested
for the first time only in the 360s or 370s by the Syriac writer Ephrem of Nisibis.
In his Hymn 42 he puts the following lamentation in the mouth of the devil:
The merchant brought the bones: nay, rather! they brought him. Lo, the
mutual gain!
What profit were they to me, while theirs was the mutual gain? Both
brought me loss.
Who will show me the casket of Iscariot, whence courage I derived?
But the casket of Thomas is slaying me, for a hidden power there residing,
tortures me.14
The crucial element of the story told by the Acts, that of the transfer and power
of Thomas’ bones, is evidently here. Only slightly later, in 384, the Apostle’s
tomb in Edessa was visited by the pilgrim Egeria.15 The story from the last
chapter of the Acts of Thomas thus appeared most probably between the times
of Eusebius and those of Ephrem and Egeria. It was an important period, in
which Edessa contrived its early Christian history. Later on, we will see another
element of this plan, namely a new version of the letter sent by Christ to King
Abgar. This new version, which also appeared in Edessa between the times of
Eusebius and Egeria, was to guard the city and keep its enemies at bay.16 It is
difficult to overlook a similar function for Thomas’ tomb and Christ’s letter: both
elevated Edessa to the status of a truly Apostolic Church, protected by divine
power against the Persian armies and the hosts of demons.
The aforementioned epilogue of the Acts of Thomas was probably part of this
new historical policy. It was added because some explanation was needed of why
the tomb of the Apostle who, as the Acts clearly stated, had been active and died
in India was venerated in Edessa. We cannot say when exactly it happened, but
the 350s–360s seems to be a reasonable guess, considering that the earliest
safely dated testimonies to belief in the power of relics date back to those two
decades. It is quite certain that we are not dealing with a third-century story.
(p.14) The two episodes that follow which might be used to illustrate a pre-
Constantinian interest in relics come from the West. The first of these is set in
Rome and concerns the bodies of the Apostles Peter and Paul. In late antique
Page 6 of 21
evidence we come across stories about the attempted and aborted transfer of
their relics which supposedly took place in the middle of the third century. This
extremely interesting, although confusing dossier consists of a few elements.
The oldest of them is a wall in the so-called triclia, or banquet hall, at the
Catacombs of St Sebastian, on the Via Appia, south-east of Rome. The wall is
covered with graffiti invoking both Apostles. One of them can be dated to the
year 260, and since it was written over an older graffito of the same kind, the
practice of making them must have started earlier, although probably not earlier
than the middle of the third century.17 The inscriptions bear testimony to a cult
of the Apostles which consisted in asking them for prayer and having a meal
(refrigerium) in their honour. The epigraphic evidence does not explain why this
practice developed in this specific place, at a distance from the tomb of Peter on
the Vatican Hill and that of Paul on the Via Ostiense.
The second piece of evidence is an entry in the Depositio Martyrum, or the

earliest extant Christian calendar. It is preserved in the so-called Chronography
of 354, but was most probably composed earlier in the fourth century.18 Under
the third day before the Kalends of July, that is on 29 June, it mentions a
commemoration of ‘Peter in the Catacombs and Paul, on the Via Ostiense’. The
feast of Paul on the Via Ostiense is obvious,19 but that of Peter at the Catacombs
is puzzling. The Catacombs mentioned in this entry are certainly those of St
Sebastian, for that was the place called Ad Catacumbas, which only
subsequently gave its name to other underground cemeteries. Interestingly,
unlike other entries in the calendar, this one gives not only the day of the
celebration, but also the year, ‘during the consulate of Tuscus and Bassus’, that,
is AD 258. Most disappointingly, it does not say anything about what happened
on that day.
The third piece of evidence is a monumental inscription from the same

Catacombs of St Sebastian. Its author was Pope Damasus (366–84), who placed
several epigrams commemorating the saints in suburban martyria and
cemeteries. The one at St Sebastian’s begins thus: ‘Here the saints abided
previously. You ought to know this, whoever you are, you who seek equally the
names of Peter and Paul’ (Hic habitasse prius sanctos cognoscere debes, nomina
quisque Petri pariter Paulique requiris).20 It has been widely discussed whether
the word habitare referred to an otherwise unattested stay of the Apostles in this
place or to the deposition of their relics. Recently, David Eastman has (p.15)
proposed a new solution of the problem, drawing attention to the word hic
(‘here’), which in his opinion refers to Rome in general and not to the specific
place in which the inscription was written, thus dissociating the Catacombs and
the physical presence of Peter and Paul, dead or alive.21 This hypothesis is
difficult to prove, but even if it is so, the Damasan inscription shows at best what
some people in the fourth century thought about the history of this place.
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The fourth piece of evidence is the Martyrdom of St Sebastian, dating probably

