Byzantine Childhood

Byzantine Childhood examines the intricacies of growing up in medieval

Byzantium, children’s everyday experiences, and their agency. By piecing
together a wide range of sources and utilising several methodological
approaches inspired by intersectionality, history from below and
microhistory, it analyses the life course of Byzantine boys and girls and
how medieval Byzantine society perceived and treated them according to
societal and cultural expectations surrounding age, gender, and status.
Ultimately, it seeks to reconstruct a more plausible picture of the everyday
life of children, one of the most vulnerable social groups throughout history
and often a neglected subject in scholarship. Written in a lively and
engaging manner, this book is necessary reading for scholars and students
of Byzantine history, as well as those interested in the history of childhood
and the family.

Oana-Maria Cojocaru is a postdoctoral researcher at the University of

Umeå, Sweden, where she is conducting a project on disabled children in
Byzantium. She was awarded a PhD from the University of Oslo, where she
was part of the international project ‘Tiny Voices from the Past: New
Perspectives on Childhood in Early Europe’. She has taught about
perceptions and conceptions of childhood in the Middle Ages and shared
her research on the everyday life experiences of Byzantine children in talks
and publications. She is co-editor of Childhood in History: Perceptions of
Children in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds (Routledge 2018).
Byzantine Childhood
Representations and Experiences of Children in
Middle Byzantine Society

Oana-Maria Cojocaru
First published 2022
by Routledge
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and by Routledge
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© 2022 Oana-Maria Cojocaru

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British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Cojocaru, Oana Maria, author.
Title: Byzantine childhood : representations and experiences of children in middle byzantine society /
Oana-Maria Cojocaru.
Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2022. |
Series: Routledge research in Byzantine studies | Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2021010132 (print) | LCCN 2021010133 (ebook) | ISBN 9780367332112 (hbk) |
ISBN 9781032063447 (pbk) | ISBN 9780429318498 (ebk)
Subjects: LCSH: Children—Byzantine Empire—History. | Children—Byzantine Empire—Social
conditions. | Families—Byzantine Empire—History. | Byzantine Empire—History.
Classification: LCC HQ792.B97 C64 2022 (print) | LCC HQ792.B97 (ebook) | DDC 305.2309495—
dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021010132
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021010133

ISBN: 978-0-367-33211-2 (hbk)

ISBN: 978-1-032-06344-7 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-0-429-31849-8 (ebk)

DOI: 10.4324/9780429318498

Typeset in Times New Roman

by codeMantra
Contents

List of illustrations
Acknowledgements
List of abbreviations

Introduction

1 Conceptions of childhood

2 The social and physical world of Byzantine children

3 How it all starts: the first few years of Byzantine children’s lives

4 Growing up in a Byzantine family: socialization in the domestic sphere

5 The child in the church: constructing religious identity

6 Life in the human hive:family networks and the social life of the
household

7 The monastic-to-be: life within a monastery’s walls

8 Through the eyes of children: two narratives of Byzantine children’s
everyday life

Conclusions

Bibliography
Index
Illustrations

Figures
3.1 The family of Philaretos the Merciful according to his vita. © The
author
4.1 Homilies of Gregory Nazianzen, gr. 550, fol. 30r, twelfth century. A
boy on a tree throwing fruit down to his friends. © Bibliothèque
Nationale de France
4.2 Homilies of Gregory Nazianzen, gr. 550, fol. 251r, twelfth century. A
child pushed on a swing by two other children. © Bibliothèque
Nationale de France

Tables
0.1 List of saints’ lives
2.1 Life expectancy of females and males according to Coale-Demeny,
level 3, Model South
Acknowledgements

This book is the result of a long scholarly journey during which I have met
so many colleagues and friends whose support and encouragement have
been invaluable. The idea behind this work started at the University of Oslo
as a doctoral dissertation. I would like to thank my supervisor, Reidar
Aasgaard, for his knowledge, guidance, energy, humour, and friendship he
has provided throughout the years of my doctoral studies and beyond. The
Department of Philosophy, Classics, History of Art and Ideas (IFIKK) at the
University of Oslo has been a truly vibrant and stimulating working
environment where I have been fortunate to be part of the project Tiny
Voices From the Past: New Perspectives on Childhood in Early Europe,
financed by the Norwegian Research Council. It was especially during the
workshops organized under the aegis of this international project that I had
the opportunity to exchange ideas and receive valuable feedback from
leading experts in fields related to the history of ancient and medieval
children. During the elaboration of this book, I have benefited from the
deep insight and kind encouragement of a number of scholars who have
generously shared their work and expertise with me. My gratitude goes to
Béatrice Caseau, Cornelia Horn, Christian Laes, and Ville Vuolanto who
have been kind to read parts of my work during various stages of the book.
Their stimulating questions and comments have made me refine my
thinking on many points, and inspired me to think more about the
experiences of children in Byzantium. I am also grateful to the many
colleagues who have provided helpful comments at the conferences where I
presented my research.
I thank the three Byzantinists present on my doctoral committee, Leslie
Brubaker, Shaun Tougher, and Christine Amadou, as well as the two
anonymous readers who have been so generous with useful comments and
suggestions on how to turn the dissertation into a publishable book.
Two postdoctoral fellowships at the University of Bucharest’s Institute
for Research in the Humanities (2018–19) and at the Department for
Historical, Philosophical, and Religious Studies at Umeå University (2019–
21) gave me the ideal environment to develop new work for this volume.
My gratitude goes especially to my fellow medievalist Catalin Taranu who
has not only been a wonderful proofreader, but more than anything, a dear
friend whose optimism and enthusiasm towards my work made many of my
grim days look brighter. I am extremely indebted to the Umeå Group for
Pre-modern Studies (UGPS) who provided an inspiring locus to present my
ideas in the workshops they organized.
Thanks are also due to Michael Greenwood and Stewart Beale from
Routledge for their immense patience and flexibility and valuable support
during the publishing process.
My boundless gratitude goes to my family who unceasingly supported
me all these years. I could have never written this book without the passion
for history instilled in me by my father, Gheorghe, nor without the love and
support of my partner, Constantin, who always believed in me and
encouraged me to pursue my dreams. I dedicate this book to the memory of
my mother, Maria, and my grandparents, Ilinca and Toader, who made my
childhood and youth the best years of my life.

Permissions
Part of Chapter 8 appeared as a book chapter: ‘Everyday lives of children in
ninth-century Byzantine monasteries’, in Children and everyday life in the
Roman and late antique world, edited by Christian Laes and Ville Vuolanto
(London and New York: Routledge, 2017).
Abbreviations

AASS Acta Sanctorum

AB Analecta Bollandiana
BF Byzantinische Forschungen
BMFD Byzantine Monastic Foundation Documents. 5 vols, eds. J.
Thomas and A. Constantinides Hero (Washington, 2000).
BMGS Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies
Byz Byzantion revue internationale des études byzantines
BZ Byzantinische Zeitschrift
DOP Dumbarton Oaks Papers
GRBS Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies
JECS Journal of Early Christian Studies
JMH Journal of Modern Hellenism
JÖB Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik
ODB Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, 3 vols., eds. A.P. Kazhdan et
al. (New York, 1991)
PBW Prosopography of the Byzantine World, 2016, eds. M Jeffreys
et al. (King’s College London, 2017).
PG Patrologiae cursus completes. Series graeca, 161 vols, ed. J-P.
Migne, (Paris, 1857–1866)
PMBZ Prosopographie der mittelbyzantinischen Zeit Online
PO Patrologia Orientalis
REB Revue des études byzantines
ROC Revue de l’Orient chrétien
SynaxCP Synaxarium ecclesiae Constantino politanae Propylaeum ad
Acta Sanctorum Novembris, ed. H. Delehaye (Brussels 1902,
rprt. Louvain : [1954])
TM Travaux et Mémoires
Introduction
DOI: 10.4324/9780429318498

How is childhood conceptualized in Byzantine texts? What was it like to grow up in the
medieval Byzantine world? How did a child experience life a thousand years ago in a village
in Asia Minor, in a provincial town, or in Constantinople, the greatest city of the
Mediterranean world? This book seeks to answer such questions by exploring a wide range of
hagiographical and non-hagiographical texts spanning a period of two hundred years, from
circa mid-ninth century to circa mid-eleventh century, which inform us about how children
were perceived by adults and how they experienced childhood. The book focuses on two areas:
on the one hand, it focuses on the ideology surrounding childhood, and on the other hand, it
focuses on everyday experiences of children who once lived and breathed. Although these two
levels might seem at first sight as opposing to one another, they are in fact inextricably linked.
Ideas, ideologies, and discourses on children and childhood expressed in the written sources
reflect, to a certain extent, the social realities in which children lived. Social realities and
experiences of life are, in turn, shaped by discourses that give meaning to the rough facts of
everyday existence by integrating them into a culturally determined linguistic and conceptual
system of signification. In other words, there is no pure, unadulterated experience of children
as separate from what people thought about children: Byzantine children and Byzantine people
writing, speaking, and thinking of children were themselves all participating in the same order
of discourse that pre-established the boundaries of what and how people would think, write, or
speak. Accordingly, I view cultural attitudes to childhood in relation to the social aspects of
children’s lives. In this respect, the book deals with several important questions: how did
Byzantine authors portray children and childhood in their texts? What typical characteristics
did they ascribe to boys and girls, respectively? What were the prevailing social practices with
respect to children’s upbringing in various stages of their development? What roles and
functions did children have in the family unit, depending on age, gender, and social status?
How did parental practices differ depending on these factors? These questions ultimately lead
to another important issue that has received little attention in scholarship: what was it like to
be a child in Byzantine medieval society? By tackling these matters, my aim is to reconstruct a
more plausible picture of everyday life of Byzantine children, one of the most vulnerable
social groups throughout history and often a neglected subject in scholarship.
Hagiography is a rich source for recovering something of children’s lives in the Middle
Byzantine period, a time that was extremely active and rich in the production of vitae, which
constitute one of the main sources for social history.1 This is the era in which, after two
centuries of literary and artistic eclipse, hagiography flourished under the auspices of the
Macedonian dynasty that ruled the Byzantine Empire from 862 until 1056. A considerable
number of vitae of new saints were produced during the ninth and the tenth centuries. The
eleventh century marked the beginning of an era when the hagiographical production was
organized in the form of menologia and synaxaria, whereas the composition of new and
original hagiographies declined dramatically.2
 However, albeit an essential source for social history, hagiographies should be used
cautiously. These biographies dedicated to the lives and deeds of holy men and women,
usually presented in a narrative line from birth to death, were written not only with the purpose
of promoting the saints’ cult, but also with the didactic aim of presenting the audience with a
saintly way of life to emulate. From this point of view, hagiographical texts are both
descriptive and prescriptive in that they do not only describe the lives of holy individuals but
they act as ideal examples of how a life is supposed to be led. Hagiographers were not
attempting to report what happened in objective reality in accordance with our modern sense
of a journalistic account, but to present their heroes in the best possible light; in other words,
they wanted to show what extraordinary figures the saints were. To do that, the authors of such
texts could embellish their narratives with elements that would offer the readers spiritual
edification.
As we have no source written by a child, or even by a woman, what we are left with in the
end is a distorted image of childhood that comes through the lens of educated male adults who
had their own assumptions about children and childhood.
Hagiographical narratives were written according to a fairly standardized template of
rhetorical composition. Almost all of them, at least in what concerns the Middle Byzantine
period, start with some information about the saints’ parents, their social and geographical
origins. They then continue with details about their childhood, usually with special attention to
the moral formation they received at home and to their formal education.3 From details of this
kind, we get an impression of the diversity of children’s everyday life in villages and towns,
the family dynamics, parental practices, interpersonal relationships between children, parents,
and relatives, and the role of each of these individuals in a child’s upbringing.
Therefore, when it comes to the early period of a saint’s life, hagiography may be taken to
contain some measure of reality about Byzantine children’s lives, but at the same time, it
presents certain stereotypes of holy childhood. The core problem is to distinguish between the
prescriptions of the texts and how children acted out in their real life. What is stressed in
childhood narratives, for instance, is more what children’s behaviour ought to be, rather than
how it really was. This can be seen especially in the representation of the saints-to-be shaped
according to features that are placed in antithesis to specific attributes that characterize
ordinary children.4 For instance, when we read that a holy child, unlike others, behaved
maturely (the topos of puer senex), it means that in the biographers’ opinion, children in
general did not display this kind of conduct. This literary cliché makes us aware of how
children were expected to behave, but at a certain level, also how they acted out in contrast
with these expectations. Moreover, we should be aware from the outset that when a
hagiographer wrote about a particular saint’s childhood, this does not mean that he or she
reproduced the ‘real’ events from the saint’s early life. Some may have been well informed
about their protagonists, but many others may simply have ‘invented’ a particular event if it
served their purpose.5 We know, for instance, that some authors belonged to the family of the
saints. In this case, they were likely to have been familiar with various events from the saints’
life, perhaps even from their childhood. This may also be the case when the hagiographers
were the saints’ disciples and may have had access to information provided by the saints
themselves. In both these situations, however, the authors were likely to have embellished their
stories with fictitious details to highlight a particular feature of the saints (e.g. their character
or behaviour).
 At the other end of the spectrum, there are vitae written long after the saints’ death. The
chronological distance indicates that the biographers could hardly have known anything about
the early life of their protagonists. In this case, they may simply have introduced some
formulaic piece of information about childhood, usually borrowed from other vitae. There are
a number of clichés such as the astonishing qualities of a saintly child, or the description of the
moral virtues that are very similar in many texts.6 These literary commonplaces, however,
have their own potential insofar as they highlight what the audience was expected to hear
about a child. If we read that a saintly child living in the ninth century was brought up in piety,
this means that the moral and religious formation of children was a feature the Byzantines
could recognize from their own everyday life even one or two centuries later. Byzantium was,
after all, a society where religion throughout the centuries played a great role in the life of
people, whether adults or children. We should not dismiss this kind of information only
because we encounter it in so many vitae written at different points in time. Such literary
devices can be seen as expressing certain ideas and ideals that were deeply embedded in
Byzantine mentality. Thus, from this type of information, we can also extract valuable
evidence about the mentalities, ideas, and customs of the time when the biography was
composed. What was written about children and childhood may reflect not the time when the
saint lived, but the period when the vita was composed. Some authors are also likely to have
provided information about their own childhood, by projecting their experiences of their own
times onto the characters depicted in the hagiographies.
Anthony Kaldellis has argued that hagiographers fashioned many stories, which, despite the
abundance of unbelievable details for a modern reader, were based on social realities that were
familiar to the audience.7 It is, for example, well known that many hagiographies, at the end of
the narrative, contain a list of healing miracles performed through the relics of the saints. The
beneficiaries of these miracles were both adults and children. The main reason for including
the miracles was, of course, to highlight the holiness of the saints as manifested through their
healing powers, and to promote their cult in a certain milieu. Nevertheless, one can extract
from these stories elements that give evidence of social history: we learn about the milieus
where children came from, their social background, or in what context their illness or
accidents occurred. It is also worth noting that all social classes are represented in these
narratives, from children of aristocratic individuals to those of poor families, and in this way,
the scholar can unearth valuable information about the differences, as well as the common
elements across the levels of social class.
In a nutshell, hagiographical narratives are especially disposed to serve as the carrier of
ideology – that of Eastern Christianity, Byzantine society and culture, and the function of
saints and miracles ascribed to them therein.8 The small glimpses from the lives of children
that pepper the sources, while contributing to the ‘effect of reality’ as details enhancing the
illusion of the narrative’s veracity, nevertheless would have had to be recognized by the
audience as corresponding to what was expected and common in their everyday realities –
otherwise, the use of completely fantastical descriptions of childhood or experiences thereof
would have broken this illusion.9 Thus, while we can never be sure as to the ultimate truth of
these accounts, they can be safely used to discern social realities recognized as such by
Byzantine audiences of these hagiographies.
In hagiographies, the representation of children and childhood emerges on two main levels.
On one level, there are the holy children whose ideal childhood may, to a certain extent, reflect
the social realities of childhood; on another level, there are the ordinary children who appear
as background figures, sometimes serving as a counter-paradigm to the saints-to-be, and
sometimes described in a more neutral way in miracle stories as beneficiaries of the saints’
healing powers. From this point of view, Byzantine hagiographies provide the reader with a
multifaceted image of children and childhood, which is based not only on attributes pertaining
to holiness but also on attributes of children as human beings.
The sources, when corroborated with what we know about Byzantine society, also present
us with another dimension: children as important members of society enmeshed in a variety of
social and legal situations. Byzantium was a family-oriented society in which the institution of
marriage was supported by the church and regulated and controlled by the state. Children’s
central position in the family unit can be seen not only in hagiographical texts, but also in the
legislation which established norms meant to protect young members of society. Infanticide
and abandonment were strictly condemned as murder, although in practice it is difficult to state
to what extent the norms were followed. Parents were morally and legally responsible for
providing care for their children. The Ecloga (eighth century) established women’s right to act
as legal guardians for their children when the head of the household died. Widowed mothers
also had the right to manage the entire property of the family on their own, with the obligation
to bring up their children and to provide for their marriage. One century later, the Novels of
Leo VI allowed women to adopt children, even if they were unmarried or barren, so as they
would benefit from children’s support in old age.10 If both parents died, the legal guardianship
passed to the relatives in the extended family. The state also established an ambitious
programme of child protection in collaboration with religious institutions, local churches, and
monasteries, which accommodated orphaned children who did not have any legal guardians.11
All these aspects of law and life can be observed in our sources, which present children in
the family context, the monastic milieu, and other settings. Consequently, my analysis will
deal with several groups of children: children with one or both living parents who spent their
childhood in nuclear families; orphan children who were entrusted to relatives; orphan
children who were raised by monastic communities. In addition, a particular group of children
mentioned in our sources were those with living parents who were entrusted to monastic
communities with the aim of becoming monks and nuns later on.
Since the majority of children were raised within their own families, family dynamics,
parental practices, and interpersonal relationships between children and parents and relatives
will take a prominent place in my analysis. With regard to the last category, that of children
entrusted to monasteries and who would take the monastic habit at a later date, their situation
should be regarded as an exception. In general, children were expected to assure the
perpetuation of the lineage, and many young Byzantines did get married and had their own
offspring. Byzantine hagiographers, however, had an ambivalent view of the family: on the
one hand, they stressed the importance of family values, and on the other hand, they advocated
the rejection of family ties in favour of monastic life. Those children who were entrusted by
their families to monastic communities constituted a minority, and their situation had its own
particularities, depending very much on the family circumstances. Their life in monasteries
obviously differed from those who lived with their own families, because the monastic world
had its own rules and regulations, distinct from those in the family unit. The formation of
children’s social identity depended much on the norms of behaviour, values, and customs
shared by the communities where they lived. Accordingly, life in a monastic setting represents
in many ways a different pattern in terms of living conditions and social norms.
 By analysing children in these settings, I aim to offer a fresh view of how children and
childhood were perceived in Byzantine society, and contribute to previous scholarship through
the new approaches I propose in assessing their everyday experiences.

A short overview of research on Byzantine childhood

The past few decades have witnessed a tremendous growth of interest in ancient and medieval
children and childhood. Yet, the pace of research on Byzantine children and childhood has
been generally slower compared with that of scholars working on different periods.12 Even
more, the topic of children in Middle Byzantine society has only recently started to receive due
attention. The interest in Byzantine childhood emerged during the 1970s and 1980s
particularly among French historians influenced by the structuralism of the Annales School.
Much of the work in this first stage of research has been based mainly on the analysis of legal
sources and it focused primarily on children’s legal status and their role within the family. The
first studies during these years have been done by Evelyne Patlagean (1973), Helene
Antoniadis Bibicou (1973), and Joelle Beaucamp (1977) who were also pioneers in gender
studies among Byzantinists. They touched upon aspects of childhood related to questions of
family law (such as the position of legitimate and illegitimate children within the family, issues
concerning minority, coming of age, and the age of marriage), but also the place of children in
family strategies.
While hagiography was used more as an auxiliary source material, over the years, scholars
have started to pay closer attention to how childhood is represented in these sources. However,
historians have focused more on late antiquity and the early Byzantine period, and less on the
following centuries that cover the Middle and Late Byzantine period. This is the case with the
studies by Dorothy Abrahamse and Ann Moffat at the end of the 1970s. Abrahamse (1979)
analysed the representations of childhood in early Byzantine hagiography by looking
especially at themes related to childhood that were incorporated by hagiographers in their
accounts, and how child-rearing practices are depicted in the sources of the fourth to the
seventh centuries. Ann Moffatt (1979) touched upon the subject of education portrayed in the
hagiographical sources of the eighth and the ninth centuries. Several years later, Moffatt
(1986) published a short, but insightful article on the conceptions of childhood in Byzantine
thinking.
Hagiographical sources have been fruitfully exploited in relation to children’s education,
one of the most studied topics in the first decade of the new millennium, which marked a new
phase in the study of medieval childhood in Byzantium. Some of Nikos Kalogeras’s work
explored the role played by parents and the extended family in children’s education (2005), as
well as the symbiosis between the secular and the religious education offered to Byzantine
boys (2012). Nevertheless, his most comprehensive work on this topic remains his
unpublished doctoral dissertation (2000), which covers the period from the sixth to the ninth
centuries and explores important aspects of the educational system in Byzantium, as well as
how, when, and where children received formal training.
The interest in Byzantine children was singled out in the new millennium by studies that
explored new sources and dealt with new topics. Thanks to Hummel (1999), we know more
about childhood diseases that were described in the works of twenty-one Greek medical
authors from the fourth to the fourteenth century. The pattern of childhood diseases has also
been thoroughly explored by Bourbou (2010), where she has combined textual evidence with
bioarchaeological data to provide a better picture of the living condition, dietary practices, and
breastfeeding and weaning patterns of the population in Byzantine Crete. The archaeological
data shows that childhood mortality, which in many cases exceeded infant mortality, was
greatly influenced by the environmental factors (for instance, poor hygiene) but also by
weaning practices. For instance, in medieval Byzantium, children were vulnerable to
infectious diseases because of iron deficiency and malnutrition.
A valuable contribution to the study of childhood in Byzantium was made by Miller (2003),
who examined a wide range of legal, monastic, and hagiographical sources to shed light on the
life of orphan children. Byzantine society, as he has shown, preferred to leave orphans with
relatives and thus, most state activity on behalf of orphans focused on reforming the laws that
gave family members the rights to act as guardians. He traces the evolution of the
philanthropic institutions throughout the centuries, demonstrating the important role played by
the Church in the organization of children’s welfare.
As part of the increasing interest in childhood history, Dumbarton Oaks organized in 2006 a
symposium dedicated to the topic of children and childhood in Byzantium. Its proceedings
were published three years later in a collective volume edited by Arietta Papaconstantinou and
Alice-Mary Talbot (2009). The goal of the book, as is stated from the beginning, was to correct
the imbalance caused by the paucity of studies of children and childhood in the Byzantine
Empire and to give an impetus to scholars to continue the research in this field. The volume,
which was the first major comprehensive collection focuses exclusively on children and
childhood, contains eight essays that analyse childhood in Byzantium from various
perspectives and in various contexts, and proposes new methodologies and strategies in
interpreting the sources. Since then, the literature in the field has been enriched with two other
monographs published by Cecily Hennessy and Despoina Ariantzi. Hennessy (2008) tackles a
previously unexplored topic – children’s representations in Byzantine art. She demonstrates
that children were not only subjects but also recipients and possibly even involved in the
production of visual imagery. The study by Ariantzi (2012) took a big step towards a more
systematic analysis of children and childhood in Byzantium. She based her research on a vast
corpus spanning the sixth through the eleventh centuries, highlighting the most important
aspects in children’s lives: birth, baptism, breastfeeding practices, relationships in the family
milieu, the period of training, fatal diseases, and death. After the publication of this
monograph, only two other articles deal exclusively with childhood in the Middle Byzantine
period, one of them addressing the issue of children’s agency in the monastic context13 and the
other one being a short overview of childhood in both the Middle and Late Byzantine
periods.14
Despite the advance made by Byzantinists in the study of children and childhood, their
work has been much more devoted to the social structures and institutions governing children’s
lives and less to children themselves. As such, there is still much to be done, as very little
attention has been paid to the experiences of being a child and of growing up in different social
settings, as well as to socialization in everyday life and children’s agency in various contexts.
This book aims to fill this gap in scholarship by providing a fresh perspective on discourses of
childhood, and how children’s everyday life experiences are narrated and reconstructed in the
sources of the Middle Byzantine period, by means of an innovative methodological toolbox
aimed at sketching a more nuanced picture of childhood as well as the diverse lived
experiences of medieval children.
 However, some important topics have had to be left aside: the book will not discuss the
experiences of slave children, nor of those children with physical or mental impairments. I do
not devote a separate chapter to children’s illnesses and death, although I constantly refer
throughout the book to these issues.

Theoretical and methodological toolbox

Traditionally, historical childhood has been largely framed from a perspective that tended to
universalize the experiences of children. Taking a social constructionist approach, this book
proposes a theoretical framework that links life course theory and intersectionality, which
enables a more fine-grained analysis of children’s diverse life contexts and conditions. Life
course theory is based on a set of principles according to which the life of an individual from
birth to death is a process defined by culturally constructed stages and transitions. While age is
an important feature in constructing a life course, more important is the meaning attached by
society to events and actions that occur at different stages of life.15 One of its basic tenets is
that people’s life course is shaped by their historical time and geographical setting. As an
example, Byzantine children born in the second decade of the tenth century in Constantinople,
which was hit by severe famine determined by the brutal winter of 927–8, experienced a
historical time that was distinctive compared with children born later, as the severity of
conditions in which they grew up differed. Another principle stipulates that the trajectory of a
life with its transitions and rites of passage is fluid and is determined by variables like age,
gender, and status. Moreover, there is the principle of linked lives, which states that the life
course is marked by family ties and social networks, therefore children’s diverse experiences
of life are greatly influenced by the social contexts in which they live and by their
relationships with other people.16 For Byzantine children, the process of growing up was
marked by a series of rites of passages, such as naming, churching, baptism, weaning,
beginning of primary education, beard cutting, head covering, and betrothal, which represented
major milestones through which they were gradually inducted into the adult world with its
privileges and responsibilities. However, the way in which children experienced these
transitions from one stage to another and how they were socialized during childhood depended
to a great degree on age, gender, and status. In this sense, intersectionality can be a useful
analytical framework in accounting for different experiences of life as a result of how
categories such as age, class, gender, race, slavery, and dis(ability) intersect and overlap with
one another in reproducing structural inequalities for certain groups. Coined by a scholar of
critical race theory, Kimberle Crenshaw, intersectionality was introduced in feminist studies to
raise awareness of the multidimensional forms of identities that give rise to the structural
forms of subordination and privilege. Women as a gender category are also black, white, poor,
rich, abled, or disabled, and so on, each of these dimensions interacting in shaping various
forms of inequalities, and ultimately women’s everyday experiences.17
Intersectionality has been applied in various fields of historical study dealing with marginal
groups of society, such as women and slaves. Recently, the intersectional approach has also
been recognized as a useful analytical tool in childhood studies through which one can ask
how age, class, ethnicity, gender, and status operate together in shaping children’s lives.18
A Byzantine child was born in a society of male domination in both the public and private
sphere, thus in a hierarchal and patriarchal system of subordination. A child was first and
foremost subject to adults’ authority. In a patriarchal society like the Byzantine one, being a
girl entailed certain prejudices she had to be confronted with throughout her life. Women were
expected to be under the control of their fathers, then of their husbands. By and large, they
were denied access to public life, therefore their opportunities in life differed greatly compared
with those of boys, because of the different societal expectations and gender roles ascribed to
them. Social status, on the other hand, added a new dimension in their life experiences. A girl
from the elite class would have different opportunities and privileges from a girl or a boy from
a lowly social background. In the same way, the state of orphanhood had a great influence on
children’s experiences of life. In this book, I deal with all these aspects, and I aim at showing
how children’s lives differed depending on these variables.
In studying the discourses of childhood as well as children’s experiences of life, the
combination of life course theory with intersectionality enables us to see how children’s lives
are constructed via a series of features that determine the trajectory of their lives. For instance,
the life of a Byzantine boy could be drastically different from that of a girl, not only because of
the different gender roles but also because of the age at which they could start performing
them (i.e. betrothal/marriage). Likewise, a different social and economic background can have
a great impact on the life of a child, because of the presence or absence of opportunities that
follow from it. While children belonging to rich families could attain better education because
of the financial support of their families, poor children did not normally benefit from the same
chances. Furthermore, the roles played by the parents or relatives in children’s lives influenced
their future. For instance, several hagiographical narratives of our period speak about girls and
boys who entered the monasteries where their relatives had already taken vows. Their choice
of a specific monastery was not accidental, since they could benefit from these relationships.
Similarly, some parents forced their children into unwanted marriages, which sometimes led
the child (usually a boy) to flee from the family setting. In the case of girls, the situation
differed greatly because they usually obeyed their parents’ decision. Hence, the life course of
children was constructed differently and the transitions and rites of passage during childhood
need to be understood in relation to gender, status, and age and within a society in which
rituals and behavioural expectations would influence the ways in which children acted out.
The concepts of socialization and agency are crucial for the holistic account of the
Byzantine childhood I propose in this book. Their usefulness for the study of social history,
especially with regard to childhood, has been demonstrated by the recent work on children’s
everyday lives in late antiquity and the medieval world. Traditional accounts of socialization
positioned the child as a passive object on which society left its mark. Recently, however,
contemporary sociology sees children as social actors and as people with agency.19 Indeed,
socialization does not mean that people are simply moulded into pre-existent shapes, like
dough by a cookie-cutter. How else can one account for the paradox of any culture or society,
namely the temporary durability of certain patterns of behaviour and thought and the constant
mutability of all of them? People are not just socialized into the social beings that they are, but
are also actors on the social scene, or as Tonkin has aptly put it, they are “agents, making
society (and history) by acting out their lives, not simply fitting slots in a predetermined
system”, interacting with each other according to extant social scripts, even while the patterns
guiding these interactions are constantly changing.20 Understood together, then, the concepts
of socialization and agency can constitute a powerful paradigm for understanding how people
can meaningfully act upon their lives, even while this capacity is manifested within extant
social networks and structures of power.
 Bypassing the dichotomy of passive socialization vs. agency, I take the view that both of
these processes are interlinked, taking place in the hundreds of daily interactions between
humans, being constituted by both individual actions and reactions to other people’s words and
deeds – most of which take place according to the norms of pre-existent systems of discourse
and behaviour, which are themselves open to more or less gradual change, one socio-cultural
negotiation at a time.
My book, thus, takes the position that in spite of the fact that we cannot access children’s
voices in Byzantine texts, children did have agency. For, as Vuolanto reminds us, identifying
children’s agency in historical contexts “need not mean finding ‘great deeds’ or heroism in the
lives of children,” since agency is manifested in the small occurrences of everyday life. One
does not need to act rebelliously, in contrast to social expectations, to feel like an active social
agent – agency is just as often involved in the reproduction of socio-cultural norms.21 In
consonance with the approach taken by Vuolanto et al. in the volume on Roman childhood, I
seek to reconstruct the social environment within which children of the Byzantine world could
act. This represents the framework for their experiences, in which instances of family life with
everything that entails – for example, education, play, work, religious practices – are arenas of
socialization in which children’s agency is manifested.
What would it mean, then, to uncover Byzantine children’s experiences of life and their
agency? Scholars fully acknowledged the fact that the sources of ancient and medieval worlds
do not record any subjective experiences of children. This also holds true in what concerns the
Byzantine children, who left no source written by them. Yet we can glean much valuable
information on how children used their time, what they did, and with whom they interacted –
all of this constituting their experiences – from sources written by authors who were not
particularly interested in children’s lives, but who nevertheless mentioned these aspects in their
writings. Although here we are not dealing with direct experiences, in a historical context, as
Vuolanto has rightly argued, “experience that can be studied is always something which is
already told, spoken about, and thus constructed.”22 Here is where the sources I explore prove
their usefulness: hagiographies, funeral orations, and letters provide a kaleidoscope of such
narrated experience, which record what living people in Byzantium thought, felt, and
experienced. Through this multifaceted perspective, we can glimpse at processes and forces
that may have been hidden to the people involved in them, thus uncovering different processes
of socialization dependent on gender, social milieu, family group, and the human agency
involved at every step. Thus, while it may seem that we are stuck with an outsider’s
perspective in the study of children, since they did not actually produce any of the sources we
use, we might be able to look at the environment, activities, and the social setting that was
experienced by these children.
While most of the book employs fairly conventional academic writing in which I analyse
the sources via intersectionality to see how gender, age, status, and contextual factors are
intersecting in various ways in shaping children’s life course and experiences, the last chapter
uses a more unconventional approach that aims to provide a more direct and organic access to
the lived experiences of Byzantine children. The approach is inspired by history from below
and microhistory, both of them being concerned with the views and actions of ordinary people,
their lives, and struggles, attempting to provide a bottom-up perspective on various historical
events and social structures that governed people’s lives.23 Recently it has been argued that
history from below should “move subaltern people from static synchronic analysis into
narratives and to conceive them not only as objects of exploitation and domination, but also as
active historical agents.”24 This principle goes hand in hand with systematic microhistory,
which allows the historian to see the agency of individuals “at every level of society, but
always within a specific, concrete network of social relationships.”25 It is out of the desire to
make children’s everyday life experiences more visible, less abstract, and less dry that I
attempt to describe an ordinary day from children’s standpoints. Therefore, the last chapter is
made up of the interconnected narratives of one day in the lives of four fictional Byzantine
children, rigorously pieced together from the evidence provided by the primary sources
explored more traditionally in the previous chapters.

Sources
As it has become already clear, the main sources I draw upon in this book are the Saints’ Lives
produced between the ninth and the eleventh centuries. In this period, the Byzantine Empire
comprised a vast geographical area, from the Balkans to Asia Minor and the South of Italy.
Asia Minor was the land that produced by far the largest number of saints.26 Accordingly,
many children, whether holy or ordinary, have been identified as coming from this
geographical area. Constantinople was the capital city of the empire and the largest urban
centre, where many saints from wealthy families were born and others came to get an
education. Our sources also mention some saints born to peasant families who lived in various
villages across the empire. But, given the large number of saints born to aristocratic families
living in large cities, urban elite children are overrepresented in this study. However, in spite of
this, we also have sufficient information in the sources to get an idea of children’s lives in the
rural areas. In this study, I shall make use of fifty-four vitae. Only nine of them are about
female saints; thus the quantitative data on girls’ childhood is more limited than on boys. The
material includes some specific groups of saints, which will be presented below, and whose
biographies contain relevant details about children and childhood.
After the first iconoclastic period (730–87), and especially after the reinstatement of
iconoclasm in 815, there emerged in Byzantine hagiography a new category of saints, the
iconodules, whose biographies began to be produced in Constantinople and its vicinities. In
addition to monastic hagiographies, vitae were also written about Constantinopolitan
patriarchs who had distinguished themselves in doctrinal controversies. Many pious
biographies of the ninth century deal with the issue of the iconoclastic controversy and praise
the deeds of the heroes who were active in defence of the icons.27 However, despite the
political and religious character that is displayed in the texts, one can find useful information
both about the cultural attitudes to childhood and details related to the saints’ early lives.
These individuals belonged by and large to wealthy aristocratic families who were concerned
with providing their children suitable education that would ensure a good career.
Consequently, information about the stages of education pursued by these saints is of much
value towards this study.
In the ninth and tenth centuries, there emerged a new trend in promoting the cults of
contemporary saints, especially by the members of the saints’ families. Theodore of Stoudite
was the first to be interested in promoting his family cult.28 His encomia for his uncle Plato
and his mother Theoktiste are of particular interest because they highlight the interpersonal
relationships between the family members and also contain autobiographical details from his
own childhood.
 In this period, a new type of female saint also appears: that of the married laywomen who
achieved sanctity without adopting the monastic habit. Although this group is small, it has
been argued that its occurrence in hagiography indicates changes in the criteria for
canonization in the Middle Byzantine period.29 The group consists of four saints, namely
Theokleto (ninth century), Theophano, the first wife of the emperor Leo VI (886–912), Mary
the Younger (875–903), and Thomaïs of Lesbos (900–50). Apart from these, I shall also use
other female vitae produced between the ninth and the eleventh centuries; these fall into
different categories of saints: defenders of Orthodoxy (Theodora the Empress), nuns and
abbesses (Theodora of Thessalonike, Athanasia of Aegina, and Irene of Chrysobalanton),
transvestite saints (Anna/Euphemianos and Euphrosyne the Younger), and female hermits
(Theoktiste of Lesbos).30 All of these texts provide us with useful information about parental
practices concerning the upbringing of girls.
The tenth century is also characterized by the predominance of the founders of monastic
communities, such as Paul the Younger and Luke of Steiris, whose vitae contain information
both about their early life as orphans within the family context, and about their period of
novitiate in monastic communities.
The eleventh century marked the decline in the production of hagiographical texts.
Compared with the previous two centuries, few new vitae were written in this period. Of
particular importance for this study are the vitae of several politically active saints like
Symeon the New Theologian, Lazarus of Galesion, and Cyril the Phileote, and the vitae of
monastic saints, such as Nikon the Metanoeite and Athanasios of Athos. The lives of Symeon
the New Theologian and of Lazarus of Galesion are important for the present study with
regard to the actions undertaken by parents from different social levels in assuring a future
career for their offspring, while the vitae of Nikon the Metanoeite and of Cyril the Phileote
show the tensions between children and their families with regard to the choice of a religious
life. The vita of Athanasios provides significant details about his early life, as a child who lost
his family.
The hagiographical corpus also contains saints of Italo-Greek origins. Here, I take into
consideration three vitae of saintly monks who were born in Sicily (Elias the Younger) and
Southern Italy (Neilos the Younger and Phantinos the Younger).
The list of saints whose vitae I use in this book is presented at the end of this chapter. The
table is arranged chronologically according to the earliest possible date of composition of the
vitae. As I have mentioned, the details we learn about a certain saint’s childhood may reflect,
not so much the period when the saint lived, as the time when the vita was composed. Yet, I
have chosen to also look at one source that lies outside the period under investigation (The Life
and Encomium of Euphrosyne the Younger) since it likely reflects realities that were not
dramatically different from those in the time frame I focus on, as well as to include at least one
more female-focused account in a corpus that heavily skews towards the masculine
experience. In the chart, along with the name of the saint, I have included the period in which
they lived, the birthplace and social location during their childhood, the approximate period of
composition of their biographies, the author, and the reference number assigned to each saint
in Bibliotheca Hagiographica Graeca (BHG).31
The final column, with capital letters, contains the main elements of childhood as described
by the hagiographers in their texts. Each letter corresponds to a specific feature used in the
hagiographical representation of children. When a vita provides details about the saints’ family
and relations between children and family members, F in the charter marks these aspects.
Features pertaining to saints’ infancy are signalized by the letter I, and include divine signs at
birth, baptism, breastfeeding, and weaning. The saints’ behaviour is marked by the letter B,
their physical appearance by A, games by G, and work by W. Education is marked by the letter
E when the vita does not specify the stage of instruction. E1 and E2 correspond to elementary
and secondary education, respectively.
The inclusion of these features makes it easier to see what kind of information the
biographers made use of in their description of the saints’ childhood. Throughout the book, the
reader will note that I use some texts more than others, depending on the higher number of
details the biographers included in their narratives. The number of these features could reveal,
for instance, the personal interest of the biographer in giving a sense of accuracy to his story,
by providing sufficient information about a saint-to-be. Also, the number of elements related
to childhood may indicate the value attached by the authors to this period of life in general,
and to various aspects of the stages of childhood in particular. As an example, one can note
that very few vitae contain information about infancy, which suggests a possible disinterest of
the authors in this stage of life. Instead, the majority of the vitae provide information about
children’s education, which seems to have been particularly valued by the Byzantines. As a
final note, the last column may be a useful tool of research for scholars who want to study a
particular aspect of childhood.
The study is not limited only to hagiographies, however. I shall also make use of other
sources, ranging from historical writings, encomia, and private letters to legal and medical
texts. These sources will supplement our knowledge of children and childhood, since they
offer information that is not provided in hagiographies. They can also bring to light different
attitudes and perceptions with regard to children and childhood. The historical writings,
however, will be used only in one chapter, when I discuss exclusively the perceptions and
attitudes of Byzantine adults towards children’s physical appearance and personality. Of
particular interest are the Chronographia of Michael Psellos (eleventh century) and the
Alexiad of Anna Komnene (twelfth century), which in spite of being a source that goes beyond
the period under consideration, is still valuable for understanding how the Byzantines
perceived the relationship between the body and the character of a child.
Apart from the encomia written by Theodore of Stoudios, which were mentioned above, I
also use the funeral orations written by Michael Psellos for his mother and daughter, and some
of his private letters addressed to friends and family members. All of these present us with
important details of children’s everyday life in the eleventh century. They also highlight the
cultural attitudes to childhood as a distinct stage of life. Also, I look at some of the private
letters of a tenth-century anonymous teacher in Constantinople that disclose more about
children’s time in school, the relationship between children and teachers and the involvement
of relatives in children’s education.
Legal texts are analysed in conjunction with information provided by the hagiographical
texts with respect to the norms that regulated the age of children’s betrothal and marriage,
entry to monasteries, and the duration of the novitiate. Naturally, the legal sources by their
nature present only one side of the coin – the authorities’ approaches to children. Even if it
remains difficult to assess to what extent the provisions made by laws were consistently
applied in everyday situations, these sources give us some insights into how the legal system
in Byzantium sought to shape and regulate social attitudes towards children.
 The medical sources dealing exclusively with children are very sparse. Much of the medical
knowledge about childhood in the Middle Ages was derived from the Hippocratic corpus that
contains texts that discuss particular aspects of childcare that have been consistently copied
throughout the centuries by the late antique and medieval physicians. There is only one
medieval treatise solely concerned with paediatrics – The Therapy and Upbringing of Children
– written in the seventh century by the Byzantine physician Paul of Aegina, and which
survived in a fragmentary form in the work of the tenth-century Arab physician al-Baladi. He
also included in his Epitome of Medicine in seven books several chapters dedicated to the topic
of neonatal care. Much of Paul’s medical advice with respect to the care of infants was copied
from his late antiquity’s predecessors, and we can hardly know whether the paediatric
practices really remained the same throughout centuries. However, since Paul is the medical
authority closest to our period of inquiry, I look at what he recommended in terms of
childbirth, wet nursing, breastfeeding, and weaning.
In addition, the study also makes use of some patristic writings, insofar as they shed light
on the continuities in the transmission of traditions and mentalities concerning the period of
childhood from a Christian perspective. Authors like Basil the Great (ca. 329–79) and John
Chrysostom (ca. 349–407) remain crucial for understanding the Christian concepts concerning
issues like birth, baptism, and the moral education of children.
The majority of primary sources I use in this book have been already translated in modern
languages. To improve the readability of the text as well as for the sake of space imposed by
the limits of the book, I have opted to quote only the translations and provide in a few cases
the original texts in the endnotes and the main text, when they are either not as easily available
or are important for the context. However, for those who want to consult the original text, I
indicate in the endnotes first the chapters of the Greek texts followed in parenthesis by the
page numbers, first for the Greek and then for the translated versions, when available.
Table 0.1 List of saints’ lives

Main
aspects
Period of related
Place of birth/social location during composition Author of the to
Saint Life childhood of the vita vita BHG children
Elias of Heliopolis 759–79 Heliopolis/Damascus 800–1000 Anonymous 578–79 F, W
Stephen the Younger 715–67 Constantinople 809 Stephen the 1666 I, F, B, E1,
Deacon W
Plato of Sakkoudion 735–814 Constantinople 814–26 Theodore of 1553 F, E1-2, W
Stoudios
George of Amastris 750–807 Kromna 820–1000 Ignatios the 668 F, I, B, A,
Deacon E1-2
Philaretos the Merciful 702–92 Paphlagonia 821–22 Niketas of 1511Z F, W
Amnia
Nikephoros of Medikion 755–813 Constantinople 824–37 Anonymous 2297 F, E1, G,
Nikephoros I Patriarch 750–828 Constantinople 829–50 Ignatios the 1335 F, E1-2
Deacon
Nikephoros of Sebaze 775–829 Anatolikon 829–950 Anonymous 2300 F, I, B
Euthymios of Sardis 754–831 Ouzara, Lycaonia 832 Patriarch 2145 E1, B
Methodius
Gregory of Decapolis 797–842 Eironopolis 842–43 Ignatios the 711 F, B, E1,
Deacon W
 Main
aspects
Period of related
Place of birth/social location during composition Author of the to
Saint Life childhood of the vita vita BHG children
Tarasios the Patriarch 730–806 Constantinople 843–47 Ignatios the 1698 F, B, E1-2
Deacon
Niketas of Medikion 760–824 Caesarea, Bythinia 829–45 Theosteriktos 1341– F, E1
42a
Ioannikios (A) 762–846 Marikaton, Bithynia 846–47 Peter the Monk 936 F, I, W
Ioannikios (B) 762–846 Marikaton, Bithynia 847–60 Sabas the Monk 935 F, I, W
Michael Synkellos 761–846 Jerusalem 846–76 Anonymous 1296 I, F, B, E1-
2
Peter of Atroa 773–837 Village Elaia, Asia Minor 847–65 Sabas the Monk 2364–65 I, F, E1, B,
W
Athanasia of Aegina 800–50 Aegina 850–916 Anonymous 180 F, E1, W
Theokleto 800–50 Optimatoi 850–1000 Synaxarion of – F, E
Constantinople
Anna/Euphemianos 750–825 Constantinople 850–1400 Synaxarion of 2027 F, I
Constantinople
Theodore of Stoudios 759–826 Constantinople 855–900 Michael monk of 1754– F, B, E1-2
Stoudios 55D
Theodore of Edessa 776–856 Edessa 856–1023 Basil of Emessa 1744 F, E1-2
David/Symeon/George 716–845 Mytilene, Lesbos 863–65 Anonymous 494 F, E1, W
of Mytilene
Antony the Younger 785–865 Palestine 865–900 Anonymous 142–143 F
Theodora the Empress 815–67 Paphlagonia 867–912 Anonymous 1731 F, A, E
Ignatios the Patriarch 798–877 Constantinople 890–950 Niketas David 817 F, B, E
Paphlagon
Theodora of 812–92 Aegina 894 Gregory the 1737– F, I, A, B,
Thessaloniki Cleric 1738 E1
Theophano 866–96 Constantinople 896–912 Anonymous 1794 F, I, A, B,
E
Evaristos 819–97 Galatia 897–950 Anonymous 2153 F, B, E1
Euthymios the Younger 823–98 Opso, Galatia 898–925 Basil the Monk 655 F, B, A
Constantine the 826/7–69 Thessalonike 9th c. Kliment of – F,I, B, G,
Philosopher Ohrid? E1-2
Basil the Younger 870– NA 9th–10th c. Gregory (his 263
944/52 disciple)
Elias the Younger 823–903 Enna, Sicily/North Africa 903–50 Anonymous 580 F, E
Anthony Kauleas 800–901 Constantinople 901–1000 Nikephoros the 139 F, E1-2
Philosopher
Mary the Younger 875–903 Armenia (?)-Constantinople 903–1100 Anonymous 1164 F, A
Nicholas of Stoudios 793–868 Kydonia, Crete 910–50 Stoudite monk 1365 F, B, E1-2
Theoktiste of Lesbos 850–910 Methymna, Lesbos 913–19 Niketas 1723 F
Magistros
Peter of Argos 860–930 Constantinople 930–60 Theodore of 1504 F, E
Nicaea
Thomaïs of Lesbos 900–50 Lesbos 950–1100 Anonymous 2454 F, B, A, E
Paul the Younger of 900–55 Elaia near Pergamon 955–1000 Anonymous 1474 F, E1, W
Latros
Michael Maleinos 894–961 Charsianon 961–76 Theophanes 1295 F, I, E, W
 Main
aspects
Period of related
Place of birth/social location during composition Author of the to
Saint Life childhood of the vita vita BHG children
Loukas the Younger of 896–953 Kastorion, Phokis 961–1025 Anonymous 994 F,B,W
Steiris
Irene of Chrysobalantos 840–940 Cappadocia 976–1025 Anonymous 952 F, B, A
Loukas the Stylite 879–979 Anatolikon 980–85 Anonymous 2239 F
Phantinos the Younger 902–74 Calabria 986–1000 Anonymous 2367 F, B, E1,
W
Nikephoros of Miletos 920– Basileon, Boukellarioi 1000–100 Anonymous 1338 F, B, E1
1000
Athanasios of Athos (A) 925– Trebizont 1000–25 Athanasios tou 187 F, I, G, B,
1000 Panagiou E1-2
Athanasios of Athos (B) 925– Trebizont 1050–150 Anonymous 188 F, I, G, B,
1000 E1-2
Nikon the Metanoeite 930– Polemoniake, Armeniakon 1050–150 Anonymous 1366 F,B, W
1000
Lazaros of Galesion 966/7– Magnesia on the Meander After 1053 Gregory the 979 F, I, B, E1-
1053 Cellarer 2
Neilos the Younger 910– Rossano, Calabria 11th c. Anonymous 1370 F, I, A, B,
1004/5 E
Symeon the New 957– Paphlagonia/Constantinople 11th c. Niketas Stethatos 1692 F, B, A,
Theologian 1035 E1-2
Cyril the Phileote 1015– Philea, Thrace 1140 Nikolas 468 E1, B, A,
110 Kataskepenos F, G
Euphrosyne the Younger d. 921– Peloponnese/Calabria/Constantinople 14th c. Nikephoros 627 F, I E, B
23 Kallistos
Xanthopoulos
Euphrosyne the Younger d. 921– Peloponnese/Calabria/Constantinople 14th c. Constantine 627b F, I, E, B
(encomium) 23 Akropolites

Outline of the book

The first chapter sets out the horizon of opinions and attitudes towards childhood and how
adults viewed children from different angles. The biological, legal, and cultural perspectives
on this period of life emphasize the fact that childhood as a separate stage of life was a fluid
concept in Byzantine mentality. From the next chapter onwards, I explore the experiences of
children. Chapter 2 sets out the general picture of the world in which children lived, and the
impact of the demographic factors on the family dynamics in the Middle Byzantine period.
Starting with Chapter 3, I follow children’s life course and explore the social arenas of action
in which children live their lives: family, school, churches, and monasteries. Chapter 3 covers
the main aspects of infancy: conception and birth, the spiritual and social dimensions of
baptism, and the practice of breastfeeding and weaning. Chapter 4 deals with the process of
children’s enculturation within the family context, where I discuss some of the main activities
of children: play, education, and work. Chapter 5 deals with children’s agency in religious
rituals and the role of religious practices in the formation of children’s identity. Chapter 6
follows children’s social life and their relationships with parents, siblings, and other members
of the extended family, and the various functions and roles these individuals had in children’s
everyday life. Chapter 7 deals with a special group of children – those who spent their lives
within the monastic walls. I discuss here the regulations concerning their entry into ascetic
communities, the motivations and circumstances that led parents to entrust their offspring to
these institutions, and children’s main activities and responsibilities as future monks and nuns.
Chapter 8 is built on the foundation of the previous chapters and provides a description of a
day in the life of four fictional children, two of them living with their parents, the other two
living in monasteries. As already mentioned, this approach is meant to point out in a much
clearer manner the diversity of children’s everyday life experiences.

Notes
1 The most exhaustive studies of Byzantine hagiography are the two volumes edited by
Efthymiadis in 2011 and 2014.
2 For hagiography in the ninth and tenth centuries, see Efthymiadis (2011); for hagiography
in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, see Paschalidis (2011).
3 Unlike the Saints’ Lives produced in the Middle Byzantine period, the vitae of late
antiquity provide very few, if any details of the saints’ childhood. As Chevallier Caseau
(2009: 132) argues, the childhood of saints was considered irrelevant by early Christian
authors whose concern was to stress the ascetic deeds of their heroes.
4 Chevallier Caseau (2009: 128–9); Angelov (2009); Hennessy (2010: 83); Kalogeras
(2000: 30–46).
5 There are several criteria proposed by Pratsch (2003) that deserve consideration when we
deal with what is “real” and what is “fiction” in hagiographical texts. In dealing with
historical childhood, it is also useful to take into account the criteria proposed by
Aasgaard (2017: 324–6).
6 On topoi in Byzantine hagiography, see Pratsch (2005: 81–108).
7 Kaldellis (2010: 65–6).
8 Clarck (1998: 20).
9 For the ‘reality effect’, see Barthes (1986: 141–2).
10 Ecloga II.5–6 (Eng. trans.74); Les Novelles 26 (101–5; Fr. trans. 100–4) and 27 (105–11;
Fr. trans 104–10).
11 Miller (2003: 136–40).
12 A clear indicator of the growing field of historical childhood is the online bibliography
edited by Vuolanto et al, Children in the Ancient World and the Early Middle Ages: A
Bibliography (Eighth Century BC–Eighth Century AD) (ninth expanded edition) which
comprises 2,351 entries.
https://www.academia.edu/30831355/CHILDREN_IN_THE_ANCIENT_WORLD_AND
_THE_EARLY_MIDDLE_AGES_A_BIBLIOGRAPHY_9th_expanded_edition_. In what
concerns Byzantium, a useful bibliography on children has been published by
Papaconstantinou (2016).
13 Cojocaru (2017).
14 Talbot (2018b).
15 Harlow and Lawrence (2002: 3); Alberici and Harlow (2007: 193).
16 For a short presentation of the principles of life course see Elder Jr., Johnson and Crosnoe
(2003: 11–4).
17 Crenshaw (1989).
18 As for example Macdonald (2014); Solevåg (2017); Kartzow (2018).
19 James (2013: 9–11).
20 Tonkin (1992: 88).
21 Vuolanto (2017a: 17).
22 Vuolanto (2017a: 16).
23 On a short overview on history from below, see Sharpe (2001). On microhistory see Levi
(2001); also Robisheaux (2017) provides a meaningful discussion of what microhistory is,
as well as what challenges microhistorians faced in their work with this approach.
24 Vlassopoulos (2018: 230).
25 Gregory (1999: 103).
26 Efthymiadis (1998).
27 Efthymiadis (1996: 59–61).
28 Efthymiadis (2011: 101–2).
29 Sanctity began to be achieved not only throughout martyrdom, extreme asceticism,
virginity, monastic obedience, and miracle powers, but also through piety and charitable
practices displayed in a lay milieu; on this see Talbot (2001: 10–3).
30 I follow the categorization made by Talbot (2001: 4–14).
31 The chart is made on the basis of information provided by the Dumbarton Hagiographic
Database, a useful research tool for Byzantinists, which contains the hagiographies from
the eighth through the tenth centuries, and on the list made by Efthymiadis (1996:78–80).
The database is available online at
https://www.doaks.org/research/byzantine/resources/hagiography/database/dohp.asp?
cmd=SList.
1 Conceptions of childhood
DOI: 10.4324/9780429318498-1

Before embarking on a journey in which we will explore childhood and the

experiences of children, it is necessary to tackle first the concept of
childhood. Childhood represents not only a biologically distinct phase of
life but also a cultural construct. In other words, while childhood is
inherently a period of physical and cognitive development, a stage of
biological progress, it is at the same time conceptualized differently by
societies depending on their cultural practices, customs, traditions, and
ideologies. The definition of childhood has posed great challenges to
scholars who have dealt with this topic. How can one define what childhood
is? Our understanding of this concept depends on our own experiences,
perceptions, and subjectivity. Even today we face the difficulty of
establishing a clear boundary between childhood, adolescence, and
adulthood. Up to what age should an individual be regarded as a child? And
when does childhood end, and adolescence and adulthood begin? The limits
that we set between childhood, adolescence, and adulthood are fluid, and it
is impossible to give one exact answer as to their age boundaries. To delimit
these stages from one another would mean taking into consideration a
multitude of factors, which, however, remain subject to interpretation. Some
would say, for instance, that children are immature, but in what way is their
immaturity conceived and articulated within a specific society? What are
the culturally specific sets of ideas, attitudes, and practices that define their
‘childish’ nature?
In the past, adults’ perception of children and childhood was always
ambivalent. For instance, in classical antiquity, children were associated
mainly with the lack of reason (λόγος), which was manifested through an
irrational behaviour, fear, anger, and uncontrolled passions. They were seen
as weak and incomplete human beings, but with the potential to become
rational individuals, whose qualities acquired during childhood and youth
would make them good citizens in adulthood.1 Although children by and
large were portrayed in the ancient classical sources more in negative terms
(irrational, quick-tempered, weak, vulnerable to diseases, timorous),
childhood was also portrayed in brighter colours. Small children were
perceived in antiquity as also being sweet, innocent, and playful.2
It has been argued that with the rise of Christianity, the image of children
and childhood acquired a more positive value.3 Christian theology
advocated that all human beings are made in the image of God; accordingly,
children no longer occupied the lowest position on the social ladder, but
were placed on an equal position with adults. This idea became especially
apparent in the theological debates concerning baptism. Infant baptism was
a central issue approached by both the Eastern and Western church fathers
in their writings in relation to original sin. In the fourth century, John
Chrysostom stressed the idea that infants are innocent because they are born
without sin. In his opinion, they do not inherit original sin but the mortality
that derives from Adam’s fall, which causes human beings to sin. Although
children are sinless, they are to be baptized to receive the gift of divine
salvation. In contrast to Chrysostom’s view, Augustine believed that babies
are non-innocent human beings precisely because they inherit original sin,
hence the need to baptize them for the remission of sins. The absence of
personal sins in infants in Augustine’s view, is due to their physical
limitations, but they are nevertheless born already guilty because of the
inheritance of original sin.4
To be sure, the patristic writers portrayed an equivocal image of
children. Scholars have shown that in spite of the divergent view on
children’s innocence, both Chrysostom and Augustine saw children as
driven by desires and passions. They cry, they are angry and envious, they
are irrational, but their character can be moulded in accordance with the
Christian ideals, hence the parents’ responsibility to educate them from an
early age to become good Christians. The church fathers portrayed children
both as innocents and as sinners, irrational but having the potential to
become moral and virtuous human beings. And yet, the central idea that
underlay Christian thinking on children’s nature, and which contrasted with
the pagan tradition, was that children are human beings in the full sense,
created in the image of God.5
As these examples show, children were perceived differently throughout
history and the idea of childhood was articulated in various ways,
depending on the particularities of a given society, and even within the
same society, the conceptions about childhood could vary greatly. But how
did the medieval Byzantine authors define childhood? What limits did they
put between childhood and the next stage of life, and between the stages of
childhood? What characteristics did they attach to childhood and what
features did they assume to pertain to children? This chapter aims to answer
these questions by focusing on the concept of childhood as described in
medical, legal, and literary sources.
Medical and legal texts represent an important source of information
about the Byzantines’ view of childhood as a separate stage of life.
Obviously, these sources approach the issue from different perspectives.
While physicians tried to delineate boundaries between one stage and
another by looking at children’s biological development, both physically
and psychologically, the legislators were concerned with children’s rights
and obligations, by taking into consideration the ethical consciousness and
intellectual development of children.6 Literary sources add a new dimension
to how various authors conceived and articulated the concept of childhood,
by presenting adults’ assumptions about children’s characteristics. What we
always must bear in mind is that all these sources are the product of the
culture in which they were created and each of them reflects the ideology of
male, educated adults and thus transmits the male perspective on the issue.
The chapter will start with a discussion about how the Byzantine
physicians and legislators define childhood and what qualities they attach to
children. Thereafter, I take up the matter of how the Byzantines assessed
children by analysing their physicality and personality as described in the
historical and hagiographical sources. As far as I know, no scholar has
analysed the sources from this perspective, which can give us new insights
into how the Byzantines perceived children. Social historians and literary
scholars studying this stage of life are usually interested in the moral and
intellectual make-up and development of children, but they tend to overlook
a crucial dimension of the way Byzantine society conceptualized children’s
physicality and how it foreshadows the future adult’s personality. By also
looking at the physical and psychological descriptions of children in various
stages of childhood, we can gain a broader overview of the concept of
childhood as understood by the Byzantines.
The topic of children’s physical appearance and personality has been
scantily discussed in scholarship. Although the notion of body has been
analysed in the past few decades in terms of the ascetic body, sexuality,
beauty and ugliness, the topic of children’s bodies has been largely
untouched.7 For example, beauty as a physical quality of the body has been
examined by Myrto Hatzaki (2010), but her study largely explores the
concept of beauty applied only to adults’ bodies, and especially male ones,
leaving in the shadows the Byzantines’ perceptions of children’s bodies.
We are more fortunate when it comes to the character traits of children
described in hagiographies. An important contribution to this topic was
made by Nikos Kalogeras in one of his articles (2001).8 A valuable
contribution in his study is the analysis of early Byzantine sources in terms
of good and bad characters of both the saints-to-be and ordinary children.
Moreover, Kalogeras’ study shows that this kind of contrast between saintly
children and ordinary children was constantly employed in hagiographies
over time, and is also present in the sources from our period. This fact
suggests continuity not only in applying the same strategy in the depiction
of the saints-to-be, but also in the attitudes and expectations of adults
towards children.
The only study that discusses, albeit quite briefly, the beauty of the body
(physicality) and the beauty of the soul (the inner character) of the saints is
by Thomas Pratsch (2005). In his analysis of the topoi used by
hagiographers in their writings, Pratsch touches upon the issue of the saints’
personality, which is described in his sources by combining elements such
as the physical beauty and the purity of the soul that makes an individual
perfect in the eyes of God.9 In this chapter, I go a step further by analysing
the features the hagiographers focused on when speaking about the saints’
bodies and inner character while they were still children. In this respect, I
am interested to see how the Byzantines inter-related children’s physicality
with their personality, by looking at their physical and psychological
attributes, which were considered to be relevant in describing the period of
childhood.