from the mid-fifth century, in which the martyr, who died in 258, expresses his
wish to be buried ‘at the Catacombs, next to the vestiges of the Apostles’ (ad
catacumbas … iuxta vestigia apostolorum), which may suggest that in the mid-
third century the bodies of Peter and Paul rested by the Via Appia.22
The fifth piece of evidence is the ending of the fifth-century Syriac Acts of
Sharbel, a martyr at Edessa. Its author sets Sharbel’s martyrdom in the times of
Fabian, bishop of Rome (AD 250), and describes an episode from his episcopate
strangely unrelated to the main storyline. He claims that when Rome was
affected by famine, its inhabitants decided to expel all the foreigners from the
city, but allowed them to take their dead away with them. The foreigners
declared that they would depart, but with the bodies of Peter and Paul, for the
Apostles had also been foreigners in Rome.
And when the people of Rome knew that this matter was so, then they left
them [to do it]. And when they had taken them [i.e. the Apostles’ relics] up
and were removing them from their places, immediately there was a great
earthquake, and the buildings of the city were on the point of falling down,
and the city was near being overthrown. And when the people of Rome saw
it, they turned and besought the strangers to remain in their city, and that
the bones might be laid in their places. And when the bones of the Apostles
were returned to their places, there was quiet, and the earthquakes
ceased, and the winds became still, and the air became bright, and that
whole city became cheerful.23
This is the earliest source which mentions an aborted transfer of the relics of the
Apostles in Rome, placing it around the middle of the third century. It does not
say from where exactly the bodies were removed.
The sixth piece of evidence is a letter of Pope Gregory the Great to the Empress
Constantina. It refuses to comply with her request to send to Constantinople the
‘head of saint Paul or some other part of his body’.24 When explaining his
position, Gregory says that some Greeks already tried to transfer the bodies of
the Apostles directly after their death, and went with them as far as to the
Catacombs. There they were stopped by a thunderstorm, and the (p.16) bodies
were carried back to Rome. This supposedly took place in a period much earlier
than the mid-third century, but Gregory mentions the very place named in the
Depositio Martyrum and where the inscriptions invoking the Apostles were
found, namely the Catacombs of St Sebastian.
On the basis of this evidence, at the end of the nineteenth century, Louis
Duchesne hypothesized that around the middle of the third century the bodies of
the Apostles were taken out of their tombs and transferred to the Catacombs.
Duchesne thought that this was done in order to protect them in the midst of the
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persecutions of Valerian, which started in 257.25 This claim is not substantiated

in an explicit manner by any single source on its own, but it is indeed striking
that our evidence attests to some movement of the relics of the Apostles, signals
an event connected with their cult in the 250s, and points to the Catacombs of St
Sebastian. The supposition that the transfer indeed took place and was
prompted by the edict of Valerian, who forbade Christians from ‘assembling or
entering what are called koimētēria’, cannot be dismissed as absurd. Éric
Rebillard convincingly argues that the word koimētēria referred not to the
Christian cemeteries in general, but specifically to the tombs of the martyrs.26
Still, no source mentions any acts of destruction or desecration of Christian
burial places during that persecution, and so the decision to transfer the bones
of the Apostles looks somewhat overdramatic, all the more so as it is not clear
why the Catacombs would have been safer than the Vatican and the cemetery on
the Via Ostiense. In all, it is not possible to determine whether any transfer of
the relics took place in the 250s. Indeed, another solution to this problem has
been proposed. Henry Chadwick turned attention to yet another piece of literary
evidence, namely a passage from the Liber Pontificalis according to which ‘at the
request of a certain lady Lucina, he [Bishop Cornelius] took up the bodies of the
Apostles saints Peter and Paul from the Catacombs at night’ and deposited them
respectively on the Vatican and the Via Ostiense.27 This may be a late testimony
to a tradition of the Catacombs as the original place of the burial of the Apostles.
This tradition, which is also attested in later itineraria, did not have to date back
to the first century. Chadwick argues that the competing localization of Peter’s
and Paul’s burials on the Via Appia might have emerged as late as the third
century in a dissenting group in the Church of Rome.
In all, the transfer of the bodies of the Apostles is only one of the possible
explanations of the puzzling dossier of the shrine Ad Catacumbas. Even more
importantly, if the transfer indeed took place, it probably did not aim to bring the
sacred objects to a specific place. The relics were to be given (p.17) protection;
they were not supposed to be a means of protection. Interestingly, in Rome, a
vague memory of this transfer, true or false, was used to promote the idea of the
non-transferability of relics: both texts which mention the transfer claim that it
was an intervention of God that put an end to it. Thus, the dossier quoted above
cannot attest to a cult of relics at such an early date. However, its epigraphical
part, datable to the 250s and 260s, is the earliest attestation of the phenomenon
which was essential for its development, namely the belief in the intercession of
the Apostles. We are not dealing here with a cult of relics, but we are probably
witnessing the early beginnings of the cult of saints.
The last episode appearing in scholarly debates about the beginnings of the cult
of relics is the story of Lucilla of Carthage, a devout and wealthy lady who
played a significant role in the emergence of the Donatist schism after the end of
the Diocletianic persecution.28 Using her money and influence, she supposedly
induced a group of African bishops to reject the election of the archdeacon
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Caecilian as bishop of Carthage, and to entrust this office to a certain Maiorinus,