Stages of childhood and their terminology

In ancient medical sources, childhood was usually divided into four distinct
stages, from birth until the age of fourteen, which marked the transition to
adulthood. The first stage extended from birth until the first dentition (ca.
twelve months). The second stage lasted until around the age of two, with
weaning as the transitional marker. The third stage of childhood ended
around the age of six or seven, marked by the second dentition, followed by
the fourth stage, which ended around the age of fourteen.10
The Byzantines kept the same specific terminology inherited from the
Classical times to designate various stages of development. The terms
βρέφος and νεογνὸν παιδίον designated infants and nurslings between one
and three years of age. Words like νήπιος and παιδίον designated the little
child, while τέκνον and παῖς were terms used for designating the child in
general, without specifying the age or gender. The term μειράκιον was used
for a boy, and νεανίσκος for a youth or young man. The terms κόρη and
θυγάτηρ were used for young girls and virgins.11
These stages of development were, nevertheless, fluid, and it seems that
the Byzantines, like their Greco-Roman predecessors, were not always in
agreement with the phases of growth. The patriarch Photius (ninth century)
divided the lifecycle from the cradle to the grave in nine stages.12 For him,
the stages of childhood and adolescence would cover in total a period of
twenty years. He considered βρέφος to be a child up to the age of four,
whereas παιδίον was a child between the ages of four and ten. βούπαις
defined the individual between ten and eighteen, and μειράκιον designated
the individual between the age of eighteen and twenty.13 Therefore, in the
patriarch’s view, infancy would cover a period of four years, childhood six
years, and adolescence was seen as the longest period, covering eight years.
On the other hand, Michael Psellos (eleventh century) was true to the
ancient philosophical model of dividing his own life course in seven stages
(βρέφος – infant, παιδίον – todler, μειράκιον – boy, νεανίας – youth, ᾶνἠρ
– man, μεσαιπὀλιος – middle-aged, γέρων – old), each with its own
characteristics, albeit he made no age division of these life stages. In a self-
critical poem entitled Τοῦ Ψελλοῦ εἰς τὴν ψυχήν (On Psellos’ soul), Psellos
sees himself as wrapped in a gloomy black dullness while an infant, a likely
metaphor for the lack of reason that characterizes this stage; as a toddler, he
was bad and useless; as a boy, full of shame, and when a youth, full of gross
malevolence.14
Ancient medicine was very much in line with the philosophical tradition
that held that children lack reason. For example, Galen stated that “we
cannot say that their connotations are supervised by reason, for they do not
yet possess reason, or that they do not feel anger, distress or pleasure, or do
not laugh or cry and experience countless other such affections.”15
According to Galen, children have a natural inclination towards pleasure, as
well as a tendency to flee from pains. Also, children’s behaviour is similar
to that of animals, for they are angry, kick, bite, and want to win and get the
better of their own kind, as some animals do. However, as they grow older,
their rational thinking develops; hence, they start to manifest an inclination
towards good deeds, noble acts, and justice – in short, they acquire the
notion of virtue.16
Did the Byzantine physicians have similar opinions as their predecessors
about children’s attributes? The medieval Byzantine physician Paul of
Aegina (seventh century) paid attention to childhood’s characteristics, but
his focus was only on the biological development of children and the
diseases that may occur in childhood. We find no philosophical
considerations on the nature of children, as in the works of Galen. In his
medical compendium in seven books, Paul dedicated several chapters to the
issue of pregnancy, birth, and neonatal care, with special attention to the
nutrition of infants, which was of vital importance for their development.17
He also wrote a chapter on the regimen of infancy and the succeeding
stages of childhood. For instance, he was of the opinion that once children
were weaned, they should live merrily and without constraint (ἐν ἀνέσει τε
ἑᾶν καὶ ἱλαρότητι), with light food and gentle exercises.
Depending on the child’s physical and mental development, Paul
recommended what a child should learn during various stages of childhood.
When children, both boys and girls, turn six or seven, they are to be handed
over to a teacher of a mild and benevolent disposition. It is important in this
context to note that at this stage, children had to be guided by an adult who
would instruct them in a cheerful manner, because, as Paul states, “the
relaxation of the mind contributes much to the growth of the body.”18 In
accordance with the development of the body and mind, at the age of
twelve, boys should embark on learning grammar and geometry. At the
same time, their bodies should get hardened by gymnastic exercises. No
recommendations were made with respect to girls. From the age of fourteen
up to twenty-one, boys should continue with the study of mathematics and
philosophy, and also increase the use of physical exercises. Paul argues that
by exercising the mind and body, children and youth could control sexual
desire.
 As a physician, Paul of Aegina was aware of the biological development
of children, hence the differences in the regimen of children according to
their age. Young children were to be treated with gentleness, and their
regimen had to be enjoyable. As they grew older, a balanced regimen
including education in various subjects and physical training was thought to
be appropriate. The age of fourteen marked the beginning of puberty, in
which the body started to mature also in terms of sexuality. Greco-Roman
paediatrics, from which Paul borrowed much medical information,
considered that from this stage of development, the individuals started to
become adults. Typical markers that would indicate the transition to
adulthood were the start of menstruation for girls, and the changing of voice
for boys.19
In Byzantine legislation, childhood was represented as a stage of life
with its own specific characteristics. First of all, children and youth were
under parental authority until the age of twenty-five. However, they could
perform an act of emancipation by asking the emperor for derogation to this
age limit, a practice that became frequent by the ninth century.20 The
emancipation could occur at the age of eighteen for girls and twenty for
boys. In this context, the age of twenty-five (or in the case of emancipation,
the age of eighteen and twenty) represented the age of majority, which
delimited childhood and youth from adulthood.
As already noted by scholars, from a legal point of view there were two
major changes in the first twenty-five years of an individual’s life. The first
major change occurred at the age of seven. According to Eisagoge (the first
law book of the Macedonian dynasty), issued in the ninth century, from this
age on a child was liable to the death penalty for murder.21 This means that
by the age of seven, children were considered as having already acquired
the conscious notion of doing right and wrong. While children up to seven
years of age were considered too young to be capable of consciously
committing crimes, the age of seven seems to have marked the threshold of
rationality and responsibility. In this context, there is a consensus between
the medical authors and the legislators in what concerns the age of seven,
when children should start their basic education, because they have
acquired reason. From this age too, children were allowed to be betrothed.
This custom was very common in Byzantine families, especially in the
aristocracy, who often betrothed their offspring from an early age to make
strategic alliances.22
 Another significant change in children’s lives was marked by marriage.
Legally, children could marry at the age of twelve in the case of girls, and
of fourteen in the case of boys.23 From that moment, they entered puberty
and were considered sexually active. However, in practice, girls married
usually around the age of fifteen, and boys in their late teens. It must be said
that children, whether boys or girls, did not have a voice in the matter of
marriage. Parents were in the position to decide upon it, and children,
especially girls, were expected to obey their decision. It has been argued
that marriage, which usually took place once puberty began, marked the end
of childhood.24 Whereas in general this holds true for both genders, the
transition from childhood to adulthood, even when an individual got
married, was a gradual process, marked especially in the case of girls by the
first pregnancy.
In terms of sexuality, the Ecloga (eight century) stipulated that those
younger than twelve who are passively engaged in homosexual intercourse
should be forgiven, while later on, in the early ninth century, the age limit
was extended to fifteen. As Prinzing has noted, we can sense here the
emphasis put by the Byzantine legislators on the child’s mental
development in terms of the awareness of being involved in illicit sexual
intercourse. The Ecloga stipulated that a boy under the age of twelve “shall
be forgiven as due to his age he did not know what he was doing.”25
Age was an important factor in the matter of entry to monasteries. The
council of Trullo (692) established the age limit for the admission of
children in monasteries as ten, when children were considered to be aware
of their choice.26 In the ninth century, the emperor Leo VI issued a novel
that reinforced this right, adding that a candidate should wait until he or she
would reach the age of sixteen or seventeen to dispose of their property.27
The age of sixteen/seventeen was in fact imposed in the fourth century by
Basil the Great as the proper time when a girl could become formally a nun,
on the ground that she is capable of taking a life-changing decision. When
Leo VI took up the proper age when a child may decide upon monastic life,
he was well aware of both Basil’s recommendations and what the canonists
in Trullo had decided in this matter. However, he took a middle way:
anyone who decides to take this step may do so either at the age of ten or
after the age of sixteen. But although children were legally allowed to enter
monasteries while still young, in practice the majority of them embraced the
monastic habit much later, in their late teens. There were, nevertheless,
exceptions, as the hagiographies testify: some children entered a monastic
community even before they reached the age of ten. In the canonists’ view,
however, by the age of ten, children had already attained the age of reason
and were therefore in the position of consciously acknowledging the choice
for monastic life.28
In some theologians’ opinion, the age of twelve seems to have marked
the threshold when an individual was deemed sufficiently cognizant to
answer for their sins before God. To the question of which age a person’s
sins start being judged by God, Anastasios of Sinai replied that “each
person is judged in accordance with their degree of knowledge and wisdom,
some from their twelfth year of age, others when older.”29
As we have seen so far, the Byzantines’ view of the threshold between
childhood and adulthood was quite fluid. There was an evident emphasis on
the intellectual development of children and their capacity of reasoning.
The age of reason started around seven, when children began formal
education; at the same time, they were considered to possess the notion of
right and wrong; hence, the age of seven also defined the boundary between
legal liability and no liability. The age of ten, however, seems to have been
appropriate for making a decision with respect to monastic entry. In this
context, we can remark here that the Byzantine legislators believed that a
ten-year-old child could choose in this matter, although in practice, the
decision was made either by the parents when children were young, or
when an individual was already in his or her youth.
The age of twelve for girls and fourteen for boys marked, at a biological
level, the capacity of sexual reproduction. This had social consequences in
the lives of children, for they were legally allowed to get married. As Laiou
has pointed out, marriage was strongly connected with the capacity to
produce children.30 For this reason, a legal marriage could be contracted at
the beginning of puberty. Considering the high rates of infant mortality, one
of the strategies employed by the Byzantines in securing the future of
family lineage was precisely to marry early and to give birth to as many
children as possible, since only a few would survive to adulthood and be
able to perpetuate the family.
The way in which the Byzantines assessed the nature of children and
how they may have valued and perceived childhood as a distinct stage of
life can also be discerned by looking at how children are described in terms
of physical appearance and inner qualities. I take up this matter in the
following section.

Physiognomy: children’s physicality and

personality
How did the Byzantine writers describe children’s physical appearance and
personality? Which bodily features were considered to be relevant in the
description of children? What specific inner qualities are ascribed to girls
and boys, respectively? How did the Byzantine writers link the notion of
body with the inner character of children?
In dealing with these questions, one should be aware of the nature of the
sources and their limitations. It has been already acknowledged that many
authors of the vitae devoted a large space in their works to the saints’ deeds
in adulthood, whereas it is only at the beginning of the narratives that we
can find some details about their protagonists’ childhood.31 Moreover,
when the hagiographers paid attention to the period of childhood, what they
emphasized mostly was the extraordinary character of the saints-to-be,
manifested through an adult behaviour exhibited from an early age. In this
respect, one should bear in mind that the descriptions of children’s
attributes are highly idealized and reflect the authors’ expectations about
how children should behave. When it comes to the physical appearance of
children, the evidence is even less telling, mostly because the religious
authors believed that a description of how the saints looked like was not
relevant for the audience. Consequently, we have very few descriptions of
children’s bodily features.
Another challenge when working with hagiographical sources is that the
religious authors usually did not specify the age of children described in
terms of physicality and personality. As we have seen, the boundaries that
separate childhood from adulthood were flexible. I shall here take the
threshold between childhood and adulthood to be the age when an
individual married. However, even in this case, the age at which marriage
took place is not always stated, although it is very likely that this may have
happened in the case of female saints between the ages of twelve and
fifteen, and sometimes even earlier. We encounter the same challenge when
dealing with the sources regarding the male saints. We do not know the
exact age of the boys, although the texts suggest that they may have been
rather young. Because of the vagueness of the sources about our
protagonists’ age, I shall consider them as still being children and
developing their bodily features and personalities.
Since the hagiographies make very few references to children’s physical
appearance, I shall also make use of other sources that contain information
about this. Two historical sources are important for my purpose: the
Chronographia of Michael Psellos and the Alexiad of Anna Komnene.
These are very rich in pen-portraits, especially of adults, but they also
contain some descriptions of children’s physical appearance and character.
A parallel between the pen-portraits sketched in these chronicles and those
described in the hagiographical literature will allow me to detect the
similarities or differences in attitudes, perceptions, and expectations of
adults towards children in both secular and religious contexts. Furthermore,
these two historical accounts portray the same child, Constantine Doukas.
In this context, it would be of interest to see whether Anna Komnene and
Psellos have employed a certain gendered way of describing the child.
Two other sources will be subjects of my investigation. These texts, also
written by Michael Psellos, belong to the genre of encomium. The first text
is a letter addressed by the historian to his four-month grandchild, while the
second is the funeral oration written by Psellos for his nine-year-old
daughter, Styliane. Both sources are of interest for the present chapter, since
they contain physical and psychological descriptions of these children that
are analysed by using the physiognomic strategy.

Theoretical framework
Before pursuing the analysis of the texts, it is necessary to explain what I
mean by physicality and personality here. The juxtaposition of these two
terms brings to mind the ancient pseudo-science of physiognomy, according
to which one could judge a person’s character by observing certain physical
features. I shall not present here a full overview of the development of this
art throughout history, but the general interest in physiognomy in the Greek
culture is worth mentioning. Physiognomy began to be practised by ancient
Greeks from the fourth century BCE, but it was only one century later that a
physiognomic treatise, the Physiognomonica, falsely attributed to Aristotle,
was composed. The interest in physiognomy reached its peak in the second
century CE, when the Sophist Polemon of Laodicea composed a major
physiognomic handbook, De Physiognomonica, which has survived almost
entirely in an Arabic version.32 Two other treatises composed in the fourth
century by Adamantius the Sophist and by an anonymous Latin author
attest the influence of Polemon’s work on physiognomy, since both
borrowed extensively from it. Through the centuries, the handbook of
Polemon remained very popular in Byzantium, and was transmitted to the
Islamic world through the so-called “translation movement” of the eighth to
tenth centuries when Greek works available in the Byzantine Empire were
translated into Arabic.33
Ancient physiognomists utilized a variety of methods in assessing an
individual’s character, for instance, by searching for similarities to various
animals in a person’s general appearance, by looking at racial
characteristics of people (Scythians, Greeks, etc.), or by observing and
evaluating certain bodily features like the eyes, hair, or nose, the shape of
limbs, the stature, and voice.34 Therefore, in this context, physicality means
not only a complex of an individual’s bodily features per se, but rather
certain physical attributes that are perceived by the onlooker, in our case by
the Byzantine writers, and consequently judged to be relevant and to carry a
certain meaning in the description of a person.
The practice of assessing one’s character by looking at the physical
appearance or at certain bodily features of a person continued to be in use
over time, throughout Byzantine history. Byzantine sources, especially
those of a historical type, testify to the continuation of evaluating people
(usually the emperors and their enemies) by a systematic analysis of bodily
attributes that were related to psychological characteristics.35 Both Michael
Psellos and Anna Komnene made use of this principle when they
characterized their protagonists.36 Both appreciated the beautiful body and
expressed the idea that the external appearance of a person discloses the
inner character. However, such an idea was prevalent in Byzantine culture
in general, and can be seen also in the hagiographical literature, although
the religious authors rarely expressed an interest in describing in detail the
physical features of their heroes.
But what does “personality” mean? This term was not a part of
Byzantine vocabulary. Personality is a modern concept used by
psychologists. For instance, in child psychology, personality is studied in
terms of the mental, social, and emotional development of the individual
from birth until adolescence. Accordingly, it refers to the ways in which
children think, feel, and behave.37 However, when speaking about
someone’s personality, medieval authors referred to a set of mental and
moral qualities that formed an individual’s inner character. Moreover, as in
the case of physicality and its meaning, personality incorporates not only
the emotions, behaviour, and intellectual abilities of an individual, but also
the manner in which others observe and project their perceptions about
these attributes.
For example, features such as friendly, kind, talkative, ambitious, shy,
hostile, intelligent, and so on reflect the perception of the onlooker about
the person that is observed. Attributes of this kind were used by the ancient
physiognomists, as well as by the authors of Byzantine hagiographical and
historical texts, to illustrate the individuality of their narratives’
protagonists.
Since personality encompasses a whole range of circumstances in which
a person can be described, I use the term in a relatively broad sense.
Besides, while considering the personal qualities of an individual in terms
of moral virtues, the term personality will also refer to behavioural patterns
of children and their capacity to acquire knowledge. However, my interest
here is not to investigate the aspects pertaining to children’s education and
instruction, since this will be analysed extensively in Chapter 4, but rather
to look at how hagiographers used a set of specific physical and
psychological features that reflected, in their view, the individuality of the
saints-to-be.
My analysis of the descriptions of children takes its point of departure
from the ideal physical body described in the historical sources. I will
briefly mention the features that were appreciated by the Byzantines when
speaking about the human body in general, proceeding thereafter with the
examination of the sources produced in a secular context that present
children’s appearance and their personality. The extended descriptions of
children’s personality and especially physicality in sources other than
hagiographies will allow me to see the ways in which authors belonging to
different milieus expressed their ideas about the ideal body and character of
children. The chapter concludes with an analysis of the hagiographical
sources in which descriptions of physicality and personality of children can
be found. I will then draw some conclusions regarding the differences and
similarities in the perceptions and expectations of Byzantine society
towards children.

Physicality and personality in non-hagiographical literature

The Byzantines exhibited a particular interest in the human body. Drawing
upon the historical accounts of Michael Psellos and Anna Komnene, which
contain descriptions of various imperial figures, Hatzaki has shown that the
symmetry and the perfect proportion of the human body, along with a series
of details about the colour of skin, eyes, and hair constructed the image of
ideal physical beauty when the Byzantines described the physical
appearance of women or men. As she has pointed out, in these texts beauty
is not an abstract concept; it has a recognizable profile with features that are
equally appreciated by the Byzantines, whatever the gender of the person
who possesses them. A beautiful body is first of all a body harmoniously
shaped. A white complexion, light-coloured hair, and bright eyes were traits
of ideal beauty.38
These idealized descriptions of a beautiful body can serve at a more
general level as a backcloth for the descriptions of children. How were they
portrayed in the historical accounts of the two Byzantine historians? Did
Anna Komnene and Michael Psellos use the same strategy in describing
children? What features were perceived as relevant when speaking about
children?
A quick glance at the sources shows that the ideal features of beauty
were not only applied to the descriptions of adults. Similar depictions of
beautiful bodies can be found in the historical writings in which imperial
children are described in terms of their physical appearance. For instance, in
the Alexiad, Anna Komnene describes the seven-year-old Constantine
Doukas, her fiancé, as follows:

The little boy, apart from other considerations, was a lovely child, still
quite young (he was not yet seven years old)… It was delightful
enough to hear him speak, but that was not all: his extraordinary agility
and suppleness made him unrivalled at games, if one is to believe what
his companions in those days said later. He was blond, with a skin as
white as milk, his cheeks suffused with red like some dazzling rose
 that has just left its calyx. His eyes were not light-coloured, but hawk-
like, shining beneath the brows, like a precious stone set in a golden
ring. Thus, seemingly endowed with a heavenly beauty not of this
world, his manifold charms captivated the beholder; in short, anyone
who saw him would say, ‘He is like the painter’s Cupid’.39

The description of Constantine encompasses the same features that

characterize the beautiful body: the white complexion of the skin, rosy
cheeks, blond hair, and brilliant eyes highlighted by dark eyebrows.40
However, apart from the beautiful body of the little child (τὸ παιδίον), we
should remark here Anna’s allusions to his physicality in terms of body
movements – agility and suppleness while playing games (ἐν παντοίαις
κινήσεσι καὶ περιστροφαῖς παιγνίων ἀπαράμιλλον), along with the child’s
way of speaking, which evoked admiration in the onlooker (ἡδύ μὲν οὐκ
ἐν λόγοις μόνον). It is hard to tell in what context the child’s manner of
speaking caused delight. Was it because the child spoke already in a clear
manner, which caused admiration in the adults who heard him? Or, on the
contrary, was it because he was speaking in a childlike manner? We know
from Psellos’ encomium for his daughter that, by the age of six, the girl
already surpassed a childish mode of speech (παίδων ἰδιώματα), being able
to speak clearly, a fact that caused much admiration in her father.41 It may
be that in this context, Anna refers to the child’s ability to speak without
impediments.
Constantine is also described by Michael Psellos in his Chronographia,
but at a different stage of childhood, when the boy was only a nursling child
in his first months of life. Psellos’ commentary on the baby’s physical
appearance and character derives from first-hand knowledge, for the
historian notes that he had seen Constantine, the son of the emperor
Michael Doukas, when he was a suckling infant (βρεφύλλιον … καὶ
γαλακτοτροφούμενον).42 Since Constantine was only a baby, Psellos could
not attribute any actions, deeds, or sayings to him. Instead, he could
describe his appearance and character, on the basis of which one could
judge the soul.
Psellos describes the little baby as having a rounded face, very big, grey,
and serene eyes, and a slightly aquiline nose. The hair was golden as the
sun, his lips were delicate, and the eyes were gentle. At this point, Psellos
refers to the child’s personality by noting the eyes which represent the
connection between the outer look and the inner nature of the individual:
“this child is attentive and has a gentle way of looking, and his movements
are even sweeter; and all this indicates a soul neither humble, nor exalted,
but charming, stirred by divine impulse.”43
The reference to the child’s eyes is not accidental. The idea that the eyes
are the windows to the soul is frequently found in philosophical thinking in
Antiquity.44 Ancient physiognomists developed an entire system of
evaluating a person’s character according to the shape and colour of the
eyes. Polemon dedicated one-third of his Physiognomic Handbook to the
eyes, which he believed were the most telling bodily feature.45 Scholars
have acknowledged Psellos’ fascination with the physical and
psychological descriptions of the characters described in his works.46 This
can also be observed in the portrait of Constantine depicted by the historian.
In this case, however, Psellos could not rely on other elements to help him
assess the child’s character, except for the eyes. The gentleness of the eyes
was, in Psellos’ opinion, a clear sign of the child’s inner character.
The importance of the eyes in diagnosing one’s personality is
emphasized in another pen-portrait of an infant by the same Byzantine
historian. This time, Psellos’ personage is not the child of an emperor, but
his own grandson of nearly four months old, to whom he addressed a letter
in which he also describes the physical appearance of the baby. The letter
provides a good opportunity for Psellos to speak about himself as a skilful
rhetorician, but also as someone who can judge one’s character by
observing the qualities of the soul as they are settled on the brows and
eyes.47
From the start, Psellos acknowledges the fact that an infant has
underdeveloped perceptions and thoughts, and for this reason, he writes the
letter to be read when his grandchild will be old enough to understand it. On
paying attention to the emotional repertoire of the child, the historian
mentions first the eyes as kind (εὔνουν) and cheerful (ἱλαρῶς). They were
“not too rapid in motion nor slow and lethargic, which would have signified
a dull disposition but, rather, sometimes they were fixed as though lost in
thought, at other times they moved cheerfully.”48 While being mindful of
the infant’s behaviour, Psellos notes his changing moods under various
circumstances. These are nevertheless described by employing the topos of
puer senex. When he was hungry, but the nurse delayed the breastfeeding,
the baby did not cry aloud, but only let a few tears roll down to convince
her to feed him. When the nurse uncovered her breast to feed him, the baby
would change his disposition by looking at the nurse more gently. At this
point, Psellos notes the typical behaviour of infants: they are greedy and
lack moderation when breastfed, features that are not characteristics of his
grandson, who drinks milk moderately, repaying his nourisher with friendly
glances and smiles (εὐμενὲς ὄμμα καὶ γέλωτα). The historian describes the
infant’s emotions in different circumstances: he was happy when breastfed,
irritated and upset when being wrapped in swaddling clothes, and again
cheerful when the swaddling bands were removed; he would start to smile
and move his hands and legs in every direction. From the speech about
emotions, Psellos turns to the infant’s virtues: the baby surpasses others by
displaying intelligence,49 which is revealed by the capacity to recognize the
characters of those around him. The baby could distinguish between those
who paid no attention to him and those who cared for him, by responding to
them with either love or antipathy.
Among the physical characteristics of the infant, Psellos enlists the usual
features of the ideal beautiful body: every limb was harmoniously shaped;
the hair was curly and blond; the head had a perfect shape, the neck was
nimble and free, and everything was “perfectly harmonized by nature.”50
Yet, a physical characteristic that pertains to small children is the softness of
their tiny body. Psellos tells us how pleasant it was to hold children in an
embrace.
At the end of the letter, Psellos expresses his hopes that when the child
reaches the age of reason, he will follow the example of his grandfather and
steer his disposition towards moderation and honour his parents. The beauty
of the soul, in Psellos’ opinion, can be achieved through reason, education,
and a good conduct. These elements were essential in acquiring a virtuous
character.51
We have seen so far a series of positive evaluations of the qualities of
children during different stages of their life. Both Anna Komnene and
Psellos display an interest in detailing the bodily features of their
protagonists, but Psellos seems to have been more fascinated by the
psychological features of his characters to which he devoted a large space in
his work. This preference can be also observed in the description of infants.
But, as we have seen, it was not easy to assess children’s personality,
especially if they were very young. To write about their personality, the
authors needed to observe them in various circumstances and to evaluate
them according to their actions, emotions, and behaviour. Both historians
tried, for instance, to assess the same child’s personality (although in two
different stages of his development), and to do so, they relied on a physical
marker. Anna suggested Constantine’s disposition by mentioning his
childish gestures and movements observed in his games, whereas Psellos
made use of the eyes as the physical indicators through which he could read
the child’s personality. The same strategy of using the eyes for assessing a
child’s personality was employed by Psellos in the description of his
grandchild.
Another pen-portrait of an infant, this time by Anna Komnene,
exemplifies the degree of appreciation of perfect bodily features. John II
Komnenos (1118–43), the younger brother of Anna, is portrayed while still
an infant in these terms:

The little boy was of a swarthy complexion, with a broad forehead,

rather thin cheeks, a nose that was neither flat nor aquiline, but
something between the two, and darkish eyes which, as far as one can
divine from the appearance of a newborn baby, gave evidence of a
lively spirit.52

Unlike Constantine Doukas and Psellos’ grandchild, the infant John

possessed the opposite features – dark skin and dark eyes – which makes
the contrast between the prototype of a beautiful body and the body of little
John more powerful. The Physiognomic Handbook of Polemon records that
people with dark skin were prone to cowardice, long-lasting ambitions, and
dejections.53 Hatzaki remarked that a dark complexion was generally
perceived in Byzantium as the attribute of evil. This negative view of
individuals who display a dark complexion is prevalent in the
hagiographical literature, which records the devil as having the appearance
of Ethiopians or Arabs.54
In this context, Anna’s description of John gives the impression of an
imperfect body, thus contradicting the idea according to which the imperial
physical body had to be perfect.55 Was this a strategy through which Anna
expressed her belief that her little brother would not be suitable to rule the
empire? This question cannot find its answer here, but it may not be by
accident that Anna, who hoped to ascend to the imperial throne, inserted the
description of John’s bodily features, which contrasted with other
descriptions of beautiful bodies. In her Alexiad, Anna leaves unnoticed the
personality of her younger brother; the only reference to it comes in this
description where she assessed the boy’s energetic disposition. Like Psellos,
Anna uses this time the eyes as an indicator of the child’s inner nature, but
despite the positive interpretation of her brother’s eyes, the general
description of the boy conveys the Byzantine attitudes towards the
imperfect body.
It seems that whatever the age of the individual and despite the body not
being fully developed in the case of children, the symmetry of the limbs
was linked with the beautiful body. This idea is emphasized in another text
by Psellos that describes in great detail and with considerable attention the
character and the physical features of his daughter, Styliane, who died at the
age of nine. The funeral oration is divided into five units, and the
description of personality, and especially physicality, is prominent in the
text.56
In this epitaphios logos, Psellos complies with the suggestions of
Menander the rhetor (late third century), who gave instructions in his
treatise On Epideictic Speeches on how a funeral speech should be
composed: family (γένος), birth (γένεσις), nature (φύσις), nurture
(ἀνατροφή), education (παιδεία) and accomplishments (ἐπιτήδευμα) were
the elements on which an encomium was based. When speaking about
nature, Menander advised that this part should be divided into two –
physical beauty and the soul’s beauty.57
Psellos describes Styliane in various stages of growth. In infancy, she is
presented as a sociable child, spending her time with the nurses, playing
with the maidservants, making friends with girls of her age, and enjoying
childish pleasures. As her mind develops, Styliane becomes more steadfast
and reliable, and she starts to do good deeds. She is adorable and free of the
immaturity shown by others of her age.58 From a tender age too, her beauty,
which gives pleasure to the onlooker, surpasses that of other girls.
Her virtuous character and behaviour are presented in three
circumstances in which a child is socialized: at home, at school, and in
church. These situations in which Styliane is described reflect, as Panagiotis
Agapitos remarks, the parental expectations and outline the idealized
behaviour of a girl in the eleventh-century urban society.59 The girl’s
demeanour is displayed by mentioning her upbringing and education, which
started when she was six years old, along with her mental capacities of
learning faster than other children, and her abilities to acquire the skills of
weaving and embroidery. But more than that, her virtuous character is
linked to her spiritual devotion to God, which is displayed through her
frequent visits to the church and the participation in the religious services.
Psellos describes Styliane as going voluntarily to the church, where she
stayed motionless and attentive, singing the hymns she learned by herself.60
The description of Styliane’s character is, thus, made up of references to her
natural qualities of the soul and intellect. She was pious, intelligent,
obedient to her parents, modest, and kind to everyone. These qualities were,
in Psellos’ opinion, the virtues of a proper maiden. In the text, Psellos
points out that biologically speaking, his daughter was only a child, but her
behaviour is described as that pertaining to a mature person.
The inner qualities of Styliane’s soul and intellect are enhanced by the
physical attributes that occupy a very large space in the text. As she passed
beyond infancy, her beauty increased in accordance with the development
of the body: “Entering her ninth year, her features became more expressive
and revealed an even more perfect beauty. Not only that, but whatever else
about her used to be imperfect was now imperceptibly transformed to being
simply perfect.”61
Styliane’s physical transformation from an infant to a child becomes
evident when her physique started to acquire symmetry and harmony: the
head was neither oblong nor wide; the eyebrows were black and
symmetrical, enhancing her beauty; the eyes were black and shiny; the nose
was straight and unwavering with symmetrical nostrils; the mouth too was
symmetrical, with red lips and white teeth. Psellos continues to praise the
splendour of his daughter by describing other parts of her body: the neck,
which was proportionate to the head, the arms fashioned in a feminine way,
her undeveloped breasts (τοὺς μαστοὺς εἶχεν ἀώρους καὶ ὀμφακίας), her
slender and thin waist, as well as the legs. All these elements, through their
size, shape, and symmetry, formed what Psellos considered to be a perfectly
beautiful body.62
The beauty and inner qualities of the girl aroused great expectations in
her parents, who hoped to find a suitable husband for her. The way in which
she walked and dressed, her appearance in general, but also her character,
her compassion and generosity (φιλάνθρωπον καὶ μεταδοτικὸν), the
affection for her parents (πρὸς γονεῖς ἐρωτικὸν), “her mind so firm in a
body so gentle” (νοῦν εὐπαγῆ ἐν σώματι ἁπαλῷ), and her superior
intellect and decorous behaviour made the father confident in his daughter’s
bright future.63
The physical and psychological description of Styliane reveals the way
in which Psellos perceived the stage of childhood and childlike
characteristics. We have seen in the previous section that Psellos ascribed
rather negative qualities to his own infancy and childhood. He also argued
elsewhere that “each age is not suited to every circumstance, but immaturity
is suited to playfulness, the prime of youth to the affairs of life, and
maturity to higher pursuits.”64 Here, he reinforces the idea that childhood,
and especially infancy, is a stage characterized by immaturity and
playfulness. As for age limits between the stages, we can infer from this
funeral oration that infancy would last until the age of six, when the child
would start a new phase of life. Starting from infancy, however, the child
progressively acquires moral virtues that are linked to mental development.
In terms of physicality, we can sense here Psellos’ opinion of how bodily
features develop in stages. His daughter’s body progressively acquired its
perfect shapes. She was indeed beautiful while still very young, but as she
advanced in age, her beauty increased, and her bodily features became
perfect.
The description of Styliane’s physicality and personality is all the more
valuable in that it expresses not only the personal perception of a parent
about his child, but also the parental expectations of how a girl should
behave in different stages of life. Modesty, piety, affection, and respect
towards parents were qualities Byzantine society expected from a child,
especially from girls. If such qualities were complemented by a beautiful
appearance, then the prospects of a good marriage increased.
As we have seen, physicality in terms of beauty is assessed according to
a set of specific features that make the body attractive in the eyes of the
onlooker. A beautiful child is praised in the same manner as a beautiful
adult. Whatever the degree of realism with which these pen-portraits were
sketched, we observe in these sources the concern of the writers to offer
their audience a tangible image of their characters. All these descriptions of
children are made by authors who knew them in person. Hence, the texts
reveal the authors’ personal perception of children’s physicality and
personality. These portrayals are not only the product of the Byzantine
tradition of describing the elite class in conventional terms.65 They also
express the adults’ perception of children’s bodies and character, a
perception that is built upon features considered to be relevant when
assessing a child. As we shall see below, religious authors assessed
children’s appearance and character from a different perspective.

Physicality and personality in hagiographies

The ascetic body was the most frequent form of physical representations of
the saints described in the hagiographical literature, which in turn inspired
saints’ representations in Byzantine religious art.66 This attitude towards
rejecting the body finds its roots in the idea that holiness is also acquired
through the process of resisting the temptations of the flesh, disciplining it
by long vigils, extreme fasting or dietary restrictions, and mortifications.67
On analysing the hagiographical sources, Kazhdan and Maguire observe
the ambivalence of the notion of a beautiful body that is understood on the
one hand as a reflection of a beautiful soul, and on the other hand as a mask
that hides the sins.68 A beautiful body not only was an object of admiration
and praise, but was also seen as an obstacle to spiritual perfection. This idea
is illustrated in the ninth-century vita of Theodora of Thessalonike.
Speaking about the saint while she was still a child, the hagiographer relates
that Theodora was betrothed at the age of seven to a much older man from a
prominent family from an Aegean island. The reason for such an early
engagement was that the girl was already graceful and intelligent (εὐφυὴς
ὁμοῦ καὶ εὐμαθὴς), admired for the beauty of her body, her pretty face, her
inherent modesty, and piety (κάλλει τε σώματος καὶ τῇ τοῦ προσώπου
ὡραιότητι τῇ τε ἐκ γένους σωφροσύνῃ καὶ εὐσεβείᾳ ἐμεγαλύνετο καὶ
ἐθαυμάζετο).69 Such qualities made Theodora so appealing that many
noblemen wanted to marry her. Accordingly, her father needed to find a
suitable husband for the girl.
The beauty of Theodora is mentioned in the text at three key moments of
her life. The first mention of her appearance is made in connection with her
early betrothal. The second time when her beauty is recorded is when she
entered the monastery at the age of twenty-five, after her husband’s death.
Here, her looks raised doubts in the abbess’s mind, because Theodora had a
youthful and beautiful appearance and therefore such qualities could have
been a potential obstacle to the acquiring of spiritual perfection.70 The last
mention of her appearance is made when the author describes the saint’s
dead body as radiating beauty.71 In this context, beauty acquires a spiritual
dimension, since it is no longer the attribute of the living body, but the
embodiment of the soul that has reached divine perfection.
When speaking about the saintly children, the religious authors did not
follow the pattern of describing their physical appearance according to a
specific set of features, such as we have seen in the secular sources. What
they usually emphasized when writing about them, and especially about
girls, was the idea that a beautiful body mirrored the beauty of the soul.
Beauty and harmony are the main attributes some hagiographers made
use of when writing about the bodily features of saintly girls. Although
there is no clear statement about particular details of what the saints looked
like in their early years, it is worth noting the way in which physicality and
personality are intertwined under the pen of the hagiographers. For
example, the author of the tenth-century vita of Thomaïs of Lesbos
combines physical beauty with inner qualities in this manner:

As Thomaïs grew up, she continued to be strengthened in the virtues,

devoted to the worship of God, and adorned by all forms of goodness.
She disclosed her hidden beauty by its external manifestation and
revealed the grace of her soul by her bodily features; revealing her
invisible virtues by the visible, her internal virtues by her external
beauty. One could see in her a perfect bodily harmony (ἁρμονίαν
ἀρίστην σωματικήν), which suggested the spiritual beauty of her soul
(τὴν πνευματικὴν καλλονὴν).72

The tenth-century vita of Mary the Younger describes in the same way what
she looked like while still a young girl, by combining physicality with her
inner character. In her brother-in-law’s opinion, Mary, who at that time was
probably thirteen years old, was “the most beautiful both in appearance and
in soul, so that her inner beauty is reflected in the beauty of her body” (καὶ
ἡ παρθένος σφόδρα καλή, οὐ μόνον καλὴ τὴν ὄψιν, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὴν ψυχήν,
ὡς ἀντιλάμπειντὸ ἔσωθεν κάλλος τῷ κάλλει τοῦ σώματος).73
 A different perspective on how the physical features of Byzantine girls
were used by hagiographers in their texts can be found in several
descriptions of the imperial bride-shows. Although there is still much
debate surrounding the veracity of such shows,74 the testimonies about how
the contests took place in the medieval Byzantium also reveal the imperial
expectations about what a young candidate should look like. Such accounts
also reveal the ways in which the authors of the Saints’ Lives managed to
balance the secular view regarding the beauty of the body with the religious
attitude towards it.
However, all the protagonists of the bride-shows described in the
hagiographical sources of the ninth and tenth centuries (Maria of Amnia,
Theodora, wife of Theophilos, Theophano, and Irene Chrysobalanton) were
marriageable girls of about fifteen years of age. According to Byzantine
standards, they were not children anymore because they entered puberty;
however, not yet adults.75 Although, in general, the Byzantine
princesses/empresses married after they entered puberty, history records
examples of future empresses who married while they were still children.
For example, Helena Lekapene, the wife of the emperor Romanos I
Lekapenos (920–44) married at the age of nine, and the wife of Isaak II
Angelos, Maria, was only ten when she married.
Because the imperial candidates described in our hagiographical sources
had already passed the stage of childhood, I will not go into a detailed
discussion about their physical features and character traits. However, it is
worth pointing out that in such competitions, the main criterion for the
evaluation of the participants with regard to the future empress’ qualities
was to possess a certain set of desirable physical features and moral virtues.
Maria of Amnia, for example, was chosen as a possible aspirant for the
hand of the emperor Constantine VI (780–90) because she could fit the
desired pattern of beauty: the stature, the size of the feet, the form of the
face and the posture were bodily features assessed in the imperial sphere.76
Theodora the Empress is described as being so beautiful “that she was fit
even for a marriage to an emperor.”77 Apart from her beauty, the
hagiographer stressed her virginity but also that biologically she was
already mature enough to bear a son to the emperor, if she was to win the
emperor’s hand.
 The vita of the empress Theophano tells us that in her childhood she
developed into a beauty (ὡραιότητι σώματος διεπλάσθη). She became so
beautiful that her father allowed her to go out to bath houses only in the
mornings and evenings when all the streets were empty, and only
accompanied by numerous male and female servants.78 Later, at the age of
fifteen, we are told that she participated at the bride-show organized by the
empress Eudokia Ingerina for her son, the emperor Leo VI (886–912). She
was chosen to be the bride of the emperor because of her beauty and
virtuous character.79
All the above-mentioned bride-shows share the same happy ending. The
main characters won the contest, thanks to their physical and moral
qualities, and were crowned as empresses. However, there is yet another
bride-show recorded in the hagiographical literature that presents a story
with a totally different end. The tenth-century vita of Irene of
Chrysobalanton relates that the saint was chosen to participate at the bride-
show organized by the empress Theodora for her son Michael III (842–67).
According to the text, the wife who would be chosen for the empress’ son

should belong to the illustrious and outstanding and to a pious family

who took pride in the Orthodox faith, she should excel in moral beauty
and spiritual nobility, and be distinguished by corporeal fairness so as
to surpass all girls of her age.80

Since she was known for her moral grace and corporeal beauty alike, Irene
was sent together with her sister to Constantinople to take part in the
contest, but on the road to the capital, she met a monk who predicted that
she would be the abbess of the monastery of Chrysobalanton. When she
arrived in Constantinople, the bride-show was already over, and, eventually,
Irene entered the monastery of Chrysobalanton.
All these stories of the bride-shows had their own agenda.81 While the
stories of Maria, Theodora, and Theophano were intended to satisfy the
imperial propaganda, the last story differs both in its purpose and in the way
in which the concept of the beautiful body serves to underline the idea of
holiness. These four hagiographies also deal with the institution of
marriage. A girl’s beautiful appearance increased the chances of a good
match, and this is exactly what such stories emphasize. However, the bride-
show described in the vita of Irene of Chrysobalanton might be interpreted
also as a form of protest against the secular views that ascribed such
importance to the beautiful body. The narration about the monastic life of
Irene who strove to achieve an “obedient body” by means of mortifications
and self-discipline, may support this idea.82 Once she had embraced the
monastic life, Irene “wished to wear out that tender and delicate body (τὸ
ἁπαλὸν ἐκεῖνο σῶμα καὶ τρυφερόν) to have a soul that was renewed and
flourished and approached God to the same extent as the body perished.”83
These hagiographies, and especially the vita of Irene, present a sort of
cultural negotiation between the secular and religious traditions with respect
to the roles ascribed to the human body. In the secular context, a youthful
body with its beautiful features played an essential role, for instance, in
qualifying for an imperial marriage. In the religious context, on the other
hand, the same youthful body must reject its corporeal beauty to attain the
spiritual beauty.
We can observe from these examples that in hagiographies, girls’
physicality is expressed more in terms of beauty, which, however, is not
much elaborated. The psychological characterization of girls includes
references to their moral virtues, such as obedience, piety, and modesty, as
for example in the vitae of Theodora of Thessalonike, Theophano, and Irene
of Chrysobalanton. But in what concerns male saints’ lives, we can discern
a different strategy in their characterization as children: there is little
evidence of boys’ physicality, whereas we find much information about
their personality in terms of moral virtues and intellectual capacities.
One of the few accounts that makes reference to a boy’s physicality is
the vita of Symeon the New Theologian (eleventh century). We learn from
this text that in his childhood, Symeon was endowed with physical beauty
and handsomeness, so that he surpassed the others.84 For this reason, his
paternal uncle, who occupied the position of imperial chamberlain, wanted
to present the boy to the emperor. Symeon was not only a beautiful child: he
was also

intelligent and full of good sense from his youth, he was eager for his
lessons, and with his natural quickness, cleverly and logically derived
benefit from them. But if he saw the other children doing something
childish and inappropriate, he would draw back, as though he were
already an old man in terms of good sense, and turn his mind wholly to
his lessons, distancing himself from those who were acting foolishly.85
Such kind of description reflects the discrepancy between ideology and
reality, epitomized by the topos of puer senex. The male child acting and
behaving like an old man is contrasted with the ordinary children whose
behaviour was not favourably looked upon. Here it is also interesting to
note the author’s emphasis on the boy’s prudence (φρόνησιν), which was
not among the attributes of ordinary children. In his study of the early
Byzantine hagiographies, Kalogeras observes religious authors’ tendency to
divide children into two main categories: the good ones who behaved like
adults (holy children) and the bad ones who behaved in a childlike manner
(ordinary children).86 As in the early hagiographical sources, a good child is
described in the vitae of our period as serious, intelligent, studious,
obedient, and well-disciplined.
Such a combination of the intellectual abilities of saintly boys and their
behavioural maturity is also employed in the ninth-century vita of George
of Amastris. George, whose intellectual aptitudes surpassed those of his
companions, avoided everything that would have distracted him from
developing a disciplined character and righteous behaviour: he was “free
from all childhood behaviour and maddening desires. He fled from mocking
youths, flattery and games and, as it were, all other bad habits.”87
Another account that stresses the virtues of a saintly boy to illustrate his
holiness manifested at an early age is the vita of Euthymios the Younger.
We read that Euthymios, who was less than fourteen years old, already
displayed an upright character: he was gentle, decent, and gracious, well-
spoken, well-behaved, compliant, and obedient to his parents. He avoided
the company of his peers, preferring to go to church.88 Athanasios of Athos
is likewise described as having a kind, calm, and disciplined character in his
boyhood. Moreover, he was not greedy and did not have vulgar and ignoble
inclinations. He showed an intelligent and prudent attitude, being truly
worthy of his baptismal name of Abraham.89
The precocity in mental and spiritual development of saintly children
comes to light almost always in opposition to normal children who are
depicted as playful, jeering, mischievous, and with a strong appetite for
pleasure. The biographer of Nikon the Metanoeite (eleventh century) notes
the typical behaviour of children in contrast to his hero’s. Children are
energetic and display a natural tendency towards games, sports, and other
pleasurable things:
 For he alone beyond his other peers, while still of an early age and
being counted among children, did not have the mind of a child. Nor
did he devote himself to toys and sports and races and horses and the
other things desirable and beloved by the young. But immediately, as it
were from the starting line, he fought against all desire of the flesh. He
was glad to spend his time in churches and holy places; he was always
completely eager to look on the fairest of habits and to direct himself
to a life dear to God and blessed. And in that immature and early age
he displayed the wisdom of an old man.90

Some Byzantines, like the biographer of Nikephoros of Sebaze, believed

that almost nothing good can come out of someone who has not reached
adulthood. When presenting the childhood period of his hero, the
hagiographer pointed out that after being weaned, children enter a tender
and unseasonable age of life, when they grow quickly and reject the noble
things in life, being at the same time drawn to every impulse.91 Others,
instead, like the patriarch Methodius thought that there were some positive
qualities everybody would recognize in some children: purity of thought, a
placid character, and an inclination to devotion to God were features
specific to some children.92
This devotion to God is particularly evident in the characterization of
Loukas of Steiris. His biographer presents the saint in his childhood as a
disciplined boy who renounced any pleasure that a child would have had.
Unlike ordinary children who took pleasure in games, jokes, and other
similar activities, Loukas “showed calmness, tranquillity, a steady character,
and maturity in all things” (ἠρεμία, γαλήνη, βεβηκὸς ἦθος καὶ τὸ
πρεσβυτικὸν διὰ πάντων ὑποφαινόμενον).93 The boy also practised a very
harsh fasting, renouncing fruits, meat, cheese, and eggs. Even more, he
fasted until sunset on Wednesdays and Fridays.
Unsurprisingly, many hagiographers described their heroes by
emphasizing their self-control and ascetic behaviour along with prudence
and temperance, which were considered adult-like characteristics. But, in
contrast with the image of the prodigy child who displayed extraordinary
intellectual capacities and moral virtues, other hagiographers tried to depict
a more balanced picture of their heroes while children. This is the case of
Theodore of Edessa who is described as lacking the ability to memorize the
Psalms as part of his primary education. But to be sure, Theodore was too
young to assimilate so much knowledge – he was only five years old when
he was sent to school and he struggled in vain for two years in this
endeavour.94 His hagiographer, as Kalogeras has observed, made the child’s
inability to memorize the Psalms “the purpose for a divine intervention
(οἰκονομία), which enabled the saint to receive learning in the form of a
god-sending gift.”95
Another characteristic associated with children was innocence. Elias of
Heliopolis continued to work for a carpenter who renounced Christianity
for Islam only because he was a child (παῖς), the author inferring that
children do not understand the theological implications of such a grave sin
and are mentally incapable of discerning evil. At a party held by his Arab
masters, the twelve-year-old boy was employed to serve them, “joking
(ἀστειευόμενος) and rejoicing at the feast, inasmuch as he was an innocent
child.”96 Here, laughing and making jokes as qualities attributed to children
have their roots in the early Christian idea on laughter seen as a cause for
children and women to slip into scandal.97
The religious authors, even when writing about holy boys recognized
that one of childhood’s features was vulnerability. Describing an incident
from the childhood of George of Amastris in which the three-year-old
saintly boy got his arms and feet burned, the hagiographer rhetorically
asked:

Why did He allow the enemy to display his own evil against the baby?
Why did He who enlists the soldiers allow the enemy to gravely harm
the warrior who was not yet able to take up the spear and the shield on
account of his youth?”98

Children were, thus, perceived also as vulnerable and incapable of fighting

against evil, especially when they were very young. However, once they
advanced in age, they would acquire the strength to control their bodies and
minds, and would be able to fight against sensual pleasures, as in the cases
of Loukas of Steiris, Nikon the Metanoeite, and George of Amastris.
When we compare the physical and psychological characterizations of
girls and boys in hagiographies we can note an evident disinterest in boys’
physicality; the emphasis lies on a much more detailed description of their
personality. One reason why the authors did not pay attention to boys’
physicality may be that the Byzantines evaluated the two gender categories
differently. On the one hand, girls are described in terms of bodily features
and character traits. They are beautiful, delicate, and gracious, but also
obedient, modest, and pious. Boys, on the other hand, are portrayed in
hagiographies more in terms of moral and intellectual qualities. They are
presented as displaying a steady character; holy boys are wise and
temperate, intelligent, and self-controlled.
When setting side by side the hagiographical sources and the secular
ones, we can also notice that the religious authors were less concerned with
giving details about the bodily features of children. They limited themselves
to sketching an abstract physical portrait of a holy child, whereas the
secular authors were much more interested in presenting children’s
appearance in detail. This difference may be due to the fact that secular
authors drew upon first-hand knowledge, from their own observations.
They actually saw the children about whom they wrote. But religious
authors could not rely on first-hand knowledge; accordingly, they only
referred to holy children’s bodies (especially of girls) in terms of beauty,
which mirrors the soul.
As Hatzaki has argued, beauty was perceived as the embodiment both of
the imperial power and of holiness, and this can be seen especially in
female saints’ lives. But, unlike imperial beauty, the beauty of the saints has
another dimension – the spiritual beauty attained through ascetic practices,
mortification of the body, and extreme fasting. However, such a transition
does not necessarily occur in childhood, although we have the example of
Loukas of Steiris, who began to practice severe fasting while still a child
and continued his ascetic discipline later on by sleep deprivation and long
vigils.99 In the same manner, Theodora of Thessalonike, despite not
practicing a severe discipline of the body, used to fast from her childhood.
Her beauty moves gradually in the text from the corporeal beauty in her
childhood and youth to the spiritual beauty that was visible also after death.
More important than physical appearance were the moral virtues, a
pattern of Christian behaviour that was characteristic of both male and
female saints, and which was repeatedly emphasized in the course of the
narratives. However, the interesting point is that while the behaviour and
the moral character of the holy boys are placed in antithesis with that of
common boys, in the case of girls, there is no such contrast. Saintly girls are
not placed in antithesis to other girls with regard to their inner qualities and
behaviour. This may suggest that the attitudes of adults to boys and girls
were different. Ordinary boys may have been perceived as lacking
discipline, easy-going, mischievous, and with a strong appetite for pleasure,
unlike girls, all of whom were expected to be modest, pious, and obedient.

Conclusions
In this chapter, I have discussed the ways in which the concept of childhood
with its characteristics was articulated in various Byzantine texts. In the
first part, I approached the matter by looking at how physicians and
legislators defined childhood, each from their own perspective. The
physicians were concerned with the physical and mental growth of children,
and they structured childhood through various stages of development.
Biologically, childhood lasted until puberty, when the reproductive
functions started to mature. As it was accepted that one would be sexually
active from the time of puberty, the legislators imposed the minimum age
limit for marriage at twelve for girls and fourteen for boys. Culturally,
childhood ended with marriage, which, however, in practice took place later
than the law permitted. Until the legal coming of age, which was set at
twenty-five for both men and women, who were under the authority of a
legal guardian, children underwent two major turning points in their lives.
Seven was the age when a child was considered to be capable of
committing crimes. The criminal responsibility was approached by the
legislators in accordance with children’s capacity for reasoning and
discriminating between right and wrong. The second major turning point
was marked by marriage.
The Byzantines had an ambivalent view of childhood. In both the secular
and the hagiographical sources, childhood was characterized by immaturity
and playfulness, physical and mental weakness, and vulnerability. However,
these attributes should not be regarded necessarily as being negative. For
instance, while vulnerability is linked with the sense of being defenceless, it
also suggests innocence and implies awareness and the need for protection,
care, and love. Immaturity is seen in our sources as related to inappropriate
behaviour, but it also underlines the potential for change. And childhood
was indeed a crucial period of character formation and moral development.
For many authors, a child was an adult-in-the-making. Young children were
seen as unreliable in their reasoning, but in time, as their mental capacities
developed, they started to manifest an inclination towards good deeds. It
was only the adults’ task to mould children’s character.
On a more positive note, children are described as beautiful, gentle, and
kind. In particular, the image of infants evoked admiration in the eyes of
adults. The sources give an account of a loving and tender attitude of adults
towards babies. Young children have a gentle disposition and manifest
kindness and obedience in relation to other people. They are innocent and
pure, and their conduct can be easily moulded by adults.
The concept of childhood in hagiographies emerges on two distinct
levels. We can see in these texts the ideal representation of the childhood of
holy figures, which was always portrayed in positive terms, and the image
of the childhood of common children. The childhood of the holy boys
transcended the boundaries set by the physical and psychological
development of children. They are premature adults, for they are wise and
temperate, modest, and prudent in judgment, studious, and free from
excesses and inappropriate behaviour. In the religious’ authors view,
ordinary children lack such qualities. They are disobedient, frivolous,
irresponsible, mentally, and intellectually weak, and they easily yield to
temptations.
Apart from the clear emphasis on the nature of holy children, such
stories also have a moral function. They show the behaviour that was
expected of a child: sports, games, and other frivolous activities should be
avoided; instead, self-control, a sustained religious life, temperance,
modesty, prudence in judgement, and studiousness were the features that a
child should display.

Notes
1 For a short overview of the perception of children in the Greco-Roman
world, see Bakke (2005: 15–55). On children in Ancient Rome, see
Harlow and Laurence (2002: 34–53); Rawson (2003:17–92).
2 Golden (1990: 11–2); Rawson (2003:51).
3 Bakke (2005: 109).
4 On the patristic writers’ theological debates on infant baptism and the
nature of children, see Bakke (2005: 56–109); Guroian (2001, esp. 69–
 70); Stortz (2001).
5 Bakke (2005: 104–9). Also Aasgaard (2018) has discussed the
ambivalent perceptions of children and childhood in late antiquity.
6 An overview of the vocabulary used by physicians in defining various
periods in a child’s life is given by Hummel (1999), who highlights the
great influence played by antiquity on how Byzantine society
conceived and defined childhood. An excellent summary of the stages
of childhood is provided by Prinzing (2009), who reviews the main
terminology of the stages of childhood in medical and legal sources, as
well as in common language, and also discusses the legal status of
children. Most recently, Ariantzi (2012) has dealt with the age division
of childhood and its terminology.
7 On the ascetic body, see Constantinou (2005). On sexuality, see James
(1999). On the concept of beauty and ugliness, see Hatzaki (2009);
Hatzaki (2010).
8 Kalogeras (2001).
9 Pratsch (2005:106–8).
10 Hummel (1999:97); Prinzing (2009: 16–7).
11 Here I enlist the most common terms used by the Byzantines, but see
Antoniadis-Bibicou (1973: 77); Prinzing (2009: 19–23); Hennessy
(2010: 81); Ariantzi (2012: 28–36).
12 Ἡλικίαι τῶν ἀνθρώπων, ὡς δοκεῖ τοῖς σοφοῖς, πᾶσαί εἰσιν ἐννέα; in
Tomadakes (1972–1973: 13).
13 ἐκ γὰρ τοῦ τόκου βρέφος μέν, εἷς συμπλήρωσιν ἐστι τεσσάρων ἑτῶν·
παιδίον ἐντεῦθεν δὲ εἰς δεκάδος ἐκπλήρωσιν. Ἐκ δεκάδος δὲ τελείας
βούπαις ἕως ἐτῶν δέκα μετὰ ὀκτάδος· εἶτα μειράκιον αὐτὸς εἰς
συμπλήρωσίν ἐστιν εἴκοσιν ἑτῶν, in Tomadakes (1972–1973: 14).
According to Prinzing (2009: 17), Photius most likely followed the Old
Testament model, in which youth ends by the age of twenty. See also
Ariantzi (2012: 30–1).
14 Michael Psellos, Poemata, poem 63, v. 44–7: βρέφος σκοτεινὁμορφον
ἠμαυρωμἑνον/καὶ παιδίον βέβηλον ἠχρειωμἑνου,/καὶ μειράκιον
αἰσχύνης πεπλησμένον,/νεανίας κάκιστος ἐβδελυγμένος … See also
Koder (2016: 163).
15 Galen, Of Hippocrates and Plato, Book V.5 (316; Eng. trans. 317).
16 Galen, Of Hippocrates and Plato, Book V.5 (318; Eng. trans. 319). The
same idea is expressed by Plato and Aristotle, see Bakke (2005: 16).
17 Paul of Aegina, Book I. 2–5 (9–11; Eng. trans. 8–9).
18 Paul of Aegina, Book I. 14, The Regimen of Infancy (13–4; Eng. trans.
11–2).
19 Baker (2018: 86).
20 Antoniadis-Bibicou (1973: 77); Prinzing (2009: 34).
21 Eisagoge 40.85, 367; the same provision is made by the Basilika
60.39.8, see the discussion in Prinzing (2009: 34).
22 Hennessy (2010: 85).
23 Peira, XVII, 14, XLV, 100, and XLIX, 12.
24 Talbot (1997: 121–2); Caseau (2009: 138).
25 Ecloga XVII. 38; Prinzing (2009: 27).
26 The Canons of Trullo 40, 730.
27 Les Novelles 6, 33–5; Prinzing (2009: 29–30); Antoniadis-Bibicou
(1973: 78).
28 The Canons of Trullo 40, 730.
29 Anastasios of Sinai, Questions and Answers, question12, 74.
30 Laiou (1992: 10–1).
31 See the discussion in Chevallier Caseau (2009: 127–66); Ariantzi
(2012: 8–11).
32 On physiognomy in antiquity, see Boys-Stones (2007); on Polemon’s
physiognomic treatise, see Swain (2007: 125–202); for the translation
of the text from Arabic into English, 329–464.
33 Ringrose (2013: 363); Hoyland (2007a: 227).
34 Malina and Neyrey (1996: 100–27).
35 Hatzaki (2009).
36 On the influence of physiognomy on Psellos’ self-representation, see
Papaioannou (2013: 168–9).
37 Pervin (2000: 100).
38 Hatzaki (2009: 7–32).
39 Anna Komnene, The Alexiad, III. 1 (88; Eng. trans. 104).
40 Cf. Hatzaki (2009: 81–2); Hatzaki (2010: 95–6).
41 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter, Styliane 8 (65; Eng.
trans. 120–1).
42 Michael Psellos, The Chronographia Book VII.c12 (376; It. trans.
377).
43 Michael Psellos, The Chronographia Book VII.c12 (376–8; It. trans.
377–9).
44 Malina and Neyrey (1996: 141–2).
45 See the English translation of the text on eyes in Hoyland (2007a: 341–
81).
46 Hatzaki (2009); Kazhdan and Wharton Epstein (1990: 210–4).
47 Michael Psellos, Letter to his grandson (152; Eng. trans. 162).
48 Michael Psellos, Letter to his grandson (152–3; Eng. trans. 162–3).
49 Michael Psellos, Letter to his grandson (153; Eng. 163).
50 Michael Psellos, Letter to his grandson (153; Eng. trans. 164).
51 Michael Psellos, Letter to his grandson (153; Eng. trans. 164).
52 Anna Komnene, The Alexiad, VI. 8.5 (185; Eng. trans. 197–8).
53 Hoyland (2007b: 427).
54 Hatzaki (2009: 35).
55 Ringrose (2013: 367).
56 Agapitos (2008: 581–2).
57 Menander Rhetor, Treatise II: The funeral speech (174; Eng. trans.
175).
58 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 7 (64; Eng.
trans. 120).
59 Agapitos (2008: 583).
60 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 12 (65; Eng.
trans. 122).
61 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 14 (68; Eng.
trans. 123).
62 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 16–20 (68–
70; Eng. trans. 123–5).
63 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 30 (75; Eng.
trans. 129).
64 Michael Psellos, Encomium for his mother 4 (92; Eng. trans. 57).
65 On imperial female portraits see Garland (1994); on ideal beauty in
general see Hatzaki (2009:7–32 and 49–65).
66 Kazhdan and Maguire (1991).
67 On asceticism in Early Christianity, Brown (2008: 213–40); Chadwick
(1981).
68 Kazhdan and Maguire (1991: 1–2).
69 Life of Theodora of Thessaloniki 5 (74; Eng. trans. 167).
70 Life of Theodora of Thessaloniki 22 (108; Eng. trans. 183).
71 Life of Theodora of Thessaloniki 43 (154; Eng. trans. 201).
72 Life of Thomaïs of Lesbos 6 (235; Eng. trans. 302).
73 Life of Mary the Younger 2 (692; Eng. trans. 256).
74 The historicity of the bride-shows is highly questionable, on which see,
for instance, Rydén (1985) and Treadgold (2004).
75 On adolescence as a distinct phase of life in Byzantine thinking, see
Ariantzi (2018).
76 Life of Philaretos the Merciful 4c (88; Eng. trans. 89).
77 Life of Theodora the Empress 3 (259; Eng. trans. 363).
78 Life of Theophano 5 (3).
79 Life of Theophano 8–10 (5–6).
80 Life of Irene of Crysobalanton 3 (8; Eng. trans. 9).
81 On the role of the bride-shows, see the discussion in Vinson (2004).
82 On different roles ascribed to Byzantine female bodies, see
Constantinou (2005, esp. 150–61).
83 Life of Irene of Crysobalanton 4 (14; Eng. trans. 15).
84 Life of Symeon the New Theologian 3 (6; Eng. trans. 7).
85 Life of Symeon the New Theologian 2 (4; Eng. trans. 5).
86 Kalogeras (2001).
87 Life of George of Amastris 8 (15–6; Eng. trans. 4–5).
88 Life of Euthymios the Younger 4 (12; Eng. 13).
89 Life of Athanasios of Athos 2 (Vita B) (132; Eng. trans. 133).
90 Life of Nikon the Metanoeite 2 (32; Eng. trans. 33).
91 Life of Nikephoros of Sebaze 2 (20; Eng. trans. by Hatlie (2006): 197).
92 Life of Euthymios of Sardis 2 (21–3; Fr. trans. 20–2).
93 Life of Loukas of Steiris 3 (8; Eng. trans. 9).
94 Life of Theodore of Edessa 4 (5)
95 Kalogeras (2009: 523).
96 Life of Elias of Heliopolis 5–6 (45; Eng. trans. 94)
97 Kalogeras (2001: 6).
98 Life of George of Amastris 7 (13; Eng. trans. 4).
99 Life of Loukas of Steiris 17 (25; Eng. trans. 26).
2 The social and physical world of
Byzantine children
DOI: 10.4324/9780429318498-2

Everyday experiences of children as well as the main features that

characterized Byzantine childhood from cradle until puberty cannot be fully
understood without first looking at their social and physical world. Aspects
pertaining to demography and general living conditions will help us have a
better overview of how children lived their lives alongside their families
more than one thousand years ago, in a traditional patriarchal society in
which their experiences of life varied greatly depending especially on social
status and gender that regulated the societal roles and expectations, but also
according to the setting, whether urban or rural, as well as to the economic
standing of the households. Obviously, the chronological distance that
separates us from the Byzantines makes it difficult to sketch an accurate
picture of children’s social and physical environment. This is not only
because nowadays we have different sets of values, principles, and norms
that regulate our lives, but also because it is still difficult to assess the
impact of various factors on demography and compositions of families.
Demographic aspects such as life expectancy, mortality rate, nuptiality,
fertility, and age of marriage in Byzantium had great implications on
children’s experiences of life which were also shaped by the composition of
their families (the presence of siblings, the presence or absence of one or
both parents, of grandparents and other relatives, and so on). Aspects
pertaining to the family network and the relationships within the household
are discussed more in depth in Chapter 6. Here I limit myself to providing
some insights into the demography and composition of families that
prevailed in the Byzantine world during the period of my consideration,
when the empire was at its biggest extent after the demographical decline of
the sixth through the eighth centuries, and the implications of the
demographical conditions for children’s everyday life experiences.
Population of the medieval Byzantine Empire
A discussion about the demography of the Byzantine Empire during the
Middle Byzantine period should begin by admitting the lack of evidence
concerning the size of the population. As scholars have widely
acknowledged, at least after the sixth century, it is impossible to estimate
with any degree of accuracy the population of the Byzantine Empire.1
Demographically speaking, the empire’s population was dramatically
reduced especially in the sixth and seventh century by massive territorial
losses and by the outbreak of the so-called Justinianic Plagues (541–750),
which devastated the empire in several waves until the middle of the eight
century, causing large-scale mortality. There is a consensus, however, that
after the mid-eighth century, the empire started to gradually recover. The
two hundred years under scrutiny were marked by a positive demographic
trend, due to the territorial expansion of the empire and economic growth.
Already from the early ninth century, imperial authority was re-established
over much of the southern Balkans and the Illyrian coastal regions. The
Macedonian dynasty made efforts to reconquer lost territories and during
the reign of Basil II (976–1025), the Byzantines captured north Syria, Crete
and Cyprus, Armenia, and finally Bulgaria.
Given the demographic development of the empire in this period, there
have been some attempts to estimate the population of large cities,
including Constantinople, but the numbers given by scholars are at best
only educated guesses.2 Angeliki Laiou has advanced an overall number of
approximately 19 million people during the reign of Basil II. She based her
calculation by assuming a low density of nine people per km2 relative to a
territory of ca. 909.000 km2 (comprising Asia Minor, Thrace, Macedonia,
and Bulgaria), which was similar to the population density of the
Peloponnese in the sixteenth century. This would give a population number
of about 18 million to which she added the population of Constantinople,
which may have been around 200,000 people, Thessalonike with about
150,000 and other cities whose population may have ranged from 10,000 to
30,000.3 On the other hand, Johannes Koder considers a population density
between fifteen and maximum twenty people per km2 relative to an area of
about 1.5 million km2 that is estimated to have been reached at the turn of
the tenth century. This would give us a population number between 21
million and maximum 28 million people.4
What we also need to take into consideration when discussing the
demographical aspects of Byzantium is that the empire’s population was
predominantly rural and its density depended on the productive areas where
agriculture was influenced by climate and the shape of the land: coastal
regions in which land cultivation predominated were more densely
populated than the inland where animal husbandry was the main
occupation.5
When it comes to people living in the cities, it seems that in the ninth
century, the proportion of urban population was much lower than that in the
following centuries.6 The last devastating bubonic plague that hit the
empire in 746 made the emperor Constantine V (741–75) repopulate
Constantinople with people from mainland Greece and the Aegean islands.
Four centuries later, the capital may have reached a population of 400,000
people, likely having the highest population density.7 Koder provides some
estimates for several fortified cities, in which the population density ranged
from 273 to 333 per hectare. As an example, the city of Thessalonike, with
a population density of about 273 per hectare is estimated to have
comprised an urban area of 290 ha (2.9 km2), in which the living space was
about 230 ha (2.3 km2), the number of households of 15,800, and an overall
number of inhabitants of 79,000.8 Charanis, instead, suggested that the
population of Thessalonike, which was the second-largest city after
Constantinople, may have been as high as 100,000 inhabitants at the
beginning of the tenth century and during the following three centuries, it
may have exceeded this figure.9
Some important aspects in the demographic dynamics of the empire
were environmental conditions that could proliferate infectious diseases that
would result in death, as well as prolonged warfare, which affected the day-
to-day experiences of life of the Byzantines. Scholars point to the fact that
the environmental features of the empire had a great impact on the
demographic circumstances and ultimately on the well-being and physical
health of the population who had to adapt and live within challenging or
changing environments.10 In the Early Byzantine period, high mortality was
also linked to the famines and epidemics, which often occurred in specific
seasons – between March–April and August–September – and in particular
regions of the Byzantine Empire, especially in Egypt and Palestine. It is
true that in the Middle Byzantine period, these provinces were not part of
the empire anymore, but our sources inform us about various diseases that
affected both adults and children (such as the smallpox epidemic that
afflicted the population of Constantinople in the eleventh century, although
on a small scale),11 and natural calamities, such as the long and extreme
winter of 927–8 that is said to have caused catastrophic famine, and
consequently large mortality.12 Skylitzes reports in his History that

a cruel famine followed that winter, worse than any previous famine
that the living were insufficient to bury the dead. This happened in
spite of the fact that the emperor [Romanos I Lekapenos] did his very
best to relieve the situation, assuaging the ravages of the winter and
famine with good works and other aid of every kind.13

In January 869, a violent earthquake that is said to have lasted for forty days
shook Constantinople.14 One century later, other three such natural disasters
occurred, the biggest one being described by Leo the Deacon in his History
as a terrible earthquake that made many victims. According to him, the
earthquake “demolished to the ground the fortifications of Byzantium and
destroyed most of the houses, turning them into tombs for their inhabitants,
and razed to the ground the districts near Byzantium and caused much loss
of life among the peasants.”15 It goes without saying that these kinds of
narratives were rhetorically constructed to convey a certain meaning and to
meet the expectations of the Byzantine audience.16 But such natural
disasters were indeed part of the harsh reality of the Byzantine world and
surely added to the usual and constant hazards of people’s life. Especially
those who were at the bottom of the social ladder were more vulnerable to
the negative effects of such events.
Besides these, we should mention the constant fear of invasions, which
forced the population to occasionally abandon their households and look for
a safer place to start a new life. Entire families with children and old
relatives are reported to have escaped the frequent Arab raids in the
Byzantine territories in the ninth and tenth centuries, leaving behind their
homelands and settling down in more secure regions. One such case is that
of the ninth-century saint Theodora of Thessalonike, whose family lived on
the islands of Aegina. In her youth, Theodora witnessed the Arab raids that
ravaged the islands and the coastal areas of the Aegean, most of its
inhabitants being taken captive or killed. When Theodora’s brother died at
the hands of the Arabs, her family decided to move to Thessalonike.17 The
consequences of Arab raids on the islands of the Aegean are reported also
in other hagiographical texts. St. Theoktiste, a fictional saint whose life
reflects the social and political climate of the ninth century, is said to have
been taken prisoner at the age of eighteen by the Arab pirates from Crete
who raided her native island of Lesbos.18 The family of Luke the Younger
of Steiris originated on the island of Aegina but was forced, due to the
constant attacks of the Arabs, to migrate to different places until they found
a safe village to settle in.19
The psychological impact of these kinds of events on children remains
more often than not unvoiced in our sources. Nonetheless, one
hagiographical account offers a unique testimony of how children may have
reacted when facing dangerous situations. The vita of Elias the Younger
informs us that when the saint was twelve years old, he and his peers, while
playing outside the city of Enna in Sicily, were captured by the Arabs who
raided the island and taken by force on a boat. There, he became very
distressed and started to bitterly complain of being deprived by his parents,
as he was inexperienced on account of his age (ἐν ἀδαεῖ τῇ ἡλικίᾳ).20
Feelings of insecurity and anxiety must have been great especially in
extreme situations such as famines, earthquakes, and wars. Furthermore, as
we shall see below, the Byzantines constantly lived in a world where a
sadly common occurrence was represented by the death of the youngest
members of society.

Life expectancy
No literary texts provide us with sufficient and reliable data from which one
can build an accurate picture of life expectancy for the Middle Byzantine
period. Hagiographical literature of the ninth to the eleventh centuries
record many saints who seemed to have lived quite a long life, while these
sources give many examples of children who died at a very young age.21
The average life span for certain social groups seems indeed to be
unexpectedly high. Kazhdan has calculated the average life span of the
Byzantine literati of the end of the eleventh and the twelfth centuries of
about seventy-one years. In imperial families, the life span of the emperors
of the Komnenian dynasty was sixty-one, if one excludes Alexios II who
was murdered at the age of fourteen.22 Talbot has calculated an average life
span for the rulers of the Macedonian dynasty of fifty-nine years, whereas
the Palaiologan emperors lived an average of sixty years, and the saints of
the Late Byzantine period, an average of 80.4 years.23
Yet, these numbers should not lead us to believe that in Byzantium, life
expectancy was this high. First, life expectancy at birth and in subsequent
ages is different from an individual’s life span. For a Byzantine, reaching
old age would mean surviving the most perilous preceding years. Second,
information about holy women and men who reached a venerable age
cannot be taken at face value. As Talbot has rightly observed, some
hagiographers may have simply inflated the ages of their heroes either
because they did not know exactly their age, or to make them look more
venerable. Members of imperial families and the wealthy elite, on the other
hand, enjoyed a longer life due to a better quality of life. Better diet, good
sanitation, warm houses, better clothes, and medical advice were among
privileges they benefited from.24
What about the ordinary people then? How long was an ordinary
Byzantine individual expected to live in the ninth and the following two
centuries? Unfortunately, there are no preserved epitaphs for the Middle
Byzantine period, which could give us an idea of how long the Byzantines
may have lived. However, even for earlier centuries when funerary
inscriptions were in fashion, their use by historians for establishing the
average age at death, and from this, life expectancy at birth and in
subsequent ages presents many methodological problems. Besides the
variation by regions or social groups in what concerns the practice of
commemoration,25 the epigraphical record of the Roman Empire, however
impressive, is used with extreme caution for establishing age-specific
mortality levels.26 As Scheidel makes it clear, “[a]ge data in funerary
inscriptions are distorted by cultural biases of age, gender and class, and
cannot be trusted to mirror the age and sex structure of the underlying
population.”27 The commemorative practices, however, changed over time.
Already from the third century, there had been a dramatic fall in the
production of epitaphs, which culminated in the sixth–seventh centuries
with the disappearance of the epitaphs of ordinary people. This change has
been explained in terms of a new perception of death and the afterlife
brought by Christianity, in which the importance of the soul prevailed over
the physical body. Compared with the Roman epitaph formulas, the Early
Byzantine epitaphs were less standardized: by and large, the Byzantines did
not mention the dedicator, leaving scholars with no clues about marital or
parental relationships. Similarly, the age at death is quite seldom mentioned,
and the rounding to an age ending in either zero or five, which was
prevalent in Roman tombstones, was not a standard practice in the Early
Byzantine period. When it comes to the Middle Byzantine period, it has
been argued that ordinary people were presumably buried in uninscribed
graves.28
Patlagean’s study on mortality in the Early Byzantine period, based on
funerary epitaphs from the Eastern Mediterranean region indicates that
more than half of the women died between the ages of twenty-five and
thirty-four, whereas the majority of male individuals died between thirty-
five and forty-four.29 Yet, this analysis does not include children before the
age of fifteen, an age-category with substantial mortality. Scholars have
noted, for instance, that infants are underrepresented in epigraphic material.
This may be the result of different commemorative practices concerning
young children. Also, there is little epigraphical data coming from rural
areas, and when it comes to the social status, the elite is much better
represented compared with lower classes. In terms of gender representation,
female tombstones constitute a smaller proportion of the total number of
tombstones.30 In short, tombstone inscriptions, despite their enormous
number from the Roman period, fail to elucidate the question of ancient
levels of mortality and hence the average life expectancy.
Census and tax returns are preserved mainly for the first three centuries
of the Common Era, as well as for the late thirteenth to early fourteenth
centuries. In between, we lack this kind of official documents that could
give us a picture of the structure of the population and other kinds of
demographical data. The surviving praktika from the Late Byzantine period
describing the peasant households from Macedonia in the early fourteenth
century is an exception in terms of the demographical data one could
extract from it. However, we need to bear in mind that it represents the
peasant society in a unique historical period of the Byzantine Empire.
Moreover, the praktika differ from the Greco-Roman censuses in Egypt,
which are far richer and concrete than the Byzantine fiscal documents. In
fact, these praktika are inventories of the possessions of laymen and
monasteries, listing the land, its revenues, the peasant families and their
possessions, as well as the taxes they have to pay their landlords. However,
the age of the persons enlisted in these fiscal documents are very rarely
given, and the age structure of the population of villages in Byzantine
Macedonia can only be deduced when terms such as πάις (child), ἀνήλικος
(minor), or γέρον (old man) are used.
The skeletal evidence may provide some clues about the mortality rates
in Byzantine times, but again the historian is confronted with many
challenges. We should state from the outset that the number of non-adult
human remains across the Byzantine Empire does not allow us to have an
accurate picture of childhood mortality rates. First, infant and children
bones in the available archaeological data are underrepresented. This is the
result of the bones’ poor preservation in burials determined by low
mineralization and the quality of bone minerals in subadults. Second, the
estimation of sex and gender of subadult remains is not always possible due
to the fragmentary nature of the material. Third, the Middle Byzantine
period is somewhat underrepresented in the archaeology of childhood.
Studies on childhood mortality concentrated mostly on the Early Byzantine
period, as many cemeteries were excavated from the fourth to the seventh
centuries.
An analysis of skeletons excavated at the Isthmus of Corinth, from the
graves of the Late Roman to Early Byzantine period indicates a frequency
of 29.32% of non-adults and a roughly equal distribution by gender (twenty
males and twenty-two females). About 24.14% of all individuals died in the
first four years of life. Most women and men died between the ages of
thirty-five–forty-four years.31 Another demographic analysis on a sample of
1,485 skeletons, mostly dating to the Late Antiquity period indicates an
average age at death of about thirty-five years. The same study comprises a
sample of 184 skeletons dated between 1050 and 1300, for which the mean
age at death is 34.8 years.32 Another study on a bioarchaeological record
from Early and Middle Byzantine Crete yields similar results both in terms
of average age at death (which was around 30–5 years for females and 40–5
for males) and for childhood mortality. The distribution by age in the non-
adults sample (174 individuals) shows that 21.2% were up to one year,
while children aged between one and almost fifteen represented 56.8%.33
 From these data, it is clear that throughout Byzantine history, infancy
and early childhood were the most sensitive periods of life when the risk of
death was extremely high. This contrasts sharply with the Western modern
world where childhood mortality is very low.34 As an example, in the UK
nowadays, under-five mortality rate (the number of deaths of infants and
children under five years old per 1,000 live births) is about four per
thousand, whereas in the Byzantine world, at least at the beginning of the
fourteenth century, calculations indicate that only half of the children
reached the age of ten.35 However, it should be pointed out that no reliable
statistics can be attained because such calculations have been made based
on data provided by the late-thirteenth- to mid-fourteenth-century praktika
concerning monastic estates in Byzantine Macedonia and on a small
sample. It is difficult to tell whether the demographic conditions in the
Middle Byzantine period throughout all the territories resemble those of the
Byzantine Macedonia two centuries later. However, both the hagiographic
literature of the period under study and the archaeological records tell the
same story: under-five mortality was very high in the Middle Byzantine
period and points to a severe mortality rate.
Taking into account the high levels of mortality in infancy and
childhood, scholars have made use of the United Nation’s Model Life
Tables to figure out the demographic characteristics of ancient and medieval
societies.36 These life tables serve to reconstruct the probable structure of
the populations. There are different levels of life tables, depending on some
demographic characteristics of a society. A life expectancy of twenty years
corresponds to level 1, and with each level, it increases by 2.5 years. The
most common life tables used for the demography of ancient populations
are Coale-Demeny Models West and South. The West model is used when
specific information about the population of a society is missing, whereas
the South model is characterized by infant and early childhood mortality,
low mortality between forty and sixty years, and high mortality over sixty-
five years.37 West model level 3 (with a life expectancy at birth of twenty-
five years for females) is favoured by most scholars of the Roman world
demography, while for Late Byzantine society, the South model level 3 (the
same life expectancy at birth of twenty-five years) was preferred. Compared
with the West model, in the South model, infant mortality rate is lower,
whereas childhood mortality is higher. Between the ages of five and sixty,
mortality is lower and in old age it becomes somewhat higher than in the
West.38 Although we do not have precise demographic information about
Middle Byzantine society, which would have allowed me to use the West
model, I follow Laiou in choosing the South model because childhood
mortality seems indeed to be higher than infant mortality, both in
archaeological records and in literary texts, and because the population used
in creating the South model is Southern-European of the late nineteenth–
early twentieth centuries. Certainly, there are considerable limitations in
making use of such demographic models that were devised from recent
statistics, and imply a stationary population.39 Yet, these models can give us
some insight into the general demographic patterns of the Byzantine Empire
(Table 2.1).
Table 2.1 Life expectancy of females and males according to Coale-Demeny, level 3, Model
South

Age Model South female e(x) Model South female l(x)

0 25.00 100,000
1 32.86 73,567
5 42.58 51,304
10 40.80 47,505
15 37.39 45,613
20 34.40 43,123
25 31.71 40,192
30 29.00 37,257
40 23.24 31,662
50 16.73 26,555
60 10.47 20,003
70 5.86 9,858
80 3.13 1,510

Age Model South male e(x) Model South male l(x)

0 24.67 100,000
1 33.57 71,056
5 42.67 50,567
10 40.54 47,212
15 36.80 45,701
20 33.53 43,507
25 30.93 40,368
30 28.13 37,455
Age Model South female e(x) Model South female l(x)
40 22.03 32,034
50 16.01 25,911
60 10.39 18,412
70 6.01 8,889
80 3.25 1,480

The tables above give the life expectancy e(x), which represents the
number of years to live from age x, and the numbers of those who are
expected to live after this age (l(x)) starting with an imaginary group of
100,000 individuals. What does this model tell us? If we take the example
of a baby girl, at the time of birth she was expected to live for twenty-five
years. From those 100,000 babies born that year, about 27% did not survive
in the first year of life, but for those who survived, their life expectancy
rose to thirty-three years. Almost half of the initial group of babies did not
survive to the age of five. Again, those who managed to survive were
expected to live up to age forty-seven. Eleven percent from those who
initially reached the age of five did not manage to survive up to the age of
fifteen when their life could have been affected by the creation of a family
of their own. From the surviving group of adolescents, only 58% would
reach the age of fifty and were expected to survive another seventeen years,
and about 44% would reach the age of sixty, having the chance to survive
up to the age of seventy. Therefore, within the life course of an individual,
the likelihood to experience the death of a sibling or a playmate in early
childhood was very high. Chances of survival after the age of five may have
been better, but for many children, death could strike at any age. As a
parent, the same individual would have to cope with the loss of several
children.
The grim picture that emerges from this model is reflected in literary
texts that give an account of families of different social standing who
experienced the loss of their children. In the ninth century, Theodora of
Thessalonike lost two children out of three soon after their birth. Two
children of Mary the Younger (tenth century) died before the age of five.
Michael Psellos was devastated by the loss of his only child, a nine-year-old
girl. Another example is of a certain shoemaker, Demetrios by name, who is
described in the vita of Evaristos as having lost four children before having
them baptized.40
Demography and the structure of the family
Given the high childhood mortality rate, we may assume that the fertility
rate must have been also high to balance the death rate and for the
population to remain stable. Saller has argued that maintaining a stationary
population in an environment with life expectancy at birth of twenty-five
years, it would be required that each woman who lived through her
reproductive years must bear an average of five children.41 An imaginary
life course of a girl living in a fourteenth-century village in Byzantine
Macedonia, described by Laiou in her study on peasant society in the Late
Byzantine period, shows that a woman had to bear six daughters to be sure
that one of them would survive to adulthood and be able in turn to give
birth to the future generation of children. Assuming that women married
around the age of fifteen, as it seems to be the case also for the Middle
Byzantine period, then their child-bearing period would be of about thirty
years, during which time they would be able to give birth to a maximum of
twelve to fifteen children.42 Obviously, this is the most optimistic scenario
in which a woman would survive the difficult times of childbirth and she
would be biologically able to have so many children. We should not forget
that some women are more fertile than others. In general, at least if we
judge according to the hagiographical literature, Byzantine couples in the
Middle Byzantine period had on an average two to three children who
survived the risky years of childhood, and this data seem to be consistent
with the analysis of the praktika of the Late Byzantine period done by
Laiou. Therefore, we need to have in mind that in Byzantium, there was
great variety in family sizes.
Let us assume that in Byzantium, women would give birth to an average
of six children (the two extreme points being while some women are sterile,
others can give birth to twelve children). As we have seen already, the
probability of survival was 50%; therefore, three out of six children may not
have had the chance to live long enough to form their own families.
If we are to take an imaginary young couple who embarked on the road
to married life, what was their children’s kinship universe? What were their
chances of having their parents and grandparents still alive at different
ages? For instance, in the Roman world, at the time of birth, less than 50%
of all children had a living grandfather. The chances decreased
proportionally with the passage of time, so by the age of fifteen only 10%
of children had a living grandfather. By the age of ten, nearly a quarter of
the Roman children had lost their fathers.43 Is this pattern visible in the
Byzantine world?
The answer also greatly depends on the time of the first marriage for
women and for men in Byzantium, and the age gap between the spouses. In
the eighth century, the lower age of marriage was set by the Ecloga at
thirteen for girls and at fifteen for boys, but one century later, it was
lowered down to twelve for girls and fourteen for boys, as it had been set by
the Justinian laws in the sixth century.44 But the legislation does not
necessarily reflect reality – it only sets parameters. There were considerable
variations regarding age when an individual embarked on married life. In
the ninth century, Euthymios the Younger most likely married at the age of
seventeen, as his vita tells us that soon after his marriage, he and his wife
had a daughter and not long afterwards, he left them to embark on the
monastic life at the age of eighteen. Theophanes the Confessor married at
the age of nineteen, while Cyril the Phileote in the eleventh century married
at the age of twenty.45 When it comes to girls, in only a few hagiographies
do we have a clear statement of the girls’ age of marriage. Theophano was
fifteen when she participated in the bride-show organized by the empress
Eudokia Ingerina for her son, the emperor Leo VI (886–912).46 Thomaïs of
Lesbos is said to have been twenty-four years old when her parents married
her against her wish. This is obviously a very unusual situation and we
should not take the hagiographer’s statement at face value, as he also
presents some inconsistencies in the biography of Thomaïs.47 Other
hagiographies, such as the vitae of Anna/Euphemianos, Mary the Younger,
and Theodora the Empress simply state that the girls were of marriageable
age, but no precise indication of how old they were is given.
However, there was a general concern of the Byzantine parents to
arrange the marriage contract of their children when they were still young,
especially in girls’ cases. In the eleventh century, Eustathios Rhomaios,
judge at the imperial court, explains these early arrangements by the fact
that most of the fathers were likely to die before the marriage of their
offspring, hence their haste in putting the children’s future in order.48 Laiou
has pointed out the fact that in the pre-modern period, the age of marriage
in rural communities could vary widely and she deemed more likely that
males would marry at approximately age twenty, while females would
marry between the ages of twelve and fifteen.49
As such, an age gap of five or more years between the spouses would
surely affect the kinship universe. Let us now consider that our imaginary
couple had an age gap of five years between them. Luckily, the couple did
not struggle with infertility problems and the first child – a girl – was born
one year later, when the mother was sixteen years old and the father,
twenty-one years old. By the time the girl would turn ten, the chance to
have her father alive would be less than 50% (according to the Model South
level 3 males), while the chance to have maternal grandparents would be
less than 40% and paternal grandparents ca. 30%. By the time the girl
would be ready to marry at the age of fifteen, like her mother, the chances
of her mother still being alive would be less than 40%, and the father, ca.
35%. At the same time, it is very likely that the paternal grandparents would
be already dead, as their chances of survival when the girl is fifteen would
be around 25% for the grandfather and 26.5% for the grandmother. She
might be luckier to have the maternal grandmother still alive, but the latter’s
chances of survival in middle adulthood (at forty-seven, if we assume that
she gave birth to the girl’s mother at the age of sixteen) are still quite low
(28–9%). It becomes clear then that the chances of seeing their
grandparents still alive during one’s childhood were quite slim, even when
they were birthed by their mothers who were very young. This might also
explain, as we shall see in the next chapters, the absence of grandparents in
hagiographical texts. It goes without saying that the next children who
would be born to this imaginary couple would have less and less chances of
having their fathers alive during childhood, whereas their grandparents
might have been already dead by the time the children were born.
This is not to say that all families had the same fate in terms of survival
and kinship network. As mentioned before, some people reached a
venerable age, and took care of their grandchildren, but at the same time,
many children died in their first years of life. Death was a reality people had
to cope with very early in life. Any child in Byzantium was likely to lose
several of his or her siblings or other relatives. At the same time, the
chances for a child to be raised by the extended family because of the
premature death of his/her parents were relatively high.
In general, the sources of our period point to the nuclear family as the
ideal type of family and household. However, we should not exclude the
fact that in reality there were also vertically extended families comprising
parents, married children, and grandchildren. As Laiou has shown, at a
societal level, one can identify a domestic cycle in which the vertically
extended families would become nuclear at a point in time after the passing
of the older generation (grandparents). With the passage of time, the heads
of nuclear families would grow old, while one or more of their children
would remain in the household and form a family of their own, establishing
again vertically extended families and completing the cycle.50
Indeed, our sources give accounts of extended families both in the ninth
century and in the eleventh century. For example, the vita of Philaretos the
Merciful (ninth century) describes his large family, comprising Philaretos
and his wife, their three married children, and their offspring, all living in
the same house. A praktikon of the eleventh century – a detailed inventory
list of a state property located near Miletos – gives us some indication about
the structure of the paroikos families of eight villages, which registers 51
households and a total number of 114 persons. The main problem with this
kind of documents is that they do not list all persons who live in a
household or their age. Apart from details concerning the fiscal obligations
of the households, the praktikon contains the name of the head of the
family, the main heir who would take over the fiscal obligations of the
household’s master after his/her death, and other persons entitled to
succession who were indicated if certain circumstances so required. The
distribution by gender and age in a household is difficult to assess. Litavrin,
who has studied the document suggests that the real number of the paroikoi
may have been around 220–5 men and women, and that females prevailed
over men by 1–2%.51 Daughters are seldom mentioned in the praktikon,
and Litavrin believes that in fact half of the female population is not
enlisted. Only two married daughters and six other young women
(θυγατέρες) appear in the document. The number of children who may have
lived in the household remains unknown, as these fiscal documents omitted
children who were not entitled yet to succession either because they were
minor or because there were others who had priority. Grandchildren are also
rarely mentioned: only one grandson and one granddaughter are enrolled,
and they appear in special circumstances, as legitimate heirs to the
households. The households consisted however of both nuclear and
extended vertical families, as the document mentions the presence of four
sons-in-law who lived in the house of their wives’ parents. According to
Litavrin, a substantial number of blood relatives and relatives by affinity of
the head of the household have been omitted in the document because they
were excluded from the right of succession or because at the time when the
praktikon was compiled, they were minors or those who had priority to
succession were still alive.52 The size of families in these villages surely
differed from case to case, but the analysis done by Litavrin suggests an
average of four people per household.

Implications of demographic factors in children’s

everyday lives
Compared with the modern Western world, Byzantine society was
definitely a young one. How different from today was family life and,
consequently, children’s everyday experiences in the Middle Byzantine
period?53 A family consisted not only of the traditional triad of mother,
father, and children. Each family unit was part of a network of individuals
connected not only through common ancestry, but also through matrimonial
alliances, as well as through the spiritual bonds created at the time of
children’s baptism.
Couples married at a relatively young age compared with today’s
standards and the choice of the partner was made not by them but by their
parents. The law required the consent of future spouses, but in practice, it
was very likely just a formality. In this sense, the choice of who the future
bride or groom of the children would be was a matter of strategic decision.
A strategic marriage implied careful negotiations especially in aristocratic
families, and it was meant to ensure the future for the offspring, as the two
families exchange material and social capital.54
From a legal perspective, the bonds of marriage were made very strong,
as divorce was made difficult and granted under a number of strict
conditions. Unlike in Greco-Roman Antiquity when marriage could be
freely dissolved either by the common consent of the spouses or by the
unilateral will of one of them, in Byzantium, things were very different.
According to the Ecloga, a divorce could be granted in case of female
adultery, leprosy, male impotence for a period of three years, or if one
partner plotted against the life of the other.55 Young divorcees might feel
pressure to remarry to ensure the continuity of family lineage. Even though
a second marriage is frequently attested in ecclesiastical court cases of the
eleventh century, from an ideological point of view, women were
discouraged to take a second husband, especially if they became widows. In
the case of a second marriage, the adoption of stepchildren was required. A
third marriage was permitted only for the sake of procreation, while a fourth
one was absolutely forbidden. In the Church’s view, however, monogamy
was the norm and the absolute rationale of marriage, because there was only
one God and one Israel, one Christ, and one Church. In the Church Fathers’
opinion, only one marriage could be chaste, because it reflects, as a unique
relationship between two people, the union between God and the Church.56
The Church strongly disapproved of a second or third marriage, even
though the civil law permitted it. Those who chose to remarry were subject
to penitential conditions: a person aged forty and who had children was
forbidden to marry a third time, but individuals aged forty or over could
enter a third marriage on the provision that they do not have children from
previous marriages. However, they were subject to excommunication for
five years. Somebody aged thirty could marry a third time even though she
or he had children from previous marriages, but was subject to
excommunication for four years.57
For a young girl of twelve years of age who entered married life, the
consummation of marriage could have been traumatic. A compelling
testimony of a young bride terrified by the idea of having sexual intercourse
for the first time is given by the vita of Peter of Argos. She was so scared
that she trembled violently when seeing or hearing her husband
approaching her and passed out.58 The chance of a young woman dying in
childbirth was quite high as the lack of sanitation and hygiene during
delivery led to infection and haemorrhage. Death was omnipresent and
quotidian. Poor sanitation and sometimes scarcity of resources contributed
to general mortality. Furthermore, epidemics took their toll both on the poor
and the wealthy ones. Various diseases could be fatal as medical treatment
was very often inefficient or indeed absent.
It was more common for a man to get married again after the death of his
first partner than for a woman, although cases of women marrying a second
time are also attested in Byzantine sources.59 The relationships between
stepparents and stepchildren were not always happy and cases of neglect
and abuse could arise.60 This can be observed also in some cases involving
orphaned children raised by relatives.61 The proportion of children who lost
one or both parents in childhood cannot be overestimated: both
archaeological and textual evidence indicate that many people died in early
adulthood, in which case, extended family provided support in raising
orphaned children. The death of a father had a great impact on families and
households as orphans and widows had an increased risk of being exposed
to poverty and hardship. Children had to adjust psychologically to the
absence of one or both parents in their life, but no source of our period
record the reaction of a child at the death of a close one.
Within their life course, children came into contact with a large number
of adult caretakers: they might be raised by their widowed mothers with the
support of older male siblings or uncles; they might move into their
relatives’ household upon the death of their parents; in the absence of legal
guardians they might also grow up in orphanages or monastic communities.
All these varieties of experiences of children would be discussed in the
following chapters, which will present children in different social arenas: at
home, in school, in church, and in monasteries.

Notes
1 Laiou (2002: 47); Koder (2016: 60).
2 On the demography of the Byzantine Empire, see Charanis (1972);
Patlagean (1977): 73–112; Laiou-Thomadakis (1977); Talbot (1984);
Laiou (2002). A useful summary is provided by Stathakopoulos (2008).
3 Laiou (2002: 51).
4 Koder (2016: 61).
5 Lefort (2006: 215).
6 Laiou (2002: 50).
7 Magdalino (2002: 532, 535).
8 Koder makes the calculations of the size and population of urban
settlements by combining archaeological results - the area coverage of
settlements based on the length of the city walls and the size and extent
of residential buildings, which results in maximum population
numbers. See Table 2 in Koder (2016: 62). On the other hand,
 Treadgold (1997: 702) suggests that Thessaloniki may have had around
150.000 inhabitants.
9 Charanis (1966: 8).
10 Pudsey (2016: 22–3).
11 According to Michael Psellos, his daughter died at a young age of a
pestilential disease, most probably smallpox, which also afflicted other
citizens of Constantinople, without being fatal for all of them, see
Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane; on cases of
smallpox in Byzantium, see Lascaratos and Tsiamis (2002).
12 On the consequences of this famine, see Kaplan (1992: 421–6).
13 John Skylitzes X.22, 218. On the measures taken by the emperor, see
Kaplan (1992: 421–6).
14 The earthquake is reported by several sources; see the chronological
list of earthquakes that struck the Byzantine Empire in Downey (1955).
Recording the reactions of the inhabitants, Nicetas David the
Paphlagonian mentions that “every house was jolted, every heart
trembled with fright, and gripped by fear of dying”, see The Life of
Patriarch Ignatius 39 (56–8; English trans. 57–9).
15 The History of Leo the Deacon X.10, 218.
16 On disasters in the Roman world and how they were rhetorically
constructed by various authors, see Toner (2013), especially Chapter 7.
17 Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 6–7 (76–8; Eng. trans. 168–9).
18 Life of Theoktiste of Lesbos 15 (229; Eng. trans. 110–1, as ch. 18).
19 Life of Lukas the Younger of Steiris 2 (4–6; Eng. trans. 5–7)
20 Life of Elias the Younger 6–7 (10; It. trans. 11).
21 For example, Irene Chrysobalanton who supposedly died at the age of
95; Theodora of Thessalonike is said to have lived 80 years, and Elias
Spelaiotes died at the age of 96.
22 Kazhdan (1982: 117).
23 Talbot (1984: 269).
24 Talbot (1984: 269).
25 On this, see for instance Saller and Shaw (1984).
26 Ancient demography has been studied more fruitfully in the last three
decades compared with Byzantine demography. For the Roman world,
see for instance the studies by Parkin (1992); Saller (1994); Bagnall
and Frier (1994); Scheidel (2001b); Scheidel (2012).
27 Scheidel (2001a: 17).
28 Toth (2015: 213).
29 Patlagean (1977: 97).
30 In the Greco-Roman world, infants were often not given a burial, or in
other instances they were buried in separate graveyards from those of
adults. On the use of epigraphic evidence for ancient demography, see
Parkin (1992: 5–19). On different commemorative practices in the
ancient world, see Saller and Shaw (1984).
31 Rife (2012: 259).
32 Rife (2012: 261); Talbot (1984: 267).
33 Bourbou (2010: 40–1, 106–7).
34 See the UNICEF statistics of under-five mortality on:
https://data.unicef.org/topic/child-survival/under-five-mortality/.
35 According to the data from the village Gomatou in 1300, thirty-two
children were born that year. Eight babies died within the first year, and
another eight within five years. See Laiou (1977: 294–6).
36 On the use of life tables in ancient demography, see Parkin (1992: 67–
90); Saller (1994: 22–5).
37 Parkin (1992: 80).
38 Parkin (1192: 81). In what concerns the Byzantine case, Laiou (1977)
has used the South model level 3.
39 On this, see Scheidel (2001a).
40 Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 8 (78–82; Eng. trans. 169–70); Life of
Mary the Younger 6 (694; Eng. trans. 261); Michael Psellos, Funeral
oration for his daughter Styliane; Life of Evaristos 34 (317).
41 Saller (1994: 42).
42 Laiou (1977: 295–6).
43 Laes (2011: 28–9).
44 Ecloga 2, 1; Procheiros Nomos 4, 3.
45 Life of Euthymios the Younger 6 (18–20; Eng. trans. 19–21); The
Panegyric to Theophanes the Confessor 4 (270; Fr. trans. 271); Life of
Cyril the Phileote 3.1 (48; Fr. trans. 270).
46 Life of Theophano 7 (4).
47 Life of Thomaïs of Lesbos 6 (235; Eng. trans. 302). In the next chapter,
the biographer presents her as being a girl of tender age, when it was
 more common to occupy herself with childish playthings.
48 Peira 17, 14.
49 Laiou (1992: 16).
50 Laiou (1977: 83–5).
51 Litavrin (1990).
52 Litavrin (1990: 192).
53 Christian Laes has outlined the psychological realities of family life in
the Roman world, which differ in some essential points from the
Byzantine ones. For instance, in Antiquity, from a legal point of view,
the ties of marriage were relatively loose compared to Byzantium.
Unlike in the Byzantine world, people could be easily granted divorce
and they frequently entered a second or third marriage. Roman men, in
particular, had children of very different ages following remarriage, all
of them living in the house of their father. It was not uncommon that
the stepmothers to be of the same age as their stepchildren. See Laes
(2011: 44–9).
54 Laiou (1992: 17); Laiou (2009: 62–7).
55 Ecloga 2.9.2–2.9.3.
56 Meyendorff (1990: 100).
57 Meyendorff (1990: 102).
58 Life of Peter of Argos 11 (146–8; Eng. trans. 147–9).
59 Laiou(1981: 235–6).
60 See for example, Prinzing (2018) who analyses some such cases from
the Late Byzantine period.
61 Miller (2003: 80–1).
3 How it all starts
The first few years of Byzantine children’s
lives
DOI: 10.4324/9780429318498-3

Given the precarious nature of children’s lives, how did the Byzantines
prepare themselves for one of the most important events in their lives – a
child’s birth? How are childbirth and the care of infants portrayed in the
sources? What aspects did religious authors take into consideration when
describing the first stage of childhood? What features did they consider
relevant for the construction of the life-path of a saintly child? What were
the social practices associated with the birth of children? What were the
rites of passage in infancy? In following up with these questions, my aim is
to explore the ways in which the Byzantines addressed their ideas about
children as the future of a family, and how important such practices were in
shaping children’s lives.
The chapter is divided into three main parts. In the first part, I discuss the
matter of conception and birth, with special attention to the emotions and
tensions felt by women who suffered from infertility. Here I am principally
interested in looking at how the authors made use of the Biblical topos of
women’s sterility and their desire to have children, in order to highlight the
unique circumstances in which a saint was born. Furthermore, since the
birth of a child was considered to be the fulfilment of marriage, my
attention will be on the authors’ discourse with regard to this event. What
meaning did they ascribe to the birth of children? Did the Byzantines
display any preference with respect to children’s gender, and if so, why?
Here I also discuss the care of infants in the first few hours of their lives.
Breastfeeding and weaning practices constitute the subjects of the
second part. The main questions I ask here are: what were the dominant
attitudes concerning children’s nutrition in their first few years of life?
What kind of food was recommended to be introduced in their diet in the
process of weaning and when breastfeeding was stopped? What
significance did the Byzantines attach to the practice of weaning?
The last part of the chapter discusses baptism and choosing the name of
the child. In this section, I look at the spiritual and social significance of
baptism and naming in the Byzantine mentality. What did the Byzantines
think about the timing of baptism? What was the pattern of naming, and
what does this tell us about children’s identity?
One way of seeing the importance attached to very young children is to
focus on the way in which religious authors made use of various aspects
pertaining to infancy in constructing the life course of their heroes. The
circumstances of birth, the divine signs, baptism, and the chosen names, as
well as breastfeeding and weaning practices reveal a great deal about the
values attached to children and the traditions and customs in Byzantine
society. I argue here that these aspects have been deliberately chosen and
developed by hagiographers because they served a purpose. We shall see
that the textual construction of the first stage of life reflects both the social
practices and the cultural perceptions of children and childhood.
Admittedly, the focus here will be less on children’s experiences, as what
we know about the first few years of their lives is derived from medical
treatises that inform us about childbirth (which belong essentially to
women’s experiences), breastfeeding, and weaning. Yet, even though I
explore these things that are part of women’s experiences, the child is
always there, at the centre of their preoccupations and cares. As already
mentioned in the introduction of the book, no medical textbook of the
Middle Byzantine period dealt with these issues, but the practices
associated with infant care remained fundamentally the same since
antiquity. Paul of Aegina is the medical authority closest to our period of
inquiry, and this is the reason why I look at what he recommended in terms
of childbirth, wet nursing, breastfeeding, and weaning. He was heavily
influenced by his predecessors, in particular Soranus of Ephesus (second
century) and Oribasius of Pergamon (fourth century).1 Paul wrote a
paediatric treatise, The Therapy and Upbringing of Children, which
survived in a fragmentary form in the work of the tenth-century Arab
physician al-Baladi.2 There are also some canonical texts that speak about
children’s baptism, and which illustrate the persistent concern regarding
their fate and their spiritual well-being.3 As we shall see, these issues that
we encounter in medical and canonical texts are reflected in everyday
circumstances described in the hagiographical literature of our period.

Conception and birth

The main purpose of marital union in Byzantium was the perpetuation of
the lineage. This idea is well illustrated in several hagiographies of our
period, where the preservation of one’s lineage becomes a powerful
rationale for marriage and procreation. One such example is given by the
vita of Theophano from which we learn that her parents, who remained
childless for a long time, prayed ardently for a child that would ensure the
survival of the family.4 Also, on his deathbed, Philaretos the Merciful is
said to have blessed his first-born son, Bardas, hoping that God would grant
him children for the preservation of his family.5 Married with Euphrosine,
Euthymios the Younger (at that time named Niketas) became the father of a
girl. He conceived the child not for his own pleasure, but to fulfil his
mother’s wish.6 Similarly, the father of the patriarch Antony Kauleas was
given in marriage by his parents for the continuation of the family.7
There was nevertheless a sensible concern from the part of religious
authors regarding marital relations: sexual activity between husband and
wife would be acceptable only for the sake of childbirth and not for carnal
pleasure. Writing about the parents of Thomaïs of Lesbos, the biographer
insisted that “they had not turned to marriage for the sake of bodily
pleasure, quite the contrary, but out of desire of a good child.”8 The same
was true in the case of Cyril the Phileote, who got married with the only
aim of having children.9
While some women would decide to limit the number of children after
they bore two or three who survived the first few years of childhood, and
would resort to various means to avoid pregnancy, 10 maternity was highly
praised by Byzantine society and the desire for children is an important
theme in hagiographical literature. Yet, not all women were able to conceive
and their failure to become pregnant caused them great sorrow, since they
were considered to be personally responsible for their inability to produce
children.11 In hagiographies, women’s desire to have a child goes hand in
hand with the theme of sterility, which is ultimately solved through divine
intervention, as in the biblical stories of Sarah (Genesis 21:2) or Hannah (1
Samuel 1:11–20), who conceived after a long period of infertility. Going to
church and praying constantly for a child was one of the solutions to solve
such problems.
Many hagiographers describe the distress of couples affected by
infertility. A childless couple from the Peloponnese prayed for many years
for a child. These were the parents of Euphrosyne the Younger, who after
years of prayers, managed to give birth to her.12 The ninth-century vita of
George of Amastris gives an account of his parents, Theodosius and
Megethos, who remained for a long time childless. Taking as an example
Abraham and Sarah who became parents in their old age, they continuously
besought God to grant them a child who would continue their lineage. We
are told that their request was fulfilled only when they promised that the
child would be offered to God.13
The vita of Thomaïs of Lesbos describes the grief of the saint’s parents, a
childless couple just like the biblical figures Anna and Joachim:

This good <couple> suffered <then>, being troubled by their desire for
a child, as had the ancestors of my Lord Christ. … they were afflicted
with despondency and composed words of lamentation. They entreated
God unceasingly; they kept falling down on their knees in supplication
and were mourning and of sad countenance all day long.14

The strong desire to have a child was expressed in the case of Thomaïs’
parents through frequent visits to the churches, long prayers, fasting, and
reading of the Scriptures. The same biblical model of barrenness is also
employed in the ninth-century vita of Michael the Synkellos. In his case,
however, the issue was not the sterility of the mother, but the fact that the
couple had many children but not a male child. We are told that the mother
prayed to God to grant her “a male fruit to her body”, as it once happened to
Hannah, the mother of the prophet Samuel, promising that the boy will be
offered to God as a gift.15 The parents of Neilos the Younger longed for a
male child to be born after first begetting a daughter. Grateful that their
request had been granted by God, they entrusted the boy to the Virgin
Mary’s service.16 We see from these examples that a child born from
sterility was perceived as a gift from God to whom the parents had to return
it later on, and that boys seem to have been preferred to girls.17 Such
preference is explicitly expressed in the ninth-century vitae of Theodore of
Edessa and of Stephen the Younger. In the former vita, we are told that in
spite of having a daughter, Theodore’s parents longed for a boy, so they
prayed for many years to the martyr Theodore to grant them a son.18
Initially, the parents of Stephan the Younger had only two daughters, but as
time went by, the mother started to feel anxious that she has reached the end
of her reproductive life and she had no son. Each day she prayed ardently to
the Virgin Mary, especially in the church of the Mother of God in
Blachernae to grant her a boy, whom she promised to dedicate to God.19
In some cases, even when a female saint-to-be was born, the
hagiographer would not hesitate to emphasize that the saint, in spite of her
feminine nature, would be more manly in virtue and askesis. The case in
point is that of Thomaïs of Lesbos, about whom her biographer said that
“by nature was female, but by virtue and ascetic discipline much more male
than men.”20 The statement, however appreciative, reflects the Byzantine
understanding of female sainthood, based on the idea that a woman needed
to deny her femininity and emulate men to achieve sanctity.21 Read in this
key, the text contains a subtle consolation for an audience that might have
expected the child to be a boy rather than a girl.
In a male-dominated society, it is not surprising that the birth of a boy
would be a source of great joy in the family, although a baby girl may have
been equally warmly welcomed into the family. In a letter to one of his
friends, Michael Psellos expresses his joy on hearing the news about the
birth of his friend’s son:

The new-born baby is of the male gender; male, O earth and sun! …
even if the child were female I would receive with pleasure the voice
bringing the good news. What does it matter if the child is formed this
way or that, more feminine or more masculine? In any event, he has
been given his essence from both his parents. But that he is male
moved me to great pleasure.22

Psellos, who had long been without children and who eventually fathered a
girl,23 may have embraced the idea that the gender of the child was not
important, and yet he admits that he was extremely happy that the infant
was a boy. In his funeral oration to his mother, which contains many
autobiographical details, Psellos proudly emphasizes that his own parents,
having initially only girls, were not pleased with the idea of not having a
son, “for just as barren women long for a child of whatever gender, in this
way did my mother all the more want her second to be a boy.”24
Praying in churches was not the only way women ensured that they
would conceive and keep their pregnancy safe. Some women resorted to
protective amulets consisting of inscribed prayers rolled up and placed in a
tube or pendants with Christian images of saints or of the Virgin, who might
help them become pregnant. The period of pregnancy was certainly
perceived as being difficult, for some women owned small icons of Saints
Marina and Theophano, who were considered to act as intercessors for a
safe pregnancy and childbirth.25 Popular beliefs ascribed health problems
during pregnancy to the work of the demon Gello. Archaeological evidence
attests the use of pendant amulets that were thought to be effective against
this demonic activity.26 Gello was thought to appear to pregnant women and
cause miscarriages and kill babies.27 We learn from the ninth-century vita
of the patriarch Tarasios about some women who were accused of
murdering suckling infants after having penetrated the house through
fissures or closed doors and clandestinely killing them. The accusers are
said to be those who believed in the demon Gello:

It is indeed a myth related by the Greeks that a certain woman, Gello

by name, after meeting an early death, is in the habit of visiting babies
and newborn children in the guise of ghosts and plotting against their
life. Deceived by the same evil spirit of the myth, those who give
credit to such things attempt in some way to confer this abominable
power upon women as though it were true and ascribe the cause of
untimely death to these (women) who are transformed into spirits.28

The father of Tarasios, however, acquitted the women of the charges, on the
ground that a spirit has no flesh and bones. It was thus impossible that the
defendants could take on the form of a ghost.
As this passage shows, there was an ever-present fear that mothers could
die in childbirth or that infants could suddenly expire, which was projected
in such beliefs about female demons that would cause abortions or illness to
mothers and children. Byzantine anxieties concerning the survival of
mothers and children are reflected in the large number of skeletons of
women who died in childbirth and of the foetuses and newborns discovered
by archaeologists.29
Once the conception had succeeded, the next important step that might
be perilous was the period of pregnancy and especially childbirth. Paul of
Aegina describes at length various situations in which a difficult delivery
might occur: if the woman is overweight, or her womb is small, or because
she has no pains, or if she is anxious. The inflammations of the uterus or the
abnormal position of the foetus in the mother’s womb could also cause a
difficult labour. If the child was too small or too big, or had hydrocephaly,
or if the foetus had already died in the womb, or if the mother was pregnant
with twins or more, the delivery could be risky.30
In everyday life circumstances, when a woman would experience
difficult labour, and no other remedies may have been at hand, she and her
anxious family would ultimately resort to divine help. Hagiographical
sources give accounts of women with difficult pregnancies and subject to
miscarriage who sought help from saints. For instance, Anna, the mother of
Theophano, is said to have suffered terrible pains when the time of
childbirth had come. Because she could not give birth, her husband sought
help from the Virgin Mary. He went to the church of Theotokos Bassou and
took a belt from a column of the church. He girded the belt around his
wife’s waist, and she gave birth immediately.31 The vita of Peter of Atroa
(ninth century) records the story of a six-month pregnant woman who was
unable to abort the foetus. After she was anointed with the holy oil from the
lamp of Peter’s tomb, she gave birth to a stillborn child.32 The tenth-century
vita of Loukas the Stylite mentions the case of a mother whose labour pains
lasted no less than twenty-two days. The successful birth happened after
Loukas gave the mother consecrated bread and water.33 The ninth-century
vita of Gregory of Decapolis reports the case of a parturient woman who
was in labour for three days. She managed to give birth without pain
immediately after she was anointed with the holy oil from the saint’s
coffin.34
Another case that testifies to difficult deliveries is recorded in the ninth-
century vita of the patriarch Ignatios. The author of the vita tells us about a
pregnant woman who was in danger of death because the foetus was in an
abnormal position, with its feet emerging first from the womb. She suffered
terrible pains, so the doctors intended to extract the foetus by cutting it into
pieces. Both the mother and the baby were saved when a piece of the
garment worn by the deceased patriarch was placed on the mother’s belly.
The result was that the baby changed its position in the womb and was born
normally.35
Factors that could contribute to the premature death of infants were the
poor health of mothers, the lack of medical assistance, and poor hygiene
during delivery.36 Since childbirth was a risky experience that may have
been life-threatening both for the mother and the baby, many women made
confession and took Holy Communion before the event.37
Delivery and the early hours of the infants’ life were under the care of a
midwife and her assistants. Byzantine women usually gave birth at home, in
a room prepared especially for this occasion that should ideally have a hard
bed or a special birthing chair, warm water, ointments, oil, aromatic herbs,
and bandages. Paul of Aegina recommended various methods that a
midwife could implement to help the woman who was about to give birth to
safely deliver the baby: ointments, warm cataplasms applied on the
abdomen and loins, fumigations, warm baths that would relax the body,
precise instructions for those who are giving birth for the first time, or what
position would be suitable for overweight women. If the foetus was in an
abnormal position, the midwife was to press it back, or push it aside, or
draw it down, depending on circumstances. If the foetus was already dead
in the womb, the only solution he recommended was embryotomy.38
Either normal or difficult, deliveries needed the presence of experienced
women to tend the needs of the parturient, with the provision that pregnant
and young married women should not assist others in labour, on the ground
that their presence would make the delivery much more painful.39 The
eleventh-century vita of Lazaros of Galesion records that the saint’s birth
occurred at home, where a midwife helped the mother to give birth.40 The
sister of Michael Psellos was assisted by midwives, who had the role of
stimulating and relaxing labour pains. We are told that she had a difficult
delivery, and although she successfully gave birth to the baby, she died soon
after.41 Immediately after birth, the midwife had to cut the umbilical cord,
to clean and wrap the baby in swaddling clothes, after which the members
of the family were allowed to enter the childbirth room to meet the child.42
Ancient physicians recommended that the umbilical cord should be cut with
a sharp instrument at a distance of four fingers from the abdomen. After the
infant’s skin was cleansed by sprinkling salt on it and washed with
lukewarm water,43 the child was swaddled in soft and clean bandages. The
swaddling process, which is documented in ancient medical texts, was
elaborate, as the infant was supposed to be swaddled limb by limb, to
prevent any deformation of the body that was believed to occur because of
the inordinate movements of babies. Girls were swaddled differently than
boys, having their chest more tightly bound, but the loins were loose, for
this form was becoming of older females.44
Holy biographers usually tended to omit details about the first few hours
of a saintly child’s life unless divine signs would occur in this period. For
example, some saints’ births are said to have been accompanied by divine
signs. In Byzantine imagination, these miraculous events anticipated what
the children would become in their adult life. In the case of the saints, the
divine signs that occurred during pregnancy or at birth were thought to
prefigure their future holiness. The ninth-century vita of David, Symeon,
and George of Lesbos records that while the mother was pregnant with
David, the first-born child, a monk predicted his future, telling her that the
foetus she was carrying in her womb “will be the way and the beginning
and the leader of the offspring who succeed him, as well as a light for the
wilderness and a shining star for his compatriots”.45 The same theme is
found in the vita of George of Amastris. When George’s mother was
pregnant, a man who was granted the gift of predicting the future told her
the name of the child she was carrying in the womb and said that he would
become a priest in adulthood. The author explains the exceptional future of
George by referring to the biblical characters Isaac, Samuel, and John the
Baptist, who were born from barren parents: “there is no one born from
barrenness who is not famous.”46
When Lazarus of Galesion was born, a light shone miraculously from
heaven. The miracle was reinforced by the fact that the baby could stand
upright immediately after birth, with his arms positioned in the form of the
cross, a motif borrowed from the sixth-century vita of Nicholas of Sion.47
The parents associated this sign with the future destiny of the child. When
Lazarus’s uncle heard about the miracle that occurred at his nephew’s birth,
he was convinced that this was a sign from God, who bestowed upon the
child his divine protection.48
 In writing about conception and birth, Byzantine hagiographers also
adopted the biblical model of the Annunciation, which would prefigure the
holy nature of the unborn child. The birth of Theophano was announced in
a dream.49 The Virgin Mary appeared in a dream to Kale, the mother of
Thomaïs of Lesbos, and told her that she would soon have a child.50
Likewise, Michael Maleinos’ birth was announced through a vision.
Methodius, the priest of the church in which Michael’s mother kept praying
to have a child, was visited in a dream by the Virgin. The vision announced
that the family would have seven children, four girls, and three boys, of
whom Michael would follow a religious path.51
In hagiographies, with few exceptions, saintly girls’ births are rarely
accompanied by divine signs. We have seen the examples of Thomaïs and
Theophano, whose births were announced through dream visions.
Theophano’s future destiny as empress is said to have been prophesied by
the appearance of an eagle which tried to enter the room where the new-
born girl lay in her cradle.52 However, the Byzantines seem to have been
more concerned about the future destiny of boys than of girls, whether holy
or not, a sign of how important the strategies of continuity of the family
through the male children were, and hence the high values attached to boys.
The anonymous author of the tenth-century vita of Mary the Younger uses
the topos of divine signs that prefigure one’s future destiny when he writes
about Mary’s boys, but he does not say anything about Mary’s own birth.
Vaanes and Stephen, the two surviving children of Mary, are said to have
been born with some signs on their bodies. According to the author, Vaanes
had “a belt extending diagonally from his right shoulder to his left side,”
while Stephen “had around him a sort of girdle, vertically from his head to
his loins.”53 For their parents, these marks signified the future career of the
boys. The father wanted one of the boys to embrace a military career and
the other one an intellectual profession at the imperial court. Mary predicted
that one would become a soldier and the other would be a monk. The vita
later confirms that both parents’ wishes were fulfilled. Vaanes became a
soldier and Stephan, after spending some years in the imperial service,
embraced the monastic career.
We have seen so far that the birth of a child was the most important
event in a Byzantine family. Children were a human capital that would
assure the continuation of the family lineage. The sources also reveal
societal expectations and the attitudes towards families that faced problems
due to sterility. Although any child, regardless of gender, was desired, for a
couple it was very important to have at least a boy. Birth was a high-risk
situation, as hagiographies give accounts of mothers who lost their babies
during or immediately after birth. In the Saints’ Lives, the conception and
birth of a child accompanied by divine signs are the first markers on which
the hagiographers built the life-path of the saints-to-be. The future of these
individuals is announced by divine omens, a first indication of their
exceptional destiny. A subtle gender differentiation can be seen in the
descriptions of the divine signs that are frequently employed in the
construction of childhood narratives of male saints. In contradistinction to
boys, little emphasis is put on divine signs at the birth of girls, whose future
destinies are not elaborated on by the religious authors. This hints at the
socially constructed gender roles that ascribed the central place in
Byzantine society to boys/men.