a member of her own household. Optatus of Milevis, when describing these
events in his anti-Donatist treatise, explained Lucilla’s aversion to Caecilian
thus:
No-one is unaware that this took place in Carthage after the ordination of
Caecilian, and indeed through some factious woman or other called Lucilla,
who, while the Church was still tranquil and the peace had not yet been
shattered by the whirlwinds of persecution, was unable to bear the rebuke
of the archdeacon Caecilian. She was said to kiss (libare) the bone of some
martyr or other—if, that is, he was a martyr—before the spiritual food and
drink, and, since she preferred to the saving cup the bone of some dead
man, who if he was a martyr had not yet been confirmed as one, she was
rebuked, and went away in angry humiliation.29
Scholars dealing with the history of the cult of relics usually considered this
passage to be a testimony of a real, if uncommon practice.30 This testimony is,
however, misleading, and its sense can be grasped only if we study the context in
which it was written. We know that Optatus composed his treatise after the
death of the Emperor Julian (363), which is referred to in the text, and the
analysis of its content suggests that it must have been re-edited in the 380s.31
Therefore, the passage quoted above was written over sixty years after the (p.
18) event it tells us about and, as we will see, at least a few years after the first
safely attested movements of the saints’ relics through the Mediterranean. When
Optatus described the case of Lucilla, the opening of saints’ graves and
transferring of their bodies had already become a familiar phenomenon, even if
it still had an aura of novelty.
The aim of Optatus’ work is no less important than the date of its composition.
The treatise is a polemic against the Donatists and an essential element of its
argument is an account of the early history of the schism. It is evident that this
story cannot be taken as a faithful and unbiased record of what had happened.32
According to Optatus, the rupture resulted from the resentments and desires of
various individuals. The first group were the greedy senior laymen of the Church
of Carthage from whom Caecilian demanded that they return the treasure of the
Church which they had appropriated. The second group consisted of the clerics
Botrus and Caelestius: they each hoped to become bishop of Carthage, but their
hopes had been dashed (Optatus does not explain how they both could aspire to
be elected for the same office and still remain allies). The third contentious
individual was Lucilla, who declared against Caecilian for of the reasons
presented in the passage quoted above.33 Briefly put, Optatus portrays the
schism as a result of actions taken by a group of dishonest nobles, two ambitious
and deceitful clerics, and a woman who, as the sequel to the story demonstrates,
played the crucial role: it was a member of her household who would become
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the first ‘Donatist’ bishop of Carthage, elected to that office owing to her active
support.
The mere fact that it was a woman who was the actual founder of Donatism was
supposed to discredit this movement in the eyes of Optatus’ audience.34
However, the author was not satisfied with this and went out of his way to paint
an unfavourable picture of her. He mentions Lucilla twice in the narrative,
qualifying her first as seditious (factiosa), and then as ‘powerful and
seditious’ (potens et factiosa). In Latin literature, factiosus is a rare but well-
known word, used several times by Sallust. Lucilla, potens et factiosa, was
certainly to be associated by Optatus’ readers with the repulsive nobiles factiosi
described in De bello Iugurthino.35 What is more, Lucilla is a vengeful woman
and does not submit to the rules of the Church. It seems that the short
description of her religious practices aims to discredit her even further. First (p.
19) of all, the verb depicting Lucilla’s behaviour is very telling. Whatever
Optatus meant exactly by libare (to ‘kiss’ or ‘touch’), the word was strongly
associated with pagan cult, and Christian authors used it in reference to heathen
or, rarely, biblical sacrifices—it was never used to describe contemporary
manifestations of piety.36 Secondly, the very object of veneration is shocking: it is
a bone (!), of a presumed martyr (!!), taken out of the grave (!!!). Thirdly, Lucilla
would kiss this bone just before approaching the Eucharist, which suggests that
she preferred it to the ‘saving cup’. All of this would have filled readers with
disgust for that rebellious, resentful, and extremely superstitious ‘foundress’ of
Donatism. If the text was to meet its goal, the custom presented in it had to
present her as an off-putting person for all potential readers of his treatise.
Therefore, the story of Lucilla cannot be considered a truthful description of an
actual practice, but a rhetorical picture intended to make the reader boil with
pious indignation.
Of course, one may ask whether Lucilla, who was undoubtedly a real person,
could not have been in fact addicted to practices fitting quite well with Optatus’
picture.37 This, however, is highly improbable for two reasons. First, as has been
already pointed out, the earliest authors mentioning the cult of relics wrote in
the time of Optatus, not of Lucilla. It is thus difficult to imagine that the latter
ostentatiously venerated a part of a dead body at the time when the tombs of the
martyrs were inviolable and the very idea of reverence towards bodily remains
did not yet exist. Secondly, the episode of Lucilla is not the only passage in which
Optatus describes the partisans of Donatus as people who break the most
fundamental rules and violate sacred customs: not only did they massacre
Catholics, rape women, and kill children, but they also tore out foetuses from the
wombs of their mothers. The Donatist bishop Felix fornicates with a virgin to
whom he himself had given the veil. Other Donatists cast the Eucharist to the
dogs.38 If some elements of this picture may be true, the whole presentation is a
rhetorical device which cannot be taken at face value. The image of an
Page 11 of 21
influential widow kissing a bone of an alleged martyr before receiving