Breastfeeding and weaning

Of paramount importance for the health and survival of a new-born child
was breastfeeding. Paul of Aegina provided clear instructions about how to
choose a good wet nurse. He also gave details about the quality of the milk
that should be given to the baby. According to Paul, a good nurse should be
between twenty-five and thirty-five years of age. In his opinion, it was
extremely important that the nurse should have recently given birth to a
male child, although there is no explanation of why the sex of the nurse’s
child could in any way affect the infant who was to be breastfed. Moreover,
he gives instruction about the special diet a nurse was to follow to preserve
the good quality of the milk.54 One way of checking if the milk was of good
quality was to pour some milk into a glass vessel and mix it with a
moderate quantity of rennet. After the milk coagulated, if the cheesy part
was less than the serous, the milk was considered to be of bad quality and
difficult to be digested by the baby.55 The best milk for an infant had to be
fragrant and tasty, delicious, and white-coloured, neither too thin nor too
thick.56
However, the first food to be given to the new-born immediately after
birth was to be honey and only thereafter milk. The infant, says Paul,
should be breastfed twice, or at most three times a day.57 Paul seems to
have been in agreement with his predecessors who recommended first the
use of honey because of the apparently bad quality of the breastmilk
immediately after delivery.58 In ancient medicine, there was the belief that
the mother’s colostrum is not beneficial for the new-born because it is too
thick, too caseous, and hard to digest. Colostrum was thought to be
produced by bodies that are in a bad state, and until the mother would be in
a stable health, the baby was to be breastfed by another woman.59
Breastmilk was evidently the ideal food to be given to babies, and
animal milk except for goat’s milk was not recommended. The use of wet
nurses in perinatal nutrition may have been still a widespread practice in the
seventh century, when Paul of Aegina compiled his treatise. Studying the
practice of breastfeeding attested by Egyptian papyri of the fourth to the
seventh centuries, Joelle Beacamp has observed that wet nursing was a
common practice in families of a high social status. The hagiographical
literature of the same period, which contains explicit mentions of
breastfeeding, indicates the same practice, although a positive attitude to
maternal breastfeeding can be identified.60
For religious writers of the Middle Byzantine period, maternal
breastfeeding was the desirable norm. Indeed, several holy figures are said
to have been breastfed by their mothers or to have breastfed their children,
such as Anna/Euphemianos.61 Nikephoros of Medikion was breastfed by
his mother.62 The same holds true of Athanasios of Athos, who enjoyed
maternal breastfeeding.63 The mother of Peter of Atroa likewise breastfed
her children. We learn about it in an episode in which the mother, feeling
herself abandoned in old age by her boys, invoked the period in which she
breastfed them. She persuades them not to leave her alone, on account of
the pains she suffered at their birth and the milk she had fed them.64 The
passage not only reveals the practice of breastfeeding, but also speaks about
parental expectations for filial support. According to the encomium for
Euphrosyne the Younger, she too enjoyed maternal breastfeeding, although
we are told that she refused to be fed on Wednesday and Friday, a clear sign
of her sanctity.65
The service of wet nurses was necessary when the mother had problems
with breastfeeding her children. The vita of the patriarch Ignatios reports
the case of a woman, mother of three children, who could not breastfeed
them because her breasts were dry without milk. Consequently, she was
forced to hand them over to wet nurses. She was healed after she drank a
liquid made holy by the contact with the saint’s hair immediately after she
gave birth.66 Another woman, suffering from the same affliction, was cured
in a similar way by means of a liquid sanctified by the saint’s hair.
Testimonies about breastfeeding are reported also in the tenth-century vita
of Mary the Younger. Two of the miracles performed by the saint consisted
of healing women who could not breastfeed their babies.67
The vita of Theophano records that the saint was initially breastfed by
her mother. After a short time, the mother died and a woman who was a
servant in the house of Theophano’s parents became the girl’s wet nurse.
The vita reports that Theophano refused to be breastfed by the wet nurse
because she could not forget the breast of her mother.68 Theodora of
Thessalonike became an orphan when she was still a nursling infant.69 It is
likely that the girl was given to a wet nurse to be breastfed, although the
vita does not say anything about this. Other solutions in such cases were to
feed the infant with goat milk, as the Byzantine physicians suggested.
Constantine the Philosopher was born to a noble and rich family. After
his birth, Constantine was given to a wet nurse to suckle him. But the
infant, we are told, did not want to take any other breast but his mother’s
until the time when he was weaned.70 The rejection of the breast (usually of
the mother, and sometimes of the wet nurse) is another topos in the
hagiographical literature. As it has been argued, this topos was employed by
the hagiographers to highlight the holiness manifested through the infant’s
denying of blood ties.71 In this vita, however, the biographer emphasizes
the importance of maternal breastmilk, and thus of blood ties, for he
concludes: “and this was providential, so that the good sprout out of the
good stock be fed with pure milk.”72
We note that the religious writers expected mothers to breastfeed their
babies, whatever their social status, although they could understand the
special circumstances when mothers were not able to do so. Other sources
outside the hagiographical corpus tend rather to indicate the use of wet
nurses in neonatal care. Testimonies about this practice are given by
Michael Psellos on two occasions. In the funeral oration for his daughter
Styliane, Psellos mentions among those who were present at the moment of
Styliane’s death, the girl’s wet nurses and caretakers. He speaks about the
special bond between the child and the wet nurses,

who more than the others, like mothers really, were naturally attached
to the body that lay there, enveloping it in an embrace and calling upon
their mistress, their lady, the one whom, apart from giving birth to her,
they had swaddled and breastfed and nourished.73

The second mention of the use of wet nurses for children belonging to
upper-class families comes in the letter written by Psellos to his grandson.
He writes that the infant, who was four months old at the time when his
grandfather wrote the letter, was breastfed by a wet nurse. Psellos describes
with great affection the touching scene of the baby suckling from the
nurse’s breasts: “with your lips then on the fountain, you drank, though not
like one who guzzles greedily out of thirst, rather with moderation, and you
immediately rewarded your nourisher with a friendly glance and a smile.”74
The practice of using wet nurses seems to have been still in place in the
early twelfth century, as we learn from the archbishop Eustathios of
Thessaloniki’s complaint, though he may well be referring to women from
the high social strata: “For there are also mothers who give birth to children
but refrain from nourishing them, exposing them instead, as it were, to wet-
nurses”.75
What is nevertheless evident is that wet nurses were part of the
Byzantine upper-middle-class households, holding a special position as
caregivers of the infants. As Psellos’ texts show, children developed strong
emotional bonds to them and the position of wet nurses, at least at the
emotional level, may have been just as important as that of the natural
mothers.
Children were to be exclusively breastfed until they grew their first teeth.
Paul of Aegina suggested that the weaning process should begin when the
baby is seven months old and its first teeth began to break out.76 This was a
difficult period for babies as they might experience inflammation of the
gums, which needed to be treated by rubbing them frequently with the
finger, or softening them with the fat of fowls or the brain of hares.77 No
food that would require mastication was recommended. After the teeth
broke out, solid food had to be gradually introduced in their diet. The first
solid foods in the infant diet consisted of soft cereals, and breadcrumbs
softened with water mixed with honey. Later, one could introduce in their
diet also meat, with the provision that the food was to be chewed
beforehand and then put in the child’s mouth.78 Byzantine physicians
recommended the cessation of breastfeeding around the age of two. The
bioarchaeological data analysed by Bourbou and Garvie-Lok confirm that
the weaning was complete by the age of three.79
Hagiographical texts are in agreement with the medical
recommendations and the bioarchaeological evidence with regard to the
completion of the weaning process. However, the biographers also
emphasize that weaning marked the beginning of a new phase in the child’s
life. The vita of Michael the Synkellos tells us that the saint had been
weaned and reached the age of three when he was offered by his mother to
God, in accordance with the promise made before he was born.80 A similar
case is reported in the vita of Peter of Atroa. The holy child was entrusted
to God immediately after he was weaned: “When his mother weaned him,
she took him to the church, in fulfilment of her vow, and presented him to
the bishop, thus returning in thanks to God her first-born son as another
Samuel.”81
The vita of David, Symeon, and George narrates that the first-born child,
David, was entrusted to a teacher after he was weaned and became a young
boy.82 The age at which the boy was weaned is not revealed, but the text
emphasizes the transition between infancy and childhood, which is marked
by the end of weaning. Most probably, the boy did not begin education later
than at the age of six, since the text goes on to say that he ended the first
level of education at the age of nine.
Another testimony about the practice of weaning is recorded in the vita
of Basil the Younger (ninth to tenth centuries), where we learn about a
woman called Theodote, who was carrying in her arms a suckling child
aged four years. The child was constantly ill, so she was hoping that God
would give her at least this child as a gift, for all the children she had borne
had died at the age of four or five.83 While the text attests the high rate of
mortality in Byzantium, it also reveals that some women might have
delayed the time of weaning as long as possible. We cannot know, in this
case, whether there was a connection between the illness of this child, or his
siblings’ death and weaning. Bourbou and Garvie-Lok have pointed out that
honey and goat’s milk, as recommended by the Byzantine physicians in
children’s diet in the first few years of life, may have caused serious
illnesses. The use of honey was the cause of infant botulism, which could
lead to death. The use of goat’s milk in feeding infants might have caused
them to develop megaloblastic anaemia, which leads further to cribra
orbitalia, a medical condition frequently found in the bioarchaeological
samples.84
Weaning is also mentioned in the ninth-century vita of Ioannikios written
by Peter the monk: “after he was piously weaned and passed beyond
childhood to adolescence and came to the age of young manhood, he first
joined the army”.85 This is what the author tells us about Ioannikios’
childhood. We have no detail about the time of weaning, but it is worth
noting that weaning serves here as a transitional marker between infancy
and childhood.

Baptism
Although baptism at an early age had become a widespread practice by the
sixth century,86 its theology continued to generate debates in the Middle
Byzantine period, especially about the right time for the performance of the
ritual. At the end of the tenth century, the issue of infant baptism was taken
up in a letter of the bishop Theodore of Ephesus to the patriarch John of
Antioch.87 In this letter, Theodore expresses his concerns about whether
God approves infants’ baptism and communion, in spite of the fact that they
are not aware of receiving the sacrament and cannot speak for themselves.
He also mentions that some clerics contested the legitimacy of the practice
on the grounds that Jesus was not baptized as an infant, nor had he left any
instructions in this matter. The patriarch’s answer to his question is in
accord with the theology of the patristic writers: preventing children from
receiving the holy sacrament is prohibited (24–6). In support of his
argument, the patriarch evoked the long tradition according to which
children were baptized at a very early age because their lives were at risk in
infancy, and they ought not to risk losing their final salvation (26–33).88
However, even with these precautions, some children died without having
the chance of being baptized. This is the case with four children of a certain
shoemaker mentioned in the vita of Evaristos. Demetrios and his wife asked
for the saint’s help to intercede for the birth of a child, as their previous four
children died immediately after birth.89
References to the appropriate time for baptism appeared also in two late
eleventh-century texts, the “Questions” attributed to the deacon Petros,
chartophylax under Alexios Komnenos (1081–1118), and the “Solutions” of
the Patriarch Nicholas III Grammatikos (1084–1111). Petros Chartophylax
indicated a forty-day period between birth and baptism, but if the child’s
life was at risk, baptism could be performed any time after birth.90 The
patriarch Nicholas III offered solutions to three distinct situations: if the
infant’s life was not in danger, then baptism should be performed after the
fortieth day; if the infant was in mortal danger, then it was necessary that
the sacrament be performed immediately. Finally, if the baby was sick but
not in mortal danger, the ritual was to be performed on the eighth day, or
even earlier.91 However, the patriarch’s solution to emergency baptism
differed from his predecessor Nikephoros I (806–915), who opined that ill
infants should be baptized on the third or fourth day after birth.92
Emergency baptism was obviously contextualized in terms of ultimate
salvation. The timing for the performance of the ritual has its roots in
Jewish tradition. The eight-day interval to be observed between birth and
baptism evokes the biblical model of Jesus’ circumcision. The forty-day
interval was connected with the period in which new mothers were
considered to be unclean.93 The ritual of women’s purification was
inherited from Judaism. Leviticus 12:2–5 specified that a woman who gave
birth to a child was unclean. If the infant was a boy, he had to be
circumcised on the eighth day, and thereafter, the mother had to wait for
thirty-three days until the purification was over. Meanwhile, she was not
allowed to touch anything sacred or to go to the temple. If the woman gave
birth to a girl, she was considered impure for a period of eighty days.
Byzantine popular belief shared the idea that the mother’s impurity was
transmitted to the new born. According to the patriarch Nikephoros I, if the
infant was baptized before the period of cleansing of the mother was over,
she could not touch the baby or breastfeed it. In this situation, the family
had to seek a wet nurse who would breastfeed the infant.94
From an anthropological perspective, the period of pregnancy and the
hiatus between birth and infant baptism represent transitional periods in the
life course. When the period of cleansing was over, the mother could be re-
integrated into society, but until then she was in a marginalized state. In this
respect, Novel 17 of the emperor Leo VI (866–912) records the rule
according to which mothers who had recently given birth were in a state of
impurity for forty days. Only if their lives were in danger, they were
allowed to receive Holy Communion before the period of cleansing was
over.
With regard to baptism as a period of transition in an individual’s life,
the same Novel recommended that infants were to be baptized on the
fortieth day after birth. Since the foetus takes its human form in the
maternal womb on the fortieth day, an equal number of days were needed
for the child to be introduced into the spiritual abode of God. The Novel
also mentions the possibility of performing baptism on the eighth day after
birth, evoking Jesus’s circumcision.95 We see here that the spiritual birth of
children is paralleled with foetal development. The day of baptism
corresponded to the acquiring of the human form in the womb. We find a
similar parallel between foetal development and baptism, both connected to
the commemoration of the dead, in a sixth-century text written by John
Lydus, which has been studied by Gilbert Dagron. According to this text, on
the fortieth day, the foetus’ heart acquires its perfect shape. It is now that
the foetus becomes alive and has a soul. This corresponds to the fortieth day
after birth, when the child is born again through the ritual of baptism. After
death, the fortieth day was connected to the disintegration of the heart of the
dead body, when the soul too finds its place assigned to it until the
resurrection of the dead.96
Churching the infant was another ritual that was closely related to
baptism and women’s purification. On the fortieth day, infants were brought
into the church for the first time by their mothers, who were already
cleansed and washed. In the Middle Byzantine period, the gender of the
child seems to have been an important factor as to how the ritual was
conducted by the priest, but as one moves further in the Late Byzantine
period, the gender factor disappears. A study by Matthew Street points out
the changes that occurred over the centuries with regard to the performance
of this ritual. He observes that in the pre-iconoclastic period, there was no
reference to infants’ entering into the sanctuary. It was only after the ninth
century that the Euchologion (the Byzantine book of prayers) included
rubrics with prayers for infants who were to be churched on the fortieth day,
when they were taken by the priest into the sanctuary. If a child was male,
the priest would proceed around the holy table three times, and he would
perform prostration at each of the four sides. If the infant was a female, the
priest would only bring her in front of the holy table, while approaching the
remaining three sides of the altar and carrying out the prostration. Symeon
of Thessalonike wrote about this ritual in the fifteenth century, but he made
a clear distinction between baptized and unbaptized children. Accordingly,
only baptized children were to be brought into the altar area, whereas the
unbaptized ones were to stand only at the holy doors. The distinction was
thus based not on gender, but on the baptismal status of infants.97
The ritual of baptism itself, performed usually by a local priest, consisted
in three total immersions of the child in water with the invocation of the
Holy Trinity. The priest pronounced the formula of the sacrament on behalf
of the child who was baptized.98 In cases of emergency, when the child’s
life was at risk, the ritual of baptism may have been performed also at
home. In the ninth century, Nikephoros the Confessor agreed that monks or
any Orthodox Christian laymen were allowed to perform baptism as an
ultimate solution in cases of emergency.99
Surprisingly, baptism, as the first spiritual event in a child’s life, is not
very often recorded in the hagiographical sources of our period. Of the vitae
examined in this study, only a few texts contain explicit mentions of the
timing of children’s baptism, which however varied from case to case. For
instance, Theodore of Edessa was baptized when he was two years old,100
while Michael the Synkellos and Euphrosyne the Younger are said to have
been baptized after they were weaned, at the age of three.101
According to the vita of Peter of Atroa, the parents and the relatives of
Peter took the child to the local church on the eighth day after his birth,
“according to the Christian customs, for receiving the circumcision of the
heart and the light of the Holy Spirit”. On the fortieth day, they went again
to the church “for inscribing more deeply the same grace”.102 Although it
seems at first sight that baptism was performed on the eighth day, the
hagiographer refers in this context to the ritual of acknowledging the name
of the child, which involved certain prayers that were to be recited by the
priest.103 But baptism itself was performed later, on the fortieth day.
The ritual of naming the child on the eighth day is confirmed by the
ninth-century vita of Stephen the Younger. The hagiographer narrates that
the saint was taken to the church on the eighth day, when he received his
name. Again, on the fortieth day, his parents took the child to the church,
where the ceremony of the purification of women was performed. On Holy
Saturday, the child was baptized in the Hagia Sophia by the patriarch
Germanos.104 In this case, it is very clear that the boy received his name on
the eighth day, while the proper ritual of baptism was performed later.

The baptismal name

Baptism was the first occasion when the name of the child chosen by his
parents was publicly announced. Over the centuries, the Byzantine
theologians expressed their interest in how parents should name their
offspring.105 There was a constant concern about how parents should
choose names for their children, as it was believed that they were morally
responsible for choosing appropriate names when their children were
born.106
The hagiographical sources do not reveal a clear pattern of naming. It is,
first of all, difficult to know whether the names of the saints used by their
biographers were the baptismal or the monastic names. In some cases, we
know clearly that a saint changed his name with the monastic tonsure,
whereas other saints, like Stephen the Younger, Theodore of Stoudios or the
patriarch Photios, retained their given names throughout their lives.107
Given the methodological problems posed by the sources, I shall refer to the
sources where we have a clear statement of the baptismal name.
The most common baptismal names of Byzantine children had Christian
origins. Parents named usually their offspring after the saints who were
enrolled in the calendar. For instance, the baptismal name of Neilos the
Younger was Nicholas, whereas Symeon the New Theologian received the
name of George at baptism.108 Some children were named after a local
saint. In the vita of Theodora of Thessalonike, we learn about an infant girl
who “was honoured by the name of the blessed <Theodora>”.109 Some
children were named after the biblical patriarchs, as with Athanasios of
Athos, whose baptismal name was Abraham.110
A saint’s name was thought to bring about the protection of the person
who bears it. The name of the father of Loukas of Steiris was Stephen. We
learn from the vita that his parents chose this name in the hope that their son
would be protected by the first martyr Stephen and that the life and deeds of
the saint would be a model for him.111 Theodore of Edessa received his
name after the martyr Theodore, as the birth of the boy would indicate
God’s gift.112 The mother of Elias the Younger named him John, after John
the Baptist, hoping that the child would be blessed by the Lord’s grace.113
Some parents named their children after the saints who helped mothers
overcome a difficult situation, such as a difficult delivery. We learn about
this practice from the vita of the patriarch Ignatios I, who is said to have
helped a labouring woman give birth to a boy. Out of gratitude for the safe
delivery, parents called the child Ignatios, “so that the name would remind
him of the miracle worked upon him by the patriarch.”114 The vita of
Theodora of Thessalonike reports a case of a certain Theodotos, who
baptized his only daughter with the name of Theopiste, after the daughter of
Saint Theodora. The girl is said to have been born as a result of Theodotos’
prayers in the monastery where Theopiste was abbess.115
Others named their children after relatives, especially grandfathers. Baun
has noted that the naming of aristocratic children usually followed a very
clear pattern: the first son was named after the paternal grandfather, the
second son, after the maternal grandfather, and the successive boys, after
uncles. The same pattern was also evident in the case of girls.116 The
paternal grandfather of the patriarch Tarasios was the patrikios Sisinios,
while the name of the maternal grandfather was Tarasios. The vita mentions
no siblings of Tarasios, but Efthymiadis suggests that it is likely that the
patriarch had an older brother named Sisinios, who is mentioned in the
Annales Regni Frankorum.117 If that is the case, then we have here a clear
example that indicates the choice of naming the first child on the basis of
patrilineal ancestry, as Baun has observed.
However, the Byzantines did not always name their first-born children
after their grandfathers. For instance, the vita of Philaretos the Merciful
mentions the saint’s children and grandchildren. We know that he had a son
named John, and two daughters, Hypatia and Euanthia (Figure 3.1). John
had seven children, but it was not the first-born, but the fourth who was
named after his grandfather, Philaretos. The youngest daughter of John bore
the name of her paternal aunt, Hypatia. The eldest daughter of Philaretos
named one of her daughters after her sister, Euanthia. The same holds true
in the case of Euanthia, the youngest daughter of Philaretos, who named
one of her boys (but not the first-born) after her father, while the youngest
daughter bore the name of her maternal aunt Hypatia.118 As this example
shows, children were named after either grandparents or after lateral
relatives, an indication of how important it was according to the Byzantine
mentality to secure the continuation of the names from generation to
generation.

Figure 3.1 The family of Philaretos the Merciful according to his vita. ©
The author.

Some children were named after their parents, as with Niketas of

Medikion, who received the baptismal name after his father, Philaretos.119
One of the sisters of Euthymios the Younger, Epiphaneia, was named after
her father.120
An interesting example of the way in which ethnically mixed families
named their offspring is offered by the vita of Mary the Younger. Mary,
who had Armenian origins, was married to Nikephoros, a Greek man. Their
first child, who died at the age of five, was baptized with the mythological
name Orestes.121 The second one, who likewise died at an early age,
received an Armenian name of Parthian origin, Vardanes.122 Later on, Mary
gave birth to twins, two boys, one of whom was named Stephen and the
other one Vaanes.123 This alternation between Greek and Armenian names
in Mary’s family seems to indicate an agreement between Nikephoros and
Mary to baptize their offspring with names that evoked their own origins.
However, it is impossible to say whether all mixed families followed the
same pattern of naming their children.
In hagiographies, the name of a person takes on a special significance in
the course of the individual’s life. The idea that names could foretell the
character or actions of the individual was frequently employed by some
hagiographers of our period. For instance, the given name of Saint Peter of
Atroa was Theophylactos (meaning watched over by God), for he was
granted by God and guarded by Him for the salvation of all.124 The father
of Theodora of Thessalonike gave her the baptismal name Agape (love),
“so as to foretell the future course of the girl’s life through this name.”125
It was not only children’s given names, but also their parents’ names,
that had a special meaning in the construction of the life path of the future
saints. The mother of George of Amastris was called Megethos, which
means “greatness.” According to Ignatios the Deacon, her name was not
chosen accidentally. The author insisted on the special significance of the
name of the saint’s mother, because “everything foreknown by divine
foreknowledge was foreordained…Hence having a name befitting her deeds
and accompanying gift of God, she brought the fruit of grace to
greatness.”126 Likewise, the parents of the patriarch Nikephoros I of
Constantinople were Eudokia (good repute) and Theodore (God’s gift),
names which proved to be very appropriate, as the hagiographer says, since
they brought forth a child who was “truly in good repute and a God’s
gift”.127 Here, the biographer’s intention to use the meaning of the parents’
names as a tool in ascribing to the child the uniqueness of his character and
moral virtues is obvious. This is also the case with Tarasios, whose mother
was called Egkrateia (temperance): “seeing that her child was advanced in
the virtues denoted by her name, she prompted him to be both a pious son
and a temple of true temperance.”128 These examples indicate that the
names of parents empower not only their owners, but also the child who
was born to them.
 We have seen up to this point that the way of choosing the names, as
reflected in our sources, indicates the parents’ preference for naming their
children after a saint, in keeping with the recommendation of Church
Fathers. The idea that the saints would serve as role models and protectors
of the person who bore their names is clearly emphasized in these texts.
Moreover, it seems that bearing the name of a relative substantiated the
importance of the individual’s ancestry in Byzantine thought.

The social dimension of baptism

In Byzantium, baptism not only marked the beginning of a new life in
Christ but functioned also as a means of establishing familial relationships
through the baptismal sponsorship. Baptism created a spiritual bond
between children and their godparents, as well as between godparents and
the natural parents, and even between the children of the two families who
were united in spiritual kinship.129 In his Short History, the patriarch
Nikephoros interpreted baptismal sponsorship as a way of expanding
familial networks through the relationships between the godchild, the
godparents, and the families of the godparents.130
Ruth Macrides has suggested that the desirable norm in Byzantium was
one godparent to all the children of a marriage.131 The hagiographies of our
period do not contain much information on baptismal sponsorship, but they
indicate that both women and men could act as godparents. According to
the ninth-century vita of Theodora of Thessalonike, the godmother of the
saint was a relative, to whom the father entrusted Theodora after her mother
died.132 The canon laws also allowed grandparents to act as godparents to
their grandchildren. In the eleventh century, in a reply to the question
whether a grandfather could at the same time be the godfather of his
grandchild, Peter Chartophylax mentions that this was neither prohibited by
law, nor by the emperor.133 This practice is confirmed by the ninth-century
vita of Philaretos the Merciful. The saint was the godfather of one of his
grandchildren, Niketas, the author of his biography. It seems from our
sources that women acted as godmothers for girls, while men were
godfathers of boys, but it is hard to tell whether this gender distinction was
a general rule.
In Byzantium, apart from monks and nuns, all Orthodox Christians could
be godparents. The prohibition against monks’ acting as baptismal sponsors
is indicated in the ninth-century monastic typikon of Theodore of Stoudios:

As a fugitive from the world and from marriage, you should have no
part of adopting those of the world as brothers or engaging in spiritual
relationships with them since such practices are not found in the
fathers, or if they have been found, then only rarely so that they do not
constitute a law.134

Likewise, the tenth-century typikon of the emperor Tzimiskes mentions the

instructions of Athanasios of Athos in this matter:

No one of the brothers is to be allowed to leave the mountain to form a

bond of spiritual relationship or adoptive brotherhood with laymen. If
some of them have already concluded a bond of this sort for
themselves, they must still not go off to their houses or have lunch or
dinner with them or join them at all in drinking.135

Baptismal sponsorship was, as the sources indicate, a close relationship

between the godparents and the biological family of the child, which
involved frequent contacts and socialization, and this is what the monastic
superiors wanted to prevent.
The duties of godparents were to assure the moral instruction of their
godchildren, and to guide and correct them for their entire life. In cases of
need, when the natural parents were dead, godparents also assured the
upbringing of their godchildren. We learn that the godmother of Theodora
of Thessalonike raised and educated Theodora in her childhood. The vita
specifies clearly that the woman was chosen to act as godmother to assure
the physical and spiritual nurture of the girl.136 The godmother had a great
influence, as the author explains, especially because she was responsible for
Theodora’s upbringing since infancy. The following passage illustrates the
ideal image of guardians, who were expected to be moral persons and to act
as a good example to children under their care.

The disposition of those who are under guardianship, especially if they

should chance to be infants, inasmuch as their undeveloped mind soon
adapts and conforms to the habits of the guardian who converses <with
them> … Wherefore it is always better for the weaker to follow the
 stronger in hope of improvement. From this <sequence of events> then
resulted Theodora’s existence and flourishing and the fact that she was
praised and admired by all.137

The close bond between godchildren and godparents is also described in the
ninth-century vita of Philaretos the Merciful. Of all the relatives of
Philaretos gathered at his deathbed, only Niketas, his seven-year-old
grandchild and godson, received special attention. Philaretos lifted the boy
up on his bed and kissed him, asking God to grant his spiritual child, whom
he loved dearly, a long life, longer than that of all his brothers and sisters.138
One should not disregard the fact that Niketas may have deliberately
stressed the special bond with his grandfather/godfather as he was the
author of Philaretos’ biography. At a rhetorical level, this mention would
function both as a source of social prestige and to convey a sense of
authenticity to the information he provided to the readers. At a social level,
Philaretos’ preference for Niketas seems to be the result of their spiritual
relationship, which surpassed the relationship between grandson and
grandfather. The text emphasizes the prevalence of spiritual relationships
over blood relationships in the Byzantine mentality.
The hagiographies of our period do not provide examples of baptismal
sponsorship contracted with persons who did not belong to the child’s
family, which indicates that it was customary to search for a baptismal
sponsor first within the family. Yet, upper middle class families might have
employed an additional strategy, by searching for a baptismal sponsor even
within the imperial circle, as it was the case with Psellos’s grandson whose
godmother was the empress herself.139 Psellos boasts about this spiritual
relationship in the letter to his grandson, claiming that “the emperor and the
empress quarrelled over who would sponsor you, and the female sex
won”.140 We learn further that baptismal sponsorship also entailed the
practice of gift-giving as Psellos records that the child received from the
empress the ornaments that she was wearing at that time.141 Such examples
of baptismal sponsorship contracted with the imperial family indicate that
this type of spiritual relationship was an important method to secure and
maintain social standing by virtue of prestigious relatives.
In general, our sources quite seldom indicate the practice of baptism, its
timing, and the role of godparents in children’s lives. This indicates that
baptism was so self-evident that the biographers did not feel the need to
mention it to their audience. The authors referred to it only when baptism
played a significant role in the narrative construction of the life path of the
saints. In this case, their intention was to stress the virtues of the child that
were acquired through the spiritual ties established by this relationship.

Conclusion
In this chapter, I have discussed the most important aspects related to
infancy and the way in which hagiographers made use of them in
constructing the life course of their protagonists. Conception and birth
include the theme of barrenness and the divine signs that would prefigure
the exceptional future of a child. Both motifs are equally important in
constructing the narratives about the first few years of life. Apart from the
fact that the motif of barrenness reveals a real health problem with which
women had to cope under pressure from society, it also suggests the idea
that a child born from barrenness was a special child. All these children
born from families that faced many years of infertility were considered to
be protected by God. However, a difference can be detected in the depiction
of boys and girls. Boys are the ones who are most wanted, and they are
mainly the ones whose future is foretold. The preference for boys can be
translated into the need of families to secure the continuation of the lineage.
Besides this, children were expected to take care of their parents in old age.
A girl, once married, would move to her husband’s house, and would
therefore not be in a position to take care of her parents in the same way as
boys, who would remain with their parents and would also provide financial
support.
Weaning was a gradual process that started around the age of six to
seven months and ended around the age of two to three. Although not very
frequently mentioned in hagiographical literature, weaning had a special
significance in childhood narratives, pointing out to the transition to a new
phase in children’s development.
One of the most important transitional markers in infancy was baptism
that marked, on a theological level, the acceptance of the child into God’s
family as a full Christian member, and on a social level, the integration of
the child into the community. Since the Byzantines took into account the
fragility of infants whose lives could be at risk in the first months, baptism
was to be performed in the first few days if the child were in mortal danger.
Otherwise, the norm was that children be baptized on the fortieth day,
although in practice the timing of baptism could vary from the fortieth day
up to the age of three. Through the names received at baptism, children
acquired their identity as individuals. The name carried great significance in
the Byzantine mentality, and it seems that the choice of naming children
after saints was meant to assure their protection and a certain association
with the saints’ virtues.
In the process of transition from infancy to childhood, the Church played
an important role in the life of children. The formal rituals of naming,
churching, and baptizing the infants provided them with recognition as
religious and social beings, and integrated them into the community of
Christians.

Notes
1 Soranus dealt with these matters is his treatise Gynecology. On
Oribasius and his recommendations on infant care, see Lascaratos and
Paoulakou-Rebelakou (2003: 186–9).
2 On the transmission of Paul of Aegina’s medical knowledge into the
Arab world, see the studies of Pormann (1999, 2004).
3 On this, see also Baun (1994: 115–25). On baptism and its theology,
see Ferguson (2009).
4 Life of Theophano 2 (2).
5 Life of Philaretos the Merciful 9 (104; Eng. trans. 105).
6 Life of Euthymios the Younger 6: (18; Eng. trans. 19).
7 Life of Antony Kauleas 3 (413).
8 Life of Thomaïs of Lesbos 4 (235; Eng. trans. 299–300).
9 Life of Cyril the Phileote 3. 1 (48; Fr. trans. 270).
10 Congourdeau (2009: 45–50).
11 Congourdeau (2009: 36–7).
12 Encomium of Euphrosine the Younger 1(57).
13 Life of George of Amastris 4 (7; Eng. trans. 2).
14 Life of Thomaïs of Lesbos 4 (235; Eng. trans. 300).
15 Life of Michael the Synkellos 1 (44; Eng. trans. 45).
16 Life of Neilos the Younger 2 (6; Eng. trans. 7).
17 According to Ariantzi (2012: 63), it seems that fathers were especially
distressed by the lack of male heirs.
18 Life of Theodore of Edessa 2 (3).
19 Life of Stephen the Younger 4 (92; French trans. 183).
20 Life of Thomaïs of Lesbos 5 (235; Eng. trans. 302).
21 The best examples of the ambivalent attitude of the Byzantine
hagiographers towards their female subjects can be found in the
biographies of cross-dressed women. On this see Talbot (2001: 13–5).
22 Michael Psellos, Letter to Konstantinos P128 (332; Eng. trans. 173).
23 In fact, after Styliane died at the age of nine, Psellos adopted another
girl of the same age as his biological daughter.
24 Michael Psellos, Encomium for his mother, 4d (93–4; Eng. trans. 58).
25 Talbot (2006: 206).
26 Pitarakis (2009: 196–203).
27 Fulghum Heintz (2003: 278–80). On the demon Gello, see Sorlin
(1991); Patera (2007).
28 Life of Tarasios 5 (73; Eng. trans. 172).
29 Gerstel (2015: 88).
30 Paul of Aegina, Book III. 76, On difficult labour (294–6; Eng. trans.
350–1).
31 Life of Theophano 3 (2–3).
32 Life of Peter of Atroa 107 (Vita retractata) (161; Fr. trans. 160).
33 Life of Loukas the Stylite 71 (270; Fr. trans. 270).
34 Life of Gregory of Decapolis 84 (146; Ger. trans. 147).
35 Life of Patriarch Ignatios 86 (114–6; Eng. trans. 115–7).
36 Bourbou (2010: 108).
37 Talbot (2006: 206).
38 Paul of Aegina, Book III. 76, On difficult labour (294–6; Eng. trans.
350–1).
39 See, for instance, Michael Psellos, Encomium for his mother, 14d
(113–4; Eng. trans.75), where his sister is described as having a very
painful labour.
40 Life of Lazaros of Galesion 2 (509; Eng. trans. 78–9).
41 Michael Psellos, Encomium for his mother 14d (114; Eng. trans. 75).
42 This practice is recorded by Michael Psellos in Letter to Ioannes
Doukas, P51, and in Letter to Konstantinos, P128.
43 This is what Soranus and Oribasius recommended, on the ground that
the skin of the infant becomes firmer. Soranus, Gynecology II 13, 83,
and Oribasius, Collectiones Medicae, Libri incerti 29, 120. No
recommendations on these matters are given by Paul of Aegina.
44 Soranus, Gynecology II 15, 85.
45 Life of David, Symeon, and George of Lesbos 3 (213; Eng. trans. 153).
46 Life of George of Amastris 6 (11; Eng. trans. 3).
47 Greenfield, The life of Lazaros, n. 23, 79 with reference.
48 Life of Lazaros of Galesion 3 (510; Eng. trans. 79).
49 Life of Theophano 3.
50 Life of Thomaïs of Lesbos 5 (235; Eng. trans. 301).
51 Life of Michael Maleinos 4 (551–2).
52 Life of Theophano 3 (3).
53 Life of Mary the Younger 6 (694; Eng. trans. 261).
54 Paul of Aegina,Book I. 2, On the nurse (9; Eng. trans. 8).
55 Paul of Aegina,Book I. 3, On the milk of the nurse (9–10; Eng. trans.
8); the method is recorded also in al-Baladī who cites Paul of Aegina
and his lost paediatric treatise The therapy and upbringing of children.
See Pormann (1999: 23).
56 Paul of Aegina, Book I. 3, On the milk of the nurse (9–10; Eng. trans.
8); also Pormann (2004): 96.
57 Paul of Aegina, Book I. 5, On the nurture of the infant (10–1; Eng.
trans. 9).
58 Lascaratos and Poulako (2003: 189).
59 Soranus, Gynecology II. 18, 88–9.
60 Beaucamp (1992: 552–4).
61 Life of Anna-Euphemianos (58; Eng. trans. 59).
62 Life of Nikephoros of Medikion 5 (406).
63 Life of Athanasios of Athos 5 (Vita A) (90; It. trans. 91); 2 (Vita B)
(132; Eng. trans. 133).
64 Life of Peter of Atroa 18 (109; Fr. trans. 108).
65 Encomium of Euphrosyne the Younger 2 (57).
66 Life of Patriarch Ignatios 83 (112; Eng. trans. 113).
67 Life of Mary the Younger 15 (698; Eng. trans. 270).
68 Life of Theophano 4 (3).
69 Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 3 (72; Eng. trans.166).
70 Life of Constantine the Philosopher 3 (Eng. trans. 50).
71 Pratsch (2005: 86–8).
72 Life of Constantine the Philosopher 3 (Eng. trans. 50).
73 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 37 (79; Eng.
trans. 132).
74 Michael Psellos, Letter to his grandson (153; Eng. trans.163).
75 Eusthatios of Thessalonike, Commentary on Homer’s Odyssey (v. 130–
9) (386; Eng. trans. 387).
76 Paul of Aegina, Book I. 5, On the nurture of the infant (10–1; Eng.
trans. 9).
77 Paul of Aegina, Book I. 9, On dentition (11–2; Eng. trans. 10).
78 Oribasius, Collectiones Medicae, Libri incerti 35, 129.
79 Bourbou and Garvie-Lok (2009: 82).
80 Life of Michael the Synkellos 2 (46; Eng. trans. 47). Also Euphrosyne
the Younger was weaned when she was three years old, Life of
Euphrosyne the Younger 4 (862E).
81 Life of Peter of Atroa 2 (71; Fr. trans. 70).
82 Life of David, Symeon and George of Lesbos 4 (214; Eng. trans. 154).
83 Life of Basil the Younger, part I 47 (162–4; Eng. trans. 163–5).
84 Bourbou and Garvie-Lok (2009: 74–5).
85 Life of Ioannikios 4 (Vita by Peter) (386; Eng. trans. 259).
86 Ariantzi (2012: 102); Ferguson (2009: 857).
87 The letter has been edited and translated by Kontouma (2011).
88 See the entire Greek text in Kontouma (2011: 200–1).
89 Life of Evaristos 34 (317).
90 Petros Chartophylax, Ερωτήματα, 369. In Rhalles and Potles,
Σύνταγμα, vol. V (1855).
91 A short analysis of the response of the Patriarch Nicholas III
Grammatikos to the bishop Zetounion is provided by Darrouzès (1988:
337).
92 Canon 38 of Nikephoros I the Patriarch (PG 100, 861).
93 Congourdeau (1993:165–6).
 94 Canon 38 of Nikephoros I the Patriarch (PG 100, 864).
95 Les Novelles 17 (69; Fr. trans. 68).
96 John Lydus, De Mensibus 4.26 (Eng. trans. 77–8):

…when seed is cast into the womb, on the third day it is

transformed into blood and ‘paints’ the heart, which is said to be
formed first and to die last. … And on the ninth [day], it congeals
and coagulates to form flesh and marrow; and on the 40th [day it is
said] to be completed as a comprehensive form of configuration—to
put it simply, a complete human being.
See the analysis of this in Dagron (1984)

97 Street (2012), especially 58–63. On the gendered language in

Byzantine childbed prayers, see Afentoulidou (2015). On prayer books
as sources of social history, see Claudia Rapp et al. (2017).
98 Meyendorff (1979: 194).
99 Baun (1994: 117).
100 Life of Theodore of Edessa 4 (4).
101 Life of Michael the Synkellos 2 (46; Eng. trans. 47). Life of Euphrosyne
the Younger 4 (862E).
102 Life of Peter of Atroa 2 (La Vie Merveilleuse) (71; Fr. trans. 70).
103 See the table with the rites performed in infancy in Baun (2013: 116).
104 Life of Stephen the Younger 6 (94–5; Fr. trans. 186–7).
105 For instance, John Chrysostom urged parents to name their children
after “holy men, illustrious for virtue, men who have spoken with
God,” and not after the names of the ancestors. The latter would be of
no benefit to the children, if they are unsupported by virtuous living;
see John Chrysostom 21 Homilies on Genesis, 58. Cf. Ariantzi (2012:
105), n.115.
106 In a late-fourteenth-century treatise, the theologian Symeon of
Thessaloniki criticized people who named their children only John and
Mary, see Symeon of Thessaloniki, De Sacramentis 60 (PG 155, 209).
Cf. Ariantzi (2012: 105), n.120.
107 On the practice of taking a new name at the time of tonsure, see Talbot
and McGrath (2006).
108 Neilos was in fact the monastic name Nicholas took in honour of the
fifth-century saint Neilos the Elder. In the case of Symeon the New
Theologian, we should note that there is no reference to the baptismal
name George in the vita. However, in the catechetical discourses,
Symeon refers to himself in the third person as George, in Symeon the
New Theologian, The Discourses, 243–4.
109 Miracles of Theodora of Thessalonike 10 (208; Eng. trans. 226).
110 Life of Athanasion of Athos 5 (Vita A) (90; It. trans. 91);2 (Vita B) (Gr.
132; Eng. trans. 133).
111 Life of Loukas of Steiris 2 (4; Eng. trans. 5).
112 Life of Theodore of Edessa 4 (4).
113 Life of Elias the Younger 3 (6; It. trans. 7).
114 Life of Patriarch Ignatios 86 (114; Eng. trans. 115).
115 Miracles of Theodora of Thessalonike 13 (216; Eng. trans. 229).
116 Baun (2013: 119–20); also Ariantzi (2012: 103–4).
117 Efthymiadis, Life of Tarasios, 8–10.
118 Life of Philaretos the Merciful, 4d (88–90; Eng. trans. 89–91).
119 Life of Niketas of Medikion 4 (19).
120 Life of Euthymios the Younger 5 (14; Eng. trans. 15).
121 Life of Mary the Younger 4 (693; Eng. trans. 258).
122 Life of Mary the Younger 5 (693; Eng. trans. 259).
123 Life of Mary the Younger 6 (694; Eng. trans. 261).
124 Life of Peter of Atroa 2 (71; Fr. trans. 70).
125 Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 6 (76; Eng. trans. 168).
126 Life of George of Amastris 3 (5; Eng. trans. 2).
127 Life of Nikephoros I the Patriarch (142; Eng. trans. 44).
128 Life of Tarasios 6 (74; Eng. trans.: 173).
129 Macrides (1987: 143–4).
130 Nikephoros Patriarch of Constantinople, Short History, 75: “Since
Herakleios was devoted to Pyrrhos, whom he called his brother
(because when he was being baptized in the holy bath the emperor’s
sister had received him in his arms).”
131 Macrides (1987: 146).
132 Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 4 (72; Eng. trans. 167).
133 Petros Chartophylax, Ερωτήματα, 371. In Rhalles and Potles,
Σύνταγμα, vol. V (1855): Οὐκ ἔστι νόμος ἢ βασιλεὺς ταῦτα κωλύων.
134 Stoudios 8 (BMFD 1, 78).
135 Tzimiskes 14 (BMFD 1, 238).
136 Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 4 (72; Eng. trans. 167).
137 Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 4 (74; Eng. trans. 167).
138 Life of Philaretos the Merciful 9 (106; Eng. trans. 107).
139 It is uncertain which empress was the child’s godmother. Kaldellis
(2006: 160) suggests that the child was perhaps born in 1066 during the
reign of Konstantinos X Doukas, which would mean that Eudokia
Makrembolitissa was the child’s godmother. On the other hand, de-
Vries van der Velde (1996) proposes 1072–73 as the year when the boy
was born. If so, then the empress Maria of Alania was his godmother.
140 Michael Psellos, Letter to his grandson (154; Eng. trans. 165).
141 Michael Psellos, Letter to his grandson (154; Eng. trans. 165). The
practice of gift-giving is well attested in Byzantine sources, see
Macrides (1987: 155).
4 Growing up in a Byzantine family
Socialization in the domestic sphere
DOI: 10.4324/9780429318498-4

What was it like to grow up in a Byzantine oikos? What were the prevailing
social expectations concerning the upbringing of a child during the years
following infancy? How do Byzantine authors describe this period? This
chapter seeks to find answers to these questions by focusing on how
children were socialized within the family context, and what attitudes,
values, and appropriate behaviour that would enable them to function as
members of Byzantine society they were expected to internalize.
In modern social sciences, the concept of socialization is defined as a
gradual process by which children acquire, through a variety of activities,
the necessary abilities and competences that enable them to meet society’s
expectations. In this process, the main agents who take part in socializing
the child are the family, the school, and the peer groups.1 Through play,
informal instruction, and schooling, as well as through work activities,
children learn the rules and norms of society, how to behave, how to act in
different circumstances, how to interact with members of the family or the
community, and how to form relationships with others. These aspects are
clearly illustrated in the Byzantine sources of our period, which describe the
childhood period of the saints-to-be. Family members played an important
role in the process of socialization whereby children imbibed moral values
and acceptable social behaviour. Through everyday interaction with the
parents, household servants, relatives, teachers, or age-mates, Byzantine
children learned the rules and customs of the community.
However, as I have discussed in the introduction, during the process of
socialization, children were not passive recipients of the moral standards
and customs, but they were actively involved in the learning of cultural
values. Moreover, they not only acted according to the expectations of the
social groups they belonged to, but also contributed to the construction of
their own identity through their independent choices of how to behave and
act in everyday life circumstances.2 Therefore, when studying the
socialization of children, the focus should be not only on the social context
that framed their lives, but also on children’s agency. In infancy, children
depended heavily on those who were in charge of their basic physiological
needs. As they grew up, children’s social experiences were gradually
enriched through the contacts with the surrounding community.
In this chapter, I focus particularly on how children began to learn the
values and societal norms within the family, how they responded to social
expectations, and how the daily activities they were involved in contributed
to the formation of their social identity. In the process of social integration,
children acquired various abilities and competences through playing.
Childhood games enabled them to learn how to deal later in life with
various roles within society. Moreover, by playing games, children were
establishing relationships with their peers; they were active agents in their
own social development. Play functioned as a unique arena of socialization
where children could exercise their agentic capacity to invent and imagine
the world, as well as adapt and create their identity. In my examination of
the importance of children’s games in the process of socialization and
agency, I rely upon the study of Brigitte Pitarakis.3 Her detailed analysis of
both the archaeological and the written sources related to children’s
material culture is valuable for our understanding of their world. Through
the material culture, we can understand how the objects found in the
archaeological context reflect childhood identities, for example, in terms of
gender. The everyday life of children can be grasped to a certain extent by
analysing material objects like toys in relation to the practices described in
the written sources from different historical periods.4
Since informal and formal instruction is essential for the process of
socialization, children’s training, either at home or in school, will also be
part of my analysis. The topic of children’s education in Byzantium has
been the subject of several studies by Nikos Kalogeras, who has analysed
the hagiographies of the sixth to the ninth centuries.5 His insights into the
types of education received by children in various contexts serve as support
for my analysis of the educational aspects considered to be important in the
process of children’s enculturation. Most recently, Despoina Ariantzi has
discussed children’s education in terms of parental care.6 Her analysis
shows that children’s education depended to a large extent on the social
status and financial situation of the family. In addition to the areas studied
by Kalogeras and Ariantzi, I shall also focus on how age, gender, and social
status operate together in shaping children’s social identity by means of
education.
Little research has been done on child labour in Byzantium. The few
studies that have approached the topic are by Ariantzi, who has shown that
children’s work depended very much on the financial situation of the
family,7 and by Rotman who has examined the relationship between the
concepts of children’s agency and child labour in Byzantine society,
showing how the former was used to legitimize the latter.8 In this chapter, I
analyse work as a socializing factor through which children learnt about the
roles and duties they were expected to fulfil in their adult life, as well as an
arena where children could exercise their agency.
When studying childhood socialization and children’s agency, we must
again be aware that in fact we deal, by and large, with descriptions of
children mediated by male adults, which are often prone to idealization. For
instance, we find very few references in our sources to children’s fun
activities, and if these are mentioned in the description of the saints, they
are usually employed by the authors to offer the audience an example of
how a good child should behave. The same holds true of education and
work. We cannot trace the real experiences of children at home or in school.
What the hagiographical texts offer us is, instead, what Kaldellis calls “a
representation of social realities”, or in other words an ideal picture of
childhood created by the religious authors on the basis of social realities
that reflect their attitudes and expectations concerning children’s lives.9
In addition to the hagiographical literature, the sources used in this
chapter include several funeral orations and private letters, as well as
artistic representations of children. The funeral oration of Theodore of
Stoudios for his mother and the encomia written by Michael Psellos for his
daughter and mother provide unique information about children’s
experiences of learning, allowing me to draw some comparisons between
girls and boys. Private letters, on the other hand, may reflect to a certain
extent the personal experiences of the Byzantines. In this context, the
Anonymi Professoris Epistulae, a collection of letters by a tenth-century
teacher in Constantinople, is useful, because it shows the relationship
between children and teachers and the involvement of relatives in children’s
education.
 In what follows, I begin my analysis by discussing play, education, and
work as the principal means by which children learned social values and
norms. I am interested in looking at the pastimes of the Byzantine children
as well as the attitudes and perceptions of adults towards children’s play.
Schooling, both at home and in a formal setting, was also a central element
in the process of children’s enculturation. With regard to this, I will first
explore the home-based training of children, and then the primary and
secondary education available in the Middle Byzantine period. The work
activities given to children were also a means by which they were
integrated into the social life of the community. Here, I seek to find out
what kind of work they performed as part of the household economic
strategy, depending on their age, social status, and gender.
I deal with these three aspects of socialization in this sequence because
of the developmental status of children, in which age is a key factor. While
play represents the first activity children were engaged in since early
childhood, formal schooling began around the age of six or seven. Work
activities were not necessarily undertaken at a specific age of the child. The
parents could assign to their offspring some household responsibilities they
were able to manage. For example, the sources indicate that in peasant
families, work took priority over schooling. Moreover, even though a child
was sent to school, this did not mean that the child was not involved at
home in some household chores. From a certain age, play, education, and
work coexisted in children’s lives.

Play
In children’s biological and social development, play represents one of the
key factors that contribute to their formation. From early childhood,
children entertained themselves with age-appropriate toys and games.
Textual evidence regarding children’s toys is rather limited. We know from
Psellos’ letter to his grandchild that the four-month-old baby had toys;10
these were most probably rattles, which were usually made in the shape of
domestic animals like dogs or roosters. Archaeological evidence preserves
such kinds of toys, which were made from baked clay and painted in bright
colours to visually appeal to babies.11
 Another type of toy, which seems to have been popular among both little
boys and girls, was the pull toy in the form of horses on wheels or the one
saddled with a rider, which were made either from wood and bone or from
clay.12 According to Pitarakis, the most popular toys for children who had
grown out of infancy were whistles, usually made from clay, and shaped
like various animals. Besides animal-shaped whistles, children amused
themselves with whistles in the shape of a cup that, when filled with water,
generated the sound of a bird.13
Older children played outdoors and most likely they were not under the
strict supervision of adults. They enjoyed themselves with rolling hoops and
playing ball games or knucklebones. These games helped them to develop
their motor skills and manual dexterity. Whereas rolling hoops were
associated mainly with children, ball games and knucklebones were
enjoyed by both adults and youngsters. For instance, the vita of Nikon the
Metanoeite mentions a certain strategos, Gregorios, who used to play ball
games with the local inhabitants.14 John Skylitzes mentions playing with
knucklebones in the context of the emperor Michael VI Stratiotikos’ (1056–
57) initiative to restore the square of Strategion to its original grandeur: “He
ordered the place called the strategion to be cleaned out, at which the
citizens scoffed and said that they were shovelling out the earth in search of
one of his bones he had lost while playing there.”15
The hagiographies give some evidence of children’s outdoor games.
Children could find excitement in all kinds of playful activities. We learn
from the ninth-century vita of Theodora of Thessalonike about a boy from a
poor family who was attacked by a demon while he was playing in the
city’s rubbish heaps. The text describes him as running to and fro to catch
birds with birdlime and setting hidden traps on the ground for sparrows.16
The eleventh-century vita of Nikon the Metanoeite tells us that “children
delight in playing with pebbles and stones on the seashore”.17 They also
liked to wander around in search of amusements. When Saint Nikon arrived
in Euboea crying out his usual “Repent”, several children on hearing these
unusual callings thought that this must be a game.18
Children also enjoyed climbing trees and playing with animals, as the
artistic representations and written testimonies clearly show. Two
illustrations in a twelfth-century manuscript of the Homilies of Gregory
Nazianzen depict scenes of boys climbing trees. In one of them, a boy is
depicted in a tree, throwing fruit down to his friends. The other illustration
presents three children, a girl who is sitting on a rope swing suspended in a
tree and two boys who are pushing her (Figures 4.1 and 4.2).
Figure 4.1 Homilies of Gregory Nazianzen, gr. 550, fol. 30r, twelfth
century. A boy on a tree throwing fruit down to his friends. © Bibliothèque
Nationale de France.
Figure 4.2 Homilies of Gregory Nazianzen, gr. 550, fol. 251r, twelfth
century. A child pushed on a swing by two other children. © Bibliothèque
Nationale de France.

The ninth-century vita of Constantine the Philosopher mentions the

custom whereby rich children’s families went out in the fields with their
friends. The young boy used to take his falcon along when he went out.19
Another testimony to children’s outdoor games is recorded in a letter
written by John Apokaukos, the metropolitan bishop of Naupaktos, to a
suffragan bishop, where Apokaukos describes a slave boy:

At the age when he was still learning to read and write, he used to
watch birds and steal into their nests and remove the eggs, mainly in
the first week of Lent, which he, according to peasant custom, called
Κωφή. Then he would hide the eggs away carefully so that he could
crack eggs with the other children at Easter.20

This episode is important for our understanding of both children’s

amusements and how they may have internalized the popular customs
concerning the religious significance of Easter through play. Cracked eggs
dyed red symbolized the resurrection of Christ and the renewal of life. The
custom still exists nowadays, and it seems to be aimed mostly at children.21
In the games they played with their friends, children could act carelessly
towards their playmates, causing unfortunate accidents. For instance, the
ten-year-old daughter of Cyril the Phileote was hit in the right eye with a
rock while playing outside her house with another girl of her age.22 This
anecdote shows that not only boys, as we would expect, but girls too were
playing outdoors unsupervised by adults, hence the accident.
Among the best-known forms of entertainment in Byzantium were the
games hosted in the hippodrome, the centre of town people’s lives. In the
hippodrome of Constantinople, which could hold 40,000 spectators, the
Byzantines amused themselves with chariot-riding, acrobatic exercises,
mimes, dances, songs, jugglers, and other kinds of amusements.23 These
spectacles performed in the arena were another way by which children were
introduced to community life.
 According to pious biographers, ordinary children took great pleasure in
attending the hippodrome entertainments. The ninth-century vita of
Nikephoros of Medikion reads that the saint’s mother kept her three sons
away from what children would usually enjoy, such as dances, races at the
hippodrome, or plays in the theatres.24 The vita of Nikon the Metanoieite
likewise tells us that children were fond of toys, sports, races, and horses.25
The same idea is expressed in the vita of George of Amastris, which
portrays the saint as being “free of all childish behaviour”. In his youth
George avoided the mocking youths, flattery, and games.26 The vita of
Loukas of Steiris stresses the saint’s exceptional character by contrasting
him with ordinary children who “enjoy and delight in toys, jokes, games,
lively activities, and running.”27
As we have seen in Chapter 1, religious biographers quite frequently
made use of this opposition between saintly children and ordinary children
to illustrate the idea of what good behaviour meant. Evaristos was a child
who preferred studying the Scripture to visiting the theatre like his
classmates did.28 Plato of Sakkoudion devoted his time to reading and
going to church, instead of engaging in games or going to the theatre.29 The
same holds true in the case of Symeon the New Theologian:

if he saw the other children doing something childish and

inappropriate, he would draw back, as though he were already an old
man in terms of his good sense, and turn his mind wholly to his
lessons, distancing himself from those who were acting foolishly.30

As scholars have pointed out, playing, laughing, running, and wandering

around were features attributed to ordinary children only. Obviously, the
saints-to-be would not participate in these childish pastimes, since maturity
was a prerequisite for holiness.31 That is the reason why religious authors
hardly mention holy children at play. We have the example of Athanasios of
Athos who, while still a child, used to play with his mates a religious game
in which he performed the role of an abbot. Unlike other children who were
usually playing the roles of generals, emperors, or bridegrooms, Athanasios
imitated the role of a monastic superior to whom his playmates, probably
playing the roles of monks, would submit.32 In such games, where children
imitated adults’ social roles, they would learn not only how to interact with
their playmates to attain and secure their social position among their peers,
but also the responsibilities they would have to cope with in their future
life. Precisely on these occasions, children could exercise their agency since
they could choose the characters they wanted to embody and had the chance
to invent and adapt the plot and the scenes as they saw fit. As Toner pointed
out, play offered children lessons in emotion management.33 Especially in
group-games, competition could also bring into the open emotions of all
kinds, as it offered a space in which children could cooperate, scheme,
bluff, cheat, work through disappointment, exhilaration, friendship, and
enmity.
It is no surprise to find in the hagiographical literature this kind of
anecdote about religious role-playing. As Béatrice Caseau has noted, the
clerics and monks were familiar figures in Byzantium.34 Children were very
often in contact with them, either when they attended the church offices or
when they visited holy shrines in search of a divine intervention. In these
games, children re-enacted the situations they observed in everyday life.
Apart from the religious character of Athanasios’s game, it is also
interesting to note the types of roles performed by ordinary children. They
explore the social world by acknowledging and interpreting different
figures who may be even more familiar to common children, such as
bridegrooms and soldiers.
The hagiographical literature is almost silent with respect to saintly girls’
playful activities. Apart from the vita of Thomaïs of Lesbos, about whom
the author says that at a tender age she was interested in childish playthings,
no other hagiographical source under consideration mentions girls’
amusements.35 Not even Psellos, who devoted a considerable number of
pages to a description of Styliane’s qualities, says much. He only mentions
that his daughter made friends with girls of her age and that she played with
her maidservants.36
However, we must not forget that then as now, dolls were among the
most popular toys the little girls played with. In the process of socialization,
Byzantine girls were socialized and taught the gender roles they were
expected to perform later in life. A girl’s doll did not look like a baby, but
like a nubile young woman.37 It is a matter of discussion whether a doll
functioned primarily as a children’s toy or more as a fertility idol. The
surviving dolls seem to point more to the reproductive functions of women,
but even if they did function as fertility figurines through which girls were
introduced in the world of women as future wives and mothers, they
certainly perceived these dolls as simple objects of amusement and
companions in their everyday life.38
Taken as a whole, the textual and the archaeological evidence about
children’s pastimes shows that the Byzantines appreciated childhood as a
time of play, a time when children began to experience the world, learn
social skills, and configure their identity. The types of toys used by girls and
boys, respectively, helped them internalize their gender identity and the
future roles they would have to play. Play served also as a basis for the
creation of children’s social relations. By interacting with their playmates,
children developed social skills and new ways of communication. They
were learning to integrate themselves into the group by adapting their
behaviour in accordance with the rules of the games. These ideas are
reflected in the hagiographical literature, too, which contrasted holy
children’s behaviour with that of the ordinary ones. The ever-present
condemnation of games in the Byzantine religious writings reflects the
tension between the norms and praxis, the ‘ought’ and how it really was.
The disapproval of children’s pastimes functions as a vehicle through which
the religious authors wanted to emphasize how different their heroes were
from other children. As we shall see in the next section, such a strategy was
also followed in their description of the education of holy children.

Education
Education represents one of the most important aspects in the process of
socialization. In its broader sense, education encompasses all the norms,
skills, knowledge, attitudes, and values an individual acquires throughout
life. In the Byzantine context, the ethical and moral formation children
received in the family was a very important part of the educational process,
alongside formal instruction received at school. For this reason, this section
will first take up children’s moral formation. My aim is to see how moral
upbringing is envisioned in the Byzantine religious and secular sources. I
am interested here in looking at the behavioural norms a child needed to
learn in the family, and the educational methods used by Byzantine parents
in disciplining their children. I shall then investigate the education of girls
and boys with a focus on the stages of formal instruction available in
Byzantium.

Moral formation
The transmission of the ethical, cultural, and social norms from one
generation to the next was a continuous process. The hagiographies reflect
the conventional view about childhood as a time of acquiring knowledge
and learning acceptable behavioural norms. Children learnt how to
accommodate themselves to the expectations of society and how to fulfil
their future social roles. In this process, they were expected to learn the
moral values and familial habits from their parents or relatives. The ideal
image conveyed in the hagiographies is that of a family involved in the
religious education of its children. We learn from the tenth-century vita of
Nicholas of Stoudios that the saint’s parents paid great attention to the
spiritual formation of their son, by instructing him in piety.39 Evaristos’s
parents raised him in virtue, piety, and faith.40 Another such example is that
of Theodora the Empress, who was brought up in piety and the admonition
of the Lord.41 Similarly, the parents of Thomaïs of Lesbos raised her with
discipline, understanding, and frequent admonition.42
Although these sources stress the importance of the moral education that
children received within the family, none of them actually give further
details about the matter. We find, however, some clues about child-rearing
practices of the Middle Byzantine period in the funeral orations we have
already mentioned throughout this book. In the encomium for his mother
Theoktiste, Theodore of Stoudios narrates how she educated her children
“with counsels and exhortations, now striking them with the rod of reason,
conducting them and bringing them to increase in divine things.” He
praised his mother for the way in which she instructed his sister:

she never brought her into the site of males, nor gave her the examples
of feminine tresses or bracelets or purple garments, but brought her up
in piety and instructed her in Sacred Scripture, teaching her to receive
the poor and requiring that she treat their leprous sores with her own
hands.43
The same attitude concerning girls’ moral instruction can be seen in the
funeral oration written by Psellos for his daughter. Here we find another
description of the parental practices of aristocratic girls. Styliane’s mother
considered how her daughter needed to be exposed to decency and made
sure that the girl would, by gradual influences, be led in her progress from
infancy to a more steady and decorous character.44 Obviously, parents were
aware of their influence in shaping children’s moral behaviour. Both
Theodore’s and Styliane’s mothers appear in the texts as role models for
their children. Moreover, as these examples show, modesty, decency, piety,
and charity were considered to be the most important moral principles a girl
had to learn.
In learning to lead a God-pleasing life, children followed the examples
of their pious parents. The intergenerational transmission of cultural values
is very well exemplified in the tenth-century vita of Loukas of Steiris.
Distressed by Loukas’ running away from home, his mother expresses her
worries and doubts about how well she raised her child:

Why is the child so far from us? Surely I did not keep him from
attention and devotion to You [i.e. God]? Surely I did not compel him
to pay less attention to Your service than to our needs. Surely I did not
teach him to value the material over the immaterial or the transitory
over things that endure? What is the reason for this? I was well taught
by my parents to be the mother not only of flesh but also of the soul,
and I hoped that my child would show greater respect for the soul.45

There is here an evident emphasis on the religious education that parents

ought to provide for their children. The spiritual dimension of children’s
upbringing prevails over mundane matters. Loukas’ mother, who was
taught by her parents to pay attention both to the material and the spiritual
needs of her offspring, has in turn transmitted her knowledge to her own
child, with the aim of ensuring in this way the continuation of family
customs and principles.
Moral values were modelled on and reinforced by parents’ actions,
which became an example for their children. Again, the encomium of
Theodore of Stoudios for his mother provides a glimpse into how children
learnt the religious behavioural pattern within the family:
 After she had put the children to bed she would never herself go to bed
before making the sign of the cross over their limbs as she went out;
and again when she rose she most often roused and woke us and
exhorted us to prayer, so that not only she, but also we children learned
to worship God.46

Moral formation was also implemented through the biblical stories children
would hear from their parents. In the fourth century, John Chrysostom
advised parents to use edifying stories of biblical children as educational
means. Stories of Cain and Abel or of Jacob and Esau would provide, in his
opinion, models of how children should behave in relation to their parents
and relatives.47 Six hundred years later, we find that Chrysostom’s
teachings were still being applied in the educational programmes of
Byzantine children. Psellos narrates how his mother used to tell him before
bedtime various stories about Isaac, Jacob, or Jesus, as examples of children
who obeyed their parents.48
The main goal of such methods was in fact to educate children to
become good Christians, hence the strongly religious character of the child-
rearing practices.49 Scholars have rightly observed that in hagiographical
sources, children’s obedience towards parents is manifested especially when
it comes to parental decisions on marriage or a future career.50 I shall
explore this topic in Chapter 6.
Once they grew up, children had to learn to comply with the rules set up
within the family, and were expected to internalize them by submitting to
parental authority. When the expected behaviour was not followed, some
parents might use corporal punishments along with other educational
methods in disciplining their children. A strict discipline did not always
mean using coercive means like corporal punishments. Chrysostom, for
instance, stresses more the use of rational methods of correcting children’s
behaviour. In his opinion, a child who transgressed a rule should be
punished “now with a stern look, now with incisive, now with reproachable
words; at other times win him with gentleness and promises.” In his view, a
child should not be regularly beaten and accustomed to the blows of the
rod, for

if he feels it constantly, as he is being trained, he will learn to despise

it. And when he has learned to despise it, he has reduced your system
 to nought. Let him rather at all times fear blows but not receive them.

Among the punitive techniques proposed by Chrysostom, the threats of a

future punishment would operate much more effectively in correcting a
child’s misconduct: “let him expect chastisement but not receive it, so that
his fear may not be quenched but may endure.”51 However, if the
wrongdoings were to be punished by whatever methods, there was also the
other side of the coin. When children followed the rules, the parents were to
be kind and reward them: “Even so God rules the world with the fear of
Hell and the promise of His Kingdom. So must we too rule our children.”52
The hagiographies offer us examples of parents who had to use various
disciplinary methods for children who transgressed parental rules.53 For
instance, when physical punishments did not correct their behaviour,
parents had to find other solutions for controlling their offspring. One such
example is that of Loukas of Steiris, who used to give his clothes to the
poor, and many times went back home almost naked, disregarding cold and
shame. This led to rebukes and reproaches from his parents and sometimes
a whipping and beating. The boy, however, remained impassive to these
punishments, since he considered them to be rather rewards and repayments
for good deeds. This meant that his parents were forced to resort to other
educational methods. To prevent him from sharing his clothes, his parents
often left Loukas naked for lengthy periods.54 Although there is an evident
stress on the charitable behaviour displayed by the boy as part of the
biographer’s rhetorical strategy in constructing the holy character of the
saint-to-be, the story also reveals the pattern of child-rearing with a
combination of disciplinary methods varying from persuasive attempts to
change the behaviour to corporal punishments used when necessary.
A quite modern attitude with regard to the educational methods applied
to children is expressed in the eleventh-century Consilia et Narrationes or
Strategikon of Katalon Kekaumenos.55 In this admonitory treatise, the
author also dedicates a section to private life, which contains
recommendations for his sons on how to raise their own children. He
stresses, for instance, how important it is to treat children with respect:
“Your daughters and sons should be respectful towards you: and you in
your turn respect them and do not show indifference towards them, even
though they are children, because they behave as they have learned from
you.”56 Children would learn the value of respect, as Kekaumenos suggests,
by observing the adults, who themselves display a respectful behaviour in
their day-to-day interactions with other people:

And you, respect yourself, for one who does not respect himself, will
not be able to respect the others. Do not be impertinent. Anyone who
behaves insolently without reason will regret it soon thereafter.
Respect the old and the young and you will be, in turn, respected both
by them and by the One who created them.57

Even more liberal in his thinking than Chrysostom, Kekaumenos

recommended that discipline should be taught without using corporal
punishment: “Do not whip your sons and daughters with the stick, but with
reasoning, and they will not be whipped by others.”58 Here, parental
authority is displayed through reasoning. Once this had been transmitted to
the child, he or she would act more efficiently in their relationships with
other people.
Apparently, Kekaumenos was an excellent observer of human behaviour
and a shrewd psychologist. He believed that children would be more
receptive to words and arguments than to corporal punishments. Moreover,
in his opinion, respect was the key factor in building good intergenerational
relationships at all levels, between parents and children, and between old
and young people.
Set side by side, both the secular and the religious sources present us
with the same traits concerning children’s moral training. Ethical and moral
training were regarded as the responsibilities of mothers. The main
emphasis was placed on religious education: here, our sources give
prominence to obedience towards parents. Within the family, parents
represented authority; they had the power to set the rules that must be
followed by children. When a rule was transgressed, parents might also use
corporal punishment alongside other disciplinary methods. Childhood
narratives also illustrate the conflict between parental rules and the ascetic
values promoted by religious authors. As Ariantzi has observed, the parents
of the saints-to-be were not always aware of the holiness of their children,
who behaved in contradiction to the secular values.59 In these cases,
parents’ authority is replaced with that of God, a topos that was frequently
employed by hagiographers in the childhood narratives. Disobedience
towards parents meant the rejection of family ties, which was considered to
be a sign of holiness.

Formal education
Alongside moral formation, one of the biographical elements employed by
the hagiographers in describing the childhood of their heroes is formal
education. Byzantine society followed the Hellenistic structure of
education, which comprised three stages of instruction. The first stage,
called προπαιδεία (basic education), consisted in learning to read, write, and
spell. The next level of education was the ἐγκύκλιος παιδεία (general
education), which was based on the study of the liberal arts, including
subjects of the trivium (grammar, rhetoric, and philosophy), followed by the
subjects from the quadrivium (arithmetic, geometry, music, and
astronomy).60 Higher education was associated since the mid-ninth century
with the Magnaura University organized by Cesar Bardas. It seems,
however, that the university did not last long. The institution was
reorganized one century later by the emperor Constantine Porphyrogenitus
(913–59), but it disappeared from the historical record soon after his death.
In the eleventh century, a new attempt to organize higher education was
made under the emperor Constantine IX Monomachos (1042–55), when a
Patriarchal School and a School of Philosophy were set up in the capital of
the empire.61 In this chapter, however, my focus will be only on the primary
and secondary levels of instruction, since higher education was acquired in
youth.
In examining education as an arena of socialization, I focus on three
main elements that influenced the process of children’s enculturation: age,
gender, and social status. As age represents a transitional marker in an
individual’s life course, I will consider first the age at which Byzantine
children started their formal instruction. I am interested here in looking at
how age is employed in hagiographical accounts in relation to children’s
levels of education.
Gender is one of the key elements that influenced the process of
socialization of children, with consequences for education. One can discern
from the sources the prevailing attitudes to girls’ and boys’ education.
Gender plays an important role in societal expectations about career
opportunities. In this context, my aim is to analyse the sources with an eye
to Byzantine depictions of the education of girls in comparison with the
education of boys. The main question I pose is how the Byzantine writers
articulated the differences between girls and boys in matters concerning
formal instruction.
Social status is also relevant when analysing children’s educational
opportunities. In this respect, my examination will focus on the similarities
and differences in children’s preparation for a future career. How important
a factor was social status while choosing a career, for which a good level of
literacy was a prerequisite? In the context of secondary education, how is
secular learning conceptualized and approached by the saints’ biographers?
And finally, how does social status operate alongside age and gender in the
rhetorical construction of the saints’ childhood?
My analysis follows the chronological sequence of formal instruction.
First, I examine the elementary stage of education, which could be acquired
both at home and school, and thereafter I look at what the sources tell us
about the secondary stage of instruction.

Elementary education
Formal education was often designated by the terms τα γράμματα or τα
ἱερὰ γράμματα (the sacred letters), which signified learning to read, write,
and spell based on biblical texts, usually the psalms, but also on the Church
Fathers’ writings or the saints’ lives.62 The beginning of the first stage of
instruction could vary between the ages of five and eight. Theodore of
Edessa and Michael Psellos started their primary education at the age of
five, whereas Gregory of Decapolis, for instance, was sent to school when
he turned eight.63 However, the majority of the examples in the
hagiographies mention the age of seven as the starting point for literary
instruction, which could be acquired either at home, under the guidance of
the parents or of a private tutor, or in churches and monasteries. A poem,
possibly a Christian child’s prayer, included in the Greek Anthology
mentions the age of seven as marking the transition from one childhood
period to another, from a time when play was the main activity in a child’s
life to the time when schooling began: “Today, dear God, I am seven years
old, and must play no more. Here is my top, my hoop and my ball: keep
them all, my Lord”.64
 The first level of learning was pursued by both girls and boys, with the
difference that girls were instructed only at home, whereas boys could be
trained either at home or in the elementary schools. Girls also had an
opportunity to receive an elementary education in nunneries, but this
situation applied only to orphans who were entrusted to female monastic
communities.65 Some monasteries, like Bebaia Elpis, provided some formal
instruction in the letters to girls who would later take the veil.66
Information about the stages of learning to read and write is provided in
Michael Psellos’ encomium for his daughter Styliane. We are told here that
the girl, who already spoke with great facility, articulating the words clearly
and without impediment, began the first stage of training at the age of six.
After learning the letters of the alphabet, Styliane proceeded with the
conjunction of syllables and the compositions of words. She practised the
skill of reading on biblical texts, as was customary. The psalms of David
were the ABCs of the girl. She learned the psalms by heart and soon she
was able to recite them perfectly.67 Obviously, the beginning of the first
stage of instruction depended much on children’s ability to talk and
communicate clearly. Only thereafter could they begin to learn the alphabet,
its characters and sounds, and syllables and words. Having learnt all this,
children proceeded to the memorization of religious texts, one of the most
important features in the learning process.
However, learning to read and write was not an easy task. The
Byzantines often resorted to prayers to ease the process of learning. The
Euchologion, the book of prayers, used by the Byzantine clergy, contained
rituals concerning children who are in the process of learning the sacred
letters.68 The prayers, invoking the names of several biblical figures, were
to be chanted over the head of the child to open his heart and enlighten his
mind. One such prayer invoked the names of John Chrysostom, Basil the
Great, and Gregory Nazianzen to enlighten the spirit and the heart of the
children so that they would learn the letters of the alphabet.69 Baun has
rightly pointed out that it is unclear whether these prayers were used only
for children who were educated in the ecclesiastical and monastic context,
or whether this was a ritual available for every child who began the first
stage of instruction.70 Whether this ritual was used more widely or not, it
shows the difficulties a child could face in the process of learning the
letters.
 For some children, it was indeed a great struggle to learn the psalms by
heart. Theodore of Edessa began his instruction at the age of five when his
parents handed him over to a teacher to learn the sacred letters. After two
years of study, Theodore was still unable to learn the letters, for which
reason he had to endure all kinds of rebukes from his classmates, teacher
and parents.71 According to Psellos, learning the rudiments was “an uphill
struggle that they do not undertake willingly”, for some children “had to be
dragged to learning through fear, small threats, and the switch.”72
Guglielmo Cavallo has argued that in the first stage of schooling,
children learned only upper case letters. As many children stopped their
training after this stage, they were only able to read epitaphs or inscriptions
on the icons, which were written in capital letters.73 Apparently, the
minuscule started to replace the majuscule before the end of the eighth
century in the Stoudios scriptorium.74 Reading texts written in lower case
was certainly a difficult task for people who had received only a basic
education.
Children’s home instruction in the basics depended very much on their
parents’ level of literacy, as well as on the economic situation of the family,
which could assure the payment of a private tutor. As an example, we have
Theoktiste, the mother of Theodore of Stoudios, who decided to teach
herself reading the Psalter to be able to provide her children with
elementary education. Her case is particularly interesting also because it
highlights the differences between siblings of different genders who did not
have the same educational opportunities. We learn from the funeral oration
of Theodore of Stoudios for his uncle Plato of Sakkoudion that Theoktiste
was born to a family of Constantinopolitan functionaries. She, her brother
Plato, and her sister Anna lost their parents in the plague of 749, and
consequently, they were taken over by an uncle who assumed responsibility
for their upbringing.75 However, while Plato received an instruction in law,
we know from the text that Theoktiste remained illiterate until adulthood.76
As Kalogeras has observed, the fact that Theodore evokes his mother’s
orphaned state as the reason for her lack of literacy leads us to believe that
under normal circumstances, girls belonging to upper-class families were
expected to acquire a certain level of education.77
Hagiographical accounts offer other examples of girls from well-off
families who received elementary instruction. We learn from the ninth-
century vita of Athanasia of Aegina that she was of noble origin. Her
education began at the age of seven when she learned the Psalter in a short
time and studied the Holy Scriptures. We are not told whether she was
educated at home by her parents or had a tutor to instruct her. She followed
the same standard of instruction, meaning that she learned to read and write
on the basis of religious texts.78 Another female saint born in the island of
Aegina was Theodora of Thessalonike. According to her vita (ninth
century), she belonged to a family well regarded in the community as
virtuous and religious folk. Her father Antony was a member of the clergy,
holding the rank of protopresbyteros.79 As her mother died when Theodora
was an infant, her father entrusted her to the care of the godmother, under
whose supervision Theodora started at the age of seven to learn the sacred
letters and part of the psalms.80
Just like Theodora, Theophano, the first wife of Leo VI (886–912), lost
her mother in infancy. We learn from her tenth-century vita that she began
her primary education when she was six years old. Her father, the patrikios
Constantine Martinakios, handed her over to a teacher to learn the psalms.
Soon she knew the Psalter and hymns by heart, and she devoted herself to
reading and prayers.81
Some other biographical stories of pious women do not indicate much
with respect to their elementary education. The biographers insisted on the
moral virtues of their heroines but omitted details about the educational
instruction received in childhood, as with Mary the Younger, Thomais of
Lesbos, and Irene of Chrysobalanton. However, some indications of female
saints’ literacy can be found in various episodes that describe their adult
lives. According to the vita of Mary the Younger, the saint, who lived with
her husband in the town of Vizye, spent her time praying at home and
reading the Book of Psalms, which she understood perfectly.82 We are not
told whether she acquired the skill of reading in childhood or later, but it is
worth noting here the stress the anonymous biographer put on her ability to
understand the Book of Psalms, which was basically the textbook used in
the primary level of schooling.
According to the tenth-century vita of Irene Chrysobalanton, the abbess
knew how to read, although the biographer says nothing about her
education during childhood. Irene belonged to a wealthy Cappadocian
family and she probably received an elementary education, since the author
asserts that in the monastery where Irene took the vows, she devoted herself
to the Divine Scriptures and was fascinated by the Lives of the Fathers. She
is mentioned as reading the Life of St. Arsenius the Great and learning his
ascetic exercises, which she pursued for three years.83
By and large, girls stopped their training after the first stage of
education. With a few exceptions, neither the noble girls nor those of a
lower social level continued to study, since the central societal expectation
in their case was that they should become first of all good wives. There was
no need for them to continue the instruction, since they had no career
opportunities ahead. The case of Anna Komnena as a woman whose
erudition was comparable to a learned man is exceptional. Among the
imperial female figures, Anna Komnena and Eudokia Makrembolitissa
(1021–96), the second wife of Constantine X Doukas, were known for their
erudition, virtues, and conversational skills. Nikephoros Gregoras, a
Byzantine historian of the fourteenth century, called Eudokia “the second
Hypatia” when referring to her knowledge.84 Of course, the Byzantine
princesses constitute particular cases in the history of girls’ education.
Judith Herrin has analysed the matter of their education and concluded that
they had to conform to the imperial expectations of being prepared to
perform, when necessary, certain diplomatic activities, for which a higher
level of training not only in court ceremonial but also in the Greek language
was required.85
In general, the hagiographers stress the importance of the religious
education of girls, in which the psalms and the Holy Scripture were the
main educational material. All the girls mentioned here were educated at
home by their parents or relatives, or they had private tutors in charge of
their instruction. Many of them were born to upper-class families that most
likely appreciated the value of learning, with parents who were literate or
possessed sufficient financial means for hiring a private teacher. The
secondary stage of instruction remained, with very few exceptions, a feature
of boys’ education. I shall now analyse this issue.
Unlike girls who learned the rudiments only at home, boys had the
opportunity to attend schools run by the local churches or to be educated in
the monasteries. However, some children from lowly social backgrounds
might not have the chance to acquire even a basic education in childhood,
as in the case of Ioannikios, who had humble origins. According to his two
early ninth-century vitae, the saint received no formal instruction during
childhood. The version written by Peter mentions only that “after he was
piously weaned and passed beyond childhood to adolescence and came to
the age of manhood”, he joined the army.86 The version of Sabas criticizes
the saint’s parents, who did not instruct him in letters and in religious
learning, since they were concerned only with his physical upbringing.
When he turned seven, they assigned him the task of minding the pigs,
instead of sending him to school.87 It was only after Ioannikios entered the
monastery of Antidion on Mount Olympus that he learned the sacred
letters.88
A similar situation is described in the tenth-century vita of Loukas of
Steiris. Born to a peasant family, Loukas received no formal education
during childhood; he had to mind the sheep and to till the field.89 It was
only later, in adulthood, when he moved to Corinth with his entire family,
that he decided to enrol in a local school to learn to read the Holy
Scriptures. However, due to his schoolmates’ misbehaviour and unruly
demeanours, Loukas left the school.90
Yet, some children born to peasant families managed to pursue the first
stage of instruction, as in the case of the three brothers of Lesbos. The
oldest, David, was seven years old when he was entrusted to a teacher to
learn the sacred letters. Two years later, he already knew by heart the
psalms of David.91 Symeon and George, his younger siblings, received
instead a monastic education. When Symeon was eight, his mother
entrusted him to David, who at that time was a monk, to be trained in his
monastery. Symeon learned from David the Holy Psalter and the monastic
rules and after fourteen years as a novice, he was tonsured and took the
monastic vows.92 George, on the other hand, is described in the vita as
being illiterate (ἀγράμματος), although Dorothy Abrahamse has argued that
it is possible that the construction ἀγροῖκος καὶ ἀγράμματος can be also
interpreted as lacking secondary education in grammar and Greek language,
and not necessarily as illiteracy.93
Nicholas of Stoudios received a basic instruction in his village. Born to a
peasant family, like the three brothers from Lesbos, Nicholas was sent to
the local church to learn the letters and the rules of piety. When he turned
ten, he was sent to the school of the monastery of Stoudios, where he
continued his education. There he mastered reading and writing and studied
grammar.94 We also have the case of Stephen the Younger, who had modest
origins. Born in Constantinople to a self-sufficient family, he was sent at the
age of six to a teacher to learn τα ἱερὰ γράμματα, but it seems that his
training stopped after the first stage.95 Paul the Younger of Latros and his
elder brother Basil, born in the village of Elaia, were sent for instruction to
the monastery of Saint Stephen, where Ioannikios, the maternal uncle of the
boys, was a monk.96
All the cases mentioned above are of children born to peasant families.
In spite of their humble social background, these saints, with the exception
of Ioannikios the monk and Loukas of Steiris, managed to obtain at least
basic instruction during childhood. In this context, it seems that basic
literacy was not that rare and that even children from a low social
background could receive a basic knowledge in reading and writing.
However, we cannot draw a definitive conclusion about the prevalence of
basic literacy in the Middle Byzantine period if we consider only the
hagiographical accounts, which describe in general the cases of literate holy
children.
In any case, it must be noted that peasant families were of different
status and conditions. Whereas some such families lived in self-sufficiency,
which meant that they could nourish themselves from their work, others
were dependent on their landlords and lived at the subsistence level.97 It is
uncertain from the sources whether the parents paid the elementary school
teachers for educating their children, as was the case with the γραμματικοί,
the teachers of the secondary education.98 However, even if peasant
children did not have to pay a fee for the first stage of instruction, they were
nevertheless expected to help their family by working, as in the cases of
Ioannikios and Loukas of Steiris.
How widespread functional literacy was in Byzantium still remains a
debated topic among scholars. Robert Browning has suggested that the
ability to read and write might have been a more widespread phenomenon
than has been previously supposed.99 The same attitude to Byzantine
children’s education was adopted by Judith Herrin.100 In contrast with this
optimistic view, Kalogeras has argued instead that education of children in
Byzantium was not as widespread, since the sources used by most
Byzantinists in drawing such conclusions were those that describe
exceptional intellectuals of the tenth and eleventh centuries.101 It is not my
concern here to draw any conclusions on this matter, but it is worth noting
that the hagiographical accounts depict primary education as an important
element in the rhetorical construction of saints’ childhood.

Secondary education
The majority of the hagiographical sources of male saints present their
heroes as following not only the first stage of instruction, the προπαιδεία,
but also the ἐγκύκλιος παιδεία (general education), when children were
under the supervision of a γραμματικός. The teacher was in charge of
training the students in various fields, starting with grammar and continuing
with rhetoric and dialectic, as the branch of literary studies. Some students
also studied the mathematical quartet, which comprised arithmetic,
geometry, music, and astronomy.102
Children who were financially and intellectually able to pursue the
second stage of schooling began to study grammar, followed by rhetoric
and philosophy as subjects of the trivium, and arithmetic, music, geometry,
and astronomy from the quadrivium. We know from the ninth-century vita
of Theodore of Stoudios that as he grew older, he learned grammar,
philosophy, and rhetoric.103 After a preliminary training in letters, Michael
the Synkellos (whose vita was written in the ninth century) was sent by the
order of the patriarch, who had previously appointed him as a reader, to
learn grammar, rhetoric, and philosophy, as well as poetry and
astronomy.104
Another saintly child who pursued secondary education was Constantine
the Philosopher (ninth century). Born in Thessaloniki to a noble and
wealthy family, Constantine started his elementary education at the age of
seven. After having learned to read and write, the boy devoted himself to
the study of the writings of Gregory Nazianzen, which he learned by heart.
However, not being able to fully grasp the meaning of Gregory’s homilies,
he searched in his hometown for someone who might teach him “the lore of
grammar”.105 It seems that the only man who was well versed in grammar
was a foreigner who, however, refused to teach the boy. Soon thereafter, the
imperial logothete sent for Constantine to study with the emperor Michael
III. In Constantinople, the boy was handed over to a tutor and in three
months, he mastered the whole grammar. According to his vita, he studied
Homer, and geometry, dialectic, and philosophy (with Leo the
Mathematician and the patriarch Photius), as well as rhetoric, arithmetic,
astronomy, music, and “all other Hellenic arts”.106
We should note here that in the ninth century, Constantine found no
secondary school in Thessalonike with secular subjects as part of the
curriculum. However, in the iconoclastic period, secondary education was
available not only in the capital of the empire, where Theodore of Stoudios
and Constantine were educated, but also in the provinces. Michael the
Synkellos followed the secondary stage of schooling in Jerusalem, his
hometown. The subjects he studied formed the curriculum of secular
learning, which was a prerequisite for those who wanted to have a
successful career.
From the vita of George of Amastris, written by Ignatius the Deacon
most probably before the restoration of the icons, we learn about the
customary pattern of secular learning in the period of iconoclasm. George
was born in the town of Kromna, near Amastris, to noble and well-to-do
parents. When he reached the appropriate age for learning, his mother
entrusted him to a teacher. As the biographer asserts, George learned the
entire curriculum “both ours and theirs, taking all of ours to heart and
choosing what was advantageous from theirs”.107 It is easy to grasp what
“ours and theirs” means with reference to education. The distinction
between religious instruction and classical learning reflects the tendency
during the Middle Byzantine period to appreciate the classical culture as a
means of acquiring a good education.108 George of Amastris received both
religious and classical education, and the author of his vita outlines here the
need for the latter in the formation of the future bishop.
Ignatius the Deacon certainly appreciated the importance of the secular
education his heroes pursued in their lives. He is also the author of the
ninth-century vita of the patriarch Nikephoros I who, after being first
instructed in the Holy Scripture, acquired familiarity with secular education.
He learned grammar, rhetoric, and sophistry, and continued with the
mathematical quartet (arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy). After
he mastered these, he went on to study philosophy.109 The long description
of Nikephoros’ education in his vita reflects not only the author’s
appreciation of classical education, but also his own erudition.110
The study of grammar took approximately two years, until the age of
fourteen or fifteen. In the Middle Byzantine period, children learned
grammar orally. The γραμματικός dictated to his students passages taken
from grammar books. Students were expected to learn them by heart, and
were subsequently tested on the subject matters of their lessons.111 Rhetoric
played an important role in secondary education. At this level, the young
students would learn to improve their speech and writing by composing
short texts on various themes chosen by the teacher. Usually, the teacher
used as a textbook a προγυμνάσματα, a collection of speaking and writing
exercises illustrating different genres of composition. The texts were read
by the teacher, who would explain the definition of the genre when
necessary, and dictate thereafter to the students.112 The rest of the subjects
belonging to the quadrivium were learned later, when students were already
young men.
According to the evidence provided by the anonymous teacher’s
correspondence in the tenth century, a secondary school in Constantinople
could accept students of every age, from children to young men. Moreover,
the school had only a single teacher in charge of the students’ training.
Since it was difficult to assure the training of all students, the teacher was
helped by some more advanced students of the same institution who
assumed the task of instructing the younger children, while the teacher had
the responsibility of training at a higher level: “I have pupils who pursue
advanced studies, and I have entrusted to them the supervision of less
advanced, while maintaining the necessary control over their work.”113 In
another letter addressed to a certain Nikephoros kouboukleisios and
imperial cleric, the anonymous teacher reveals the curriculum of his school.
Speaking about Nikephoros’ nephew, who was one of his students, the
teacher praised the child’s progress in grammar, which he recited almost
perfectly:

Your nephew is pursuing the appropriate course of studies. Twice a

week his knowledge of what he is interrogated on is tested in my
presence. He can repeat the text of grammar by heart almost without
error. In the Epimerism, he has completed the third Psalm. He can
conjugate the third baritone conjugation, which he is learning by being
questioned, and is taught to remember it by passing on his knowledge
to others.114
The information we have from the correspondence of the anonymous
teacher about the secondary schools’ organization is confirmed by the vita
of Athanasios of Athos (eleventh century). We know that his adoptive
mother entrusted him to a γραμματιστής to learn the sacred letters.115
Athanasios received the first stage of instruction in his hometown,
Trebizond. After he left behind the age of childhood, his adoptive mother
died, leaving the boy without the necessary financial resources to pursue
further education. However, as the vita informs us, the mother’s wish was to
send him to the capital, where he would have the opportunity to continue
the secondary level of schooling. Whether there was no secondary school in
Trebizond, as Lemerle has argued, or simply because he had better chances
of finding a good teacher in the capital for this level, the important point is
that Athanasios succeeded in getting to Constantinople with the help of an
imperial collector who noted his intelligence and who entrusted him to a
teacher for him to learn philosophy.116 After some years of secular studies,
his companions, teachers, and students chose the young Athanasios as an
assistant teacher of philosophy. It is important to highlight that Athanasios
was able to continue secondary schooling thanks to his family connections
in the capital.
A good family position in Byzantine society assured a respectable future
for their offspring. Symeon the New Theologian was sent to Constantinople
for instruction. There he was entrusted to his grandparents who were at the
time well known at the imperial court. According to Niketas Stethatos, his
disciple and biographer, Symeon was entrusted to a schoolteacher who
taught him to read and write. When he reached a more advanced age, he
mastered shorthand in a very short time and learned calligraphy. In the case
of secular learning, however, the biographer was quick to point out that his
hero only touched on some of its contents:

He never hellenized his speech by assimilating secular learning,

however, nor mastered rhetoric. Rather, since Symeon was very
intelligent from his boyhood, he fled this “learning” and its defilement,
and, even if he did not totally avoid it, only brushed with his fingertips
what was beneficial in it. Thus, when he had completed what is known
as primary education, he avoided what remained, or rather the entirety
of secular education, and fled the harmful influence of his
schoolfellows.117
Obviously, this attitude is not unique in Byzantine hagiography. Some
religious biographers were prone to extol religious education at the expense
of secular learning, which, however, was not entirely dismissed as useless
and dangerous. As in the case of Symeon the New Theologian, individuals
like George of Amastris and Theodore of Stoudios two centuries earlier did
receive classical education, but they retained only what was useful from it.
In general, the biographers’ discourse with respect to classical education
maintained a balance between the rejection of secular subjects and the
appreciation of classical learning.118
Secular subjects were not taught only in ecclesiastical schools, but also
in monasteries. After the eighth century, monasteries started to function as
intellectual centres in which secular subjects were taught along with the
Psalter and the Scriptures.119 Peter of Argos, who was the youngest child of
a wealthy Constantinopolitan family, was instructed in the capital of the
empire where he pursued both elementary and secondary education. He had
three brothers, Paul, Dionysius, and Platon, and a sister, all of whom
embraced the monastic life. The parents provided for their children moral
education, by means of constant admonitions and exhortations from the
Scriptures.120 Peter continued with his secular education, although the
author does not state clearly the time when Peter completed each stage of
instruction.121 It seems plausible that Peter followed the second stage of
instruction in the monastery. Peter was well trained, like his elder brother
Paul, who was ordained bishop of Corinth after the position had been first
offered to Peter, who eventually accepted the episcopal see of Argos.122
Similarly, Antony the Confessor, after having learned the sacred letters
in childhood, took the monastic habit. He was trained not only in Christian
wisdom, but also in secular culture, which was necessary for anyone who
would need to explain the Christian doctrine. In this way, classical
education acted as a vehicle through which religious men could incorporate
pagan culture into their religious education:

(he) was also thoroughly educated in secular and general knowledge

(since one needs this in order to explain the meditations of the mind),
even though his desire for our <Christian> knowledge was greater.
Wherefore it so happened that he assiduously studied every old and
new book, as no one else. And thereby he enriched his powers of
spiritual contemplation, and enriched the brilliance of his life, and
 attained extraordinary fame. Thereby the Wisdom of God the Father
and the Word, Christ our God, granted <him> a towering knowledge of
doctrines, and he shone with radiance like a light in a dark place.123

The encomium of the Patriarch Antony Kauleas tells us that he received

both religious and secular education. He started to learn the letters when he
was only five years old.124 However, he learnt the Psalter from his father,
who did not let the boy attend the school, so as to avoid the company of his
peers. When Anthony turned twelve, he entered a monastery, where he
pursued secondary education. In charge of his training in monastery was the
ἡγούμενος (hegoumenos) himself, from whom the boy learned only the
useful elements from the secular subjects.125
The family’s investment in children’s education was a widespread
practice in Byzantine society. As we have seen, those who had financial
resources sent their children to pursue further education. There were also
cases in which relatives played a significant role in children’s upbringing,
by taking over the responsibility of educating them. Such a case was that of
Lazaros of Galesion. At the age of six, when he could speak fluently;
Lazarus was entrusted by his parents to the monk Leontios, at the request of
his uncle Elias, who was a monk in the monastery of Kalathai. The boy’s
uncle persuaded the parents to let the child acquire a proper instruction in
the sacred letters. When Lazaros was nine years old, after he completed
elementary education, he was sent to a notarios to learn the métier of notary
for three years. After this, the same uncle took the boy to his monastery to
teach him church matters and to have him as attendant. Elias continued
thereafter to be involved in Lazaros’ life. When he was fourteen years of
age, the boy was sent by his uncle to the monastery of Strobelion, to a
notary called Nicholas, for further education in the professional skill of
notaries.126
Lazaros acquired good training, thanks to his uncle’s involvement in his
upbringing. The evolution of his instruction indicates that secondary
education was available not only for the elite class. However, in such
circumstances one surely needed financial support and support from a
network of relatives with a better position in society. Usually, children
coming from families of a lower social background received only
elementary education, while those belonging to noble and rich families
were more fortunate in terms of opportunities in life.
 In the sources analysed so far, education has a central position in the
construction of the narratives on childhood. With some exceptions, the
saints-to-be received at least basic instruction in the holy letters, which
means that formal education had a strong religious character at least for the
first level of schooling. Unlike girls, who stopped their education after
having learned to read and write, boys had the chance to pursue higher
education. In this respect, the socialization of children through education
differs considerably according to the societal expectations regarding girls
and boys. The acquisition of the necessary knowledge depended on gender.
A girl was expected to learn only what was useful for her to perform the
future roles of a wife and mother, whereas boys’ education was centred on
the idea of learning the necessary skills required in various careers. As
Angelov has observed, the education of patriarchs like Nikephoros or
Antony Kauleas, who received a secular training, was in accordance with
the future duties of the patriarchal office. Mastering grammar, rhetoric, and
logic was a prerequisite for such a career.127 The same was true with those
who were trained to become notaries, like Lazaros of Galesion, or who
were expected to act in other official positions.128 Education was also a
means to ascend the social ladder for those boys who did not belong to elite
circles, but in this case, one would need to have relatives who were better
positioned in society.

Work
Work constituted an important part of children’s training, thus it was an
important means for their socialization in accordance with gender and
social status. Textual evidence reveals that children were also an integral
part of the household’s economic strategies. Parents were perfectly aware
that their offspring had to learn the skills they would need in adulthood;
hence, they gradually integrated the children into various domestic
activities.
Byzantine girls were encouraged to develop certain domestic skills in
preparation for marriage. Besides learning to read and write, they mastered
other skills useful for future household duties, such as spinning and
weaving, a common female activity. The vita of Athanasia of Aegina
records an episode from her childhood in which she was weaving at the
loom.129 Styliane divided her time between schooling and weaving at the
loom. We are told that her mother introduced her to the art of embroidering
garments. She learned to use the shuttle and to weave fine lines, patterns,
and designs with silken threads.130 The image of a weaving and spinning
girl alludes to the description of the Virgin Mary in the Gospel of Pseudo-
Matthew:

And she occupied herself constantly with her wool-work, so that she in
her tender years could do all that old women were not able to do. And
this was the order that she had set for herself: From the morning to the
third hour she remained in prayer; from the third to the ninth she was
occupied with her weaving; and from the ninth she again applied
herself to prayer. She did not retire from praying until there appeared
to her the angel of the Lord, from whose hand she used to receive
food.131

It is not surprising that holy women or girls like Styliane are portrayed in
this manner. Their image fitted the pattern of ideal Christian women who
spend their time in spinning, weaving, and cloth-making, just like the Virgin
Mary, who was the first female model to be followed by women. In
Byzantine texts, this is a frequent topos applied to female occupation within
the household. For instance, the description of Thomaïs of Lesbos follows
almost the same pattern as that of the Virgin Mary quoted above. We learn
that she spent her free time in churches, or chanting psalms and reading the
divine scriptures. She also “put her whole hand to the spindle”, weaving
coloured cloth and making tunics for the poor.132
These domestic skills were transmitted from generation to generation,
from mothers to daughters, as is clearly evident from the funeral oration for
Styliane. In addition to textile production, girls also had to learn how to run
the household, for their role as future wives was also to supervise the food
supplies, to assist or to be actively involved in preparing the food, cleaning,
and laundering. The vita of Nikon the Metanoeite reports the case of a
mother and daughter who were kneading barley cakes, with the girl
responsible for fetching water.133
Girls of humble origin might work as maidservants in Byzantine
aristocratic houses. The sources used in this study refer to them only
occasionally, as in the case of the slave-girl who worked in the house of
Philaretos the Merciful.134 Some of these girls could be exploited,
especially if they were orphans and had no opportunity to be entrusted to
relatives who would protect their interests, or to be placed in orphanages or
monasteries. The eleventh-century vita of Lazaros of Galesion narrates how
a girl and her two brothers became orphans in their childhood. Villagers
took advantage of their young age and of their inability to look after their
possessions by depriving the children of their assets and driving them out of
their own house. The text reveals that the girl was forced to work from an
early age for a living.135 Timothy Miller’s book gives examples of orphaned
children who were oppressed and neglected by their guardians.136
While mothers were typically involved in the girls’ process of learning
the necessary skills, fathers were in charge of the boys’ integration into the
family business. Naturally, the tasks assigned to boys varied, depending on
the social status of their families. Boys born to rich families are rarely
mentioned in the sources as performing any kind of menial tasks. In
general, they are described only in connection with education, which was
their highest priority. Upper-class parents invested in their offspring’s
education to ensure they were adequately prepared for a good career.137
Nikon the Metanoeite was born into a family that possessed many estates.
The author of his vita describes how young Nikon was sent by his father to
oversee the work of the dependent peasants, a responsibility that may have
been common for the children of provincial landowners.138
In rural families, boys worked as shepherds and assistants in agricultural
labour. In his childhood, David of Lesbos was a shepherd boy. After he
reached the age of nine, he obeyed his parents’ wishes by grazing the sheep
together with other boys of his age.139 The ninth-century vita of Philaretos
the Merciful narrates how the saint gradually lost his possessions. One day
he gave one of his oxen to a poor peasant, but he did not let his wife know.
Instead, he pretended that the ox had run away to the field, and sent his son
out to find the animal.140 Unfortunately, the text does not mention how old
the son of Philaretos was at that time, but the story makes it clear that boys
were expected to assist their fathers in various matters. As already
mentioned, the vita of Ioannikios written by Sabas describes the saint as
working as a swine herder already by the age of seven.141
Similarly, until the death of his father, Loukas of Steiris worked as a
sheep-herder, sometimes helping his father also with farm chores.142 Before
reaching the age of fourteen, Loukas moved from caring for the flock and
the fields to study the Scripture.143 The author of his vita stresses the fact
that these activities were his duty to his parents. This is the only
hagiographical source from our period that describes children’s working the
land. It seems to have been more common for boys to work all day long as
shepherds. A tenth-century beneficial tale by Paul of Monembasia informs
us about the daily routine of the peasant boys in a Palestinian village whose
inhabitants possessed large flocks and herds:

each day at dawn they used to gather the animals together at the gate
of the village and each man would send his son or his boy with his
own beasts. The young people would take the animals and also
provisions for themselves. They would go out and stay in the field
until evening. As the sun was setting, they would bring back the flocks
and herds.144

All these stories describe children who worked in the family business, and
thus were contributors to the family economy. However, there were also
cases of orphaned children who were forced by economic hardship to earn a
living for themselves by working for others. A well-known example is Paul
of Latros who, after having lost his parents, fell on hard times. As a child,
he was forced to work for other villagers, who hired him as a swineherd.145
Fetching water was a task assigned not only to girls but also to boys. The
vita of Ioannikios records a child who was sent by his parents to draw water
and who was attacked by demons.146 A similar story in which boys had this
responsibility is recorded in the vita of Lazaros of Galesion, although in the
text these children worked for a monastery.147
Children could be also involved in artisanal activities. We know that
Gregory of Decapolis was helping his parents in handicrafts. At that time he
was eight years old.148 The eighth-century Syrian saint Elias of Heliopolis
was trained in carpentry from an early age. His eleventh-century vita
mentions that he began his training in carpentry before the age of ten, when
he moved with his mother and two brothers to Damascus, hoping to find a
better life there. In Damascus, he worked for two years in the service of a
carpenter, in exchange for a salary.149 Apart from carpentry, his
apprenticeship also involved other tasks. For instance, one day, the twelve-
year-old Elias was summoned by his master to serve at the table during a
feast.150 Judging from this anecdote, it seems that a hired apprentice was
not only learning the necessary skills for a certain trade, but was also
expected to perform other tasks.151 His case also indicates that entrusting
boys to a professional was a strategy for their families to benefit financially
from children’s labour.
In this formative life stage, children began to be part of the workforce
within the household economy. Sources reveal that both girls and boys were
initiated into different work activities assigned by their parents already from
a tender age. It is very likely that fetching water was a task assigned to
young children, whatever their gender. As children grew up, the complexity
of their tasks increased as well, but their responsibilities started to be
distributed depending on gender. While girls would learn textile skills, boys
would undertake some physical tasks, such as taking care of the animals or
working in the field. Styliane began to learn the art of embroidering at the
age of six. As we have seen, from the age of seven onwards, as in the case
of Ioannikios, boys were involved in pastoral activities. However, children
did not undertake very difficult tasks, or at least, that is what the sources
lead us to believe. Shepherding the flock could be quite enjoyable,
especially because children could play with their peers while watching over
the animals. The previously mentioned beneficial tale of Paul of
Monembasia narrates how the peasant children gathered together at lunch
time and decided to play a game in which they imitated various religious
figures.152
If we are to believe the vita of Gregory of Decapolis, the age of eight
was considered appropriate for a child to step into the world of
craftsmanship. We do not know how difficult it might have been for a child
to be initiated into a trade, and specifically, what tasks a child was expected
to perform as an apprentice. For example, as a young boy, Elias of
Heliopolis worked with medium-sized pieces of wood. Studies on Western
medieval children have emphasized that some children were used for
particular works especially because of their physical characteristics. For
example, children worked as miners in narrow hollowed-out clay tunnels
where an adult could not fit in; for the same reason, other children worked
as cleaners of wells.153 We have no evidence of Byzantine children working
as miners, although mining activities existed in the countryside.154 Because
of their age, and probably their stature, Byzantine boys were considered
more appropriate for farming. The Geoponika (a tenth-century farming
treatise) says that

in terms of age, boys are specially adapted to it: they are bred up to
labour, obedient and keenly responsive to whatever arises. They can
easily bend down to pull out dog’s tooth grass or to remove vine
leaves. They learn about nature from experiment, from their work and
from their elders’ teaching.155

Thus, various chores were performed depending on age and gender. In a

Byzantine family, the household labour was distributed between men,
women, and children. Each had their own responsibility, and in general,
girls and boys respectively performed culturally constructed gender roles
with respect to household tasks.

Conclusions
In this chapter, I have focused on children’s play, education, and work as
some of the main components in their enculturation process. I have shown
how age, gender, and social status operated together in shaping Byzantine
children’s identity by means of these three aspects of socialization. From an
early age, children learnt what was expected of boys and girls respectively,
and how they had to internalize the expectations of society. While age
marked the transition from one stage to another, gender played an important
role in the construction of children’s identity. The sources make clear that
girls and boys were treated differently. Such a differentiation is evident in
all three activities, but is especially prominent when it comes to educational
opportunities and work assignments. In play, the gender factor becomes
evident in the selection of toys given to children and in the games they
played. Although it is difficult to determine whether the Byzantines made a
gender differentiation in the toys of infants and toddlers, such as rattles and
whistles, it is nonetheless clear that the dolls preserved in the archaeological
records were toys to be used by girls. Play in a same-sex peer group seems
to have been prevalent in Byzantium.156 As we have seen, the
hagiographers mentioned only occasionally children’s games, and when
they did, they referred more often to boys’ amusements. When it comes to
girls’ games, the gender division is recorded in Psellos’ encomium for his
daughter, when he mentioned her as playing with girls of the same age and
in the vita of Cyril the Phileote. Play also constituted a unique occasion in
which children could exercise their agentic capacity, as it offered them the
opportunity to imagine the world as they desired.
With respect to education and work, the distinction between girls and
boys is much more emphasized in hagiographies. In these two aspects of
socialization, gender operated alongside social status on several levels and
to different degrees. In the case of girls, education was restricted only to the
primary stage of instruction. Girls were expected to learn the skills
necessary to be good wives, mothers, and household administrators. For
such matters, a higher education was considered unnecessary. Their formal
training, however, depended greatly on the level of literacy of their mothers,
and in some cases, on the financial situation of the family. When it comes to
work, the social status of girls seems to be less important. All girls, either of
aristocratic or of humble origins, were expected to perform certain female
household activities, such as handiworks.
In the case of boys, the sources have clearly shown that the societal
expectations depended much on social background. Secondary education is
described in the sources more in connection with elite boys. Secular
education would allow them to embark on ecclesiastical or bureaucratic
careers, in accordance with their social status. For boys of a lower social
background, work activities often took priority over formal training. In
many such cases, these children received at most elementary instruction. As
scholars have already observed, the economic resources of the family were
a determining factor that influenced children’s educational opportunities.
Obviously, a family with fewer financial resources could not support their
offspring’s education, although this situation may have been, in some cases,
overcome through the support of a relative who was better positioned in
society. By and large, work is mentioned in hagiographies in relation to
children born to peasant families. Work was a means by which children
were introduced gradually into the economic strategies of the family and the
responsibilities of an adult.
In sum, the representation of childhood socialization through play,
education, and work reveals the importance of gender and social status in
the hierarchical organization of Byzantine society.
Notes
1 Handel (2006: vii).
2 See also the studies of Vuolanto (2013a, 2013b); Katajala-Peltomaa
and Vuolanto (2011).
3 Pitarakis (2009).
4 On children’s games in Late Antiquity, see also Horn (2005).
5 Kalogeras (2000, 2005, 2012). For earlier studies of children’s
education in Byzantium, see also Moffatt (1977).
6 Ariantzi (2012:125–81).
7 Ariantzi (2012: 35–41).
8 Rotman (2017).
9 Kaldellis (2010: 67).
10 Michael Psellos, Letter to his grandson (154; Eng. trans. 164).
11 Pitarakis (2009: 219–20).
12 Pitarakis (2009: 222–4).
13 Pitarakis (2009: 231–2).
14 Life of Nikon the Metanoeite 39 (136; Eng. trans. 137).
15 John Skylitzes, A Synopsis of the Byzantine Empire (811–1057), 449–
50.
16 Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 50 (166–8; Eng. trans. 207).
17 Life of Nikon the Metanoeite 10 (54; Eng. trans. 55).
18 Life of Nikon the Metanoeite 26 (96; Eng. trans. 97).
19 Life of Constantine the Philosopher 3 (Eng. trans. 51).
20 Letter 100, Bees (1971–1974: 151): …εἰ δὲ καὶ τοῦτο πρός σήν
διάχυσιν οὐκ ὀκνητέον εἰπεῖν, ἔτι γραμματιζούμενος, παρετήρει τἀς
ὄρνεις καὶ τοὺς φωλεούς ὑπεισήρχετο καὶ ὑφῃρεῖτο τὰ ᾠά καὶ
μάλισθ᾽ ὅτε ἡ πέμπτη τῆς τεσσαρακοστῆς ἑβδομάς, ἤν αὐτός ἐκ
χωρικῆς παραδόσεως κωφήν ἐπωνόμαζε·τότε γάρ προαπετίθει καὶ
προέκρυπτε τὰ ᾠά, ἵν᾽ ἐν τῷ πάσχα μετὰ τῶν κατ᾽ αὐτὸν παίδων
ᾠοκρουστῇ·Translation in Magdalino (1987: 32).
21 Roy (2005).
22 Life of Cyril the Phileote 13.1 (80; Fr. trans. 301–2).
23 Talbot Rise (1967: 146); Rautman (2006: 110–4).
24 Life of Nikephoros of Medikion 5 (406). According to Mango (1981:
342–4) the term theatron used in the Middle Byzantine texts does not
mean “theatre” in its literal sense. Since after the sixth century there is
no reference to a theatre in Constantinople or in the provinces, the term
was perhaps used figuratively, referring to a kind of spectacle.
25 Life of Nikon the Metanoeite 2 (32; Eng. trans. 33).
26 Life of George of Amastris 8 (16; Eng. trans. 5).
27 Life of Loukas of Steiris 3 (8; Eng. trans. 9).
28 Life of Evaristos 4 (299).
29 Theodore of Stoudios, Laudatio S. Platonis Hegumeni (809A).
30 Life of Symeon the New Theologian 2 (4; Eng. trans. 5).
31 On children in the early Byzantine period and their characteristics, see
Kalogeras (2001: 9–14).
32 Life of Athanasios of Athos 8 (Vita A) (92–4; It. trans. 93–5); 2 (Vita B)
(132–4; Eng. trans. 133–5). Other examples of children playing
religious games can be found in John Moschus, The Spiritual Meadow,
tale no. 196 reprised in The Spiritually Beneficial Tales of Paul of
Monembasia, tale no. 21, 150–5.
33 Toner (2017: 105).
34 Chevallier Caseau (2009: 153).
35 Life of Thomaïs of Lesbos 7 (236; Eng. trans. 304).
36 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 5 (64; Eng.
trans. 119).
37 Leyerle (1997: 251); Horn (2005: 102–3).
38 Pitarakis (2009: 242–50). According to Horn (2005: 103–4), dolls
could also symbolize the ascetic young woman, the bride of Christ.
39 Life of Nicholas of Stoudios (869 A).
40 Life of Evaristos 4 (298).
41 Life of Theodora the Empress 3 (258–9; Eng. trans. 363).
42 Life of Thomaïs of Lesbos 6 (235B; Eng. trans. 302).
43 Theodore of Stoudios, Funerary catechism for his mother 4 (28; Eng.
trans. 43).
44 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 6 (64; Eng.
trans. 120).
45 Life of Loukas of Steiris 11 (18–20; Eng. trans. 19–21).
46 Theodore of Stoudios, Funerary catechism for his mother 4 (28; Eng.
trans. 44).
47 John Chrysostom, On Vainglory 39–40, 43 (Eng. trans. 14–5). On the
educational methods proposed by Chrysostom, see the study by Leyerle
(1997).
48 Michael Psellos, Encomium for his mother 8 (101; Eng. trans. 65).
49 On children’s religious education in the first centuries of Christianity,
see Horn and Martens (2009: 116–65).
50 Ariantzi (2012: 128–32).
51 John Chrysostom, On vainglory 30 (Eng. trans. 11–2).
52 John Chrysostom, On vainglory 67 (Eng. trans. 21).
53 For earlier period, see Ariantzi (2012: 157–9).
54 Life of Loukas of Steiris 6 (12; Eng. trans. 13).
55 The title of the text is unknown because the opening part of it is lost.
The first editor named it Strategikon, but recently, scholars have argued
in favour of the title Consilia et Narrationes (Advice and Anecdotes),
see the discussion in Roueché (2003). Because I use the edition of
Spadaro, the name of Kekaumenos and the title of his work appear in
the notes in Italian.
56 Cecaumeno, Raccomandazioni, Book III.112 (158; It. trans. 159).
57 Cecaumeno, Raccomandazioni, Book III.112 (158; It. trans. 159).
58 Cecaumeno, Raccomandazioni, Book III. 125 (176; It. trans. 177).
59 Ariantzi (2012: 158, 167).
60 Lemerle (1986: 113); Kalogeras (2000: 140).
61 Mango (1980: 125–48).
62 For the definition of these terms, see Kalogeras (2000: 124); Lemerle
(1986: 111); Moffatt (1977: 88).
63 Life of Theodore of Edessa 4 (5); Michael Psellos, Encomium for his
mother 5b (95; Eng. trans. 60); Life of Gregory of Decapolis 1 (62; Ger.
trans. 63).
64 Horn (2005: 104).
65 On this see also Talbot (1997: 120); Miller (2003: 129–32).
66 Bebaia Elpis 148 (BMFD 4, 1564):
 I absolutely forbid the admission of lay children for the sake of
being educated and learning their letters or anything else. […] But if
certain girls should wish to be enrolled among the nuns, but want
first to be educated, and learn lessons which contribute to the
monastic rule, with the intention of being tonsured years later and
numbered among the nuns, I fully approve and consent.

67 Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 9 (65; Eng. trans.
121).
68 See the prayers in Vasiliev, Anecdota Graeco-Byzantina, 341 ff.
69 Vasiliev, Anecdota Graeco-Byzantina, 341–2.
70 Baun (2013) has discussed the rituals for the beginning of children’s
education, see especially 127–30.
71 Life of Theodore of Edessa 4 (5).
72 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 9 (65; Eng.
trans. 121).
73 Cavallo (2006: 28).
74 Mango (2002: 218).
75 Theodore of Stoudios, Laudatio S. Platonis Hegumeni (805, 808).
76 Theodore of Stoudios, Funerary catechism for his mother 3 (27; Eng.
trans. 43). Pratsch has argued that Theoktiste was most probably not
completely illiterate, as the encomium of Theodore of Stoudios
suggests. She only deepened her knowledge of γράμματα in adulthood;
see Pratsch, Theodoros Stoudites, 28.
77 Kalogeras (2005: 137).
78 Life of St. Athanasia of Aegina 3 (212; Eng. trans. 142, as ch. 1).
79 Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 3 (70; Eng. trans. 166).
80 Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 5 (74; Eng. trans. 167).
81 Life of Theophano 5 (3).
82 Life of Mary the Younger 5 (694; Eng. trans. 260).
83 Life of Irene of Chrysobalanton 5 (16; Eng. trans. 17).
84 Dzielska (1996: 67).
85 Herrin (2013: 238–60).
86 Life of Ioannikios 4 (Vita by Peter) (386; Eng. trans. 259).
87 Life of Ioannikios 2 (Vita by Sabas) (333).
 88 Life of Ioannikios 9 (Vita by Peter) (388; Eng. trans. 263).
89 Life of Loukas of Steiris 4 (10; Eng. trans. 11).
90 Life of Loukas of Steiris 34 (54; Eng. trans. 55).
91 Life of David, Symeon, and George of Lesbos 4 (214; Eng. trans. 154).
92 Life of David, Symeon, and George of Lesbos 9 (218; Eng. trans. 162).
93 Abrahamse, Introduction to Life of Sts. David, Symeon, and George of
Lesbos, 227.
94 Life of Nicholas of Stoudios (869 C).
95 Life of Stephen the Younger 8 (97; Fr. trans. 188).
96 Life of Paul of Latros 2 (105).
97 On peasantry and various types of self-sufficiency, see Kaplan (1992:
493–506).
98 Elementary school teachers were nevertheless of a low social status.
The Price Edict of Diocletian, issued in 301, established their salaries
as substantially lower than those of the grammatikoi; ODB 3,
“Teacher”,2019. On teachers in Byzantium, see Browning (1997).
99 Browning (1978).
100 Herrin (2008: 119–30).
101 Kalogeras (2000: 6).
102 Lemerle (1986: 113).
103 Life of Theodore of Stoudios 3 (237).
104 Life of Michael the Synkellos 2 (46–8; Eng. trans. 47–9).
105 Life of Constantine the Philosopher 3 (Eng. trans. 51).
106 Life of Constantine the Philosopher 4 (Eng. trans. 52).
107 Life of George of Amastris 8 (15; Eng. trans. 4).
108 Kalogeras (2000: 165–8).
109 Life of Nikephoros I the Patriarch (148–51; Eng. trans. 52–6).
110 Lemerle (1986: 147).
111 Browning (1997: 96).
112 Browning (1997: 98–101).
113 Anonymi Professoris Epistulae, letter 81 (72).
114 Anonymi Professoris Epistulae, letter 110 (94, Eng. trans. in Browning
(1997: 106)).
115 According to Life of Athansios of Athos 6 (Vita A) (92; It. trans. 93),
this woman was a relative of Athanasios’ mother, and wife of the most
 prominent men in Trebizont, Kanites. Therefore, she is not presented
here as a nun, unlike in the version B; see Life of Athansios of Athos 2
(Vita B) (132; Eng. trans. 133).
116 Life of Athansios of Athos 11 (Vita A) (96; It. trans. 97); 4 (Vita B)
(138; Eng. trans. 139).
117 Life of Symeon the New Theologian 2 (4–6; Eng. trans. 5–7).
118 Kalogeras (2000: 165–8).
119 Kalogeras (2012: 179).
120 Life of Peter of Argos 3 (122; Eng. trans. 123).
121 Life of Peter of Argos 4 (126; Eng. trans. 127).
122 Peter’s erudition is attested by the writings published by Cozza-Luzi in
Novae Patrum Bibliothecae 9 (1888): Peter’s oration on the conception
of St. Anna, the funeral oration of the bishop of Methone, Athanasios,
an encomium of Cosmas and Damian and one of St. Anna.
123 The vita of Antony the Confessor is included in the vita of Theodora of
Thessalonike. On his education during his childhood, Life of Theodora
of Thessalonike 10 (84; Eng. trans. 172).
124 Life of Antony Kauleas 3 (414).
125 Life of Antony Kauleas 4 (415).
126 Life of Lazaros of Galesion 4 (510; Eng. trans. 81).
127 Angelov (2009: 120–1).
128 There is also the case of Plato of Sakkoudion, who was instructed in
law matters in order to become a notary.
129 Life of Athanasia of Aegina 3 (212; Eng. trans. 142, as ch. 1).
130 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 10 (66; Eng.
trans. 121–2).
131 Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew 6, 371.
132 Life of Thomaïs of Lesbos 6 (235; Eng. trans. 303–4).
133 Life of Nikon the Metanoeite 27 (98; Eng. trans. 99).
134 Life of Philaretos the Merciful 2 (62; Eng. trans. 63).
135 Life of Lazaros of Galesion 63 (529; Eng. trans. 151–2).
136 Miller (2003: 80–6).
137 Kalogeras (2005: 140).
138 Life of Nikon the Metanoeite 3 (34–6; Eng. trans. 35–7).
139 Life of David, Symeon and George of Lesbos 4 (214; Eng. trans. 154).
140 Life of St. Philaretos the Merciful 3 (68; Eng. trans. 69).
141 Life of Ioannikios 2 (Vita by Sabas) (332).
142 Life of Loukas of Steiris 4 (10; Eng. trans. 11).
143 Life of Loukas of Steiris 7 (14; Eng. trans. 15).
144 The Spiritually Beneficial Tales of Paul of Monembasia, tale no. 21,
150.
145 Life of Paul of Latros 3 (106).
146 Life of Ioannikios 26 (Vita by Peter) (398; Eng. trans. 281).
147 Life of Lazaros of Galesion 45 (523; Eng. trans. 130–1).
148 Life of Gregory of Decapolis 1 (62; Ger. trans. 63).
149 Life of Elias of Heliopolis 5 (45; Eng. trans. 94).
150 Life of Elias of Heliopolis 6 (45; Eng. trans. 94).
151 According to Stamatina McGrath, an apprentice carpenter most
probably did not have to perform a task like the one in the story, but the
episode is meant to emphasize the close relationship between an
apprentice and his master, see Life of Elias of Heliopolis, 86–7.
152 The Spiritually Beneficial Tales of Paul of Monembasia, tale no. 21,
150–1.
153 Alexandre-Bidon and Lett (1999: 76–8). On children’s work in the
Medieval West, see also Orme (2001: 306–17); Hanawalt (1993: 129–
98).
154 On mining in Byzantium, see Matschke (2002).
155 Geoponika, Book II.2 (Eng. trans. 69).
156 Unlike in the late antiquity, when boys and girls were playing together;
on this, see Vuolanto (2021: 276); Horn (2005).
5 The child in the church
Constructing religious identity
DOI: 10.4324/9780429318498-5

Religion was an integral part of the Byzantines’ lives. Religious practices

offered the Byzantines not only spiritual comfort but also a space to
configure their identity as members of a certain community. Their devotion
to God was manifested primarily through daily prayers at home, church
attendance, participation in religious festivals, philanthropic acts, and visits
at holy shrines when they were in need.1 We see all these aspects also in the
lives of the children that are described in hagiographies. Many such texts
present stories of children going to church, praying, and reciting Psalms,
accompanying their parents to holy tombs, and so on. The basic religious
formation of children was acquired at home, where their parents taught
them moral values and Christian virtues. The acquisition of the religious
practices at home is one of the many aspects stressed by the medieval
hagiographers in childhood narratives. Parents were expected to raise their
offspring in piety. Children learnt how to pray first from their mothers. In a
Byzantine family, the beginning and the end of the day were marked by a
prayer, most probably the Lord’s Prayer. In the funeral oration for his
mother, Theodore of Stoudios mentions his family’s habitual practice of
praying when they got up from bed and before going to sleep. At bedtime
and in the morning when the children woke up, Theodore’s mother always
made the sign of cross over their limbs, exhorting them to pray.2
The importance of religious education received at home has been already
analysed in the previous chapter. Here, I approach the issue of a religious
life by focusing on children’s socialization and agency in the ecclesiastical
context. I am interested in the devotional practices of children in the church
and the basic questions that guide my inquiry are: in what religious
practices and rituals were children actively involved? What roles did they
perform in the church services, and in what way may they have internalized
the rituals?
 From early Christianity onwards, a variety of sources testify to the
participation of children in Christian worship. Scholars have focused their
attention more on children’s devotional life in early Christianity and late
antiquity than on medieval Byzantine times.3 In what concerns the Early
Byzantine period, Peter Hatlie has analysed the hagiographical texts of the
fourth to the ninth centuries in his exploration of what impact religion had
on children’s lives from the time of their birth until they became young
adults. This matter was approached with a special focus on the religious
education received at home, which for some children was only one of the
steps to a future religious career. However, little has been said about
children’s religious experiences, especially in the more ordinary
ecclesiastical context. The sources also tell us about children’s presence in
the local churches, where they were active participants in various religious
rituals. Since most children remained in the secular world, it is worth asking
how their religious identity was shaped by the practices of the Christian
communities they belonged to.
With this chapter, I intend to fill a gap in the existing scholarship by
analysing the devotional practices of children in the Middle Byzantine
period as described especially in the hagiographical sources of the ninth
through the eleventh centuries. Although the hagiographers’ main emphasis
was on the religious behaviour of the saints-to-be, we can nevertheless get
in touch with the common religious experiences of ordinary children in the
ecclesiastical context. By ‘religious experience’ I mean here not only an
intimate relation between children and God, manifested through prayers,
divine visions, or signs, as is the case with some saintly children, but also
the simple act of worship in a religious setting. To be sure, our sources
report cases of children who experienced at some point in their lives visions
of holy figures. These mystical experiences sometimes represented a
turning point in their lives and motivated them to choose a monastic career.
But spiritual experiences of this kind were exceptional. It was more
common for ordinary children to be in contact with the divine world during
the regular Sunday masses, or on feast days when they simply attended
church offices together with their families. The rituals performed in the
church, with specific prayers, readings and hymns chanted in a certain
order, symbolized both an individual and a collective religious experience
of the participants in these ceremonies. As part of the congregation,
children also attained their religious identity by means of the Christian
practices they observed and followed at church.
When we speak about children’s religious identity, we need to consider a
variety of aspects related to the religious practices in Byzantium. Religion
does not refer only to Christian doctrine, or to the rituals carried out across
the centuries by the Church. In relation to people, in our case, to children, it
also encompasses elements that pertain to the social and cultural sphere.
Ninian Smart has identified seven dimensions that characterize modern
world religions, but which can also be useful for my analysis.4 These
dimensions overlap and interact with one another in shaping the religious
identity. Applied to children in relation to their religious life, the seven
dimensions refer to the liturgical services and the sacramental rites they
took part in (the ritual dimension), the biblical stories they heard (the
mythological dimension), the official teachings of the Church (the doctrinal
dimension), the behavioural norms (the ethical dimension), the Christian
communities they belonged to (the social dimension), their personal
religious experience (the experiential dimension), and the church buildings
and sacred objects they were in contact with (the material dimension). All
these elements come into play in shaping children’s religious identity.
Although I shall deal with all of them in what follows, I will focus primarily
on the ritual and experiential dimensions. At the end of the chapter, I
provide a holistic image of the roles of these dimensions in children’s
religious life.
Since the chapter is concerned with both children’s socialization into
religious practices and their agency within the church rituals, I shall first
discuss their presence in the church, in which they are shown as having a
passive role, and move progressively towards their active participation in
church offices. At the end, I will shift my focus from how religious authors
described them to how children may have experienced the religious
environment and the rituals through their senses. This approach offers a
new way of understanding how children grew into full members of the
Christian community via everyday experiences, how they became
acculturated to religious practices and how they participated in the lived
religion of their community.