Communion belongs to the same category.
Optatus is not the only author to mention Lucilla and her role in the rise of the
Donatist schism. Her name appears for the first time in the record of the inquiry
conducted by the consularis Zenophilus in 320, whose goal was to find out which
bishops of the two feuding camps in the African Church were guilty of traditio,
or handing over sacred books during the persecution. In this text, Lucilla is
accused of bribing the bishops who deposed Caecilian and elected (p.20)
Maiorinus in his place, but the episode with the bone is not mentioned.39
Augustine also makes Lucilla guilty of bribing the bishops gathered in Carthage,
and even of organizing their synod. In Contra Cresconium he calls her a most
rich, very powerful, and extremely seditious woman; he asserts that she
supported Donatus with her money, and says that her hatred of Caecilian began
when the archdeacon rebuked her ‘for ecclesiastical discipline’.40 It is
interesting to note that Augustine does not specify what exactly led Caecilian to
reprimand the rich lady. He emphasizes in stronger terms than Optatus the
serious defect of Lucilla’s character (factiosissima!), but clearly thinks that the
most discrediting aspect of the whole affair is the fact that this most wealthy
woman bribed the bishops. Augustine was familiar with Optatus’ work, so he
knew about Lucilla’s veneration of the relic. And yet he did not mention it. I
suppose that the reason for this could have been the change of customs which
had occurred between the 360s and the 410s, when Augustine wrote Contra
Cresconium. As we will see in Chapter 7, during these fifty years, physical
contact with relics became more common. This is not to say that kissing or
touching a martyr’s bone was an entirely normal practice at the beginning of the
fifth century, but a description of such an act would not have filled the reader
with the kind of disgust Optatus hoped to evoke. The custom of kissing relics is
attested in the West already at the turn of the fourth and the fifth centuries.41 At
that time it still could give rise to controversy, but it would no longer seem to be
totally outrageous and as a result it was not so obviously useful as a way to
attack the Donatists as it had been fifty years earlier.
In all, the episode of Lucilla is of little use for studying customs related to the
corporeal remains of the saints at the turn of the third and fourth centuries, but
it shows quite well how, more than half a century later, Christians imagined a
caricature of the cult of relics, and therefore it allows us to find out what the
acceptable practices looked like in this period. It may also suggest that, another
half-century later, the picture painted by Optatus had lost its grotesque features
because by that time other people started to venerate relics in a similar fashion.
In all, there is no evidence of the veneration of relics of saints which can be

safely dated to the second or third centuries. Before the Diocletianic (p.21)
persecution the dead remained in their graves and the graves do not seem to
have been considered places in which any power dwelt. At the same time,
Page 12 of 21
however, some of those graves, and possibly also other artefacts connected with
their death,42 probably came to be important for Christian communities,
important enough to attract the attention of the Roman administration—
otherwise, it would be difficult to explain why as early as in 257 the decree of
Valerian forbade access to koimētēria. Also, in the second half of the third
century, after the persecutions of Decius and Valerian, we can see the first signs
of the emerging belief in the intercession of saints. The graffiti from the
Catacombs of St Sebastian show that people expected their prayers to be heard
by the Apostles. This belief, however, was probably not yet connected with their
physical remains.
The Fourth Century: The Very Beginnings

At the beginning of the fourth century still nothing suggests that the tombs of
the martyrs and Apostles were sought after, visited by people from outside the
local community, or considered to hold a special power. Eusebius of Caesarea,
who wrote the final version of his Church History just before 325, mentions only
a few burial places of the New Testament saints, namely James, the Lord’s
brother, Peter, Paul, Philip, and John the Evangelist, and does not attribute to
them any special significance.43 The situation begins to change in the decades
that followed, as can be seen in the descriptions of early pilgrimages which
started when Helena, Constantine’s mother, visited Palestine in 327.44 But the
change in question did not take place immediately.
The earliest list of places visited by a pilgrim to the Holy Land comes from the
Itinerary of the anonymous Pilgrim of Bordeaux and is dated to AD 333. This list
is already quite extensive. The Pilgrim visited a number of places connected with
both major and very secondary biblical personages, and saw, among other
things, the ‘cornerstone rejected by the builders’, the plane trees planted in
Sychar by the patriarch Jacob, the sycamore tree which Zacchaeus climbed to
see Jesus, and two healing springs.45 In all, the Itinerary shows an already
flourishing interest in places and material objects which either (p.22)
commemorated the sacred history or, in some cases, were vehicles for divine
power.46 But it does not say anything about relics of saints. True, the Pilgrim of
Bordeaux visited several tombs of Old Testament figures—Joseph, Isaiah,
Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel—but they are referred to in the
same way as the tombs of two personages from classical history, Euripides and
Hannibal. Importantly, no tomb of a martyr or a New Testament saint is
mentioned, if we put aside the very specific cases of the empty tombs of Christ
and Lazarus.47
Fifty years later, however, in 384, another Western pilgrim to the Holy Land,
Egeria, paid visits to several tombs and sanctuaries of saints in Palestine and
other regions. She lists the martyr-shrine (martyrium) of St Thecla in Seleucia in
Isauria, St Euphemia’s in Chalcedon (famosissimum martyrium), St John’s in
Ephesus, St Thomas’ in Edessa, monk and martyr St Helpidius in Haran, various
Page 13 of 21
martyria in Heroonpolis, and the church of the Holy Apostles and a number of
other martyria in Constantinople.48 Thus, interest in the tombs of the martyrs
appeared between 333 and 384. When exactly did it occur?
The new attitude toward the bodies of the saints is attested for the first time
shortly after the middle of the fourth century. In the 350s, we can see the first
translations, or transfers of relics, to new resting places. First, between 351 and
354, Caesar Gallus brought the coffin of St Babylas, bishop and martyr at
Antioch, from a cemetery to a new-built martyrium in the suburban resort of
Daphne. John Chrysostom and the church historian Sozomen, writing
respectively a generation and two generations later, explain that Gallus wished
to chase away superstition and licentiousness from Daphne, but it is difficult to
say whether this was his actual intention.49 A few years later, the remains of
Timothy, a disciple of Paul the Apostle, and later those of Luke the Evangelist
and Andrew the Apostle arrived in Constantinople. These transfers are attested
by several sources, the earliest of which is Jerome’s Chronicle, published in the
early 390s. It says that in 356 ‘the relics of the Apostle Timothy were transferred
to Constantinople’, and, in the following year, ‘the bones of Andrew the Apostle
and Luke the Evangelist were welcomed by the (p.23) inhabitants of
Constantinople with much enthusiasm’.50 This last date has been put in doubt by
Richard Burgess, who suggested that the transfer of Andrew and Luke must
have taken place twenty years earlier, as dated by chronicles based on a now
lost set of Latin consular fasti.51 Yet even if this was so, this particular event did
not have any immediate impact on the movement of relics before the 350s.
In the same decade, in 356, in Egypt, St Antony, the man who gave rise to the
monastic movement in Egypt, died.52 In his Vita, written shortly after, most
probably in the 360s, Athanasius, bishop of Alexandria, presents a curious
custom of privatizing the bodies of martyrs:
The Egyptians are wont to honour with funeral rites, and to wrap in linen
cloths at death the bodies of zealous men, and especially of the holy
martyrs; and not to bury them underground, but to place them on couches,
and to keep them in their houses (παρ' ἑαυτοῖς), thinking in this to honour
the departed.53
Athanasius puts in Antony’s mouth a strong disapproval of this custom and