Children’s location in the church

When children went to church, where did they stay? Was any particular
space assigned to them? To answer these questions, we need to take a brief
tour back to the first centuries of Christianity. Since then, the increasing
number of children who were recognized as members of the Christian
communities through baptism led the church leaders to establish specific
rules about where each social group was to stay during the liturgy.5 In the
first centuries, there was a clear distinction between the baptized Christians
and the catechumens. The latter, being considered not yet fully members of
the Church until their baptism, were not allowed to participate in the
sacrament of the Eucharist. Accordingly, they were given a place in the
narthex or close to the doors of the church, and had to leave the church after
the Divine Office.
From the sixth century onwards, very few individuals were baptized in
adulthood. Since infant baptism was already a widespread practice, the
majority of catechumens placed in the narthex were the babies accompanied
by their mothers. Caseau has suggested a possible practical reason for
placing the young catechumens close to the entrance in the church: the
noise made by the babies could very easily disturb the religious service.6
While infants were located in the narthex, which symbolized the transitional
space between the outside world and the sacred world (represented by the
naos and the sanctuary),7 the baptized children were in the nave with the
rest of the congregation. Their location depended on their age and gender:
boys stayed with their fathers, and girls with their mothers.
Inside the nave, women were separated from men. This gender
segregation was intended to maintain order, discipline, and decorum during
the service. For instance, to avoid any disorder at the time of communion,
women and men were to receive the holy sacrament separately.8 Moreover,
it was inappropriate for women to mingle with men in public gatherings.
For this reason, women were placed either on the ground floor left-side
aisles of the church and men on the right side, or they stayed behind the
men, close to the doors of the church. In churches with upper galleries,
women were allowed to stand there, where they were protected from the
gaze of men.9
The division of space inside the church at the time of religious services
illustrates clearly that gender segregation was an important feature of
Byzantine Church and society. As for children’s assigned place, the earliest
source concerning this matter is the third-century Didascalia Apostolorum,
which recommended:

And let the children stay at one side, or let their fathers and mothers
keep them beside them and let them stand on their feet. Again, let them
those who are girls sit apart, or if there be no room let them stand on
their feet behind the women.10

Thus, children were placed with their parents, and girls could either sit in
the women’s assigned space or stand behind their mothers. However, it
remains unclear from what age male children were allowed to join their
fathers in the space assigned to men. Since women were typically in charge
of caring for their young offspring, I would suspect that in church too, very
young boys were under the supervision of their mothers. It is possible that
boys would join their fathers when they were old enough to stay still and
not make noise. Older boys were placed close to the sanctuary, so they
would hear the readings and might enter the clergy. Their behaviour was
supervised by a deacon who had to make sure that “nobody may whisper,
nor slumber, nor laugh, nor nod; for all ought in the church to stand wisely,
and soberly, and attentively, having their attention fixed upon the word of
the Lord.”11 Yet, these rules assume the ideal circumstances in which
children who accompanied their parents would behave as they were
expected to. In practice, however, things could be quite different, as
suggested in a late antique homily on fasting in which the anonymous
author complained exasperatedly that children were playing in the church,
disturbing the liturgy.12
Even in such a solemn environment as the church, some of the younger
members of Christian communities continued to display a childish
behaviour, resisting the rules imposed by adults. Yet, this is not to say that
all children behaved in this way. In fact, many hagiographical texts of the
Middle Byzantine period present stories of saintly children who enjoyed
going to church, embracing the values imposed by religious authorities. We
have, for example the case of Gregory of Decapolis about whom we are
told that he was so fond of spending his time in praying in the local church,
that he often forgot to come back home at mealtimes. Once at home, he
only had a light meal and then rushed back to the church, where he used to
sing the Davidic psalms.13 Euthymios the Younger was another child who is
said to have been very fond of going to church.14 Nikon the Metanoeite too
is described as spending his time in churches and holy places.15
Although the texts stress the presence of children at religious offices, we
have very little information of where they stood or sat inside the church.
The only testimony we have on this matter is the ninth-century vita of
Stephen the Younger, which records that when Stephen was only a child, he
used to accompany his mother to the night vigils held in memory of the
saints. When it was time for the readings and everybody could take their
seats, the boy was standing by the chancel, close to the sanctuary, to hear
better what was read, either about a saint’s life or Chrysostom’s teachings.16
The text does not say how old Stephen was at that time. Most probably, he
was around six or seven, for this anecdote occurs in the context of his
primary education, which he began at the age of six. With respect to this
situation, Cecily Hennessy argues that either his mother was allowed to stay
in the chancel area to supervise the child, or the boy entered the area on his
own.17 It is unlikely, in my opinion, that the mother was allowed to stay so
close to the sanctuary, even for a short time to supervise the boy. When he
stood there, the boy could have been supervised by a churchman, since the
canonical–liturgical texts point out the task of the deacons to oversee the
proper place for men, women, and children. Here, the vita seems rather to
confirm the ancient practice of placing male children close to the sanctuary
to hear the sacred texts and to become familiar with them. We are told that
Stephen learnt by heart everything he heard during the readings.18
In the church space, the sanctuary and the ambo were forbidden to
laypeople, except for the male infants who were carried around the altar
when presented at church.19 The sanctuary was the most sacred place of the
church. Here, where the altar was located, and where the Eucharist was
celebrated, only the clergy and the emperor had access. The sanctuary was
separated from the nave by a templon (barrier), which grew in height
through time, leaving laypeople no visual access to the ritual actions
performed there.20
Canon 69 of the Council in Trullo (692) very clearly stipulated that no
layman was allowed to enter the sanctuary, except for the emperor when he
wished to offer his gifts to the Creator.21 While adult laypeople may have
observed the rule, some children might escape the vigilance of the deacons,
by stealthily entering the sacred space. The vita of Theodore of Edessa tells
us that Theodore had difficulties in learning his letters. Because of that, he
was constantly rebuked by the parents, chastened by the teacher, and
mocked by his peers. One day, the boy went to the local church and hid
under the altar, where he fell asleep while the archbishop was celebrating
the liturgy. When the service was over, the child woke up and was
immediately discovered by the archbishop in the sanctuary. Wanting to
know the reason for the boy’s presence there, the archbishop found out that
the child was unable to learn the sacred letters. Theodore also told him that
while he was sleeping he had a vision in which Jesus placed a pastoral staff
in his hands, foretelling that he would embark on monastic life and that he
would become a bishop. After hearing this, the archbishop appointed
Theodore lector of the church. From then on, the child was able to
memorize everything.22
Whether fictional or not, the story points out that, when in need, the
Byzantine people, both adults and children, ultimately resorted to divine
help. This case also illustrates how significant the sanctuary was in people’s
mentality – being in contact with the most sacred place would make distress
fade away. Moreover, the episode makes it clear that children were assigned
various roles to perform in church, a subject that will be discussed later in
the chapter.

The presence of children in church

We have seen in Chapter 3 that Byzantine families constantly sought divine
help in securing the birth of children. Once children were born, parents
were concerned with their integration into the community and their
acceptance as members of the Church. They were always anxious to
introduce their offspring into the Christian community, especially because
of the high risk of mortality during infancy. Through baptism, any child
who was expected to die soon would enter the kingdom of heaven. This
precautionary measure of baptizing the infants as soon as possible, usually
on the eighth or fortieth day after birth, became a widespread practice in
Byzantium.23 This was the first occasion when a child was present in
church. Obviously, because of their tender age, the newly baptized babies
did not experience this event at a conscious level. It was the baptismal
sponsor who made the profession of faith for the child who was to be
baptized. However, baptism was a defining moment in a child’s life and was
witnessed by the entire family, friends, and perhaps other members of the
Christian community. This meant that other children who witnessed this
event could internalize the ritual they participated in by observing the
gestures performed by the priest. They could now understand their
importance (if not necessarily their meaning) in the celebration of baptism.
A beneficial tale of Paul of Monembasia narrates how a Jewish child
became Christian through the baptism performed by other children. The
story takes place in a Palestinian village where both Christian and Hebrew
children were gazing their flock in the fields outside the village. One day
the children started to play a game by pretending to celebrate the liturgy.
Among them there was also a Jewish boy who, wanting to take part in the
game, agreed to become a Christian. Thus, the child who pretended to be
the bishop baptized the boy and “did everything in an orderly manner and
offered the bread.”24
A similar story is recorded in the Pratum Spirituale of John Moschos
(sixth–seventh centuries). The anecdote presents an event from the
childhood of Athanasios of Alexandria, who is said to have been seen by
bishop Alexander while playing with other children on the shore. The
children were imitating a bishop and the ceremonies that are customary in
church. Watching attentively, Alexander observed that “they were acting
out some of the secret parts of the mysteries.” When children were asked
which ones they had baptized, it turned out that “everything had been
performed strictly in accordance with the custom of our religion.”25
It is evident in these examples that children could observe the ritual
pattern of baptism and were able to reproduce it. Moreover, the story from
the Pratum Spirituale testifies to the practice of placing boys close to the
sanctuary where they could easily observe the gestures of the priest and
hear various parts of the ritual that were said in a lower voice.
Unlike in the West, the Byzantines celebrated baptism and chrismation at
the same time. Chrismation consisted in anointing the child with the holy
chrism that was blessed by the bishop.26 Once children were baptized, they
were admitted to Eucharistic communion. The church strictly forbade
unbaptized people to receive Holy Communion. Another story attributed to
Paul, the bishop of Monembasia, illustrates this clearly. The episode is
recorded as happening in the ninth century, during the reign of Leo VI and
Alexander. A Scythian child, purchased as a slave by a governor (archon) in
the Peloponnese, was handed over to a priest to be taught to read and write.
Apart from learning the rudiments, the boy had to help the priest who was
responsible for the religious service in the domestic chapel of the governor.
One day, the governor asked the twelve-year-old boy whether the Scythians
were Christians. When the child told him that they were not Christians and
he also was not baptized, the governor was shocked:

“Then how is it that you receive the communion if you have not been
baptized? I thought you were a Christian, and that is why I never
stopped the priest from giving you the life-giving body and blood of
our Lord Jesus Christ”. The child answered: “It was in my ignorance,
my lord, that when I saw the other children receiving communion, I
also received”.27

The dialogue between the master and the child points out some important
aspects. First, the text underlines the idea that only those who are baptized
can partake of the body of Christ. Second, the story portrays children as
having both an active and a passive role in the religious services. The slave
boy in our story plays an active role, for he was in charge of helping the
priest with various tasks, whereas other children are portrayed more in a
passive role, as participants in the Eucharistic liturgy in which they receive
Holy Communion.
It is hard to tell how often laypeople received Holy Communion. Robert
Taft has argued that the decline in the frequency of communion already
began towards the end of the fourth century, but that the reception of
communion remained relatively frequent in the next two centuries.28 The
decline in receiving the Eucharist among adults was due to the growing
number of conditions required to be worthy of participation in the
sacrament. These conditions were introduced into the canon laws in the
fourth century and were reiterated down through the centuries.29 The basic
idea was that anyone who wanted to receive the holy sacrament should have
first fasted and cleansed the soul from sins. It may be that many adults felt
themselves unworthy of such a great mystery because of their sins, and
hence they received Holy Communion less frequently. But what about
children? Scholars have diverging views on whether children received Holy
Communion more often than adults. Horn and Martens have argued that
“there is no reason to assume that children received the Eucharist any less
frequently, or more often than adults did.”30 John Worthley claims the
contrary, but gives no explanation.31 However, compared with adults,
children were perceived as being innocent and not having so many sins;
thus it may be that children participated more frequently in Holy
Communion than adults. In any case, this is what happens nowadays at
most Easter Orthodox services.
Besides their presence in church at the liturgical service, children could
also assist at wedding ceremonies and funeral services. In wedding
ceremonies, children could participate not only as witnesses but also as
bridal pairs. I have already mentioned that the legislation set the lower limit
of marriageable age at twelve for girls and fourteen for boys. In practice,
they married later, although some sources speak of girls who married before
reaching puberty. By the tenth century, the wedding ceremonies were
required to be solemnized in a church. Novel 69 of Leo VI prescribed that
marriage had to be sanctioned by a witness of the sacred blessing.32 The
religious ceremony was marked by the priest’s blessing of the couple, who
placed the marriage crowns on their heads.33 One indication that children
were familiar with the wedding ceremonies comes from the eleventh-
century vita of Athanasios of Athos. The text tells us that in their games,
children used to play different roles, such as soldiers, monks, or
bridegrooms.34 Naturally, these figures were familiar to children, and it is
evident that they could reproduce the role of bridegrooms in their games
because they had observed the wedding ritual at church.
Just as children were present in wedding ceremonies, they also
participated at the funerals of family members. The funeral ritual began at
home with the ablution (washing the body) and dressing of the deceased as
women’s tasks, and the mourning and lament of the entire household. The
ritual continued with the transportation of the dead to the local church or
cemetery for the funeral service. At the church, the casket of the deceased
was placed in the narthex. The rite consisted in various prayers for the
repose of the departed, at the end of which all those who were present were
invited to approach the casket for a final farewell. After the body was
buried, the family commemorated the departed on the third, ninth, and
fortieth days after death, and once again on the first anniversary.35
Some hagiographies present us with examples of holy figures taking care
of their parents’ funeral. However, many of them were adults at the time of
their parents’ death.36 Direct evidence of the participation of children in a
funeral service is given in the vita of Cyril the Phileote, which speaks about
a young girl who was helped by Cyril to take care of her older sister’s
funeral.37
These examples show us that the most important moments in one’s life
were marked by a religious ritual: baptism, marriage, and death, all were
surrounded by ritual acts. All these moments were good occasions for
children to internalize the beliefs and the social practices related to religion.

The roles of children in church

So far, this chapter has discussed children’s religious life by focusing on
their location in church and their presence at various rituals. I will now take
a look at the sources that present their roles and functions in the church
services.
Bakke, and Horn and Martens have shown that in early Christianity and
late antiquity, children played an active role as hymn-singers, cantors, and
readers of the scriptural texts in the liturgy, a practice that is attested by our
sources too.38 Timothy Miller has also given several examples of orphan
children in early Byzantium who were tonsured as lectors.39 These children
were trained in episcopal schools to become later priests, and this meant
that they had to be progressively introduced into church matters. In practice,
what one had to know to perform the role of a lector was reading. Giorgi
Parpulov has argued that “it is likely that many lectors knew the psalms by
heart and did not need a written text to recite them.”40 Since memorization
of the psalms was a very important feature in children’s education, it is
likely that in the church service, children were reciting what they had learnt
beforehand, so that they were thus able to perform the role of a reader.
I have mentioned earlier the example of Theodore of Edessa, who was
appointed by the bishop as lector. Naturally, Theodore was not yet able to
read, but as long as he learnt the psalms by heart, he could just recite them
without needing a written text to read from.
Theodore is not the only example of a boy enrolled as a lector in church.
The ninth-century vita of Michael the Synkellos narrates that when the
saintly boy reached the age of three, his parents took him to the church of
the Resurrection of Christ our God in Jerusalem and entrusted him to the
patriarch. By doing so, they kept the promise made once to dedicate their
first male child to God if He would listen to their prayers for a boy. We are
told that the mother was the one who urged the patriarch to appoint the boy
to the clergy.41
At first sight, the story seems merely an exaggeration on the part of the
author, who wanted to emphasize the precocity of his hero. But again, being
appointed in the clergy at a very young age did not necessarily mean that
the boy actually began to be active in this clerical position. In fact, as the
story goes on, he started his elementary education and after he had finished
the first stage, he was sent on the orders of the patriarch to take lessons in
grammar, rhetoric, and philosophy. He may have begun to perform the role
of a lector after he had learnt to read and write.
It is true that the Novels of Justinian established the age limit for the
appointment as lector at eighteen, but it seems that this rule was often
disregarded, since Canon 14 of the second council of Nicaea (787)
discussed the abuse of this regulation:

It is perfectly clear to everyone that a certain order has been

established in the priesthood, and that it is God’s good pleasure that the
appointment to priestly offices should be observed with care. However,
we have noticed that some, without the imposition of hands, are
adopting the clerical tonsure while still youngsters, and without having
received the imposition of hands from the bishop they are undertaking
to read publicly from the ambo during the church service, even though
they are acting uncanonically. We urge therefore that this be
discontinued, and that the same regulation be observed among
monks.42

The practice of appointing children as lectors is also attested by the ninth-

century vita of Peter of Atroa, which states that Peter was tonsured by the
local bishop and appointed to the clergy when he was twelve years old. The
text portrays him as going to the local church in the morning, singing the
Psalms, and praying continuously.43
In the eleventh century, the archbishop of Dercos appointed the young
Cyril the Phileote as a lector. From that moment, he devoted himself to the
church by reading sacred books, chanting psalms, and praying ardently,
while attending liturgical offices.44 We are told that he had a particularly
beautiful voice while singing the psalms and reading the sacred texts.
Because of his virtues, the archbishop intended to promote Cyril to a higher
rank, most probably as a deacon, but the saint preferred to remain a lector,
on the grounds that he was unworthy of the higher rank.45
These examples illustrate that as long as children had acquired the ability
of reading the sacred texts, they could act in this clerical position. A twelve-
year-old boy like Peter of Atroa was already supposed to read the psalms
and recite them by heart.
Some children were in charge of taking care of the sacred objects in the
church. We know that, after having learnt the psalms, Niketas of Medikion
was appointed sexton of the church (νεωκόρων).46
Children also took part in imperial processions on ecclesiastical
holidays. A tenth-century Arab source describes how such a ceremony was
organized. On the way from the Great Palace to Hagia Sophia, the emperor
was preceded by a great number of elders dressed in red, followed by young
men dressed in white and thereafter by boys wearing green clothes.47 Other
testimonies about these processions are given in The Book of Ceremonies
by Constantine Porphyrogennetos (905–59), which describes various
religious and secular court ceremonies. These include descriptions of
imperial processions from the palace to the patriarchal church of Hagia
Sophia on the most important feast days. At these processions, orphaned
children also took part. Although we do not have any indication of their
age, we may assume that they were children. The description of the
imperial protocol on the Annunciation of the Virgin Mary (25 March) also
records the presence of orphaned children and the places they were assigned
during the procession:

The City administration stands to the left-hand side of the procession,

towards the Senate House, and the orphans stand in the middle of the
title-holders. … When the patriarch arrives with the religious
procession, the City administration and ordinary clergy go in through
the door to the right of the imperial doors, and the orphans and the
metropolitans and the bishops go through in front of the emperor,
making obeisance before him and they go into the church through the
imperial doors.48
The presence of orphaned children who sang in choirs at religious services
has been already acknowledged by Timothy Miller. He has shown that by
the fifth century, such choirs of children already existed in Constantinople.
For instance, the orphanage of Zotikos had a choir of orphans who were
visited by the inhabitants for the special purpose of hearing the songs
performed by the children.49
The same Book of Ceremonies mentions the presence of children’s choirs
at various religious events at which the emperor was present. On the Feast
of the Purification (2 February), “when the emperor is about to go out into
the narthex, orphans stand on the benches to the left of the great door and,
shouting, they pray for the emperor as it is the custom.”50 This group that
sang prayers for the emperor was in fact a choir of children. The presence
of orphaned children in a church ceremony is mentioned again in the Book
of Ceremonies when it describes the celebration of the day after Easter. The
orphans are also recorded in the liturgical services held in the Church of
Holy Apostles:

and going into the narthex he (the emperor) sits on a chair and waits
for the patriarch. When the patriarch arrives with the religious
procession, the ordinary clergy and the City’s administrators go into
the church through the right-hand door which is near the imperial
doors, and the orphans go in through the central door.51

It seems that children, in this case the orphans, had a special place and role
in the Byzantine religious ceremonies. These choirs of children were trained
in the school belonging to the Orphanotropheion, where the educational
programme comprised learning to read and write, studying Christian
doctrine, and singing.52 The ninth-century vita of Antony the Younger
mentions a group of children who were requested to sing at the deathbed of
a sick girl. It is possible that this choir was of orphans trained in the
Orphanotropheion.53
Another instance of a choir of children is recorded in the vita of Basil the
Younger. Gregory, the disciple of Basil the Younger, is said to have had a
vision in which he was transported to the chapel of the protomartyr
Stephen, located in Constantinople, where he heard “the melodious chants
of handsome boys and youths sung clearly to the Lord.”54
 However, not only orphaned children sang at religious services. Styliane,
the daughter of Michael Psellos, is recorded in the funeral oration as having
sung “along with the choir and, by listening to those who quietly chanted
the divine hymns, neglected none of those things that are necessary for
praising God.”55
As I have discussed in Chapter 4, the elementary education of children
was based upon religious texts, usually the psalms. Examples of children
like Athanasia of Aegina who learnt in a very short time the psalter, or
Theodora of Thessalonike who started to study the Scripture at the age of
seven, are plentiful in the hagiographical literature of our period. I will not
insist on this matter, but it is important to bear in mind that the religious
education acquired through the study of the Sacred Scripture was reinforced
by the participation of children in the church services. On such occasions,
they had the opportunity to remember what they had learnt at home or in
school, because the psalms were chanted during the liturgical services too.
A good example of such a learning experience is found in the funeral
oration for Styliane:

For concerning the hymns sung by lamplight and the night-time

praising of God, she was more eager than all others going to the
temple, spontaneously racing there as though in flight. She revealed
her reverence for God by standing without leaning and paying close
attention to the hymns. She chanted the psalms at vespers that she had
learned all by herself and memorized the Davidic sayings immediately
upon hearing them.56

This example is valuable not only because it shows how religious education
was attained, but also because it testifies to the active participation of
children in church offices: some of them performed liturgical tasks such as
reciting excerpts from the sacred texts; some sung liturgical hymns; others
were involved in singing in organized choirs, such as those mentioned in
the Book of Ceremonies or in the vita of Antony the Younger. The majority,
however, did not have an official role in church. They participated as simple
believers, engaged in collective worship in the liturgy, like Styliane.

Religious experience through the senses

Up to now, I have discussed children’s religious life by looking at their
place, roles, and functions in the church. This has been more of an ‘outside’
approach used to highlight the religious practices children were involved in.
In the following, I shall shift my focus to a more ‘inside’ perspective, in the
sense that I shall attempt to look at the religious life, more specifically at
religious experiences, from the children’s standpoint. The main questions I
raise here are: What was it like for a child to take part in the religious
rituals? In what ways may children have perceived the religious
environment? To answer these questions I will consider the role of the
senses in church rituals and how children may have experienced the ritual
practices via the senses.
The importance of the senses in medieval culture has been
acknowledged in recent scholarship.57 In the case of Byzantium, studies of
the sensorium in art and religious rituals have made significant findings
with respect to how medieval people involved their senses in the perception
of the divine.58 In her study of the way in which the installation of material
objects in churches appealed to the senses of the congregation, Liz James
asserts that

a Byzantine church is a space that dominates the congregation; it is a

space that appeals to all the senses; and it is a space that places the
body and the body’s relation to the spiritual at the centre of its
display.59

Indeed, the spiritual world was perceived through all the senses, when
seeing, kissing, or touching an icon, hearing the hymns or smelling burning
incense. On analysing the sensory perceptions of the religious rituals,
Béatrice Caseau has argued that the senses were used both passively and
actively. Hearing, seeing, and smelling occurred unconsciously and
passively, whereas seeing, listening, touching, and tasting in the religious
services imply a conscious action.60
In what ways did children involve the physical senses in mediating their
religious experiences? As members of the congregation, and depending on
their place inside the church, what may children have seen, heard, smelled,
touched, and tasted during religious offices? What may have captured
children’s attention during the rituals? In what follows, I shall analyse each
sense and their importance in children’s religious experiences.
 In the context of the iconoclastic crisis when the function of icons was
the central point of theological debates, the iconophile patriarch Nikephoros
argued, with regard to human senses and their roles in grasping the divine,
that visual representations are more reliable than what one hears: “Often
what the mind had not grasped while listening to speech, sight seizes
without risk of error, and has interpreted more clearly.”61 Seeing a holy
image was thought to be more powerful than any other sensation.
Like anyone else, children who attended the church offices were exposed
to religious imagery. The Byzantine churches had painted walls and
mosaics representing various scenes from the Bible. Many impressive
churches in the major cities of Byzantium were richly decorated, with each
space of the church following a special iconographic system.62 They were
decorated on three hierarchized levels: on the lower level, the congregation
could see the saints, in the middle, various scenes from the life of Jesus, and
at the top were depicted the Virgin, the angels, and Jesus in heaven.63
Obviously, what the congregation could see depended much on the place
one was assigned in the church, how many worshipers were present, how
large the church was, and the size of the image painted on the walls. This
also holds true of children, who stayed, as we have seen, in various places
inside the church. Boys who were with their fathers may have seen much
more clearly the images painted in the main apse. Those close to the
sanctuary may have seen the image of the Pantokrator looking down from
the central dome or the icons on chancel barriers. Girls who were at the
back of the church behind their mothers may have spotted various saints
depicted according to the iconographic scheme.
According to Liz James, the mosaics in Byzantine churches were made
in such a way that everyone inside the church could see them “from a
distance and at an angle.”64 The light and the colours of the mosaics and
paintings played a very important role in emphasizing the divine. Many
churches were full of light and decorated with materials that reflected the
external light and the light produced by the candles. The reflections of light
on the tesserae of the mosaics, depending on the period of the day, could
give the impression of movement due to the alteration of the colours, as
with the mosaic depicting the Virgin and Child in Hagia Sophia.65 Cecily
Hennessy has shown that children played an important role in iconographic
imagery. For instance, the series of the mosaics at St. Demetrios in
Thessaloniki portray a girl who was dedicated to God, honouring Saint
Demetrios.66 Such imagery could have been the object of children’s
scrutiny when they attended church offices.
From a child’s perspective, colourful paintings on the walls could easily
have caught his or her attention. Recent studies in child psychology have
shown that children are already attracted from an early age by bright and
strong colours.67 A painting or mosaic with Jesus as a child wearing a red
robe may have been the point of attraction for children, depending, of
course, on their position in the church.68 Also, since at home children heard
from their parents various stories from the Bible, they may have identified
the biblical episodes on the walls of the churches.
We know from the vita of Neilos the Younger that the young boy was
very fond of reading the Saints’ Lives, especially the Lives of Anthony,
Saba, and Hilarion, whose pictures were depicted on the walls of the
church in his hometown.69 In this context, it may be that his preference for
these saints was determined by the fact that he saw their pictures in the
church.
Besides the religious imagery, children could also see the ritual signs and
gestures performed during the church offices. However, as Béatrice Caseau
has rightly pointed out, in large churches, laypeople could scarcely see the
clergy’s ritual in the sanctuary or in front of it.70 Nevertheless, as we have
seen, the older boys who were placed close to the sanctuary could easily see
the priests and their actions during the liturgy. Furthermore, even if children
who were placed at the back of the church could not observe the clergy,
they surely saw the gestures performed by the people next to them. Making
the sign of the cross, bowing and genuflecting were devotional gestures
made by the entire congregation. When the priest made the sign of the cross
after a certain prayer, the congregation was expected to imitate him,
regardless of their location in church.
Seeing and hearing played the most important roles in the formation of
children’s religious experiences. The hymns sung during church rituals
played an essential role in church ceremonies. In a large building such as
Hagia Sophia in Constantinople, the acoustic must have been impressive,
and even those who were located close to the doors would have heard the
hymns. Recent studies in the aesthetic phenomenology of Byzantine art
have shown that religious art had a psychological effect on the spectators,
especially with respect to the visual and aural senses. Bissera Pentcheva
argues for instance that in Hagia Sophia, the circular shape of the dome
played an important acoustical role in Byzantine liturgy. The sounds
produced inside the church were sustained for a reverberation time of
eleven seconds. During the liturgy, when the choirs performed various
songs, the acoustics created by the architecture transformed “both singers
and congregation into ‘performative images’ of God.”71 The marble in the
church had not only optical but also acoustic properties, reflecting sound
waves that were thrown back into the surrounding space.72
A choir of children singing the liturgical hymns was certainly a point of
attraction for the entire congregation, and perhaps even more for those
children who were only spectators. Modern studies have shown that
children are more sensitive than adults to sounds and music.73 We have seen
previously that choirs of children performed on special occasions in the
church of Hagia Sophia. Other churches too, like St. Stephen’s in
Constantinople, used such boys’ choirs. The prepubescent voices were
particularly appreciated in the Middle Ages, both in East and West, for their
clarity, sweetness, and high pitch, qualities that were thought to embody the
voices of angels.74 Certainly, not all children were actively involved in
singing at various moments of liturgy, but the case of Styliane that was
mentioned earlier, emphasizes the importance of the sense of hearing in
devotional practices. They learned liturgical hymns by first hearing them.
They participated in the dialogue with the divine through the chanting of
the psalms.
Another sense frequently used in devotional practices was tactility.
Caseau has shown the importance of touch in getting in contact with the
sacred space. Besides, gestures like pushing open the doors of the church,
or walking on the floors of the holy places, touching the holy relics, kissing
the icons, and anointing the body with various substances were other
vehicles of experiencing the sacred.75 Saints’ Lives record various episodes
in which sick children were described as visiting the shrines, praying to
God, and touching the relics of the saints.
By touching the relics of Mary the Younger, a little baby is said to have
been delivered from an evil spirit.76 Many people found a cure for their
diseases at the relics of Saint Theodora of Thessalonike. Her vita reports
also cases of children who visited her tomb and anointed themselves with
the oil from the lamp or the icon. For instance, a baby at the breast suffering
from seizures and convulsions was healed after her mother brought her to
the tomb of Theodora and spent three nights there. The girl was anointed
with holy oil that gushed from the lamp and the icon of Theodora’s holy
relics, and in this way she regained her health.77 The holy oil from the lamp
of the tomb of Mary the Younger healed both adults and children. A girl
who suffered from dementia found a cure by anointing herself with holy oil
from Mary’s tomb.78
Touching an object that belonged to a saint was another means of contact
between children and the divine. A goat-hair sticharion that belonged to
Athanasia of Aegina healed a girl who suffered from an affliction in her
neck.79 A scarf soaked in the blood of Saint Athanasios of Athos healed a
boy who suffered from a sore throat. He is said to have found a cure by
simply tying the scarf around his neck for one night.80
Holy water was another substance that brought about healing miracles on
children who came in contact with it. The hagiographical literature records
many miracle stories in which the physical contact of sick persons with
holy water provided a cure for various diseases. For example, a child
suffering from scrofula was cured by applying holy water to his neck three
times.81
Tactility involved also the contact of babies at the time of their baptism
with the water in which they were immersed by the priest and with the holy
chrism with which their bodies were anointed.
Worship, as a performative act in which everybody participated, also
implied the interaction of the believers with the divine through the act of
kissing the icons. By kissing an icon, the person established a sort of
intimacy with the saint portrayed on it. The icons were regarded in James’
words as “powerful vehicles of the holy, to be handled, used and
venerated.”82 Although the sources do not explicitly record children kissing
icons, this act was without doubt one of the most frequent ritual
performances of Byzantine laypeople, and thus also of children.
The burning candles and the oils from the lamps inside churches
provided another sensorial perception to the congregation during religious
services. Burning incense was also part of the rituals: the substances burned
on the censers emitted a strong and sweet aroma. The smell of the incense
was linked to the presence of the Holy Spirit in the Church. Though a
pleasant odour was linked with the smell of Paradise, the smell was not
always valued as having a positive connotation. John Chrysostom and
Clement of Alexandria considered smell as being dangerous.83
The hagiographical sources often record the fragrance of the saints’
bodies, which was considered to be a sign of their holiness. Immediately
after Theodora of Thessalonike died, the nuns gathered at her coffin
witnessed that on her face there appeared beads of perspiration that emitted
a divine sweet fragrance. On the ninth day after her death, the oil from the
lamp of the saint’s tomb started gushing forth, flowing into the ground.
People of every age and every class, as the vita narrates, came to see how
the oil flowed from the lamp, anointing themselves with it.84 It is likely that
among people assembled at Theodora’s coffin, there were also children,
since their presence at holy shrines is testified in many other vitae. But no
specific reference to children’s olfactory perception is made in the sources
under consideration.
Various healing miracles give an account of the healing powers of the
holy oil that acted on sick people when they drank it. In this context, the
sense of taste was operating together with touch. The oil from the lamp and
icon of Theodora of Thessalonike acted miraculously in different ways,
according to people’s needs. Some are said to having been cured by
anointing their bodies with it, and some by drinking it.85 Yet, the most
frequent act of tasting the sacred was through the Eucharist. Holy bread and
wine were administered to members of the congregation at least once a
year, during the Holy Week.86 As mentioned previously, the Eucharist
ceased to be taken as frequently as in late antiquity. However, children
probably received communion more often than adults, who may have felt
unworthy on account of their sins. They had the option to take the
antidoron, the blessed bread redistributed by the clergy at the end of the
liturgical service.87
In some miracle accounts, the administration of the Eucharist proved
sufficient to cure demonic possessions. The vita of Symeon of Lesbos
narrates that a girl named Febronia became mute after she had a terrifying
vision. Her mother brought her to Symeon, who told the girl to remain with
him for seven days. Each day he administered the Eucharist to the girl, who
regained her voice.88
 The perception of the divine went sometimes beyond the physical
senses. Numerous stories in the vitae narrate divine experiences that
transcended the realm of consciousness. Sight, for instance, did not operate
only at the physical level. The eyes could see the invisible world. In this
context, the hagiographies give accounts of saints who could see what
ordinary people could not.89
Not only adults had this kind of experiences. Some children were
granted the gift of seeing the future. Elias the Younger, while still a young
boy, predicted the Arab invasion of Sicily.90 The gift of prophecy was
evidently a sign of Elias’ future holiness.
Some children are said to have had divine visions in which various saints
or Virgin Mary appeared before their eyes. We are told that David of
Lesbos, while he was tending the flocks, a fiery lightning, and terrifying
thunder appeared. In the midst of the tempest, David saw an old man
dressed in the garb of a monk. This man was Antony the Great, whose
apparition terrified the boy. With a gentle voice, the old monk told the child
that God has called David to serve Him.91
Athanasia of Aegina had another kind of spiritual experience when she
was weaving the loom at home. She saw “a shining star descend as far as
her chest. It shed abundant light on her and disappeared from her sight.”92
This divine sign mediated by the light made her want to pursue the
monastic life path, although her parents opposed her wish.
These two cases suggest a sort of mystical experience that changed the
life path of these youths, albeit in different ways. After this vision, David
left his home and went to the wilderness on Mount Ida, where he lived as an
ascetic for thirty years. The case of Athanasia differs from that of David
because in spite of her wish to enter the monastery after having the vision,
her parents rejected this idea, forcing her eventually to marry. She was able
to fulfil her wish only in adulthood, a proof that the agency of children,
more specifically making a life-changing decision, was more available to
boys than girls.
The unseen world was revealed also to Niketas, the grandson of
Philaretos the Merciful, when he was only seven years old. The ninth-
century vita of Philaretos describes the vision the boy had on the third day
after his grandfather’s death:
 …he fell into a trance during which he was caught up to the other
world and saw both the punishments and the fiery river, which was
very deep and boiling so that the nature of man could not endure its
roaring, and on the other side of the river a delightful garden and trees
of every kind, beautiful, huge and in great number of a kind that a
human being never saw according to what is written, “What no eyes
have seen, nor ears heard, nor the heart of man conceived, what God
has prepared for those who love him”.93

Another child who is said to have seen the Paradise is Styliane, the daughter
of Michael Psellos. In the funeral speech composed for her, Psellos evokes
two episodes in which Styliane had divine visions shortly before her death.
In one of the episodes, she saw herself in the form of an infant who is
carried by angels to God’s bosom.94 In the other episode, the girl saw “a
woman cradling in her arms an infant on whose head the sign of the cross
appeared” and who came to her room, reclining upon the bed of the sick
girl.95 The woman seemed to be Virgin Mary with the infant Jesus. Psellos
was obviously aware that very often visions are only the product of people’s
imagination and of their desires projected onto these apparitions. Girls of a
young age were unlikely to experience the kind of things that Styliane did,
which made her once again, in Psellos’ opinion, a very special child:

These matters, even if they should seem unlikely in themselves, are

made even more bizarre by the fact that they were seen and recounted
in detail by a nine-year-old child, given that Providence does not
consent to appear to other girls of this age. It is no great thing for them
to see such things because sometimes they turn what they see into
what they expect to see, so that the clarity and receptivity to such
visions is worthy of wonder in those who are young and immature, in
fact far from being mature.96

The New Testament stressed the idea that children, by virtue of their
innocence and purity, are closer to God than adults. We see this also in
hagiographies, although here only the saints-to-be were granted with the
gift of seeing the divine world. Signs and divine visions were what made
them exceptional in the eyes of the biographers.
 What was more common for ordinary children was the simple act of
worship in which all the senses interacted in creating a sensory effect. Sight,
hearing, touch, smell, and taste worked together in producing the
experience of the sacred. In the words of John of Damascus (eighth
century),

we can make images of everything with a visible shape; we understand

these things, just as they are seen. For if it is from words that we
understand shapes, but from what we have seen that we also come to
an understanding of these things, so it is also with each of the senses,
from what we smell or taste or touch, we come to understand these
things through words.97

For a child who was present at religious services, seeing the pictures on the
walls, hearing the psalms known from home, smelling the burning incense,
kissing the icons, feeling the myron on the forehead, and tasting the
Eucharist would contribute to his or her internalization of the religious
customs and rituals.

Conclusions
In this chapter, I have approached the subject of children’s religious life by
looking at the roles of children in church ceremonies and their religious
experiences. As a useful tool in understanding children’s religious life and
the construction of their religious identity, I turn now to the dimensional
model developed by Ninian Smart and offer an overview of how the
dimensions of religion were configured in the case of children.
In the construction of religious identity in general, all the elements of
Smart’s scheme are likely to be in play. In children’s case, in particular,
what emerges mostly from the sources is the role of the ritual, social, and
experiential dimensions in shaping their identity. First of all, children
became members of the Christian community through the sacrament of
baptism performed in infancy. Here, we can clearly see the interplay
between the ritual and social dimensions. Baptism made possible the
integration of children into the group of believers. Baptism was a
prerequisite for the admission to the Holy Communion, another important
element that relates to the ritual dimension. Also, children were socialized
into religious practices by their parents, who provided them with a religious
education and brought them to church. In this context, it is important to
mention the role of religion in children’s moral formation. I have dealt with
this topic elsewhere, but it is worth noting here that at home children also
learnt various prayers and heard biblical stories from their parents. At
church, where various sacred texts were read during the liturgy, children
could recognize what they had learnt at home. This is what Smart calls the
narrative dimension of religion.
For children, the narrative dimension may have been more important
than the doctrinal one, which refers to the official teachings of the Church.
Because of their young age, they were likely unable to grasp the full
intellectual meaning of the messages transmitted in the rites.
I have shown that children were not only observers in the church offices,
but also active participants. Some children, like Theodore of Edessa or
Cyril the Phileote, were lectors in charge of reading the prescribed religious
texts during the liturgy. Other children were in charge of taking care of the
sacred vessels, like Niketas of Medikion. Children were also members of
choirs, such as the one mentioned in the vita of Basil the Younger.
Organized choirs of orphans were employed to chant in various religious
and imperial ceremonies.
The majority of children, however, were only simple participants in the
church offices, without having a particular role in them. Their religious
experiences are not visible in the sources, and we may think that we cannot
say anything about how children may have internalized the religious
practices and how they may have configured their identity. Yet, as simple
members of Christian communities, children, we may assume, would have
learnt the symbolic gestures that were part of the ritual. They would have
observed the dynamics of the ritual, what other people did at various
moments of the service (sitting, standing, making the sign of the cross,
prostrating, etc.), and would have exercised their agency through imitation
of this religious behaviour.
Religion also incorporates the moral teachings and norms of behaviour
imposed by church authorities on the members of the congregation. Inside
the church, children were expected to be silent, not to disturb the service,
and to behave properly. Depending on their age and gender, children’s
conduct was supervised by their parents or by a deacon. Girls and boys
stayed in different spaces of the church. Older boys were allowed to stay
close to the sanctuary, where they could hear the liturgy better, as in the
case of Stephen the Younger. In his case, we can see how the ritual,
narrative, ethical, social, and material dimensions interact with one another.
His mother brought him to church (social and material dimensions) where
he was allowed to sit close to the sanctuary (ethical dimension). There he
could observe better the ritual and learn what was read (ritual and narrative
dimensions).
One of the most important components in the construction of children’s
religious identity was the experiential dimension. Some children are
described in the hagiographies as experiencing the divine through visions of
holy figures, as in the cases of David of Lesbos or Athanasia of Aegina.
These extrasensorial perceptions of the divine are presented in the sources
as a turning point in children’s lives. Other children, like Styliane or
Niketas, the grandchild of Philaretos the Merciful, saw the invisible world.
However, for most children, the contact with the divine was made through
simple acts like seeing and touching an icon, hearing the psalms chanted in
church, smelling the fragrance produced by burning incense, or tasting the
holy bread and wine during the Eucharist.
These simple sensorial experiences were means of becoming closer to
God. It is difficult here to assess in what ways such experiences may have
influenced children’s religious life. What is nevertheless clear is that
children were encouraged by adults to learn the rituals for which sight and
hearing were among the most important senses. Older children could see
and hear quite clearly the way in which the priest performed the rites, and
what psalms and prayers were chanted at different moments. Younger
children, especially girls, who were located at the back of the church with
their mothers, could not see the ritual, but they could see the gestures of
other people in front of them. Hearing the hymns also depended on the
position of children in the organizational space of the church, as well as on
the size and the acoustics of the building. Touching the relics and icons
were gestures allowed to all members of the congregation, children
included. Tasting the holy bread and wine at the Eucharist may even have
been an act that children performed more frequently than adults.
Modern psychology has emphasized the importance of early experiences
that shape the identity of human beings. These sensory experiences were
likely to have been perceived more powerfully by children than by adults,
who were already accustomed to church rites. Religious participation also
meant being involved with all the senses, by which a child started to
construct his or her religious identity. The power of multisensory effects in
the church rituals generated emotions and memories that may have played a
central role in the formation of religious identity.

Notes
1 On the devotional practice of the Byzantines, see Krueger (2006)
especially the essays by Skedros, Gerstel, and Talbot.
2 Theodore of Stoudios, Funerary catechism for his mother 4 (28; Eng.
trans. 44).
3 Some of the most important studies are by Bakke (2005: 223–59);
Horn and Martens (2009:252–300); Vuolanto (2015). In addition,
Caseau (2005) has analysed children’s place in the organizational space
of the church and their participation in the liturgical rituals. Apart from
discussing the various roles children had in church services, she has
shown how the social hierarchy was reinforced by the Church through
the particular space allocated to each social category during the liturgy.
4 Smart (1998).
5 The Didascalia Apostolorum XII (Eng. trans. 65–6); Apostolic
Constitutions II. 57, 940.
6 Caseau (2005); Caseau (2013: 61).
7 Marinis (2014: 64).
8 Taft (1998: 82).
9 Caseau (2013: 62).
10 The Didascalia Apostolorum XII (Eng. trans. 66).
11 Apostolic Constitutions II. 57, 940.
12 Caseau (2017: 221).
13 Life of Gregory of Decapolis 2 (62; Ger. trans. 63).
14 Life of Euthymios the Younger 4 (12; Eng. trans. 13).
15 Life of Nikon the Metanoeite 2 (32; Eng. trans. 33).
16 Life of Stephen the Younger 8 (97; Fr. trans. 188–9).
17 Hennessy (2008: 22).
18 Life of Stephen the Younger 8 (97; Fr. trans. 189).
19 Caseau (2013: 63).
20 Marinis (2014: 25–48).
21 The Canons of Trullo 69, 761.
22 Life of Theodore of Edessa 5 (5–6).
23 See the discussion on baptism in Chapter 3.
24 The Spiritually Beneficial Tales of Paul of Monembasia, tale no. 21,
151.
25 John Moschus, The Spiritual Meadow, tale no. 197, 175.
26 Meyendorff (1979: 192).
27 The Spiritually Beneficial Tales of Paul of Monembasia, tale no. 9, 92.
28 Taft (2006).
29 Caseau (2009b: 371).
30 Horn and Martens (2009: 294).
31 The spiritually beneficial tales of Paul of Monembasia, n. 9/9: “Small
children receive holy communion far more often than most adults in
the Orthodox Church,”182.
32 Les Novelles 89, 294–6.
33 On the ritual of marriage, see Meyendorff (1990); Gerstel (2006a: 114–
6).
34 Life of Athanasios of Athos 8 (Vita A) (92–4; It. trans. 93–5); 2 (Vita B)
(132–4; Eng. trans. 133–5).
35 Constas (2006). On funeral rites in Byzantium, see Velkovska (2001).
36 Life of Theodore of Edessa 6–7 (6–7); Life of Stephen the Younger 16
(107; Fr. trans. 200).
37 Life of Cyril the Phileote 10.1 (74–5; Fr. trans. 296–7).
38 Bakke (2005: 256–9); Horn and Martens (2009: 296–8).
39 Miller (2003: 66–7).
40 Parpulov (2010: 82).
41 Life of Michael the Synkellos 2 (46; Eng. trans. 47).
42 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Nicaea II (787) 14, 149.
43 Life of Peter of Atroa 3 (71; Fr. trans. 70).
44 Life of Cyril the Phileote 2.1 (44; Fr. trans. 266).
45 Life of Cyril the Phileote 2.3, 2.4 (47; Fr. trans. 268–9).
46 Life of Niketas of Medikion 5 (19).
47 Vasiliev (1932: 158–9); also in Berger (2001).
48 The Book of Ceremonies, Book I.30, 164–5.
49 Miller (2003: 58).
50 The Book of Ceremonies, Book I. 27, 151.
51 The Book of Ceremonies, Book I.10, 76.
52 Miller (2003: 212–21).
53 Life of Antony the Younger 34 (211); Miller (2003: 213–4).
54 Life of Basil the Younger, part I. 57 (186; Eng. trans. 187).
55 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 12 (67; Eng.
trans. 122).
56 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 12 (67; Eng.
trans. 122).
57 See for instance, Woolgar (2006);Nichols, Kablitz and Calhoun (2008).
58 James (2004); Caseau (2013); Pentcheva (2014).
59 James (2004: 524).
60 Caseau (2014: 89).
61 Nikephoros, Antirrheticus, III. 3 (PG 100, 380).
62 Mathews (1997: 31–54).
63 James (2004: 523).
64 For example, the mosaic depicting the Virgin and Child in the apse of
Hagia Sophia was around thirty meters above the ground; James (1996:
2).
65 James (2004: 527–8).
66 Hennessy (2008: 112–6).
67 Zentner (2001).
68 For example, in Hagia Sophia the apse mosaic portrays Jesus as a child
wearing a red robe. The gold tesserae that were used for the hair of the
child gave the whole mosaic a shiny aspect. For the use of the colours
in Byzantine art, see James (1996).
69 Life of Neilos the Younger 2 (6; Eng. trans. 7).
70 Caseau (2013: 64).
71 Pentcheva (2014: 122).
72 Pentcheva (2011: 101).
73 Corrigall and Schellenberg (2016).
74 Boynton and Rice (2008: 13); Caseau (2014:102); Borgerding (2006:
32–3).
75 Caseau (2013: 64–9).
76 Life of Mary the Younger 15 (698; Eng. trans. 271).
77 Miracles of Theodora of Thessalonike 10 (208–10; Eng. trans. 226).
78 Life of Mary the Younger 13 (698; Eng. trans. 270).
79 Life of Athanasia of Aegina 32 (223; Eng. trans. 156, as ch. 18).
80 Life of Athanasios of Athos 247b (Vita A) (364; It. trans. 365); 69 (Vita
B) (338–40; Eng. trans. 339–41).
81 Life of Loukas the Stylite 77 (276; Fr. trans. 276).
82 James (2011: 9).
83 James (2004: 525).
84 Life of Theodora of Thessaloniki 43 (154; Eng. trans. 201) and 47 (160;
Eng. trans. 205).
85 Life of Theodora of Thessaloniki 55 (176; Eng. trans. 211).
86 Gerstel (2006:112).
87 Caseau (2013: 74–5).
88 Life of David, Symeon and George of Lesbos 19 (235; Eng. trans. 196).
89 One of the many examples found in the Saints’ Lives is in the vita of
Theodore of Sykeon (sixth century), who was able to see with the
spiritual eyes that the silver of the vessel that was to be used for
communion was in reality blackened because it has been used by a
prostitute. See Life of Theodore of Sykeon 42 (Eng. trans. 117–8).
90 Life of Elias the Younger 3–4 (6–8; It. trans. 7–9).
91 Life of David, Symeon and George of Lesbos 4 (214; Eng. trans. 155).
92 Life of Athanasia of Aegina 3 (212; Eng. trans. 142–3, as ch. 1).
93 Life of Philaretos the Merciful 11 (112; Eng. trans. 113).
94 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 42–3 (Eng.
trans. 134–5).
95 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 45 (Eng.
trans. 136).
96 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 47 (Eng.
trans. 136).
97 John of Damascus, Three treatises on the divine images III.24, 101.
6 Life in the human hive
Family networks and the social life of the
household
DOI: 10.4324/9780429318498-6

We have seen in the two previous chapters how participation in the most
basic everyday activities in the household, at school and in church provided
the basis for children to learn and take up social practices and rules.
Children’s everyday life experiences need to be understood in the context of
daily interaction with the most intimate social network – parents, extended
family, relatives, and other members of the household, and of the
community at large, who transmitted cultural and social norms to children.
This chapter will focus on the interpersonal relations between children and
their caregivers and the roles and functions of these individuals in children’s
everyday lives. How did Byzantine authors conceive and articulate the roles
of these individuals in children’s lives? Who is more prominent among the
figures described in these stories? Under what circumstances did children
interact with them? What were the dominant attitudes concerning children’s
relationships with parents, siblings, and other relatives?
The chapter will start with an analysis of child–parent relationships in
which I shall focus mainly on the ways in which the authors describe the
parents’ presence in the lives of children and how they depict their roles in
children’s upbringing. I shall also look at the emotional ties between parents
and children, with an emphasis on the emotional attitudes of parents to their
offspring. I will then analyse the roles of siblings, relatives, and other
household members in children’s lives. At the end of the chapter, I shall
present my conclusions on the roles of these individuals in children’s
upbringing, by trying to sketch a holistic picture of the relationships within
the family network.
Parents
In this section, I look at parents as the most frequently mentioned figure in
childhood stories and at their roles in children’s upbringing. I am interested
in knowing under what circumstances mothers and fathers were depicted in
the sources in relation to their children and the main features that
characterized the relationships between parents and children, as described
by religious authors.
Byzantine society regarded the woman as the centre of the household.1
Accordingly, it is not surprising to find that mothers were the most
important figures in the sources in connection with children’s upbringing.
After all, women’s primary duty was to produce children, and, evidently, to
devote themselves to their care. Many hagiographies attest the strong bond
between mothers and their offspring. Whether described as taking an active
role in children’s education, or as those who carefully watch over them, the
Byzantine mothers are almost always the main background figures in these
childhood accounts.
One example that highlights the position of mothers in our texts occurs
in the eleventh-century vita of Nikephoros of Miletos. When Nikephoros’
parents decided to send their son to Constantinople to get a good education,
it was the mother who accompanied him to the capital. There, she decided
to accompany her boy to and fro from school, so she could watch over him
and make sure he would avoid the bad influence of his peers.2
Although fathers would mostly make the final decision regarding
children’s future careers, this was not the case with Theodote, the mother of
Michael Psellos. When he recalls his childhood, Psellos asserts that it was
his mother who took the leading role in matters concerning his education.
Against the wishes of her relatives, Theodote was the one who led her son
to pursue his literary studies. As he informs us in the encomium for his
mother, “to her belongs the choice and decision to lead me to higher
things.”3 She took an active part in his training, by helping him remember
what he had learnt at school, staying up late at night with him when he was
learning to read, and testing him on what he had learnt at school.4
The involvement of Theodote in the training process of her son recalls
the example of the mother of Theodore of Stoudios, Theoktiste. Because
she was illiterate, Theoktiste began to study on her own, learning the Book
of Psalms by heart to pass her knowledge on to her daughter.5 Theoktiste’s
example conveys the image of mothers involved in children’s religious
education. These two are good examples of how Byzantine writers used the
virtues of motherhood in the construction of self-representation. Both
Psellos and Theodore of Stoudios built their self-representations upon the
image of their mothers. Both praise their virtues and acknowledge the
influence their mothers had on them. However, their rhetoric, as Hatlie has
noted, is built upon a series of qualities that all Byzantine mothers were
considered to possess.6 This strategy fits well in the rhetorical agenda of the
two men, and functions in the same way in the hagiographical accounts,
which present the saints’ mothers as the most influential figures in their
children’s lives.
Mothers were those who were to inculcate Christian behaviour in their
children, either by telling them stories from the Bible, as in the case of
Psellos’ mother, or by taking them to church, religious festivals, or
pilgrimages. In his childhood, Stephen the Younger used to go with his
mother to church to attend night vigils.7 Mary, the mother of Gregory of
Decapolis, is presented as a very pious woman who instilled religious
education in her child. Her picture contrasts with that of her husband, who
was more concerned with carnal vanity than with the salvation of his soul.8
These examples illustrate well Hatlie’s view that, by presenting the
mothers’ roles in the saints’ lives, the biographers were in fact underlining
the virtues of their children.9 Indeed, through mothers’ continuous
supervision of their children, their concern with providing them with an
appropriate behaviour, and their commitment to the process of learning,
Byzantine mothers epitomize the ideal model of motherhood.
Father figures are not very often mentioned while the children were still
infants, except in the cases when the mothers were dead, as with
Theophano, who lost her mother in infancy. Her father tried to find for his
little girl a wet-nurse who would breastfeed her. Because Theophano
refused to suckle at other women’s breasts, her father is said to have been
extremely worried.10 The father of Theodora of Thessalonike lost his wife
at the girl’s birth. However, his involvement in Theodora’s upbringing was
minimal, for he wanted to embrace the monastic habit. Consequently, he
entrusted his daughter to the care of her godmother. Later, when Theodora
was seven years old, he arranged her betrothal.11 Another father mentioned
in the sources in the early years of a child’s life is the father of Antony
Kauleas. We learn that Antony learnt the psalms from his father, who
decided not to enrol his son in school, so as he would avoid the company of
his peers. However, it was the mother who provided Antony with a
religious education, but when she died, the father had to take over the
responsibility of the boy’s education.12
As Ariantzi has pointed out, fathers were those in charge of providing for
their families, assuring through their work the financial management of the
household.13 This is the reason why mothers appear more often than fathers
in the sources in relation to children’s upbringing. The fathers’ role is
mentioned in the texts more in instances that involve decision making, such
as the marriage arrangements or children’s entry to a monastery.
Marriage was a family strategy in which the parents, or in their absence,
the guardians, would choose who was going to be the future husband of
their daughters.14 I have already mentioned the case of Theodora of
Thessalonike, whose father selected her husband from the many nobles who
wanted her as a bride. A well-known case of a father who arranged the
betrothal of his daughter is that of Michael Psellos. He chose as the future
husband for his nine-year-old adopted daughter a certain young man named
Elpidios, who was the son of a high official. However, the future son-in-law
proved not to be the best choice for Psellos’ daughter, for he used to spend
his time with actors and charioteers, completely ignoring his fiancée.
Eventually, Psellos asked in court for the dissolution of this engagement.15
Girls usually did not have the opportunity to make their own choices
with respect to their future husbands. Theokleto is said to have been forced
by her parents, Constantine and Anastasia, who raised her in a way pleasing
to God, to take her future husband, Zacharias.16 Irrespective of whom the
parents chose as their bridegrooms, girls were expected to obey their
decision, even though some of them wanted to become nuns. For instance,
the young Athanasia of Aegina intended to enter the monastic way of life,
but her parents forced her to marry. Indeed, she had to marry twice, for her
first husband died shortly after the wedding. She managed to fulfil her
desire later, in adulthood, when she embraced the monastic habit together
with her second husband.17
When the fathers were no longer alive, it was the mothers who were
responsible for providing a suitable marriage arrangement for their
daughters. Mary the Younger had four siblings, two brothers, and two
sisters, all of whom married while their father was still alive. After his
death, Mary was raised by her mother, who gave her in marriage to a
military officer.18 The ninth-century vita of Symeon of Lesbos tells us the
story of a widowed woman who had two daughters. The older girl was
yearning for the monastic life, whereas her mother wanted her to find a
husband for the continuation of the family line. The mother tried to
persuade her daughter to agree to a lawful marriage by presenting her many
potential suitors. She even promised her that she would have the right to
choose whomever she would wish to be her husband, but everything was in
vain. Eventually the girl took the monastic habit together with her mother
and sisters.19
The entry to a monastery was evidently a big step in a child’s life, which
required the consent of the parents. This topic will be explored extensively
in the next chapter. Here, I mention only the case of Phantinos the Younger,
who entered a monastery at the age of eight, after his father noticed the
boy’s devotion to God. Consequently, he decided to entrust the boy to the
monastery of Elias Spelaiotes. He revealed his intention to his wife, who
agreed immediately.20
Such a life-changing decision, especially when taken by youngsters,
often met with strong opposition from the parents, a fact that illustrates the
deep emotional attachment of parents to their offspring. Some childhood
narratives report stories of children who decided to enter a monastery of
their own volition, leaving heartbroken parents behind.
Children were expected to obey and respect their parents. In general,
parents expected that their offspring would get married, have their own
children, and provide care and support when the parents were old. When all
these hopes and expectations were dashed by the children’s decision to
renounce the earthly family, the emotional reactions of parents were
evidently very strong, as the sources testify.
A case in point that illustrates the emotional attitudes of parents to
children is that of Loukas of Steiris who, before the age of fourteen, decided
to undertake a solitary life. After an unsuccessful attempt to go to Thessaly,
he managed to run away and to arrive at a monastery in Athens. His mother
was overwhelmed by an unbearable pain, for her son was her only
consolation in widowhood and the only support in her old age. She cried
and prayed to God that Loukas would come back to her. The abbot of the
monastery where Loukas resided dreamt about her grief and sent the boy
back home. Upon her child’s return home to her, the mother “did not
embrace him; she did not collapse in his arms; she did not become totally
absorbed in gazing at him, but she postponed all of these.” Firstly, she
thanked God for having listened to her prayers, and only then did she hold
her son in her arms.21 We observe here the expected reactions of mothers
who would face this situation: they would immediately embrace their
children, and hold them in their arms, looking at them with love.
The mother of Arsenios, one of the disciples of Symeon the New
Theologian, travelled to Constantinople to see her son who had just
embarked on the monastic life. When she heard about his decision to
renounce the world, she cast herself down at the gates of the monastery,
weeping and asking to see him. Arsenios refused to come to the gate on the
grounds that he was already dead to the world and he now had another
parent, Symeon, from whom he suckled the pure milk of the grace of God.
Even if her mother were to die at the gates of the monastery, he would not
be able to leave his spiritual father.22
Widowed mothers, especially, were afflicted by their children’s decision
to embark on the monastic life. In their case, the situation was all the more
difficult, as they would lose the psychological and financial support of their
sons. Such was also the case of the mother of Peter of Atroa, who was very
distressed when, after her first son, Peter, had already become a monk, she
heard that the second son too embraced the monastic habit in secret. She
cried as if they were dead. She fell ill of sadness and her only desire was to
see her sons before she died. She therefore persuaded them to visit her, by
reminding them of the pain and suffering she had when she gave birth to
them and when she breastfed them, as well as the efforts she had made to
raise them. Soon after she saw them, she passed away.23
As a youth, Nikon the Metanoeite left his family in secret and entered
the monastery of Chryse Petra. Twelve years later his father found out
where Nikon lived, and came to the monastery to see his beloved child, but
all was in vain, for the saint, having learned that his family wanted to visit
him, had run away again. Eventually, the father with all his other children
and servants managed to catch him up, but Nikon was already on the other
side of a raging river. His family understood that there was no chance of
crossing the river and seeing Nikon. The father’s emotional reaction is
worth quoting in full:

My son, sweetest son, most delightful son, consolation of my life, why

do you not reverence my grey hair, how are you not moved to pity at
my wailing? Or you do not know that I desired you more than my
other children and loved you especially, and as a bird I cherished you,
like a chick in the nest. To what end do you fly from me thus, why do
you treat me in my wretchedness so badly? Remember, son, my love
for you. Remember the exertion and toil which I have undertaken,
running breathless as far as this place for your sake, greatly loved by
me. I am the cause of your birth, son … I am your father, not a serpent,
nor viper, nor asp, nor any other venomous creature. If it is not your
wish to touch me, poor wretch, at least show me your face which I
long to see. Yes, dear son, do not treat me, poor wretch, badly to the
end.24

This passage offers us a vivid example of a father’s reaction to

understanding that he lost his son, not through death, but by becoming a
monk. While the love of the father is self-evident, it is interesting to note
the reasons he invokes in his attempt to make his son come back. Standing
by their parents, who had made all the efforts involved in raising them, was
a moral duty children were expected to fulfil. This is a recurring theme in
Byzantine legislation that stresses the duties of children towards their
parents in old age.
The same sentimental discourse of a father can be found in the vita of
Symeon the New Theologian. When Symeon’s father learned that his son
had decided to embrace the monastic habit, he started to implore him to
postpone the entry to a monastery until after his death. He could not endure
the idea that his son would leave him:

But for now you surely don’t want this separation from you to grieve
me so, when you know that you alone are the staff of my old age and
comfort of my soul; for I think that loosing you will be the death to
me.25
If these young men are presented in the sources as being steadfast in their
decision to embrace a monastic career, causing their parents deep sadness
and grief, a different perspective is illustrated in the cases of girls.
Certainly, parents expected children, either boys or girls, to show them
obedience and submit to their wishes. Girls, however, appear in the sources
as more submissive than boys.
The affection of parents towards their children is described in the sources
also when children were in danger of death. Many miracle accounts
describe worried parents who brought their sick children to the holy shrines.
It is difficult to establish a pattern with regard to the person who
accompanied a child to the holy tombs, but it seems that the mothers appear
more often in the sources as accompanying persons, and it is possible that
the sources reflect the reality. Fathers were, after all, those who supported
financially the entire family. They had to work to provide for their families,
and therefore their presence at the holy shrines is less visible in the sources
than that of mothers.
Moreover, mothers are described as displaying a much more emotional
reaction towards the child’s fate than fathers. They are the ones who pray
and cry, beseech the saints to intercede for their children, and spend as
much time as needed at the holy shrine, to make sure that they will be
cured.26 This does not mean that fathers were insensitive with respect to
their offspring’s situation, but their emotions are much more restrained in
our sources.27
One explanation of the different ways the Byzantines described their
emotions is the fact that emotions were traditionally ascribed to women.28
In a letter of consolation addressed by the patriarch Photios to his brother
who had lost his daughter, Photios urged him not to abandon himself to
uncontrollable grief, “for what will happen to women if the men whom they
expect to regain strength, grieve like women? … Let us not behave like
women in sorrow.”29 Men had to be strong, in Photios’ opinion, and to
comfort their wives when such tragedies befell them. Describing the
reaction of Mary the Younger when she lost her first child, who died at the
age of five, the biographer says:

The mother’s heart was broken and torn asunder, as one would expect.
But she kept to herself, sighing and openly weeping, without however
displaying unseemly behaviour. She did not tear out her hair, nor she
 did disfigure her cheeks with her hands, nor did she rend her clothes,
nor did she throw ashes on her head, nor did she utter blasphemous
words. She almost conquered nature and weeping just enough to show
she was a mother … cried out in a calm voice with greatness of soul.30

Mary’s ideal reaction is depicted in contrast with the expected emotional

behaviour of any mother at her child’s death. However, the purpose of her
biographer was to present her first as a holy woman who denied her
feminine nature, and only thereafter as a mother, hence her manifestation of
grief in a decorous manner. In Byzantium, social norms dictated in what
ways and in which circumstances women and men could express their
emotions. Byzantine men, for instance, were expected to show emotional
equanimity in hard times, whereas women were expected to behave
irrationally.31
Obviously, children’s death was a cruel reality Byzantine parents had to
cope with. Littlewood has argued that parents were fully aware that some of
their children would not survive to adulthood, given the high mortality rate
in the first few years of life. For this reason, they were, “if not resigned to,
at least not unsurprised by losing half or even more of their children.”32
Talbot has argued that since the Byzantines believed that death was not the
end, but the transition to afterlife, they may have grieved less for their
children.33 Indeed, many hagiographies depict parents who experienced the
premature death of their offspring. They ascribed the loss of the child to
God’s will and accepted it as such. Mary the Younger accepted with
courage and patience the tragic loss of her first son. She accepted that the
child was a gift from God, who gave it to her and took it away from her.
When the second child passed away, she bore the suffering in the same
manner, by giving thanks to God.34
Theodora of Thessaloniki buried two children, a tragedy that she
endured with a positive outlook. She even comforted her husband by telling
him that they were not the first parents to suffer this kind of loss, and that
this tragedy must not plunge him into despondency.35 Ariantzi suggests that
mothers experienced the loss of their children more painfully, given the
emotional bonds they formed with their offspring during the period of
pregnancy and in the first years of life.36 Without contesting the validity of
her argument, it is nevertheless hard to tell whether fathers did not suffer as
much as mothers when they lost their children. It may be, as Littlewood and
Talbot put it, that the Byzantine parents accepted more easily the death of
their children when the family had at least one surviving child. Perhaps, in
reality, the display of emotions was similar in men and women when they
lost a child, especially when they had only one child.
The pain experienced by Psellos at the death of his beloved daughter
Styliane is depicted in a very emotional way. He lost his only child, for
whom he hoped to arrange a suitable marriage. When death prematurely
snatched his daughter away, he felt dejected and sullen, like a dead man.37
His only consolation was that his daughter’s death was God’s will and that
he might find some relief from this great sorrow if his beloved Styliane
would visit him in dreams, although only in death was his suffering to
end.38
Another such case is described in a miracle story, which portrays a
despairing father on the verge of losing his only child. A certain man,
Theodotos had lost four children in a row when they were still infants.
Thus, he decided that if he would have another child of whatever sex, he
would dedicate him or her to God. After some time, his wife gave birth to a
girl who was entrusted to a monastery at the age of two. Soon afterwards,
the little girl fell sick. She was in a critical condition and everybody
expected her to die. Theodotos, however, still had hopes that Theodora of
Thessalonike, to whom the girl was dedicated, would save her, and he
continued to pray to the saint. A nun saw the entire scene in a vision:

The sanctified sarcophagus of the saint was illuminated on all sides by

candles, and the saint was sitting on top of it and the aforementioned
Theodotos was standing alongside holding his sick daughter in his
arms, and throwing himself at the saint’s feet and crying out in
supplication saying: “Mother, why do you not heed the sound of my
wailing? … For death is trying like a lion to snatch away the child that
I hoped to have through your intercessions, now that she is growing
up. Why do you not entreat the merciful Christ our God on her behalf
to grant her to you to be a source of joy and pride for those who have
faithfully placed their hope in you?”39

The story has a happy ending, for the little girl survived. This scene is all
the more touching in that it displays the deep affection of a father towards
his child through a sentimental discourse in which love and tenderness are
expressed via not only lamentations addressed to Saint Theodora, but also
physical touch. Holding his little girl in his arms, the father displays a
protective attitude towards her. Such signs of physical tenderness between
parents and children are not as often mentioned in our sources as we might
expect. In the funeral oration for his mother, Psellos speaks about her
affection, although she refrained from kissing and embracing him:

As affection compelled her, however, on one occasion when I seemed

to be asleep … she entirely unaware of my pretence, came near to me
and ever so gently took me in her arms, kissed my face many times,
and them wept in floods, saying, “O, my dear child, though I love you
so, I cannot kiss you often”. In this way she both restrained her
affection and kept diligent watch over my upbringing.40

A very touching family portrait, comprising a father and his daughter, is

sketched by the same Psellos. The mutual affection between the two
emerges in the ordinary domestic times they spent together. The historian
recalls:

the proof and signs of her affection toward me were many: hugging me
around the neck often, rushing to embrace me, spending long days
together, lying together upon our bed, sitting on my knees, passing
from one bosom to another, eating the same delicacies, sharing the
same drinks…41

This passage is all the more telling because it emphasizes the way in which
children showed their affection towards their parents, an aspect that is rather
rarely described in our sources. In general, as Ariantzi has also noted,
children’s love for their parents is manifested in hagiographical sources
more in terms of the responsibilities and duties they fulfil in adulthood,
such as taking care of their sick parents or taking care of their burial.42
They are rarely portrayed as displaying tender gestures towards their
parents, as was the case with Styliane who used to hug and kiss her father.
We have, nevertheless, a few childhood narratives that give an account of
children’s tenderness to their parents, as with Phantinos the Younger who,
on his departure to the monastery of Elias Spelaiotes, kissed and hugged his
mother for the last time.43 Children’s attachment to their parents was also
manifested in times of hardship, when the absence of parents made them
anxious and unhappy. Such was the case with Elias the Younger, who was
captured by the Arabs when he was only twelve years old. The child, who
was dragged by force onto the ship that transported the captives, started to
bitterly cry because he was deprived of his parents whom he missed
greatly.44 Having the intention to embark on the monastic life, the eighteen-
year-old Michael Maleinos left Constantinople on the pretence that he
longed for his parents.45
We can sum up the evidence provided by the sources as follows: the
relationships between parents and children were based upon affection and
expectations, responsibilities, and duties on both parts. Parents are
described in our sources as taking great care of their offspring. Both
mothers and fathers were involved in their children’s upbringing, although
mothers seem to take a more prominent place in the childhood narratives.
They provided them with a religious education, and in some cases, they
were actively involved in the learning process. In several hagiographies,
mothers are presented as taking the responsibility for children’s literary
education, but in those cases, the mother is the only surviving parent. Father
figures emerge in the sources primarily when children grew out of infancy.
In general, when the father was alive, he took care of his children by
sending them to schools or finding private tutors. The fathers were the ones
who financially supported the entire family; they were the breadwinners;
accordingly, even if the sources mention both parents in connection with
children’s schooling, it is reasonable to believe that the fathers made the
final decision in this matter. They were also the decision makers in their
children’s marriage arrangements.
The strong affection for children is manifested especially when parents
had to cope with the child’s decision to leave the family unit, or at their
death. The grief and sadness they felt when children left the family were
determined by the societal expectations according to which children were
supposed to support their parents in old age, to comfort them, and to show
them respect and consideration. This idea is emphasized over and over
again in the hagiographical texts, but it is also confirmed by Byzantine law,
which stressed the parents’ right to disinherit their children if they did not
treat them properly and did not provide them with support in their old age.
The legislation of the Middle Byzantine period lists a whole range of
reasons that could deprive children of their inheritance.46 Although these
provisions referred to grown-up children, they reinforce the idea that
parent–child relationships were based on mutual duties and obligations,
affection, and respect. The ways in which children manifested their
affection towards parents are described in the sources in terms of tender
gestures, like kisses and hugs or feelings of longing when they were
separated from their parents.

Children and their siblings

How did Byzantine authors portray the nature and dynamics of sibling
relations and the role they played in each other’s lives? Which aspects
emerge in the context of children’s everyday life? In hagiographical
sources, sibling relationships are almost always described in terms of the
responsibilities and duties of an elder sibling towards the younger one.47
This situation was frequent in the absence of one or both parents from
children’s lives. For instance, fatherless children were raised by their
mothers, who were recognized in Byzantine law as the legal guardians.
Some of them surely relied upon the support of their adult offspring in the
upbringing of younger children. This was the case with Symeon of Lesbos,
who was entrusted by his old mother to David, his brother, who was already
a monk. At that time Symeon was eight years old, while David is described
as being much older.48 David taught Symeon the Psalter and tonsured him
after a novitiate that lasted for fourteen years.49 Although there is an
evident chronological inconsistency in the vita, this episode illustrates that
adult siblings were expected to replace the role of the deceased father in the
lives of their younger brothers and sisters. We observe here not only the
transfer of authority between the parents and adult offspring, but also the
dynamics of these relationships, which evolved from brotherhood to
spiritual fatherhood. David becomes the spiritual father of his young
brother.
An adult brother was regarded as a role model for his younger siblings.
For instance, the younger brother of Peter of Atroa, Christopher, followed
his example and took the monastic habit. The vita also emphasizes the
affection between the two brothers. When Christopher met Peter after many
years, he declared that he would never separate from his brother, whom he
loved deeply.50 Peter of Argos was the youngest child of a wealthy family.
He had three brothers, Paul, Dionysius, and Plato, and a sister whose name
we are not told. Shortly after Paul, Dionysius, and the sister had assumed
the monastic garment together with their parents, Peter and Plato followed
their example.51
In some cases, when both parents were dead, the responsibility for taking
care of young children was undertaken by adult siblings. Neilos the
Younger, whose parents died when he was a child, was raised by his older
sister. According to the vita, the sister was married, but there is no
indication that her husband was alive, as Neilos lacked a male role model
when he was a teenager and began to lay his eyes on young unmarried
women. It was not unusual in such cases that children lived in the same
household with their older siblings who acted as their guardians and took
responsibility for their upbringing.52 Another case of an older sibling who
had to take responsibility for his younger brother is described in the vita of
Paul of Latros. Basil, the older brother of Paul, fled to a monastery on the
Bythinian Olympus on his wedding night, leaving behind his bride, his
mother, and Paul, who was younger than him. Not long after this event, the
mother died too, leaving Paul without a guardian. Although Basil wanted to
break any relationship with his family, he could not forget about Paul who
was probably a minor, although no indication about his age is given. The
hagiographer tells us that it was God who sent Basil three warnings to take
the young boy to the monastery. Consequently, he sent a monk in his native
village to bring his younger brother along. The villagers, however, reacted
with suspicion, fearing that the monk wanted to take the boy and sell him as
a slave. Only on the third attempt did the monk succeed in his assignment.
When Paul arrived at the monastery, Basil entrusted him for care and
instruction to a certain Peter of the monastery of Karia.53
When both parents were dead, it was the duty of adult brothers to
provide their younger sisters with a dowry. The bride’s dowry was an
essential element of marriage, because it represented the bride’s share of her
family inheritance. The future husband had the legal right to administer the
dowry, but in the case of his death, the wife would regain full control of it.
If she died before her husband, their children inherited the dowry. If the
couple were childless, the woman’s family would take the dowry back.54
We find in the hagiographical literature examples of brothers who had to
take care of their younger sisters’ marriage portion. Plato of Sakkoudion
took care of his two sisters, Theoktiste and Anna, by providing them with a
dowry after he sold the parental house.55
When a father died, the responsibility for taking care of the mother and
siblings fell on the adult male offspring. They had to take care of the
inheritance, as was the case with Michael the Synkellos. After the death of
his father, he felt responsible for his mother’s and sisters’ fate. He was
concerned about how he might provide for them. Because the women
decided to enter the monastery, Michael sold the family’s properties and
handed over many possessions to the convent where his mother and his
sisters had taken the monastic habit.56 He was, in fact, the one who tonsured
them, becoming in this way their spiritual father. The same was true of
Stephen the Younger, who, upon his father’s death, had to take care of his
funeral. He sold all his family’s properties in Constantinople and tonsured
his mother and sister.57 His sister was probably still a young girl, since she
was not married at the time of the father’s death.
In the vita of Cyril the Phileote, we learn about the relationships between
two sisters. One of them was living with her old mother, while the other
one, presumably already married, was living in a village eighteen miles
away from the maternal house. The married sister fell ill. The younger one
wanted to visit her, but was afraid of travelling alone because of her young
age. Cyril accompanied the girl to her sister’s house. At the sight of her
younger sister, the sick woman embraced her and died soon thereafter. The
young girl and Cyril took care of the funeral of the deceased.58
The information provided by the hagiographies does not allow us to have
a broader overview of sibling relationships in everyday life. Nevertheless,
we have some autobiographical evidence from the funeral orations of
Michael Psellos, in which he portrays the relationship with his sister when
he was a child. Psellos evokes the moments he spent with his sister, who
was older than him and to whom he showed respect and reverence: “my
sister ranked ahead of me in both age and graces of her soul and excited
respect in me for a long time.”59 She behaved in a sisterly manner, by
kissing and hugging her younger brother and telling him of her desires,
intentions, and actions. However, she acted in accordance with her position
as an older sister, teaching him to be moderate. Psellos, on the other hand,
declares that he submitted to her in all matters and treated her with
reverence, even when she was hugging him.60 The central aspect in this
description seems to be the respect a younger sibling must show to the older
one.
All the cases presented above portray a fraternal relationship based on
affection and respect. The involvement of elder siblings in their younger
brothers’ and sisters’ lives is manifested especially when one or both
parents were dead. They took care of their education, acted sometimes as
the children’s legal guardians, or influenced the future monastic career of
their brothers and sisters. Even if the biographers did not elaborate very
much on the role of siblings in one another’s lives, it is evident that their
relationship was based upon affection and care, respect, and admiration.
Some narratives mention the close bond between siblings and their constant
contact in adulthood, which is, after all, a clear sign that the Byzantines
cherished their siblings and were concerned with their well-being.61 There
is no trace of animosity between them, as was the case with some imperial
siblings. Shaun Tougher has analysed a number of cases of relationships
between siblings within the imperial family. One of his main findings is the
tension that characterizes these relations.62 Young imperial siblings are
presented in the sources in opposition to their elder ones who hold real
power. Power in itself is a source of tension, because at any time the
younger sibling could claim it. On the other hand, elder siblings tend to
preserve their power by limiting imperial favours shown to their younger
siblings.
Obviously, it is difficult to compare the nature of imperial sibling
relationships with those between siblings from other social strata. The
Byzantines may have expected imperial siblings to behave in relation to one
another differently from ordinary people. Religious authors, however,
described sibling relationships in positive terms. In a saint’s family, the
ideal relationship between brothers and sisters was characterized by love
and affection, as well as by rights and obligations on both parties.

Children and grandparents

The hagiographies of our period offer us extremely few examples of
grandparents involved in children’s lives. Their absence in the sources may
be explained by the fact that few people would survive long enough to
become grandparents. However, when they are mentioned, one of the
features that characterizes their relationship with their grandchildren is
emotional closeness. One example of a Byzantine saint who survived long
enough to be involved in the life of his grandchildren is that of Philaretos
the Merciful. According to his holy biography, he had seventeen
grandchildren born to his three children, a son and two daughters. Before
his death, Philaretos called all his grandchildren, one by one, to give them
the final blessing. He blessed them all and advised them how to live their
lives in accordance with Christian teachings.
The text also emphasizes the affectionate relationship between Philaretos
and his grandchild Niketas, who was also his godson. We are told that
Philaretos loved his grandchild so much “that Niketas did not go down from
his knee when he was in his house, and wherever Philaretos went, he
carried him in front of his horse.”63 In the scene of the final blessing,
Niketas recalls how his grandfather lifted him up on his bed and kissed him.
He prayed for his dear grandchild that he might live longer than all his
brothers, sisters and his parents, and that God would grant him the gift of
mercifulness and wisdom, making him worthy to take the monastic habit.
The old man invoked the Mother of God to protect the young boy from
every hostile power, temptation and danger.64
Euthymios the Younger was the grandfather of three girls and a boy born
by his daughter, Anastaso. However, his involvement in their lives was
nonexistent when they were children, as Euthymios embarked on monastic
life at the age of eighteen, leaving behind his wife and the new-born
daughter. Only after seventeen years did Euthymios get in touch with his
family who decided to join him in monastic life. Anastaso, his daughter was
the only one who remained in the world and gave birth to four children.
Later, Euthymios founded a monastery at Peristerai, near Thessalonike and
arranged for his grandson Methodios65 to take over the role of the abbot.66
In this case, even though this relationship was manifested only in
adulthood, it shows that grandfathers could make use of their influence in
securing the careers of their grandchildren.
If we want to learn more about how grandfathers may have behaved
towards their grandchildren, we need to turn to secular sources. As a
grandfather, Michael Psellos did not spare any chances to show his deep
affection for his four-month-old grandson. In the letter addressed to the
child of his adoptive daughter, Psellos evokes the moments he spent with
the baby: he kissed him affectionately, embraced him firmly, played with
him, snatching him from the toys, taking, and lifting him up in the air.
Psellos was often present when the baby was washed and swaddled:

I did not really want to bathe you myself, but in order that you, on the
one hand, could delight in the bath while I, on the other, could delight
in your grace and happiness, I often came to see you when you were
bathed and became another baby with you as I leaned in close to your
tub. You, in part, because you were happy to see me, in part to get
away from the water when it was a bit too hot, clutched at me in every
way you could, wrapping yourself around me and clinging with all
your might, and speaking in your baby talk, you said nothing that I
could understand.67

In another letter written after his grandson was born, Psellos confessed to a
friend how excited he was about babies. He loved to embrace his
grandchildren and wanted to be involved in their nurture by telling the
midwife what to do and how to take care of the infants. When thinking
about the newly born child of his friend, he expressed the wish to lift the
baby up in the air, performing childish figures and funny faces.68 The
domestic scenes described above emphasize the fact that grandparents were
involved in children’s upbringing even from the time when they were
infants. Not only did they provide for their moral instruction, as the
hagiographical sources show, but they were also in close contact with
children, participating along with other caregivers in children’s daily lives.
As with grandfathers, grandmothers also rarely appear in hagiographical
sources. Their role becomes apparent in the cases of orphaned children
when they undertook the responsibility for their grandchildren’s upbringing.
Such was the case with Niketas of Medikion, whose ninth-century vita
informs us that his mother died eight days after the boy’s birth. The paternal
grandmother took over the responsibility of the boy’s upbringing, raising
him in piety.69 When Niketas grew older, his father took care of his
education by sending him to the local church to learn the sacred letters. It is
evident that the boy’s grandmother replaced the deceased mother in
providing the care and nurture of the child, whereas the father’s role
emerges in connection with his son’s education. Another example of a
grandmother who took an active role in the life of her grandchild is
provided by the tenth-century Synaxarion of Constantinople on Anna-
Euphemianos. We are told that the saintly girl was entrusted to her
grandmother when her parents died. The grandmother hurried up to arrange
her granddaughter’s marriage to a devout man.70 It seems from these two
cases that when one of the parents was alive, the grandmothers provided
support for children’s nurture. In the case of children who had lost both
parents, the grandmothers could act as their legal guardians, taking full
responsibility for their care. This would also come with the obligation to
arrange the weddings of their grandchildren and to provide them with a
dowry.71
Usually, grandmothers took full care of children who had lost their
mothers, being involved more in the physical development of their
grandchildren, while grandfathers may have offered support for education.
Unfortunately, the shortage of evidence on the relationship between
grandparents and children provided by our sources does not allow us to see
to what extent lineage was a factor in these relationships. As we have seen
in Chapter 2, the probability of a child to have a maternal grandmother was
higher than that of having paternal grandparents alive later in childhood.
Yet, in everyday contexts, it is more likely that women may have relied
upon the help of their own mothers both at the time of childbirth and
afterwards in the first year of a child’s life.72 Of course, this does not
exclude the fact that the paternal grandmother also could give this support if
she lived in the same household with her son or if the maternal grandmother
was no longer alive. This could be the case of Niketas of Medikion whose
father relied upon his own mother’s help in raising his son, although we
have no indication whether the father lived in his parents’ house. It is not
clear in the case of Anna/Euphemianos whether her grandmother was on the
maternal or paternal side. Judging from the fact that other relatives who
were involved in her life were paternal uncles, it might also be that her
grandmother was on the father’s side.

Uncles and aunts and their roles in children’s lives

Uncles played an important role in Byzantine children’s lives especially
when decisions were to be made about a future career. Some uncles who
were better positioned in society influenced the future of their nephews by
using their position in society to pave the path that would lead to a desired
career. In hagiographical sources, children’s uncles are usually monks who
support their nephews’ entry to a monastery. Such was the case of Nicholas
of Stoudios, who was sent to Constantinople to enter the monastery of
Stoudios. In this monastery resided his paternal uncle Theophanes, who
introduced the ten-year-old boy to the abbot Theodore of Stoudios.73
As I have already mentioned in this book, Plato of Sakkoudion and his
sisters Anna and Theoktiste (the mother of Theodore of Stoudios) were
raised by one of their uncles from childhood onwards. This uncle took care
of Plato’s instruction in law, with the intention that he should become a
state official. He paved the way for his nephew to a career in imperial
financial administration.74 In adulthood, Plato influenced the life path of his
nephew, Theodore of Stoudios, who was tonsured by his maternal uncle. It
has been assumed that Theodore was ordained as a priest by Tarasios
because of his uncle’s good relations with the patriarch.75
The eleventh-century vita of Lazaros of Galesion illustrates the
continuous influence an uncle could exert on his nephew’s path through
life. Lazaros learned the skills of a notary due to his uncle’s connections.
This uncle, named Elias, was a monk at the monastery of Khalatai. He
persuaded Lazaros’ parents to let the boy receive first of all proper
instruction in the holy letters. Three years later, when Lazaros was nine
years old, he was sent on the orders of the same uncle to a notary at the
monastery of Oroboi. Elias took him after another three years to his
monastery, where Lazaros learned church matters.76
Another example of an uncle who was involved in his nephew’s life is
given in the eleventh-century vita of Symeon the New Theologian. Born to
a prominent family from Cappadocia, Symeon was sent to Constantinople
where he could have better educational opportunities. There, he had a
paternal uncle who occupied the position of chamberlain at the imperial
court. The uncle planned to introduce Symeon to the imperial circle, a
common strategy for advancement in elite circles. Thanks to his uncle’s
position at the imperial court, Symeon was appointed
spatharokoubikoularios (imperial bodyguard) and became a member of the
senate, probably at the age of fourteen.77
As we shall see in the next chapter, Byzantine parents who sent their
children to monasteries usually chose for their offspring a monastic
community where one of their relatives resided. Paul of Latros and his
brother Basil were sent by their mother to the monastery of Saint Stephen,
where their maternal uncle Ioannikios was a monk.78 He took care of the
boys’ monastic education, just as the uncles of Nicholas of Stoudios or
Lazaros of Galesion did. It is clear in the case of Basil and Paul of Latros,
who were fatherless, that the maternal uncle replaced to a certain extent the
role of the deceased father and provided them with a proper education.
Uncles also appear in the correspondence of the tenth-century
anonymous teacher as actively involved in their nephews’ education. A
number of letters are addressed to various bishops and clerics whose
nephews were the teacher’s pupils. Obviously, these men took on the
responsibility of supporting their nephews’ secondary education, and the
teacher was charged with communicating the progress of the students to
these uncles.79
Again, it is difficult to establish whether lineage was an important matter
in the uncle–nephew relationship. Both paternal and maternal uncles appear
in the texts as involved in children’s education and paving their way for an
appropriate career. It is possible that in the case of fatherless children, their
mothers would call for their brothers’ assistance to play the surrogate role
of a father, as in the case of Paul of Latros. It is clear, however, that many
young people in Byzantium would choose a monastic career because of
their relatives who were already monks. In this respect, we also have the
example of the daughter of Theodora of Thessalonike, who was entrusted to
a convent where her aunt was abbess.80 In the case of aunts, it is difficult to
identify their role in children’s lives. The sources usually do not mention
them, but most probably, they played only a marginal role in their nephews’
lives.

Children and other members of the household

A Byzantine household, especially in the cases of well-off families,
contained not only the members of the nuclear family, but also servants.
These individuals, however, are rarely mentioned in the sources as playing a
role in children’s lives. We again need to rely on the information provided
by the funeral oration of Psellos for his daughter Styliane, which mentions
wet nurses and maidservants with whom the girl interacted daily.81 Rich
families may have had a number of servants whose tasks were to supervise
and assist children. Naturally, those who were in charge of taking care of
children would form strong bonds with them, as in the case of the servants
who lived in Psellos’ house. We are told that in the last hours of Styliane’s
life, all household members, servants included, gathered beside her
deathbed:

…the crowd standing around was weeping and striking their chests
wishing to die along with the dying girl…friends, relatives, slaves,
slave women, free men and women, all fell upon her body, also her
wet nurses and caretakers, who more than the others, like mothers
really, were naturally attached to the body that lay there, enveloping it
in an embrace and calling upon their mistress, their lady, the one
whom apart from giving birth to her, they had swaddled and breast-fed
and nourished and raised to such an age.82

Some aristocratic families would have had as servants eunuchs who were in
charge of tutoring the children, accompanying them in the city, and
supervising them when needed. As Ringrose has pointed out, in Byzantium,
the eunuchs had traditionally been assigned the roles of teachers,
physicians, guardians of women and children, or personal servants in the
imperial and aristocratic families.83
Our hagiographical sources, however, remain silent with respect to the
influence of the servants in children’s lives. In a Byzantine family, the ideal
was that children should be taken care of by parents, especially mothers,
when the children were young. Perhaps this is the reason why servants are
not mentioned in connection with children’s upbringing. They may have
played only a marginal role in the nuclear family.

Conclusions
In this chapter, I have focused on the ways in which the Byzantines
depicted the interpersonal relationships of children with the family and
other members of the household. The subject matter was analysed by
looking more at the positions of the caregivers in childhood narratives to
see the main features that characterized their relationships with children.
 In the sources, the most important figures in children’s lives were the
parents. Both secular authors like Psellos and religious authors like
Theodore of Stoudios or the anonymous hagiographer of Nikephoros of
Miletos praised especially the roles of mothers in the upbringing of
children. They were expected to take care of their children, nurture, and
educate them to become good Christians.
The role of the fathers becomes more prominent in the sources once
children grew up, for they were expected to support their offspring’s
education by sending them to schools or finding a private teacher. In the
case of fatherless children, this responsibility was taken over by their
mothers with the support of an adult sibling, as in the case of Symeon of
Lesbos, or of lateral relatives, usually uncles, as in the case of Plato of
Sakoudion. The future of children of marriageable age was decided by
fathers who were in charge of finding a suitable marriage arrangement, and
of providing their daughters with a dowry, as Psellos or the father of
Theodora of Thessalonike did. In the absence of the father, this
responsibility was taken over by the mother or by a male adult sibling.
Fraternal relationships are depicted in terms of the responsibilities of
elder siblings towards their younger brothers and sisters. From the
description of Psellos’ relationships with his sister, we can clearly see the
strong emotional bond between siblings, but we also see that younger
children were expected to show respect to their elder brothers and sisters.
The latter, on their part, were expected to act in the best interests of their
younger siblings, especially when both parents were dead.
Apart from members of the nuclear family, uncles were assigned a
special place in our sources. They are depicted both in hagiographies and in
private letters as taking care of their nephews’ education, paving the way
for a good career. Uncles’ position in society and their social connections
were means through which a child who had lost his or her father, such as
Plato, or who belonged to a poor family, such as Lazaros of Galesion,
would have had the opportunity to ascend the social ladder.
Grandparents appear in the sources rather rarely. Their roles in the lives
of children may have been greater than what the sources tell us. However,
when these individuals are mentioned, they are depicted as those who had
taken an active part in the upbringing of their grandchildren.
The emotional aspect of children’s relationships with their family is best
illustrated in the sources when children died and when they left the family
environment to enter a monastery. In these situations, the emotional
reactions of the parents underline the importance of the family as a social
unit, for which it was essential that children would ensure both the
continuation of the family lineage and the economic and psychological
support for parents in their old age.
Looking at the relationships of children with family members as a whole,
it is evident that Byzantines were concerned with their offspring’s well-
being. In the whole family network, each individual had his or her own role
and function in relation to children. However, some of the family members’
roles and functions overlap. For instance, in the nuclear family, parents
functioned as caregivers who at the same time provided both emotional and
financial support. While both parents would fulfil emotional functions in
their children’s lives, although to different degrees, only the father played
an economic role. Siblings could perform these roles instead of the parents,
but in different phases of life. While still children, siblings offered each
other emotional support, but it was only in adulthood that they could fulfil
the economic role. The members of the extended family supplemented and
sometimes replaced (when one or both parents were absent) these roles and
functions. Grandparents functioned more as caregivers who offered
emotional support to their grandchildren, in addition to that of the parents,
and they may also have fulfilled the economic role in the absence of one or
both parents. Uncles seem to greatly fulfil the economic function, either
when both parents were alive, or when the father was dead.

Notes
1 Talbot (1997: 126–7).
2 Life of Nikephoros of Miletos 5 (160).
3 Michael Psellos, Encomium for his mother 6 (97; Eng. trans. 62).
4 Michael Psellos, Encomium for his mother 10 (105; Eng. trans. 68–9).
5 Theodore of Stoudios, Funerary catechism for his mother 3 (27; Eng.
trans. 43).
6 Hatlie (2009: 46).
7 Life of Stephen the Younger 8 (97; Fr. trans. 188).
8 Life of Gregory of Decapolis 1 (60–2; Ger. trans. 61–3).
 9 Hatlie (2009: 56).
10 Life of Theophano 4 (3).
11 Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 4–5 (72–6; Eng. trans. 166–7).
12 Life of Antony Kauleas 3 (414).
13 Ariantzi (2012: 181–2).
14 Talbot (1997: 121–3). On marriage, see also Laiou (1992).
15 Michael Psellos, The Court Memorandum (hypomnêma) (Eng. trans.
147–56).
16 Life of Theokleto.
17 Life of Athanasia of Aegina 3 (212; Eng. trans. 143, as ch. 1), and 6
(213; Eng. trans. 144, as ch. 1).
18 Life of Mary the Younger 2 (692; Eng. trans. 256).
19 Life of David, Symeon and George of Lesbos 19 (234–6; Eng. trans.
193–6).
20 Life of Phantinos the Younger 3 (404; It. trans. 405).
21 Life of Loukas of Steiris 15 (24; Eng. trans. 25).
22 Life of Symeon the New Theologian 46 (100; Eng. trans. 101).
23 Life of Peter of Atroa 17 (109; Fr. trans. 108).
24 Life of Nikon the Metanoeite 15 (72; Eng. trans. 73).
25 Life of Symeon the New Theologian 8 (22; Eng. trans. 23).
26 See for instance, Life of Mary the Younger 13 and 15 (698; Eng. trans.
270–1); Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 50 and 51 (166–8; Eng. trans.
207–8) and Miracles of Theodora of Thessalonike 10 (208–10; Eng.
trans. 226); Life of Loukas of Steiris 70 (116; Eng. trans. 117); Life of
Peter of Atroa 51 (169; Fr. trans. 168); Life of Peter of Atroa (Vita
retractata)108 (161; Fr. trans. 160).
27 The role of the fathers in children’s lives was discussed by John
Chrysostom in some of his homilies, where he put a special emphasis
on the affectionate relationship between fathers and children; on this,
see the analysis made by O’Roark (1991).
28 Hinterberger (2010: 124).
29 White (1973: 53–4).
30 Life of Mary the Younger 4 (693; Eng. trans. 258–9).
31 Neville (2019, esp. 76–7, and 79–80).
32 Littlewood (1999: 37).
33 Talbot (2009: 291).
34 Life of Mary the Younger 6 (694; Eng. trans. 261).
35 Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 8 (78–82; Eng. trans. 169–70).
36 Ariantzi (2012: 331); on parental attitudes towards children’s death, see
also Talbot (2009).
37 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 47 (85; Eng.
trans. 136).
38 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 50 (87; Eng.
trans. 138).
39 Miracles of Theodora of Thessalonike 14 (218–20; Eng. trans. 230).
40 Michael Psellos, Encomium for his mother 8b (101–2; Eng. trans. 65–
6).
41 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 11 (66–7;
Eng. trans. 122).
42 Ariantzi (2012: 190, 199–200).
43 Life of Phantinos the Younger 3 (404; It. trans. 405).
44 Life of Elias the Younger 7 (10; It. trans. 11).
45 Life of Michael Maleinos 5 (502).
46 For instance, Ecloga 6.7 stipulated that children should be disinherited
if they were ungrateful, beat, molested or slandered their parents. These
provisions are repeated in Procheiros Nomos 33.
47 Cf. Ariantzi (2012: 215).
48 According to the vita, the age gap between David and Symeon was
forty-eight years. This is highly unlikely since the mother of the
brothers, who died at the age of seventy-three, would have given birth
to Symeon at the age of sixty-five.
49 Life of David, Symeon and George of Lesbos 8–9 (218; Eng. trans.
161–2).
50 Life of Peter of Atroa 17 (107–9; Fr. trans. 106–8).
51 Life of Peter of Argos 4 (126; Eng. trans. 127).
52 Life of Neilos the Younger 3 (8; Eng. trans. 9).
53 Life of Paul of Latros 3–4 (106–7).
54 Talbot (1997: 122).
55 Theodore of Stoudios, Laudatio S. Platonis Hegumeni (809B).
56 Life of Michael the Synkellos 3 (48; Eng. trans. 49).
57 Life of Stephen the Younger 16 (100; Fr. trans. 200).
58 Life of Cyril the Phileote 10.1 (74–5; Fr. trans. 296–7).
59 Michael Psellos, Encomium for his mother 13c (111; Eng. trans. 73).
60 Michael Psellos, Encomium for his mother 13c (111; Eng. trans. 73).
61 E.g. Life of David, Symeon and George of Lesbos and Life of Loukas of
Steiris.
62 Tougher (2013: 314–23).
63 Life of Philaretos the Merciful 9 (108; Eng. trans. 109).
64 Life of Philaretos the Merciful 9 (108; Eng. trans. 109).
65 PMBZ: Methodios #27227.
https://db.degruyter.com/view/PMBZ/PMBZ27227.
66 Life of Euthymios the Younger 37 (116; Eng. trans. 117).
67 Michael Psellos, Letter to his grandson (153; Eng. trans. 164).
68 Michael Psellos, Letter to Konstantinos P128 (334–6; Eng. trans. 174–
5).
69 Life of Niketas of Medikion 5 (19).
70 Life of Anna-Euphemianos (56; Eng. trans. 57). The story is retold in
The Spiritually Beneficial Tales of Paul of Monembasia 20: 144–9.
71 According to Procheiros Nomos 36.8, in the absence of a testament,
mothers had priority in serving as guardians for their children; if there
was no surviving mother, then the grandmother was to assume the
responsibility. This is in agreement with Justinian laws on
guardianship, see Miller (2003: 97–8).
72 See, for instance, the study by Vuolanto (2017b) who points out that in
their infancy grandchildren were most probably living with their
paternal relatives due to the virilocal marriage pattern that was
prevalent in Roman Egypt. The role of maternal grandmother became
visible later in children’s lives.
73 Life of Nicholas of Stoudios (869C).
74 Theodore of Stoudios, Laudatio S. Platonis Hegumeni (808B).
75 Pratsch(1998: 48).
76 Life of Lazaros of Galesion 3 (510; Eng. trans. 79–80).
77 Life of Symeon the New Theologian 3 (6; Eng. trans. 7).
78 Life of Paul of Latros 2 (105).
79 Anonymi Professoris Epistulae, letters 11, 38, 39, 69, 81, 93, 106, 107
and 110.
80 Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 9 (5; Eng. trans. 170).
81 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 5 (64; Eng.
trans. 119).
82 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 37 (79; Eng.
trans. 132).
83 Ringrose (2003: 85).
7 The monastic-to-be
Life within a monastery’s walls
DOI: 10.4324/9780429318498-7

We have seen in Chapter 5 that children were introduced to religion from

the beginning of their lives. Their spiritual training started within the family
setting, where they learnt from their parents the basic principles of a
Christian life. They learnt how to behave properly, to respect and obey their
parents, to love their siblings, and to be pious and modest. At home,
children learnt prayers and parts of the psalms under the guidance of their
mothers. The religious formation of children was reinforced through church
attendance, visits at holy shrines, active participation in liturgical services,
and the observation of rituals. All these elements played an important role
in the formation of their religious identity. For many children, the religious
life was limited to these experiences. For a minority of children, however,
the religious life went beyond lay worship practices. As the sources
indicate, some children were destined to live their lives in a monastery.
In this chapter, I will focus on this particular group of children who
followed a monastic life path. What were the norms that regulated the entry
of children into monastic communities? Under what circumstances did
children enter a monastery, and how old were they? What do the sources tell
us about the reasons for their entry into ascetic communities? Did children
have a voice in this matter? Once they were accepted as novices, what
duties were expected of them? What kind of activities did children perform
in a monastery? The answers to these questions will contribute to a better
understanding of children’s everyday life in monastic communities, their
religious life, and their place and role in the Byzantine Church as a whole.
The presence of children in monasteries has been documented
throughout the entire history of Christianity, starting right from the
formative period of Christian monasticism and continuing into the
Byzantine period and well beyond.1 If we could travel back in time to the
Middle Byzantine period, we would see children educated in several
schools attached to monasteries.2 We would also meet orphaned children
whose only chance for a better life after losing their parents and relatives
was to be raised by monks and nuns. To be sure, Byzantine monasteries
played an important role in their upbringing, thanks to the child welfare
programme implemented in Byzantium.3 However, the Byzantines had
divergent views about the presence of minors within the monastic walls. As
Greenfield has shown, in spite of the canonical legislation that allowed
children to enter a monastery at an early age, many monastic leaders
prohibited their presence in these communities, because of the potential
sexual temptation the youngsters posed to the monks.4
My analysis will go one step further from what scholars have done up to
now, by focusing also on children’s agency in the monastic context. I shall
focus first on the normative aspects concerning children’s admission to
monasteries, and on the impact that the presence of children may have had
on these communities. Since sources make it clear that children were sent to
live in monasteries, I shall also discuss the reasons and motivations of the
families that made such a choice. Although children were an integral part of
monastic communities, little research has been done on their actual life,
responsibilities, and functions in monasteries. I aim to redress the balance,
by focusing, in the last part of the chapter, on the daily routines and
activities that framed their lives inside the walls of the monasteries. Since
we know that discipline, obedience, fasting, liturgical duties, and manual
labour were central aspects that defined the lives of monks and nuns, we
also need to ask what it was like for a child to live in such an austere
environment. What was a child novice expected to do? What roles were
assigned to boys and to girls who lived in monasteries?

Regulations regarding children’s entry into

monastic communities
Children’s presence in monastic communities has always raised great
concern among church leaders.5 Basil the Great considered that everyone
who would want to join an ascetic community should be welcome to do that
regardless of gender or age. Children of all ages, whether orphaned or not,
could find a home in these communities. But pronouncing the vows and
taking the monastic habit required a certain degree of maturity and
understanding of what an ascetic life meant, which Basil considered could
be attained after a person reached the age of sixteen or seventeen.6 For
those children whose parents were still alive, Basil recommended that they
should be received into monasteries in the presence of many witnesses to
prevent any undesirable situation. Upon reaching the age of
sixteen/seventeen they were to be interrogated on whether they wanted to
embrace for good the ascetic lifestyle. Only after they had reiterated their
commitment to this way of life, the ecclesiastical officials “should be called
in as witnesses of the decision, so that through their presence, as well, the
consecration of the person as a kind of votive offering to God may be
sanctified and the act ratified by their testimony.”7 The Church Father took
into account that young people should have the freedom to make such a
life-changing decision. He was aware that not all children had the
inclination to an ascetic life, and many parents were eager to entrust their
offspring to monasteries without considering their predisposition to such a
lifestyle.8 Basil also took into consideration the situation when a child did
not manifest an inclination to this way of life:

one who does not wish to submit to the life of virginity, on the ground
that he is incapable of devoting his whole attention to the things of the
Lord, should be dismissed in the presence of the same witnesses. He
who makes such a vow, however, after a great amount of careful
deliberation which he should be allowed to engage in privately for
several days, so that we may not appear to be kidnapping him, should
be received forthwith and made a member of the community.9

However, Basil’s recommendations did not echo in the minds of many

parents who continued to pledge their children to monasteries to become
monks and nuns. It has been argued that Basil’s advice contradicted
traditional family values, where children’s obedience had a central place.
They had to submit to their parents’ decision concerning their future, either
in terms of marriage or entry into a monastery, and such a choice was to be
made as soon as possible. This is the reason why, four centuries later, the
canonists of Trullo (692) established the minimum age of entry to
monasteries at ten.10 In their opinion, by this age, one had already attained
the age of reason and would understand the nature of their decision:
 He therefore who is about to submit to the yoke of monastic life should
not be less than ten years of age, the examination of the matter
depending on the decision of the bishop, whether he considers a longer
time more conducive for his entrance and establishment in the
monastic life.11

Thus, the final decision regarding one’s entry into a monastic community
belonged to bishops, who were to decide whether the person who intended
to take the monastic habit had a sound judgement in this matter. A ten-year-
old child seems to have been considered mature enough to make such a
choice.
Two centuries later, Leo VI (866–912) issued a novel that also took into
discussion the proper age at which a person should be accepted into a
monastic community. Aware of Basil’s recommendations, which
contradicted the decision of the canonists of Trullo, Leo VI explained that
the church father had decided upon the age of sixteen as the age limit for
taking the monastic vow because at this age the adolescents could dispose
of their properties. However, the emperor considered that there was no
reason why children should not take the monastic habit at the age of ten, if
the bishops were willing to accept them as monks and nuns. Consequently,
Leo decided that anyone who wanted to take the monastic habit might do so
either at the age of ten or at the age of sixteen.12
Thus, as long as a bishop deemed that a ten-year-old child, after due
probation, was suited to ascetic life, then there was no reason not to proceed
with the tonsure. Nevertheless, the bishop could postpone the entry of a
child into a monastic community until a later age if he decided that the child
did not meet the requirements of monastic life.
We should bear in mind, however, that these rules proposed an ideal
model of how things should be dealt with, and this did not mean that they
were strictly observed. As Greenfield has shown, the evidence provided by
the monastic foundation documents (typika) of the Middle and Late
Byzantine periods demonstrate that the monastic founders had a different
opinion with respect to children’s admission to their communities.
For instance, the tenth-century Paul of Latros strictly prohibited the entry
of children and adolescents into his monastery: “this is what I order: that
never any smooth-looking beardless fellow under twenty years of age be
admitted into the community of Lavra, nor that women enter it, according
to the tradition of the Holy Fathers.”13 He does not explain the reason why
people younger than twenty were not allowed to enter the monastery, but in
Greenfield’s opinion, this ban was determined by the fear that children and
youth might represent a temptation for adult monks.14 This idea is also
suggested in the tenth-century typikon of John Tzimiskes for Mount Athos,
which did not allow the entry of boys, beardless youth, and eunuchs. They
“should not be received at all.” However, in some situations, they might be
accepted into the community, but only with the approval of the protos and
the superiors of the monasteries of Mount Athos, who were to investigate
their case thoroughly.15 It was probably this exception that made the
monastic communities on Mount Athos replete with eunuchs and beardless
youth. We hear about this situation in the typikon of Constantine
Monomachos. An imperial investigation conducted by the monk Kosmas
Tzintziloukes at the request of the emperor revealed that the main rule
imposed seventy years earlier in the typikon of John Tzimiskes, which
prohibited the entry of boys and eunuchs, was not observed:

Before all else they said that some [of the monks] showed no respect
for the provisions laid down in the typikon, namely, that the monks
should not accept and tonsure either eunuchs or beardless youths, nor
have these in the fields or the monastery.16

The solution was to expel them from the monastic communities on Mount
Athos, and to reinforce once again the rule written in the tenth century.
The danger posed by the presence of youth in monasteries is also
highlighted in the testament of Lazaros of Mount Galesion, preserved at the
end of his eleventh-century vita. He recommends that anyone who wants to
succeed in monastic life should avoid “the conversation and company of
ordinary people, especially of the young, even if he’s young himself,
because the Enemy has entrapped many monks in that way and then has
handed them over to destruction.”17 Sexual temptation was clearly a thing
to fear, but the text may also suggest that having children and ordinary
people around the monks could not really break ties with the world, in
particular with their families.
As the text points out, young monks also resided in Lazaros’ community.
An episode recorded in his vita makes it evident that he approved of the
early tonsure of children. One day, a certain Germanos, the
parekklesiarches of the monastery, had a disagreement with a young fellow.
He felt that the situation became intolerable and he complained to Lazarus
about it:

It’s you who cause these problems, he said angrily, because you
welcome and tonsure these youths and let them stay in the monastery
in this disorderly way, causing problems and disturbances, and you
don’t discipline them or make them learn self-control.18

Thus, as this episode clearly reveals, children were not seen only as a
temptation for older monks, but perhaps much more as a source of noise,
disorder, and disobedience; hence the reluctance of monastic founders to let
them be tonsured at an early age.
The eleventh-century typikon of the monastery of the Mother of God
Eleousa written by Manuel, the bishop of Stroumitza, prohibited the tonsure
of people younger than eighteen. However, he allowed them to be received
in a monastic dependency where they would be instructed in monastic
affairs. After they turned eighteen, they could be tonsured.19 It is interesting
here to note that the typikon does not prohibit placing young monks with
older ones in the same cells, which was generally avoided in other
monasteries precisely because of the fear of sexual temptation.20 A possible
reason for banning the entry of children and youth into the community was
that they could disturb the tranquillity of the monks through behaviour that
was inappropriate to the monastic lifestyle.
As we have seen, although the religious authorities put the age limit of
children’s entry to monastic communities at ten, the monastic founders
imposed in their typika a much older age for those who wanted to pursue
the monastic life path. However, all monastic rules discussed so far concern
male monasteries. We have no typika of female monasteries written
between the ninth and eleventh centuries. Scholars have rightly observed
that, of the forty surviving monastic foundation documents, only five typika
were written by aristocratic women for their monasteries, and all of these
come from the early twelfth to the mid-fourteenth centuries.21
The earliest female monastic foundation document is the typikon of Irene
Doukaina for the monastery of the Mother of God, written in the twelfth
century. Although the document does not specify an age limit at which girls
were to be accepted into the convent, it is clear that the community received
female children. Irene made provisions for twenty-four nuns, plus the
superior and two girls who “should be reared in the convent and brought up
and educated and prepared and be tonsured at the appropriate time.”22 The
text most likely refers to orphaned girls. Two centuries later, Euphrosyne
Palaiologina wrote in her monastic rule for the convent of the Theotokos
Bebaia Elpis that girls are allowed in the monastery only if they plan to
become nuns, but again without imposing a specific age limit:

if certain girls should wish to be enrolled among the nuns, but want
first to be educated, and learn lessons which contribute to the monastic
rule, with the intention of being tonsured years later and numbered
among the nuns, I fully approve and consent.23

Euphrosyne strictly forbade the admission of lay children to the convent for
the purpose of education, on the grounds that having children in the convent
would adversely affect the habits of the nuns. She explains:

for anyone who has renounced the world once and for all, and then
comes into contact again with lay people and assumes responsibilities
incongruous with our vows, and thus causes confusion within himself
and obscures the light of understanding, and violates the
commandments of the holy Fathers, and follows his own desires and
wishes, should not have entered a monastery nor donned monastic
habit in the first place.24

In the typika of male monasteries, the prohibition of children was also

determined by the temptation of adult monks to sexual misconduct. But in
convents, this was not the case. There is no indication of such a prohibition
for this reason, but we can see, at least in the typikon of Euphrosyne
Palaiologina, that children were perceived as a source of disruption of the
monastic life, which required tranquillity, discipline, and continuous
attention to God. Children in monastic schools who did not intend to pursue
further the monastic life, would have caused too much trouble for the nuns,
who would surely have to supervise them and devote considerable time to
their education.
The rules we read in the monastic foundation documents describe the
ideal of monastic life. In reality, things may have been quite different. As
we shall see in the next section, the hagiographies of our period show us
that some monasteries welcomed children who were even younger than ten,
and with both parents still alive. These children were certainly few in
number; many more were orphans who were brought up and educated
within the walls of the monasteries. Timothy Miller has shown in his study
that down through the centuries, the monastic communities provided shelter
and care for orphaned children. The constant concern for their fate is
expressed in the legislation adopted in the eighth century by Emperor Leo
III, who ordained that the monasteries in Constantinople must share the
responsibility of taking care of orphans together with the
Orphanotropheion, as part of the child welfare programme established by
the authorities.25 It is thus evident that the presence of orphans in the ascetic
communities was the result of this project, which was intended to protect
the children who had lost their families. But what about children with living
parents who ended up in monasteries? What do the sources tell us about
them? What motivated the families to hand their offspring over to ascetic
communities? Under what circumstances did children enter a monastic
community, and from what age? These questions will be dealt with in the
next section.

Monastic life path: free choice or induced entry?