claims that the latter ordered that his body should be buried in secret for fear
that it could become an object of veneration. This interesting passage, however,
presents some difficulties in interpretation. The fact that Athanasius refers to
those who honour the dead in this particular way as ‘Egyptians’ suggests that he
is thinking of an old indigenous custom.54 But the fact that he singles out the
burials of the martyrs indicates that the practice was already Christianized. It is
possible that some Egyptians actually kept the sarcophagi of their dead in their
houses.55 But it is highly unlikely that in this particular instance Athanasius had
Page 14 of 21
in mind the custom of keeping the relics of the martyrs in houses directly after
their death, for the last persecutions ended long before the Life of Antony was
written. Rather, he refers to the practice of transferring martyrs’ bodies from
cemeteries. Such transfers are also attested and vigorously condemned in his
festal letters 40 and 41, written in the early 370s. By that time the bodies of
martyrs were evidently looked for.
The reason why they were looked for can be first seen in two pieces of evidence
contemporary with the Life of Antony. At the very end of the 350s, Hilary of
Poitiers, who was exiled from Gaul in 356 and stayed in Constantinople and Asia
Minor, refers, in two different treatises, to the tortures which are inflicted upon
demons by a power dwelling in the tombs of the Apostles and martyrs. These
testimonies will be discussed in detail in Chapter 2, but it is (p.24) worth
emphasizing at this point that this is the very first safely dated evidence for the
belief in the power of relics.
From this moment on the evidence becomes abundant. According to Ammianus

Marcellinus, in 359, Sabinianus, the Christian commander of the Roman army in
the East, instead of making preparations for the war against Persia, was wasting
time ‘amid the tombs of Edessa as if he had nothing to fear when he had made
his peace with the dead’.56 Ammianus is not specific what kind of tombs he has
in mind, but suggests that Sabinianus believed in the help of those who were
buried in them.
Also in the 350s, or at the very beginning of the 360s, young Jerome of Stridon
and his friends from school used to visit on Sundays the tombs of the Apostles
and martyrs in Rome.57 The tombs of the Apostles are obviously those of Peter
and Paul. It is not clear when exactly the basilica of St Peter was completed, but
it certainly happened after 354; the first basilica of St Paul was constructed at
about the same time.58 Also in 354 Constantine’s daughter was buried in a
mausoleum close to the tomb of St Agnes, although this was probably an impulse
rather than a result of the development of this saint’s cult.59 In all, from the 350s
we can see a growing interest in the tombs of the Apostles and martyrs, a belief
in the power of their bones, the custom of visiting them, and the practice of
transferring them from cemeteries to new resting places.
The strength of this emerging phenomenon is even better attested during the
short reign of the Emperor Julian, called the Apostate, when it evidently
provoked the extreme hostility of the ‘pagan’ population. In 362 Bishop George
of Alexandria and one of his companions were killed by a street mob in the city.
According to Ammianus, this is what happened then:
the inhuman mob loaded the mutilated bodies of the slain men upon
camels and carried them to the shore; there they burned them on a fire
and threw the ashes into the sea, fearing, as they shouted, that their
Page 15 of 21
remains (reliquiae) might be collected and a shrine (aedes) built for them,
as for others who, when urged to abandon their religion, endured terrible
tortures, even going so far as to meet a glorious death with unsullied faith;
whence they are now called martyrs.60
Admittedly, for Ammianus the word reliquiae did not have a technical sense: it
meant simply ‘remains’. Still, if he did not confuse the image of Christian
practices in the 360s with that of the 390s (i.e. of the time when he was writing
his book), this passage, like the episode of Sabinianus quoted above, suggests
that already at the beginning of the second half of the fourth century those (p.
25) who adhered to the old ‘pagan’ cults strongly associated Christianity with
the cult of the martyrs and found this phenomenon irritating.
I suppose that Ammianus was right in dating this sentiment to the 360s, for
there is more evidence of pagan hostility toward the tombs of the saints in this
period. In 362, Julian, anxious about the silence of the oracle of Apollo at
Daphne, ordered the removal the body of St Babylas from there lest it continue
to sully the sacred area.61 This was obviously a special case, as Babylas’ remains
were installed in Daphne only a few years earlier, but it was not unique. Julian
ordered the same to be done with the tombs of the martyrs in Didyma in Asia
Minor.62 Local attacks on Christian tombs also took place in Palestine and Syria.
In Sebaste, the tomb of John the Baptist was destroyed, his bones burnt and
dispersed over the fields.63 Julian himself claims that the inhabitants of Emesa
set fire to the tombs of the ‘Galileans’, that is, Christians, and similar events also
took place around Antioch.64 Certainly, one should not overestimate the
significance of those events. The attacks on the tombs could have resulted partly
from the fact that, unlike churches, they were easily accessible and unprotected.
Even in modern Europe tombs have fallen victim to aggression more frequently
than buildings or monuments which were more important, but more guarded.
Moreover, the burning of the martyrs’ corpses is attested already in the second
century, when it was simply an additional punishment and not a reaction to the
cult of relics.65 Also, as we have already seen, during the persecutions of
Valerian in the 250s Christians were forbidden not only to assemble, but also to
approach tombs, presumably those of the martyrs.66 But it seems that in 362
those tombs were more important than in the third century, for that was the first
time that they were directly attacked and destroyed, not only on the initiative of
Julian.
Even though these three pieces of evidence coincide in time—the transfer of

relics by Gallus and Constantius, the remarks of Hilary of Poitiers about the
power of the tombs of the saints, and the acts of hostility against Christian
martyria—one still has to ask the question whether they are not symptoms of an
older phenomenon which simply did not have an occasion to appear in the
evidence earlier, for the literary evidence of Christian practices becomes in
general more abundant in the second half of the fourth century. This, however,
Page 16 of 21
does not seem to be the case. It is symptomatic that the writings of Eusebius and
those early martyrial stories which can be safely dated to the period preceding
the fourth century show little interest in the physical remains of the saints.
There is no archaeological, papyrological, or epigraphical evidence (p.26)
which would attest to such interest before the later fourth century.67 We are
most probably dealing then with a truly new phenomenon.
All this suggests that the transfers of the bodies of Babylas, Andrew, Luke, and
Timothy did not result from a pre-existing veneration of relics. It is more
probable that those transfers and the construction of their monumental martyria
gave a momentum to the emerging cult of relics rather than expressed it. But
the rise of the new phenomenon certainly did not owe its success uniquely to the
solemn imperial ‘translations’. In Chapter 2 I will argue that the surge of popular
enthusiasm for the cult of relics resulted above all from a growing belief in the
miraculous power of relics which is attested for the first time in the two treatises
of Hilary of Poitiers referred to above.
Notes:
(1) 1 Kings 13:31–2.
(2) 2 Kings 23:15–18.
(3) This can be seen in the results of the search in the Biblia Patristica, the index
of scriptural quotations in late antique literature, now accessible online: <http://
www.biblindex.info>.
(4) 2 Kings 13:20–1 (Septuagint).
(5) For the late fourth century, see e.g. Ambrose, De excessu fratris Satyri 2.83;
earlier authors: Origen, In Leviticum homiliae 3.3; Athanasius, De patientia 6; for
other quotations, see Biblia Patristica.
(6) Mark 5:25–34, Acts 19:12.
(7) Martyrium Polycarpi 18 (trans. E. Rizos). See also the record in the Cult of
Saints in Late Antiquity database: E. Rizos, CSLA E00087.
(8) See the discussion and bibliography in the record quoted above and
especially Campenhausen 1957, who considers the passage to be interpolated,
and Dehandschutter 1993, who argues it is original.
(9) Pietri 1991.
(10) Klijn 2003, 15.
(11) Acts of Thomas 170, trans. Klijn 2003.
(12) Tissot 1981.

Page 17 of 21
(13) Thomas and Parthia: Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 3.1.1.
(14) Ephrem, Hymnus 42.2 (trans. J. T. S. Stopford).
(15) Egeria, Itinerarium 17.1 and 19.2.
(16) See pp. 64–5.
(17) Marichal 1962. For the role of this place, see Jastrzębowska 1981.
(18) Burgess 2012, 381–2.
(19) See Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 2.25.7.
(20) Damasus, Epigrammata 20.
(21) Eastman 2011, 94–109, with references to the earlier discussion.
(22) Passio S. Sebastiani 88; see Cooper 1999, 310–13.
(23) Martyrdom of Sharbel (trans. B. P. Pratten, pp. 61–2; modified by S. Minov:

CSLA E01943).
(24) Gregory the Great, Epistula IV 30 (trans. J. Barmby).
(25) Duchesne in the Liber Pontificalis, vol. 1, pp. civ–cvii.
(26) Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 7.13.3; Rebillard 2009, 3–6.
(27) Liber Pontificalis 22.4 (trans. R. Davis); Chadwick 1957.
(28) What follows is based on Wiśniewski 2011.
(29) Optatus, Contra Parmenianum 1.16.1 (trans. M. Edwards).
(30) See Dölger 1932; Delehaye 1933, 60; and among more recent scholars,
Saxer 1980, 233–5; Brown 1981, 34; Shaw 1992, 25–6 (although the last remarks
that the account may have a rhetorical character); Miller 1998, 121–3.
(31) Julian: Optatus, Contra Parmenianum 2.16; according to Jerome Optatus

flourished during the reign of Valens and Valentinian (Gratian is not mentioned:
Jerome, De viris inlustribus 110). Thus, the treatise should have been written in
the years 364–7, but these dates do not refer to Book 7, which was composed
later: M. Labrousse, in her introduction (SC 412, 12–14).
(32) Barnes 1975, 15, justly says that modern scholars tend to believe the
Catholic version of the beginnings of the controversy. A good example is Saxer
1980, 233–5, who takes for granted not only the practice mentioned above, but
Page 18 of 21
also the description of the state of Lucilla’s emotions when rebuked by Caecilian
(correpta cum confusione irata discessit).
(33) The entire story is told in Optatus, Contra Parmenianum 1.16–18.
(34) In the sixth century Primasius of Hadrumetum equates Donatism with

Montanism—both movements were supported by women: Primasius, In
Apocalypsin 3.9.
(35) Sallust, Bellum Iugurthinum 8.1; 15.3; 27.2; 28.4; 77.1; 85.3; De
coniuratione Catilinae 18.4; 51.32; 54.5.
(36) The only exception in the cult of relics is Victricius, De laude sanctorum 5,
but he uses the verb in a figurative sense.
(37) So e.g. De Veer 1968.
(38) Foetuses torn out: Optatus, Contra Parmenianum 2.18.3; Felix: 2.19.4;
Eucharist cast to the dogs: 2.19.1 and 2.21.6; the phial with the oil for
Chrismation thrown by Donatists through the window: 2.19.2.
(39) Gesta Apud Zenophilum, pp. 195–6. The passage is referred to also by
Augustine, Contra Cresconium 3.29.33.
(40) Bribery: Augustine, Epistula 43.6 and 9; Enarrationes in Psalmum 36.2.19;

Contra Cresconium 3.28.32 (praepotens et pecuniosissima femina); Contra
Epistulam Parmeniani 1.3.5 (pecuniosissima et factiosissima femina); supporting
Donatus and his party: Epistula 133.4; Sermo 46.39; reprimand: Epistula 43.6.
(41) Victricius, De laude sanctorum 6 (written c.396). In the East it was probably
known already in the 370s: Gregory of Nyssa, De sancto Theodoro, p. 62. See
also Jerome, Adversus Vigilantium 4 and Epistula 108.9; Theodoret, Historia
religiosa 21.20; Egeria, Itinerarium 37.1–2; Prudentius, Peristephanon 2.517–20;
5.337–40; 9.99–100; 11.193–4; Augustine, Sermo 277A.1; more on this subject:
Penn 2005, 78–9 and nn. 54–5.
(42) These objects are always covered with martyrs’ blood; see Passio Perpetuae
21.5 (a ring stained with blood of the martyr is offered to a Christian soldier
assisting in the execution); Pontius, Vita Cypriani 16.6 (Cyprian’s cloths covered
with bloody sweat are collected by the faithful).
(43) Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 2.23.18 (James, brother of the Lord, in

Jerusalem), 2.25.5–8 (Peter and Paul in Rome), 3.31.3 (Philip in Hierapolis and
John in Ephesus).
(44) Drijvers 1992, 55–72.
Page 19 of 21
(45) Itinerarium Burdigalense 588 (plane trees), 590 (cornerstone), 596

(sycamore).
(46) Healing springs: Itinerarium Burdigalense 585, 586, and 596. For the power
of earth from the Holy Land, see also Augustine, De civitate Dei 22.8.192–214.
Stones from the Holy Land can be found in early collections of relics (Smith
2015).
(47) Itinerarium Burdigalense 587 (Joseph), 595 (Isaiah), 598 (Rachel), 599
(Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca), 604 (Euripides), 572 (Hannibal,
confused with the still living nephew of Constantine, Hannibalianus), 596
(Lazarus). The absence of the tombs of martyrs from the Itinerarium
Burdigalense is in my opinion a serious argument against the thesis of Markus
1994 claiming that it is their veneration which gave a start to the very idea of
holy places.
(48) Egeria, Itinerarium 7.7 (Heroonpolis), 20.5 (Helpidius), 22.2–23.5 (Thecla),

23.7 (Euphemia), 23.9 (Constantinople), 23.10 (John).
(49) John Chrysostom, In Babylam 67–9; Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 5.19.12.
(50) Jerome, Chronicon XXXV 19 (AD 356/357: Timothy) and XXXV 20 (357/8:
Andrew and Luke).
(51) Burgess 2003.
(52) Jerome, Chronicon XXXV 19 (AD 356/7).
(53) Athanasius, Vita Antonii 90.2; trans. Robertson; see also 91.6; for the dating
of this text, see Brennan 1976.
(54) This is the sense of Egyptian practices in the Vita Antonii 79.
(55) See p. 126.
(56) Ammianus, Res gestae 18.7.7. For Sabinianus, see Sabinianus (3) in PLRE 1,
789.
(57) Jerome, In Ezechielem 12.40.243–9.
(58) Gem 2013; Trout 2003 and Sághy 2000.
(59) Thacker 2014, 138.
(60) Ammianus, Res gestae 22.11.10; trans. Rolfe.
(61) John Chrysostom, In Babylam 80–91 and Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica

5.19.16–19.
Page 20 of 21
(62) Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 5.20.7.
(63) Rufinus, Historia ecclesiastica 11.28 and Philostorgius, Historia ecclesiastica

7.4a.
(64) Julian, Misopogon 357C and 361A–B; also Epistula 41.438C; see Torres 2009.
(65) Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 4.15.40–3 (Polycarp) and 5.1.62 (the martyrs
of Lyons).
(66) Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 7.11.10 and 7.13.
(67) Papaconstantinou 2001, 370.
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Prehistory and Early Chronology of the Cult of Relics

The Beginnings of the Cult of Relics

Print publication date: 2018

Prehistory and Early Chronology of the Cult of

Abstract and Keywords

(p.9) The Biblical Background

A more relevant passage can be found in the Second Book of Kings:

Pre-Constantinian Christianity: Four Cases

The author of the Martyrdom of Polycarp presents himself as an eyewitness. Yet

Who will show me the casket of Iscariot, whence courage I derived?

The second piece of evidence is an entry in the Depositio Martyrum, or the

The third piece of evidence is a monumental inscription from the same

The fourth piece of evidence is the Martyrdom of St Sebastian, dating probably

persecutions of Valerian, which started in 257.25 This claim is not substantiated

Caecilian as bishop of Carthage, and to entrust this office to a certain Maiorinus,

influential widow kissing a bone of an alleged martyr before receiving

In all, there is no evidence of the veneration of relics of saints which can be

The Fourth Century: The Very Beginnings

Athanasius puts in Antony’s mouth a strong disapproval of this custom and

From this moment on the evidence becomes abundant. According to Ammianus

Even though these three pieces of evidence coincide in time—the transfer of

(2) 2 Kings 23:15–18.

(4) 2 Kings 13:20–1 (Septuagint).

(6) Mark 5:25–34, Acts 19:12.

(9) Pietri 1991.

(10) Klijn 2003, 15.

(11) Acts of Thomas 170, trans. Klijn 2003.

(12) Tissot 1981.

(13) Thomas and Parthia: Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 3.1.1.

(14) Ephrem, Hymnus 42.2 (trans. J. T. S. Stopford).

(15) Egeria, Itinerarium 17.1 and 19.2.

(16) See pp. 64–5.

(18) Burgess 2012, 381–2.

(19) See Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 2.25.7.

(20) Damasus, Epigrammata 20.

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

(22) Passio S. Sebastiani 88; see Cooper 1999, 310–13.

(23) Martyrdom of Sharbel (trans. B. P. Pratten, pp. 61–2; modified by S. Minov:

(24) Gregory the Great, Epistula IV 30 (trans. J. Barmby).

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

(26) Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 7.13.3; Rebillard 2009, 3–6.

(27) Liber Pontificalis 22.4 (trans. R. Davis); Chadwick 1957.

(28) What follows is based on Wiśniewski 2011.

(29) Optatus, Contra Parmenianum 1.16.1 (trans. M. Edwards).

(31) Julian: Optatus, Contra Parmenianum 2.16; according to Jerome Optatus

(33) The entire story is told in Optatus, Contra Parmenianum 1.16–18.

(34) In the sixth century Primasius of Hadrumetum equates Donatism with

(37) So e.g. De Veer 1968.

(40) Bribery: Augustine, Epistula 43.6 and 9; Enarrationes in Psalmum 36.2.19;

(43) Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 2.23.18 (James, brother of the Lord, in

(44) Drijvers 1992, 55–72.

(45) Itinerarium Burdigalense 588 (plane trees), 590 (cornerstone), 596

(48) Egeria, Itinerarium 7.7 (Heroonpolis), 20.5 (Helpidius), 22.2–23.5 (Thecla),

(49) John Chrysostom, In Babylam 67–9; Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 5.19.12.

(51) Burgess 2003.

(52) Jerome, Chronicon XXXV 19 (AD 356/7).

(55) See p. 126.

(57) Jerome, In Ezechielem 12.40.243–9.

(58) Gem 2013; Trout 2003 and Sághy 2000.

(59) Thacker 2014, 138.

(60) Ammianus, Res gestae 22.11.10; trans. Rolfe.

(61) John Chrysostom, In Babylam 80–91 and Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica

(62) Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica 5.20.7.