Scholars have acknowledged that the monastic revival in the ninth century
developed in response to iconoclasm, which, in addition to expelling icons
from devotional practices, tried to abolish the institution of monasticism.26
After the restoration of the icons, the phenomenon of monasticism started to
play an important part in the life of Byzantine society as a whole, and this
can be seen especially in the time span between the ninth and twelfth
centuries. Many Byzantines entered monasteries, hoping to realize their
religious aspirations. The majority of them took the monastic habit as
middle-aged persons; some took the veil on the deathbed; others joined the
monastic communities in their late teens; and there were also some very
young people who embraced the monastic habit from an early age.27
Before going further with the analysis of the hagiographical sources, it
must be stated that there was a distinction between the entry into a
monastery and the official tonsure. With a few exceptions, the majority of
children who joined the monastic communities were first instructed in the
monastic life and later embraced the monastic habit. The reasons behind the
choice for entering a monastery varied, as we shall see, from case to case
and many of the examples recorded in the sources describe various
motivations and circumstances that led a person to choose the monastic
lifestyle.
Certainly not all the children who will be mentioned here entered the
religious lifestyle of their own volition, and we should also keep in mind
that the sources in general describe exceptional children: the future saints.
As such, the religious authors present them as displaying a strong desire to
leave the world and to join monastic communities, thus deliberately
choosing this way of life. Nevertheless, some of the cases of children in the
vitae suggest that entering a monastery was sometimes rather a matter of
induced choice and compromise.
As scholars have noted, the future of the Byzantine children from the
time of their birth was decided by their parents, who had to choose between
marriage and the monastic life path.28 Indeed, many of the hagiographies of
our period describe the practice of children’s oblation, most of them
referring to cases in which distressed parents promised to give their future
offspring to God as a sign of gratitude for their birth. Peter Hatlie notes that
the practice may have been also an alternative to abandonment or
enslavement, but no story recorded in Saints’ Lives examined here suggests
that.29
According to the sources, the majority of children offered to God were
born in families previously affected by sterility. We have, for instance, the
example of George of Amastris, whose parents remained childless for a
long time. Distressed by the situation, they made a vow to God that their
first-born child would be dedicated to Him.30 We find a similar situation in
the case of Peter of Atroa, whose barren mother made the same promise.31
Likewise, the tenth-century vita of Michael Maleinos tells us that the
saint’s parents remained childless for many years. They prayed for a long
time for a boy and promised to consecrate him to God. His birth and
religious vocation were announced by the Virgin Mary to the priest of the
local church frequented by Michael’s parents. She appeared in a vision,
holding four maphoria (veils) and three soudaria (napkins) in her hands,
and she said that she wanted one of the soudaria back. The hagiographer
narrates that Michael’s mother gave birth to four girls (represented by the
maphoria) and three boys (represented by the soudaria). Asking for a
soudarion back meant that the Virgin wanted a boy to be dedicated to her.32
Michael the Synkellos was another child offered to God as sign of
gratitude for his birth. His case differs, however, from the others, for his
family had children, but no boys. After Michael was weaned, his mother
went to the bishop and offered the boy to God in accordance with her
promise.33
These cases reflect a cruel reality of the Byzantine society. As we have
already seen in Chapter 3, a childless family was perceived as a great
shame, but even when the family had only girls, the situation was not seen
as very fortunate. Boys were valued more than girls for they would have a
greater role in the household’s economic strategy as well as in ensuring the
continuation of the family.
However, offering a child to God did not mean that the child would
immediately embark on the monastic life. In all of the above cases, the
saints spent their childhood in the family setting and entered the monastery
later, in adulthood. George of Amastris became a hermit in adulthood, when
he was tonsured as a monk. Peter of Atroa and Michael Maleinos were
tonsured at the age of eighteen, whereas Michael the Synkellos entered the
monastery at the age of twenty-five.
There were also situations in which oblate children were handed over to
monastic communities from their infancy. We have one such case in the
ninth-century vita of Theodora of Thessalonike. Here we learn about a
couple who lost four children in a row, all of them dying in infancy. Struck
by this tragedy, they promised that if God would grant them a child who
would survive the first years of childhood, they would entrust the child to a
monastery to become a servant of God. As a result of their prayers, a girl
was born. When the girl was only one year old, she was stricken by a severe
disease. The father, desperate that he would lose his only child, promised
that he would “immediately offer her to God” if she were cured. As soon as
the girl recovered from her illness, the father brought her to the convent of
Theodora, where “she was clothed in the habit of monastic life.”34
This story illustrates another reason why Byzantine parents decided to
entrust their offspring to monasteries, namely the fear that children would
die in early childhood. The imminent risk of children’s death could lead the
parents to offer them to God, as a sign of gratitude for their survival. A
similar case is Theopiste, the daughter of Theodora of Thessaloniki. After
losing two children soon after their birth, Theodora decided to entrust the
only surviving child to a convent in which one of her relatives resided, the
abbess Aikaterine. The girl was only six years old at that time. In spite of
her young age, she is said to have been immediately tonsured: “at dawn,
after the conclusion of the entire kanon, that marvellous woman had the girl
tonsured by a pious man, and named her Theopiste.”35 Obviously, such
situations were very uncommon, but it might be that the girl was tonsured at
such an early age because of the blood relationship to the abbess. A more
plausible explanation is that she only received the habit of novices.
However, the same vita relates that another relative of Theodora, who was
the abbess of the monastery of St. Stephen, took the monastic habit in
childhood.36
Another child who is said to have been tonsured before the age of ten is
mentioned in the vita of Basil the Younger. Gregory, the hagiographer of
Basil the Younger, tells us that his first spiritual father was a certain monk
Epiphanios, a eunuch who was tonsured at the age of six.37 We do not know
whether Epiphanios was an orphan or not; if so, it may be that he was
accepted at this young age at the monastery because of his state of
orphanhood. However, his case shows that some communities had nothing
against accepting children and eunuchs within their walls. Ringrose has
shown that by the tenth century, eunuchs had acquired a positive image in
Byzantium, and many parents seem to have castrated their children to
ensure them a good ecclesiastical position, or a career at the imperial court.
In the imperial context, children were castrated also for dynastic reasons,
for they could not then claim the throne.38 In hagiographies, we have the
example of the patriarch Ignatius, who was castrated at the age of fourteen
for dynastic reasons, and was forced to embrace the monastic habit together
with his family.39
But what might have happened if the parents changed their minds with
respect to having pledged their offspring to serve God? The church leaders
were quite clear in this matter. If one had made a promise to God, it was
better to keep it. We learn about this situation from a letter of Theodore of
Stoudios to a certain protonotarios Hesychios. This man had two daughters,
the elder of whom was promised to a monastery before her birth.
Hesychios’ dilemma was that he found a good marriage arrangement for
this daughter and wanted to marry her off. He thought of giving the younger
girl to the monastery, but he was afraid that by changing his initial plan, he
would offend God. The abbot’s reply was firm: one should keep the
promise made to God. Accordingly, the girl should not get married, but
should enter the monastery.40 The sources do not present us with cases of
children who returned from the monastery to the world, although such
situations may have happened.
Some children are said to have entered a monastery out of gratitude for
having escaped from death. We read in the vita of Nikon the Metanoeite
that a child fell from the parapets of the city walls. Everybody thought that
the child died, but Nikon, who was preaching nearby, assured them he was
alive. The boy himself told his parents that “the monk, the one crying
‘Repent’, caught me while still in the air and did not allow me to be dashed
to the ground.” Hence, everybody recognized Nikon as the messenger of
God, and a little later, the child “cut his hair and sought a way of life in
agreement with the promise.”41
Some children embraced the monastic habit after having become
orphans. The tenth-century vita of Theoktiste of Lesbos tells us that she
became an orphan at a very young age and her relatives entrusted her to a
nunnery, where she assumed the monastic habit.42 The loss of one parent
could also influence the decision about the future of the child. This was the
case with Antony Kauleas, who lost his mother when he was twelve years
old. According to his biographer, Antony then decided to enter a monastery
in Constantinople.43
Sometimes, a harsh financial situation determined by the absence of one
of the parents, especially fathers, led mothers to entrust their children to a
monastic community where they would receive better care. For instance,
Paul the Younger of Latros and his elder brother Basil lost their father, an
officer in the naval army, in their childhood. The mother decided to move
with the children to the village of Marykaton. There, the children were sent
for instruction to the monastery of St. Stephen, where their maternal uncle
Ioannikios was a monk. However, Basil did not remain in the monastery, for
we learn that the mother made a marriage arrangement for him. To avoid
marriage, Basil left his bride and biological family and entered a monastery
on Mount Latros. Soon after Basil’s entry into the monastery, the mother
died, leaving Paul, who was still very young, in great poverty. Eventually,
Basil took Paul to Mount Latros and entrusted him to the monastery of
Karia for care and instruction.44
However, it must be said that in general, when fathers died, children
were expected to provide help and support for their widowed mothers. As I
have repeatedly emphasized throughout the book, parents expected children
to get married, to ensure the continuity of family lineage and to take care of
their parents in old age. For these reasons, children had to wait until
adulthood to embrace the monastic garment. For example, Stephen, the
disciple of Neilos the Younger, lost his father in childhood and had to take
care of his mother and sister. At the age of twenty, he decided to become a
monk under the spiritual guidance of Neilos. However, hearing that Stephen
had a mother and sister back home, Neilos persuaded the young man to
return to the world to look after his family.45
We find a similar situation in the vita of Loukas of Steiris. Loukas’
father died when the boy was still a child. Soon thereafter, Loukas decided
to embark on the monastic life and ran away to a monastery in Athens,
leaving his mother behind. There, the superior,

after interrogating the divine Loukas many times but failing to

persuade him to reveal where he was from and who his family was,
tonsured him and then vested him with the garb of monks, at least with
the habit of novices.”46

As the story goes on, we learn that the abbot assumed that Loukas was an
orphan, and probably this was the reason why he tonsured the boy.
Eventually, when the truth was revealed to the abbot in a dream, he
immediately sent Loukas back home to his mother.47 This episode makes it
clear that children’s entry to monasteries was carefully examined by the
monastic superiors. Although a child was legally allowed to enter a
monastery at the age of ten, such a decision was supposed to be made with
the consent of the parents.
Also, in many cases where a family decided to hand their offspring over
to monasteries, at least one child remained in the family to assure its
continuation through marriage. For instance, Loukas’ family had seven
children, three of whom embraced the monastic habit, while two died in
infancy and the other two most likely lived in the world.48 Likewise, the
family of David, Symeon, and George of Lesbos had seven children, two of
whom “were left in the world for the continuation of their family line”,
while the other five became monks and nuns.49 The same vita informs us
that at the age of eight Symeon was entrusted by his old mother to his elder
brother David, who was already a monk.50 Symeon spent fourteen years in
the monastery until he was tonsured. In this period, his brother taught him
the Sacred Scriptures and everything pertaining to monastic rules. He was
tonsured only at the age of twenty-two.
The case of Symeon reveals a practice frequently encountered in
Byzantium: many families chose to entrust their offspring to a community
where a family relative already lived. This can be also observed in some of
the cases mentioned above: Basil and Paul of Latros were inducted into the
monastery of their maternal uncle, and Theopiste, the daughter of Theodora
of Thessalonike, entered a monastery whose abbess was her aunt. Another
child who entered a monastery in which a relative resided was Nicholas of
Stoudios. At the age of ten, he was sent by his parents to the monastery of
Stoudios in Constantinople, where the boy’s paternal uncle Theophanes was
a monk. Because he was too young to be tonsured, the abbot of the
monastery, Theodore of Stoudios, placed the child in a school outside the
monastery but close to it. Nicholas was tonsured only after he had reached
manhood.51
Lazaros of Galesion was sent to the monastery of Oroboi to study with a
notary when he was only nine years old. After spending three years there,
Lazaros was taken by his uncle, the monk Elias, to the monastery of
Kalathai. The uncle wanted to teach the boy church matters and to have him
as his attendant.52 After two years at this monastery, at the age of fourteen,
Lazarus was sent to another monastery, Strobelion, where he studied the
skills of notaries with the monk Nicholas.53 Lazaros was tonsured as a
monk later, in adulthood.54 The case of Lazaros reveals that children could
join monastic communities to acquire skills that would be needed in a
future ecclesiastical profession.
Some children are said to have manifested their religious vocation from
an early age, and this is why they were sent to monasteries. This is the case
with Phantinos the Younger, who, in early childhood, was handed over by
his parents to study the Holy Scriptures.55 Seeing the boy’s love for God,
his father decided to dedicate him to God at the monastery of Elias
Spelaiotes. At that time, Phantinos was only eight years old.56 After five
years of monastic instruction, the boy was tonsured by Elias.57
Various circumstances caused by dramatic historical events could prompt
families to entrust their offspring to monastic communities, where they
could find a safer environment, as in the case of Stephen the Younger. His
ninth-century vita narrates that his parents offered him to God before his
birth.58 However, during his childhood, when the iconoclastic crisis
escalated in Constantinople with the deposition of the patriarch Germanos
and the beginning of the persecutions, Stephen’s parents decided to take the
boy to a monastery on Mount St. Auxentios in Bithynia.59 There he lived on
the mountain as a hermit under the spiritual guidance of the recluse John,
and was tonsured at the age of fifteen.60
Some children are also said to have joined the monastic communities
because one of the parents decided to take the monastic habit. In the
eleventh century, the fourteen-year-old son of Cyril the Phileote decided to
join his father who had just become a monk, leaving behind his mother and
sister. This story is particularly interesting, since it reveals a situation that
may have been common in some Byzantine families where only one of the
parents decided to leave their family to pursue the monastic life. When
Cyril became a monk, he told his son that he would not see him again,
unless the boy chose to enter the monastery. On the other hand, if he joined
his father, he would see his mother and sister only very rarely or possibly
not at all. Confronted with these two options, the boy chose to follow his
father. To test his son’s attachment to the family, Cyril left him for forty
days alone in the monastery. Because he did not manifest any desire to see
his mother and sister, the boy was tonsured at the end of this trial period.61
Obviously, the hagiographer’s intention here was to emphasize the
importance of the monastic way of life. But the story also reveals a difficult
situation that a child could experience when one of the parents decided to
take the habit: that of being forced to choose between one parent and
another.
A happier situation was probably that in which children took the
monastic habit along with the entire family, as in the case of Peter of Argos.
We know from his vita that Peter had three brothers, Paul, Dionysios, and
Platon, and one sister. Paul, who was already an adult, was the first to
embrace the monastic habit, followed soon by his parents, Dionysios, and
the sister. Shortly thereafter, Platon and Peter followed their example too.62
We do not know exactly the age at which Peter took the monastic habit, but
his vita records him as being still young (νεάν ἔτι τὴν ἡλικίαν).
The decision of parents to enter a monastery with their family may not
always have been entirely accepted by the children. We read about one such
case in the ninth-century vita of Peter of Atroa. Some years after Peter
became a monk, his sister decided to join her brother’s community on
Mount Olympus with all her family: the husband, four boys, and two girls.
Naturally, the girls and the mother were placed in a convent, while the
father and the boys joined Peter’s monastery, except for the elder boy
(probably already a young man) who, we are told, remained in the world.
Since he was led astray by some people who liked worldly pleasures, as the
biographer puts it, the youth was reluctant to follow his family into the
monastery. However, Peter sent a monk to bring him to his community. On
the way to the monastery, he fell very sick, so that he hardly managed to get
there. Seeing him in such a terrible condition, Peter told him that the only
way to recover his health was to remain for good in the monastery, and thus
to become a monk. Of course, after the young man had agreed to embrace
the monastic habit, he was miraculously healed by his uncle. Although this
case does not describe a child, the youth’s unwillingness to leave the world
behind and his reluctance to change his lifestyle are worth noting. He seems
to have chosen to become a monk primarily because of family pressure.
More compelling evidence that children were not always happy with the
decisions taken by their parents with regard to entering a monastery comes
from Theodore of Stoudios’ encomium for his mother. Recalling the time
when his family decided to embrace the monastic habit, Theodore stated
that his younger brother, Euthymios, who was still a child, became very
distressed by the separation from his mother:

The younger of my two brothers, however, being very young indeed,

on the day of our departure, after all the speeches of leave-taking and
farewell, the invocations and lamentations and embraces, ran up and
hugged our mother, clinging to her desperately, even as a calf rejects
being weaned, and begged to be allowed to remain with her a bit
longer, promising to fulfil her desire later. … With a fierce expression
she prevailed over her strong feelings of motherly affection: “If you do
 not go willingly, child, I shall put you into the boat with my own
hands.” The boy yielded and we both went off.63

This story brings to light how a child may have perceived the break with his
family, especially his mother, who was to join a separate monastic
community. Even if the convent where his mother was to enrol was close to
Euthymios’ monastery, he was probably aware that he would not see her on
a daily basis. It is obvious here that he did not enter the monastery
voluntarily, but had to obey his parents’ decision.
The vita of Irene of Chrysobalanton reports an episode that suggests a
possible case of a young nun’s rebellion against her parents or her monastic
community. The girl, who belonged to a wealthy family from Cappadocia,
is said to have entered the monastery, leaving behind a distressed suitor.
The suitor, inflamed by love for his fiancée, ran to a sorcerer in the hope of
getting her back. Under the spell of the sorcerer, the girl “was unexpectedly
attacked by a seething passion which maddened her with frantic lust for her
former suitor and did not allow her to control herself.” She tried almost
everything to be allowed to see him again. She cried, moaned, screamed,
and called his name and even threatened the others that she would hang
herself if she would not see him anymore.64 Such behaviour, which is
described as the work of devil, does not seem to be that of a person who had
broken her engagement and entered a monastery voluntarily.
Some hagiographers claim that children themselves made the choice to
leave the world for a monastic lifestyle. For instance, Symeon the New
Theologian is said to have decided to enter the monastery of Stoudios in
Constantinople when he was fourteen. The boy confessed his intention to
follow the monastic path to his spiritual father, Symeon Eulabes. However,
when the monk heard about the boy’s plans, he restrained him from “such
an impulsive step because he was still young … and suggested that he
should wait until he was more mature.”65
Other saints-to-be manifested their desire to embrace the monastic
garment after they had experienced a divine sign. At the age of sixteen,
after having had a vision in which St. Anthony the Great told him that God
had chosen him to be his servant, David of Lesbos left his family and fled
to Mount Ida, where he lived as a hermit for almost thirty years.66
Athanasia of Aegina is said to have intended to enter a monastery after she
saw a shining star descending on her chest, which enlightened her soul, and
made her look beyond the vanity of life. However, her parents did not agree
with her decision and they forcibly married her to a man.67 She managed to
fulfil her wish only after a second marriage, when she persuaded her
husband that both of them should take the monastic habit.68 Her story
illustrates a common practice in Byzantine society. Girls were often
destined for a married life, and many of them entered a monastery only in
adulthood, either with the consent of the husband who also took the habit,
or after they became widows.
Irene of Chrysobalanton entered a monastery after she missed the bride-
show organized by the empress Theodora for her son, Emperor Michael III.
On the way to Constantinople, where the bride-show was to take place,
Irene met a monk who predicted that she would become abbess of the
monastery of Chrysobalanton. On her arrival in the capital, Irene heard that
the bride-show had just finished, and she received this news with great joy.
Although she is said to have had other suitors among the aristocracy, she
decided to embrace the monastic habit. However, it is very possible that the
reason for taking the monastic vow is precisely because she failed to be
chosen as the wife of the future emperor.69
We have seen that there were various reasons that led parents to entrust
their children to monasteries. Although the age when children were
accepted into monastic communities could vary depending on personal
circumstances, it is quite clear that their tonsure often took place after some
years, usually in their late teens or adulthood. Canon 5 of the Council of
Constantinople (861) imposed the length of a noviciate of three years;
however, in case of serious illness or if the novice had previously lived a
pious life, the trial period may have been shortened to six months.70 This
practice seems to be confirmed by our sources. We have seen that, with
some exceptions, the children I have mentioned were tonsured only after
several years. Phantinos the Younger was tonsured after five years, Symeon
of Lesbos after fourteen years, and Nicholas of Stoudios when he was
already an adult. On the other hand, we have the example of Nikon the
Metanoeite, who was tonsured right away. The hagiographer explains that
the abbot “judged all canonical examination superfluous and considered it
secondary. The God-bearing man clipped the hair of Niketas’ head to the
skin and gave him the monks’ garb.”71 The text makes clear that upon the
entry into monastic life, the monastic superiors were those who decided
whether the candidate was worthy of making such an important step. They
were to take into consideration what the canonical legislation stipulated
with regard to this matter and base their decision on the qualities of the one
who was to become a monk.
Nikos Kalogeras has shown that in Byzantium, a central aim of the
monastic schools was to provide religious instruction for the future monks.
Children were taught to read the Psalter and the scriptures and to sing
religious hymns.72 However, in the majority of the cases mentioned above,
the male saints who took the habit of novices had already acquired the basic
knowledge of reading and writing. For instance, when Phantinos the
Younger entered the monastery at the age of eight, he had already received
a basic instruction in the sacred letters at home. Nicholas of Stoudios was
first handed over to the local church where he learned the letters and rules
of piety, before being entrusted to his paternal uncle in the monastery of
Stoudios in Constantinople.73 Likewise, Antony Kauleas began his primary
education at home, with his father who taught him to read the Psalter, and it
was only at the age of twelve that he entered the monastery.74 Was a certain
level of education an additional reason why these children were accepted in
monastic communities? Did they in some way represent a human resource
necessary for the smooth running of the monastery? It is difficult to answer
these questions here, but the topic certainly deserves to be explored in
future study. Here, I limit myself to saying that a certain level of education
may have been an advantage for monastic communities. We know that
reading religious texts during church offices, at mealtime or in their private
cells was one of the tasks performed by monks and nuns in such
communities, which evidently required a certain level of literacy. A novice
may have been more easily introduced in these tasks if he or she was
already familiar with the rudiments. In any case, what the sources
emphasize is that during the time between the entry into monastery and the
proper tonsure as monks and nuns, children were supposed to be instructed
in the rigors of the monastic life. In the following section, I shall discuss the
daily routine in the monastic communities and what kinds of activities were
assigned to children.

Living conditions and daily routine in monasteries

Once children were accepted into monasteries, they had to learn their rules
and routines. Life in a monastery was not easy, and they had to be prepared
to endure the rigors of such a lifestyle. Praying, fasting, and chanting the
psalms formed part of their monastic training.
In monastic communities, time was measured in hours of prayers. Daily
life in monasteries revolved around church services, private worship, and
manual labour. According to Robert Taft, the daily horarium of prayers in
Byzantine monasteries included a cycle of seven hours.75 The major
services were matins (orthros) celebrated at sunrise and vespers
(hesperinos) held at sunset, the latter marking in fact the beginning of the
liturgical day. During the day, the monks and nuns celebrated the so-called
little hours: the first, third, sixth, and ninth, which corresponded in the Latin
schedule to prime, terce, sext, and none. The end of the day was marked by
compline (apodeipnon) held in the afternoon. Admittedly, we do not have
direct evidence about children’s participation at every monastic office, but
we know from the vita of Paul the Younger of Latros that while he was still
a novice, he participated in the service of orthros.76 Children’s religious
education involved not only memorizing parts of scripture or learning to
read and write, but also participating in church offices. It is therefore likely
that a child novice would have to take part at least in the majority of the
liturgical hours.77 It is difficult to assess how much time this daily horarium
took in total, but it appears that the members of monastic communities
devoted several hours a day to performing the monastic hours.
Apart from attending church offices, all nuns and monks, including the
novices, were expected to work.78 According to the monastic foundation
documents, there was in some monasteries a clear distinction between those
monks and nuns who were required to attend the church services and others
who were in charge of various menial tasks. For instance, in the monastery
of Pantokrator, a number of monks were in charge of performing the
liturgical services, while others were cooks, bakers, bath attendants, and
gardeners. Also at Bebaia Elpis, a female monastery, there were two
categories of nuns, “church” nuns and “labouring” nuns.79
The novices had to perform tasks such as fetching water and working in
the kitchen. Phantinos the Younger was assigned the task of preparing the
food and serving the brothers in the refectory.80 In his youth, Loukas of
Steiris assisted a stylite in Patras by carrying wood and water, taking care of
the cooking and preparing the table, mending nets and looking after the
catch.81
Certainly, the living conditions and some of the work performed by the
monks and nuns could vary depending on the geographical area. Some
monasteries located in mountain areas did not have a water source nearby,
so those who were in charge of carrying water had to walk a considerable
distance to obtain the necessary provisions. For instance, Stephen the
Younger, who was under the spiritual guidance of the recluse John, was in
charge of fetching water from a scarcely accessible area on Mount
Auxentius.82 In contrast to countryside monasteries, large urban
monasteries were equipped with water cisterns that facilitated the living
conditions of the community. A monastic community in the countryside
could ensure the necessary supplies by cultivating their own vegetables.
According to Alice-Mary Talbot, the garden chores were usually assigned
to novices and young monks. Their low status in the monastic hierarchy is
indicated also by their illiteracy.83 It is also highly likely that children were
involved in gardening. We know from the vita of Loukas of Steiris that as a
young hermit, he cultivated all kinds of vegetables in a small garden.84
Girls’ tasks in nunneries were primarily the same as those performed at
home – spinning, weaving, and embroidery. An episode from the vita of
Theodora of Thessalonike records the saint working together with her
young daughter in the same cell, doing handwork.85 In general, the main
duties of the nuns were basic housekeeping activities and handwork, but in
some convents they were also involved in agricultural activities.86
Discipline and obedience were central aspects in the educational
programme of the novices. The rules of the monasteries had to be followed
without exception. Any violation of the rules could bring punishments,
either physical, or in the form of private admonitions, deprivation of food,
and the obligation to perform a certain number of prostrations. The Stoudite
rule banned punishment with the whip, which was considered
“unacceptable by the fathers, though suitable in the secular world.”87
However, some references to corporal punishments of child novices are
provided by the hagiographies. As a young novice, Paul of Latros was
slapped by his spiritual father because he fell asleep during the night vigil.
Lazaros of Galesion was punished by his uncle Elias because the boy used
to take from the monk’s belongings and give it to the poor. Another time,
the same monk Elias chastised the boy with blows because he secretly
slipped out from the monastery with the intention of going to Jerusalem.88
An ascetic discipline meant the renunciation of the body’s needs; such an
idea was reflected in the strict dietary regimen of the monks and nuns. Their
diet was restricted to vegetables on fast days. Although Basil the Great
recommended in his Long Rule that children must have an appropriate
regimen both in terms of sleep and diet, there is no indication in the
hagiographical sources that his recommendations were followed in the
Byzantine monasteries that accommodated children within their walls.
One of children’s greatest pleasures in terms of food was to eat fruit. The
vita of Loukas of Steiris tells us that as a child, the saint used to refrain
from eating fruit, “the most delightful food.”89 That children yearned to eat
fruit is clear from an anecdote recorded in the vita of Nikon the Metanoeite.
A young boy from the monastery of saint Nikon “was quite gluttonous and
always indulging his gullet.” When he saw the fruits in the marketplace, the
desire to eat “the most pleasing food for children” was so great that he
could not stop himself from stealing money from a monk to buy what he
craved for.90
It was not easy for a young person to control the desires of the body. An
anecdote from the vita of Athanasios of Athos narrates how some monks,
most probably novices, were punished by Athanasios because they could
not refrain from eating delicacies. We learn that on the feast day of St.
Athanasios of Alexandria, the cook had prepared a special menu that
included honey cakes. Athanasios was extremely irritated and threw the
food onto the floor. Some brothers who were sitting at a table in the back of
the refectory could not resist the temptation to eat such delicacies, although
this meant that they had to pick them up from the floor. Athanasios
punished the brothers by expelling them from the community.91
Although in a coenobitic monastery all the members were supposed to
be equal, the monastic charters illustrate a different picture of everyday life.
There are some typika from the Late Byzantine period that suggest a
different treatment of the nuns in terms of diet. For instance, they were not
allowed to look around the table to see what had been served to others.92
The inequalities in the diet of the monks and nuns are also suggested in a
satirical poem by a former monk, Hilarion Ptochopromodos, who
complained that while the abbot and his friends enjoyed a special diet with
all kind of delicacies, the junior monks were served with food and wine of
very poor quality.93 Since the novices occupied the lowest echelon in the
monastic hierarchy, one may wonder whether children received different
treatment with regard to food.94
The same principle of the rejection of the body was reflected in the
personal hygiene of the monks, although it is difficult to have a clear picture
of the daily habits of the members of the monastic communities, either
adults or children. There is no indication in the sources about very basic
hygiene like washing the hands before eating, or washing the face at the
beginning of the day. We may assume that these habits were so self-evident
that the Byzantines did not feel the need to mention them. Scholars have
acknowledged that after the sixth century, there was a remarkable decline in
the use of public baths in the secular context.95 Unsurprisingly, bathing was
not at all habitual in the everyday lives of monks and nuns. In the monastic
milieu, bathing was seen more as a medical remedy for sick and aged
individuals. The frequency of bathing could vary from monastery to
monastery. For instance, in the monastery of Evergetis, the healthy monks
were allowed to bathe only three times a year, whereas at Pantokrator, this
was allowed twice a month, except during the Lenten fast when it was
completely prohibited; during other fasts, the monks could bathe only once
a month. The typikon of the monastery of Kecharitomene allowed healthy
nuns to bathe once a month, whereas the ill ones could bathe as often as the
doctor prescribed.96
The social background of the children’s families may have been a key
factor that influenced everyday life in monasteries. Although payment was
not required for entry into monastic life, the hagiographical literature
reports cases of individuals who brought with them their share of
inheritance, or a dowry, or donated a certain amount of money to the
community. Children from wealthy families could bring with them larger
properties and gifts than others from a lowly social background. The mother
and sisters of Michael the Synkellos dedicated many possessions to the
monastery where they took the veil.97 Upon her entry to the convent of St.
Stephen, Theodora of Thessalonike brought with her one hundred golden
coins, and after her tonsure, she is said to have donated three maidservants
and her share of inheritance.98 We may assume that the economic power of
the family who entrusted their children to a monastery could have played an
important role in the treatment of children inside the walls.
Moreover, the choice of a specific monastery, which was often made
because of the presence of a relative in the community, could suggest a
potentially privileged life that the child would enjoy there. The imperial
monastic foundation documents make it clear that those belonging to
aristocratic families could enjoy special privileges such as a better dietary
regimen.99 And although the ideal was that embarking upon the monastic
life meant the renunciation of all family ties, things were different in reality.
While some of the typika discouraged contact with relatives, other monastic
charters such as the typika of the monastery of Kecharitomene in
Constantinople and of the Monastery of the Mother of God Petritzonitissa
in Backovo allowed the nuns and monks to be visited by their relatives.100
Also, as we have seen, Byzantine hagiography gives examples of children
who were entrusted to monasteries where an aunt or an uncle had already
taken vows.
Certainly, children’s lives in monasteries could differ depending on a
variety of factors. The size of the monastery or convent, the geographical
environment, and their financial ability to support the members
undoubtedly also determined the way in which children lived. A small
monastic community could accommodate few if any children, while a
monastery like Stoudios in Constantinople, which, already by 807, had 700
monks, could provide facilities for more children who wanted to enter
monastic life.101 Nikolas of Stoudios, while still a child, was placed in the
school of the Stoudios monastery to learn the letters and everything
pertaining to the monastic life. There he enjoyed the company of other
children who were instructed with the intention of later becoming monks.102
Another monastic school we know about is the one established by Peter of
Argos. According to his tenth-century vita, the school was intended for
orphans and all who had lost their guardians, and included in its curricula
instruction in reading and writing, as well as training in crafts.103
It is difficult to tell whether child novices had their own space inside the
monasteries. If this was the case, surely it was more an extension of the
adults’ milieu. In general, the monasteries had individual cells for their
members, but some sources also indicate the use of a common dormitory in
convents. Children also spent considerable time in the ‘classroom’.
Whereas such a ‘classroom’ could have been part of a school attached to the
monastery, but not inside its walls, as with the school at Stoudios, it is very
likely that small monasteries that accepted children would have used at
most a cell within their walls. Moreover, in the refectory, each member of
the community was assigned to sit in a particular place, without having the
opportunity to choose where to sit. In some monasteries, the junior monks
could be put alongside the older ones so that their behaviour could be
supervised, but in others, the seating arrangement was hierarchical.104
Joining a monastic community seems to have been an abrupt transition
from childhood to adulthood. Breaking with the family, leaving behind
worldly things, and enduring the rigors of asceticism convey the
expectations of Byzantine religious authors regarding the ideal Christian
lifestyle. For those children who entered the monastic life, the small
pleasures of childhood seem to disappear, at least in the sources, although in
reality this may not have been entirely true.

Conclusions
In this chapter, I have approached the topic of children in monasteries by
looking at the regulations concerning their entry into ascetic communities,
the motivations and circumstances that led parents to entrust their offspring
to these institutions, and their main activities and responsibilities as future
monks and nuns.
As I have shown in the first part of the chapter, church authorities set the
age limit for the admission of children to monasteries at ten. In the
canonists’ opinion, children were by this age supposed to understand the
consequences of such a big step in their lives. In practice, however, they did
not have a voice in this matter: it was the family who was to decide about
their future. Some monasteries, as we have seen, did not accept children
within their walls, on the grounds that they represented a possible sexual
temptation for the adult monks. Some others saw the presence of children as
a source of trouble and disorder for their communities. Nevertheless, there
were monasteries that raised and educated children who would later become
monks and nuns.
Children who lived in monasteries fell into three main categories:
orphaned children who were taken care of by nuns and monks, children
who received education in monastic schools, and those who were instructed
for religious life.105 It is impossible to know how many of these children
later took the monastic habit. However, their presence is well attested in the
hagiographies, and it seems that some children were accepted in
monasteries even before they reached the age of ten. Most probably, the
majority of young children present in monastic communities were orphans,
like Theoktistes of Lesbos who was raised in a convent from early
childhood. Other young children, like Theopiste, the daughter of Theodora
of Thessalonike, may have been accepted to live in a monastery because a
family relative resided there.
Children’s entry to monasteries was a matter of the parents’ decision.
The reasons why children were entrusted to monasteries varied, depending
on family circumstances: the promise made by parents to dedicate their
children to God in gratitude for their birth; a critical financial situation
caused by the death of one of the parents, usually the father; the decision of
parents to enter a monastery with their entire family; or the piety manifested
by children from an early age. These are indeed the main reasons mentioned
in hagiographies. Such a life-changing decision could cause tensions
between parents and children. Some children manifested their opposition to
this decision, like the nephew of Peter of Atroa; others may have been
persuaded by their families to embark upon the monastic life, but did not
gladly accept the decision, as in the case of Euthymios, the young brother of
Theodore of Stoudios.
As I have shown in the last part of the chapter, life in monasteries
required discipline and total obedience to the superiors. As novices,
children had to learn to adapt to the rules of the monasteries. Manual labour
and active participation in the religious offices were the main features that
defined the lives of monks and nuns, and children were gradually integrated
into monastic rigors. As new members of the community, children were
assigned various tasks, most likely depending on their age and ability to
fulfil their responsibilities. In general, in convents, female novices were to
perform the same tasks as those performed at home. For boys, the tasks
could vary according to the geographical location of the monasteries:
fetching water, carrying wood, helping in the kitchen, or gardening were
such responsibilities assigned to junior monks.
The monastic lifestyle required both physical and mental self-control.
Novices are described in the sources as participating in night vigils, fasting,
and praying. The ascetic ideal was to be achieved through sleep deprivation
and rejection of the basic needs of the body. Precisely because of these
rigors, children younger than ten were not, in principle, to be accepted into
monasteries to become monks and nuns. How the monastic rigors may have
been experienced by children is a topic that we shall examine in the next
chapter.

Notes
1 The most recent study of monastic children in Late Antique Egyptian
Monasticism is by Schroeder (2021). For earlier studies on children in
Egyptian monasteries, see Papaconstantinou (2002) and Giorda (2017).
For recent contributions to the phenomenon of asceticism and
monasticism in late antiquity, see Caseau (2012) and Vuolanto (2015).
The topic of youths in monasteries in Middle and Late Byzantium was
tackled by Talbot (2018a).
2 On children’s educational programme in the schools attached to
monasteries, see Kalogeras (2000: 145–55).
3 Miller (2003: 113–23).
4 Greenfield (2009).
5 From the first centuries of Christianity onwards, the continuous request
by parents to entrust their children to monastic communities led church
leaders to adopt strict rules concerning children’s entry to monasteries.
For an overview of the praxis of oblation in East and West, see Doran
(1994); concerning the rule of Basil the Great and its influence on the
canonists down through the centuries, see Caseau (2009a).
6 Basil of Cesarea, Long rules, 15 (PG 31, 952–3; Eng. trans. in Wagner,
Saint Basil, 264–8).
7 Basil of Cesarea, Long rules, 15 (PG 31, 952–3; Eng. trans. in Wagner,
Saint Basil, 264–8).
8 Caseau (2009a: 23).
9 Basil of Cesarea, Long rules, 267–8.
10 Caseau (2009a: 27).
11 The Canons of Trullo 40, 730.
12 Les Novelles 6, 33–5.
13 Latros 48 (BMFD 1: 141).
14 Greenfield (2009: 260–2). Caseau (2009a: 30) has also argued that
“Byzantine monasteries were often hostile to mixing grown up men
with young children, seen as possible temptation for the monks”.
15 Tzimiskes 16 (BMFD 1: 238).
16 Constantine IX 1 (BMFD 1: 285).
17 Life of Lazaros of Galesion 196 (567; Eng. trans. 286); also in Galesios
196 (BMFD 1: 162).
18 Life of Lazaros of Galesion 152 (553; Eng. trans.241).
19 Eleousa 17 (BMFD 1: 186).
20 Eleousa 5(BMFD 1: 176):

I also prescribe that two monks dwell in each cell, namely an elderly
one and a young one, in order that the young one may be remolded
by the traits of the elderly one and display the wisdom of old age in
youth.

21 Galatariotou (1988); also Garland (2013: 30).

22 Kecharitomene 5 (BMFD 2: 671).
23 Bebaia Elpis 148 (BMFD 4: 1564).
24 Bebaia Elpis 148 (BMFD 4: 1564).
25 Miller (2003: 128).
26 Kazhdan and Wharton Epstein (1990: 11–2).
27 A useful introduction to monasticism is provided by Talbot (1985,
1987, 2019). On the role of monks in Byzantine society, see Morris
(1995). On monasticism in the Early and Middle Byzantine periods, see
Hatlie (2007).
28 Patlagean (1973); Caseau (2009a: 23–7); Caseau (2012).
29 Hatlie (2006: 186).
30 Life of George of Amastris 4 (7; Eng. trans. 2).
31 Life of Peter of Atroa 2 (69; Fr. trans. 68).
32 Life of Michael Maleinos 4 (551–2).
33 Life of Michael the Synkellos 1 (44–6; Eng. trans. 45–7).
34 Translations and miracles of Theodora of Thessalonike 13 (218; Eng.
trans. 230).
35 Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 9 (84; Eng. trans. 171).
36 Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 38 (140; Eng. trans. 196).
37 Life of Basil the Younger part I.32 (132; Eng. trans. 133).
38 Ringrose (2003:61–2, 73–7).
39 Life of Ignatius the Patriarch 3 (6; Eng. trans. 7).
40 Theodori Studitae Epistulae, letter 500 (738–40).
41 Life of Nikon the Metanoeite 26 (98; Eng. trans. 99).
42 Life of Theoktiste of Lesbos 18 (229; Eng. trans. 110).
43 Life of Antony Kauleas 4 (415).
44 Life of Paul of Latros 3–4 (106).
45 Life of Neilos the Younger 26 (90; Eng. trans. 91).
46 Life of Loukas of Steiris 10 (18; Eng. trans. 19).
47 Life of Loukas of Steiris 13–5 (22–4; Eng. trans. 23–5).
48 Life of Loukas of Steiris 2 (8; Eng. trans. 9).
49 Life of David, Symeon and George of Lesbos 2 (212; Eng. trans. 152).
50 Life of David, Symeon and George of Lesbos 8–9 (218; Eng. trans.
161–2).
51 Life of Nicholas of Stoudios (869 C).
52 Life of Lazaros of Galesion 3 (510; Eng. trans. 79–80).
53 Life of Lazaros of Galesion 4 (510; Eng. trans. 81).
54 Life of Lazaros of Galesion 9 (512; Eng. trans. 87).
55 Life of Phantino the Younger 2 (402; It. trans. 403).
56 Life of Phantino the Younger 3–4 (404; It. trans. 405).
57 Life of Phantino the Younger 6 (406; It. trans. 407).
58 Life of Stephen the Younger 4 (92; Fr. trans. 184).
59 Life of Stephen the Younger 11 (101–2; Fr. trans. 194–5).
60 Life of Stephen the Younger 12 (103–4; Fr. trans. 196–7).
61 Life of Cyril the Phileote 27.1–2 (121–2; Fr. trans. 347–9).
62 Life of Peter of Argos 3–4 (124–6; Eng. trans. 125–7).
63 Theodore of Stoudios, Funerary catechism for his mother 7 (31; Eng.
trans. 46).
64 Life of Irene of Chrysobalanton 13 (52–4; Eng. trans. 53–5).
65 Life of Symeon the New Theologian 4 (8–10; Eng. trans. 9–11).
66 Life of David, Symeon and George of Lesbos 4 (214; Eng. trans. 155).
67 Life of Athanasia of Aegina 3 (212; Eng. trans. 143, as ch. 1).
68 Life of Athanasia of Aegina 6 (213; Eng. trans. 144, as ch. 3).
69 Life of Irene of Chrysobalanton 3 (10–2; Eng. trans. 11–3).
70 The Synod of Constantinople (Prima-secunda) 5, 455–7.
71 Life of Nikon the Metanoeite 5 (40; Eng. trans. 41).
72 Kalogeras (2000: 145–55).
73 Life of Nicholas of Stoudios (869 B).
74 Life of Antony Kauleas 3 (414).
75 On the liturgy of the hours, see Taft (1986: 75–92, 191–210 and 273–
96).
76 Life of Paul of Latros 6 (107).
77 Kalogeras (2000: 148–9). According to the Pachomian rule, children
were to receive instruction from a monk during the third, sixth and
ninth hours, on this see Laes (2010: 130).
78 Constable (2000: xxvi).
79 Pantokrator 19 (BMFD 2: 749); Bebaia Elpis 60 (BMFD 4: 1540).On
daily life in women’s monastic communities, see also Galatarioutou
(1988), and Garland (2013).
80 Life of Phantinos the Younger 6 (406–8; It. trans. 407–9).
81 Life of Loukas of Steiris 35 (54–6; Eng. trans. 55–7).
82 Life of Stephen the Younger 13 (105; Fr. trans. 198).
83 Talbot (2002: 59).
84 Life of Loukas of Steiris 19 (30; Eng. trans. 31).
85 Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 28 (17; Eng. trans. 128).
86 Talbot (1985: 12).
87 Stoudios 25 (BMFD 1: 108).
88 Life of Paul of Latros 6 (107); Life of Lazaros of Galesion 3–4 (510;
Eng. trans. 80–1). On punishments of children in Egyptian monasteries,
see Laes (2010: 124–5).
89 Life of Loukas of Steiris 3 (7; Eng. trans. 8).
90 Life of Nikon the Metanoeite 75 (258;Eng. trans. 259).
91 Life of Athanasios of Athos 50 (Vita B) (288–92; Eng. trans. 289–93).
92 Bebaia 86 (BMFD 4: 1548).
93 For a detailed description of the food of the superiors and the junior
monks, see Talbot (2007: 118).
 94 In the late antique monasteries in Egypt, children could expect to
receive food more frequently than adults did. See Schroeder (2021:
148–50).
95 Cyril Mango (1981: 338–41);“Baths” (ODB 1: 271–2).
96 Evergetis 9 (BMFD 2: 460); Pantokrator 15 (BMFD 1: 748);
Kecharitomene 7 (BMFD 2: 653).
97 Life of Michael the Synkellos 3 (48, Eng. trans. 49).
98 Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 20 (106; Eng. trans. 181); on
monastic donations and patronage, see Morris (1995: 120–42); on
monastic recruits from wealthy families, see Hatlie (2007: 280–9).
99 Kecharitomene 4 (BMFD 2: 670).
100 Kecharitomene 17 (BMFD 2: 679–80); Pakourianos 8 (BMFD 2: 504).
101 Hatlie (2007: 322).
102 Life of Nicholas of Stoudios (869C–872A).
103 Life of Peter of Argos 7 (136; Eng. trans. 137). On monastic schools for
orphans, see also Miller (2003: 127–32).
104 Talbot (2007: 113).
105 Greenfield (2009: 273).
8 Through the eyes of children
Two narratives of Byzantine children’s
everyday life
DOI: 10.4324/9780429318498-8

In the course of this book, I have explored the topic of Byzantine children
and childhood by focusing on two major strands: on the one hand, I have
dealt with ideas and representations of childhood as a distinct stage of life,
and the cultural and social expectations of adults towards children, and on
the other hand, with childhood experiences and the main features that
defined the lives of children. However, the limitations of our sources make
it impossible to find a good balance between these two perspectives. The
simple fact that children did not leave any testimony of their experiences
has made my endeavour to unravel their lives challenging. The picture that
emerges from our sources is based on how Byzantine adults chose to
describe children. The texts present us more with ideas and ideals than with
the ‘real’ life of children. These adults were, by and large, religiously
educated authors who wrote their accounts with certain agendas in mind.
They belonged to the elite, and their views on children and childhood most
likely shared the expectations of their social and religious groups. In
addition, many of the children described in their narratives belonged to the
elite class. Therefore, we are left in many ways with a fragmented and, to a
certain extent, distorted picture of children’s lives. It seems that we know
more about elite children than about children from a lowly social
background, and in general, we know more about boys than about girls.
Moreover, it remains difficult to make generalizations about childhood in
Byzantium, although this stage of life has its specific features that transcend
time and place. From a biological point of view, children share some central
characteristics, irrespective of whether they were born in ancient societies,
in the Middle Byzantine period, or in, let us say, contemporary England.
What differs are the cultural and social norms related to children and
childhood that characterize a given society in different periods of time.
Especially when dealing with people living in the past, in our case with
children, the scholars’ task becomes complicated. How much can we say
about children’s lives in Byzantium? How much can be said about their
experiences of life? How much can we understand of what it was like to be
a child at that time, if we have only little evidence that testifies to the
personal experience of being a child? The few insights we have from
Psellos’ and Theodore of Stoudios’ encomia for their mothers, where they
recall some moments of their childhood, do not allow us to have a clear
picture of children’s lives in Byzantium.
Throughout this book, I have explored the experiences of children in two
different milieus: in the family setting where the majority of them grew up,
and in the monastic communities where only a minority came to spend their
lives. With respect to children’s lives in a family setting, I have investigated
the main activities they were occupied with (play, schooling, and work), the
principles that governed family relationships (affection, respect, honour,
and obedience), and the social practices related to the religious socialization
of children (e.g. participation in religious rituals). In the monastic setting,
we have seen the reasons and motivations behind children’s entry into
monasteries as well as their various activities as novices. But how different
may the everyday lives of children in these settings have been? What was it
like to be a child living at home, surrounded by family, going to school,
spending free time with other children, and what was it like to live in a
monastery? More specifically, how different may children’s daily routines
in these two different milieus have been? This chapter aims to approach this
matter by instantiating in two historically informed narratives the central
elements pertaining to children’s lives that have been discussed in the book
so far. The first narrative will describe two brothers living in
Constantinople, while the other will deal with a girl and a boy living in two
different monastic communities.1
The stories employ an approach inspired by history from below and
microhistory, which seek to locate the agency of individuals within larger
social structures, and uses the convention of creative non-fiction narrative.
Admittedly, this is a rather unconventional way of writing history,
especially because I intertwine facts with imagination in describing the
daily routines of these children from their perspective. However, this
method has gained an increasing acceptance in childhood studies and has
proven to be useful in the analysis of people’s lives from the past.2 In her
study of Jewish childhood, Hagith Sivan, who has made use of four pieces
of creative non-fiction narrative in the form of autobiographies, expressed
her conviction that “no sober analysis in traditional academic manner can
convey what it was like to be a Jew of tender age in the Roman world”.3
Although I fully agree with her statement, I do not go so far as writing first-
person narratives, as she has skilfully done. I do not endow children with
voices or write these accounts as fictional dialogues, but rather creatively
imagine how a day in their lives would have looked like, each element
being rigorously based on primary sources. Reidar Aasgaard and Bernadette
Brooten have also made use of the technique of imaginative stories
(labelled by Aasgaard as ‘fictional microhistory’), to highlight various
aspects of everyday life of children in late antiquity. By collating pieces of
evidence related to children, Aasgaard has construed a plausible story of a
slave boy living in the fifth-century Constantinople.4 His analysis of the
physical surrounding of the city with various places and objects seen
through the eyes of a child offers us a way of grasping the experiences of
people from the past. In sketching the picture of slave families, Brooten
uses intersectionality in interpreting the Household Codes of the New
Testament from the slaves’ standpoint. By means of fictional stories of two
slaves, she brings to light the vulnerability of enslaved families, who
constituted a marginal group in early Christian and late antique society.5 To
be sure, this kind of approach, whether scholars prefer to call it ‘creative
non-fiction stories’,6 ‘historically imagined scenario’ or ‘faction’ as a blend
of facts and fiction, is part of a recent trend of historians of trying to get
closer to the voices of people in the past.7
As I have already noted, this chapter is built on the foundation of the
previous chapters, which have dealt with children in both family and
monastic contexts. The narratives will be presented in the form of two
fictional stories with the spotlight on the children’s actions, which are
arranged in a coherent and ordered manner that line up daily events of their
lives. Such an approach requires a detailed description of the actions of the
children, which aims at bringing the reader closer to their everyday life. By
employing this method, my intention is to reveal something of what the life
of a child in these settings may have looked like during an ordinary day. I
shall pay attention to the similarities and differences between the lives of
children in two different milieus, with a focus on living conditions and
interpersonal relationships, which will be discussed at the end of the
chapter. In this analytical part, I shall compare the two stories and situate
them in the context of general living conditions in Byzantium. Using such
an approach in assessing the life of a child living in a certain context may
open up new avenues in the field of research into children and childhood,
especially with respect to children’s daily lives and agency.

Daily life in a family setting: approach and

sources
The first story presents two boys living with their family in Constantinople.
These children are brothers, whose ordinary days revolve mostly around
schooling. I have chosen to focus only on boys because of their visibility in
the sources in what concerns daily routine. We have fewer sources that
testify to the life of girls than to that of boys. As we have seen in the
previous chapters, the girls’ universe was restricted mainly to their
household where they spent the majority of their time, and to some other
few public spaces such as the church or a holy shrine that they visited
together with their parents. As for boys, the ‘social space’ and the physical
environment they also explored included the neighbourhood where they
could play with other children, the part of the city or village where their
school was located, and the places where they performed various activities,
such as the pastures and the lands outside the villages. Accordingly, when
we speak about the daily routine of children we should also take into
account their material environment, which differed in the case of girls and
boys.
It is, however, unfair to claim that we have no indications about what a
girl’s daily routine may have looked like. From the funeral oration for
Styliane, we know that her daily schedule was divided between work and
study. Her father, Psellos, wrote:

she herself ordered the times of each day in the most prudent manner,
setting aside one portion for education and another for weaving, while
occupying herself with both. So at one time she would be learning her
 letters and at another she would be performing the women’s work and
the careful labours of the loom.8

However, this is an exceptional description of a girl from a noble family

who had the opportunity to acquire education under a private tutor. While
girls from upper-class families would have divided their time schedule
between studying their letters and handiworks, supervising the work of the
domestics, reading books, or learning good manners, many others
belonging to a lower social milieu would not have had the opportunity to
receive an education. They may therefore have spent their time mainly on
various household chores.
When it comes to boys, the sources are more generous in that they
provide sufficient information to build up a more tangible picture of their
daily routines. For this purpose, I have constructed two characters based on
the sources that describe Byzantine boys’ daily activities. I describe boys
living in the capital of the empire because of the number of such cases that
are described in the source material. The hagiographies of our period
narrate many stories of holy children who were educated in Constantinople.
Some of them were born in the capital where they attended various schools,
and others came there especially to pursue further education.
These two brothers will be presented mainly outside their home, on their
way to school and at school. My decision to describe their itinerary on the
streets of Constantinople on their way to school was made primarily
because such an account can reflect in a more concrete way the daily
interactions of children with various people from outside the household.
Moreover, the way in which children related to the physical environment
and to people with whom they interacted will enable us to have a more
holistic picture of their everyday social life.
Apart from the hagiographical texts, I shall make use of the existing
studies that deal with everyday conditions of life in Constantinople. Also,
some testimonies left by travellers who visited Constantinople will be of
use because they shed light on how life in the city was perceived by an
outsider. We also have a detailed description of a school attached to the
Church of the Holy Apostles, written in the twelfth century by Nikolaos
Mesarites.9 Although some features could very likely have changed from
one century to another; this is nevertheless a valuable testimony about a
school where many Constantinopolitan boys spent their time for education.
We do not know whether this school functioned in the previous centuries,
although this is possible, since the Church of the Holy Apostles was one of
the most important churches in the city.
The social status of the two brothers and the age gap between them are
the main factors that I take into consideration. Social status is reflected in
the sources mainly with reference to the children’s education. As I have
pointed out in Chapter 4, parents who possessed sufficient financial means
took great care to provide their children with a good education, which was a
prerequisite for a successful career. The age gap between the two boys
serves to highlight the differences in terms of stages of instruction and
parental practices.
Before proceeding further, it is important to state that although the two
brothers never existed in reality, these characters are representative for
many middle-class Byzantine boys living in the capital. For practical
reasons, I shall name them Ioannes and Constantinos, two of the most
popular names in a secular context.10 Finally, it must be pointed out that the
story should be read with close attention to the notes, where I point to the
relevant information provided by the sources.

Ioannes and Constantinos

Let us presume that these two brothers were born in a middle-class family.
Their father works in the administrative apparatus of the empire and the
mother looks after the household.11 The boys also have an older sister who
is already married. This means that she has left the parents’ house and lives
with her husband in the mansion of her parents-in-law. The family’s house
is located between the Chalkoprateia and the Constantinian wall, in the area
around the forum of Theodosius.12
The house, like many others in this area, is a two-storey building. The
bedroom where the boys sleep is on the upper floor. Each morning after
their mother wakes them up, she makes the sign of the cross over their
bodies and exhorts them to pray.13 This habit marks the beginning of each
day, no matter whether it is a Sunday or any other working day. Today is
just an ordinary spring day when they have to go to school. The younger
boy, Ioannes, is almost eight years old and has already started the first stage
of schooling, while Constantinos is thirteen years old. He is more advanced
in his studies: he knows to read, write, and count, and now he studies
grammar. The parents have great plans for both of them. They want the
boys to work later in the imperial administration. This means that they have
to study hard at school. The classes begin at eight o’clock, so they have
time to wash their face, and put on their tunics and sandals.
Ioannes and Constantinos leave the house, saying goodbye to their
mother who hugs and blesses them.14 The street where their house is
located is narrow, with crammed houses on both sides. By the time they
reach the Mese, to proceed to the Church of the Holy Apostles where the
school is located, they have met many neighbours who are going about their
affairs. The streets are crowded already, the shops are open and they can see
many merchants selling their products in the portico shops.15 There are also
other children who are heading to their school, some accompanied by their
mothers, and others by eunuchs.16 The boys, who were taught at home to be
polite, greet the neighbours they meet on the way.
The main street, the Mese, is quite wide and lined with colonnade
porticoes within which there are shops on both sides.17 Here is the centre of
economic and social life. On this street the imperial processions take place.
Once, they went with their parents to attend such a parade, a good occasion
for them to see the emperor dressed in his fine silk clothes woven with
jewels. On these occasions, the street was decorated with flowers and
brocade carpets and crowded by the inhabitants who wanted to see the
ceremony.18 This, however, was only one of the amusements. The most
enjoyable place, at least for Constantinos, is the hippodrome where he
attends the games and chariot races with his father. There he can sit on the
marble seats and watch the charioteers, mimes and acrobats, or theatrical
representations. Ioannes, however, had never seen these games because his
mother considered him still too young for such pastimes.19 He cannot wait
to grow up and be allowed to do the same things as his brother.
Walking along the Mese, they pass by a garden that encloses the column
of Marcian, which is about ten meters high. What a pity they cannot see the
entire column! The walls of the garden obstruct its visibility.20 Ioannes has
been always fascinated by the statue of the emperor placed on the top of it.
Now he asks his brother once again who this emperor is, in what period of
time did he live, but Constantine does not know. And anyway, how many
people in town know about him? Maybe their teacher, who is known in
town as being a learned man, knows something. And maybe their father too
has heard about this emperor and will tell them a nice story about his great
deeds.
Soon the boys will reach the school, for they have to walk some 300
meters further. The school is located in the atrium of the Church of the Holy
Apostles, which is already full of students of every age. Once they approach
it, they have to go in different directions, each to his own group of students.
Ioannes joins the group of children who are learning to read and write.
There are also other students who learn rhetoric and how to express their
ideas in public. A little further on, there is the group of the students who
learn grammar.21 Here Constantinos is taking his seat. The teacher, who is
in charge of teaching the boys grammar, has given them a poem of Homer
to be memorized by heart. After reading the text aloud, the teacher explains
it line-by-line to his pupils. The text is quite hard to learn; in a day, the
students usually manage to go through thirty lines of a Homeric poem.22
In the meantime, Ioannes is still struggling to learn how to write. He has
learned all the letters of the alphabet but still has difficulties with some of
them. Now he is copying short passages mechanically to practice his
handwriting. He has tried to copy on a writing tablet a short fragment
written by his teacher. But since he could hardly draw the form of the letter
beta, the teacher told him to continue to practice the letter until its shape
resembles the teacher’s model.23 Today he has written twenty beta as an
exercise, along with a passage from the Bible, which, however, he is not yet
able to read. Once in a while the children are allowed to take a break from
their lessons. In these breaks, they usually play with knucklebones, a game
very popular among all the Byzantines.
At noon, the students are going home to have lunch.24 While Ioannes
and Constantinos are going back home for their meal, some of their
classmates stop by a bird market where they like to spend the whole
afternoon. Rather than learning their lessons, and in spite of the teacher’s
punishments and admonitions, they find it more amusing to play truant,
passing their time with quails and partridges they buy from the market.25
When the boys arrive at home, they learn that their father has some
guests and he must not be disturbed. Therefore, they will eat in another
room with their mother, who has supervised the maidservant who prepares
the food.26 Today’s meal consists of fresh bread bought from the artopoios
(baker), some salted fish procured from the saldamarios (grocer) and
vegetables.27 After lunch, Ioannes and Constantinos have to return to school
to continue the lessons they started in the morning. The classes last until the
afternoon, when the boys come back from school and are allowed to play.
Ioannes is playing in the courtyard with some of the neighbours’ children,
whereas Constantinos is allowed to go out on the streets of the
neighbourhood, where he wanders about with other children of his age.
Before sunset they have to go inside for dinner. They know that after
they have eaten, their parents will question them about what they learnt at
school. The father, when he is not too tired, usually interrogates
Constantinos about the various meanings of some verbs he encountered in
the text studied today and helps him to memorize the part of the Homeric
poem, while the mother asks Ioannes to recite a psalm by heart.28
After a long day spent mostly at school, the two brothers go to bed, but
not before reciting the Lord’s Prayer. Their mother always takes care that
they do not forget to give thanks to God at the end of each day.

Daily life in monastic communities: approach and

sources
The next story presents the actions of two children, a girl and a boy in two
coenobitic communities.29 The decision to describe a girl and a boy stems
from the need to understand in what ways their lives would differ within the
monastic setting. However, gender is not the only variable factor I take into
consideration here. Other relevant elements are the social background of the
children, their age, the reason why they were entrusted by their families to a
monastic community, and the geographical area in which the monasteries
were situated.
The girl will be presented as living in an urban convent in the capital of
the empire, whereas the boy will be placed in a monastery in the
countryside. Although our sources describe boys and young men living in
both urban and rural monastic communities, I present the boy as a member
of a rural monastic community. My decision about the girl is based on the
finding that female monasticism in the Middle Byzantine period tended to
be an urban phenomenon.30
 The sources used for these narratives are primarily the hagiographical
accounts that record episodes from the novitiate of the saints-to-be and the
monastic charters of the Middle Byzantine period that regulated the lives of
monks and nuns. I supplement the information regarding the monastic
activities ascribed to children by drawing also on hagiographical texts from
later centuries.
As with the two brothers living in Constantinople, these two children
never existed. For practical reasons, I call the girl Theodora and the boy
Georgios. These names too were widely used throughout Byzantine history.
Theodora was one of the most popular names in Byzantium, and was borne
by several Byzantine empresses and saints. Saint George (Georgios in
Greek) was often celebrated in Byzantine peasant names.31 In what follows,
I introduce the background of each character, starting with Theodora and
proceeding thereafter with Georgios.
Theodora was born in Constantinople in a wealthy family four years
after the restoration of the icons – in 847 – the year when the patriarch
Ignatios was appointed by the empress mother Theodora to succeed
Methodios.32 Before having Theodora, her parents lost four other children
who died in infancy. Stricken by this tragedy, they promised that if God
would grant them a child who will survive the first years of childhood, they
would entrust the child to a monastery to become a servant of God.33
Accordingly, when Theodora reached the age of ten, the parents brought
her to a convent in the city, where one of the nuns is her mother’s sister.34
She has already spent almost a year in the convent. In this community there
are also some other girls of a similar age, two of whom have lived with the
nuns since they lost their parents in infancy. The community numbers
twenty-four nuns, plus four young girls.35
We follow Theodora through a Wednesday in which we see her in
different situations: in church when she participates with the nuns at the
offices, at work, while she receives instruction, in the refectory, and in the
dormitory. I have decided not to describe the actions of Theodora on a
Sunday, since we would then not have a clear enough picture of her
activities. On the Lord’s Day, the monastic community’s members were not
allowed to work. They would celebrate this day through liturgy, and praying
and chanting psalms all day.
 Georgios, a fourteen-year-old boy from a village in Asia Minor, was
born in a peasant family in the first half of the ninth century.36 He and his
three siblings, an elder brother and two sisters, lost their father when
Georgios was eleven years old. This led the mother to seek advice from the
local priest about what to do to ease the family’s precarious situation. The
boy was hard-working, as everyone in the village knew, for he often helped
his father with shepherding the flocks or working the land.37 His mother
asked the priest for a monastery that would accept the boy in the
community.38 While the elder boy would take over the tasks of his late
father, Georgios would be sent to live with the monks.39 The priest directed
him to a monastery whose abbot he knew, located two villages away. The
community is quite small, with only eleven monks and Georgios.40 Three
years have passed since Georgios walked through the doors of the
monastery that offered him a new home and a new family. Now the boy is
fourteen years old and his brother is already married, while the sisters
entered a local convent.
We shall follow Georgios this time through a Friday at the most
representative points in time. Unlike Theodora’s story, which focuses on the
moments in which a child is present in church according to the liturgical
duties prescribed for the monastic communities, Georgios’ story will focus
more on work activities than on participation in the church services. We
shall see him for a short while in church during the Holy Liturgy, at work
and in his cell. Therefore, the story of Georgios will not be presented in the
same way as Theodora’s, by focusing on the daily schedule, but instead by
concentrating on the places where Georgios spends his time.
Finally, it has to be pointed out once again that there are no invented
facts in the stories of these two children. All the details I use in sketching a
day in the life of each child are based on information provided by our
sources, and are discussed in the notes.

Theodora and Georgios

Every morning, the sound of the semantron wakes up the sisters who sleep
in the dormitory. The room is big enough to accommodate all the nuns and
the girls who live in the convent.41 The beds are arranged in such a way that
the nuns can see each other.42 As a novice who is undergoing instruction to
become a nun later on, Theodora gets up as early as the other nuns to take
part in the office of orthros.43 She puts on her tunic quickly, and goes to
church.44 As she approaches the narthex where the service will be held, she
makes the sign of the cross.45 The narthex is quite dark and cold, since the
sun has not yet risen. A cool morning breeze penetrates the room through
an open window, making Theodora shudder briefly. The smell of the
incense and the smoke from the candles gradually fill the narthex while
Theodora listens carefully to the psalms sung by one of the nuns, the
ecclesiarchissa.46 She already knows many of these psalms, because she
has heard them many times since she entered the monastery. The nun sings
the psalms slowly, so Theodora can follow the words easily.47 From time to
time, the girl glances at the wall where the Virgin is depicted alongside
Jesus on the throne.48 She notices how the candles burning in front of the
icon flicker and create dancing shadows on the mantle of Jesus.
The nuns start a series of prostrations and she immediately follows their
example. While she prostrates herself, she touches the cold and rough
ground with her knees, hands, and forehead.49 The matins have finished
already and another office begins – the office of the first hour.50 Theodora
has followed the nuns who have moved into the central part of the church,
and now she is attentive to the prayers recited by the priest, while at the
same time watching the ecclesiarchissa who is standing in front of the
sanctuary. When the ecclesiarchissa kneels, all the other nuns must kneel
simultaneously. When she gets up, everyone does the same.51
Theodora hears one of the nuns reading the catechesis. After this, the
priest recites the prayer that ends the office. She leaves the church, making
the sign of the cross again, and then enters the dormitory where she will
work for a while. She is learning to weave, and her aunt is showing her a
new technique on the loom. While she works, another nun is reading aloud
from the Scripture.52
Theodora remains in the dormitory until the semantron calls the nuns to
church for the Holy Liturgy. By then, the nuns have also prayed the third
liturgical hour, in which other psalms have been chanted. Now, in daylight,
Theodora can see clearly the pictures on the walls; various biblical scenes
with Jesus, Mary, and other saints have become visible. During the liturgy,
Theodora sings together with the nuns. She is attentive to the story read by
the priest from the gospel. After the reading is over, the priest explains its
message to the nuns. When the nuns start to recite: “We believe in God, the
Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth” she immediately recognizes
the Creed. She knows it by heart, for she used to recite it when she lived in
the city and attended every Sunday office at the local church with her
parents. The Holy Liturgy is about to end, and Theodora and the other nuns
chant the Lord’s Prayer. At the end of the liturgy, she receives Holy
Communion and the priest anoints her forehead with myron.53
The service is over now and Theodora waits in the narthex with the nuns
to hear the sound of the semantron that will announce lunch.54 She follows
the priest and the nuns to the refectory. The trapeza is a very large room,
almost as large as the church building. Theodora sits down where the
abbess has decided to place her. She sits next to another girl and in front of
her aunt. While Theodora eats the bean soup, she listens to a nun reading
from the scripture.55 The girl beside Theodora is whispering something in
the ear of another girl, but the nun who supervises the sisters at the table
observes the two girls and punishes them. They must leave the refectory
before having eaten a meal.56 After Theodora has eaten the two courses
served today and has drunk water, she awaits the permission of the abbess
to leave the refectory.57 The time for lessons has come.
The lessons take place in a separate cell.58 A nun has been appointed to
teach girls to read the scriptures and to write. When Theodora arrived at the
monastery, she already knew most of the letters of the alphabet. Her mother
showed her the letters and often told her stories from the Bible.59 Now the
girl is able to reproduce all the letters, and she forms words and simple
sentences with them. The lessons in the convent consist mainly in learning
to read from the psalms and copying them out, so that Theodora will be able
to read them in the church after she makes her vows.60
After the lessons, Theodora goes to the dormitory where the nuns are
working.61 She is instructed by her aunt how to spin wool with a spindle to
make fibres that will be used for making clothes.62
It has been a long day for Theodora. She woke up early in the morning;
she participated at the offices; she had lessons, and she worked all
afternoon. Now evening has come and she is tired. After dinner in the
refectory, she recites a thanksgiving prayer before going to bed. The next
three days will be as tiring as this one, but on Sunday, she will have the
chance to rest more. Sunday is an important day for Theodora, for she will
see her mother again. The last visit from her mother was when the girl fell
ill and the abbess let her mother stay overnight in the convent.63 As she
falls asleep, we leave her story aside to focus on a day in the life of
Georgios, a novice who lives, not in the city like Theodora, but in a
monastery somewhere in the countryside.
The members of the community where Georgios lives have gathered in
the church to celebrate the Holy Liturgy. The office is about to end, for the
monks are reciting the Lord’s Prayer. Georgios stands somewhere at the
back of the church, according to the dispositions of the abbot, who has
assigned each monk a specific place in the church. Since he is only a
novice, he is not allowed to stay in the same place with other monks who
are more experienced than him.64
When the Divine Liturgy is nearly over, Georgios waits in line to receive
Holy Communion. He approaches the sanctuary, making the sign of the
cross, and receives the consecrated bread.65 The office is now over, but
Georgios remains in the church to pray in front of the icon of Christ the
Pantokrator.66 He prays for his family, and especially for his late father and
his widowed mother. After he has finished the prayer, he gets up and lights
a candle, and he looks once again at the icon and kisses it. It seems that
Jesus is looking into his eyes and is blessing him.67
Georgios leaves the church and goes to the kitchen. He was appointed by
the abbot of the monastery to help the cook.68 One of his tasks is to fetch
water from a well outside the monastery each morning.69 The boy takes two
empty water jars in his hands and departs quickly. He has to be back soon,
for the cook needs to prepare the meals for lunch. He must not be late,
otherwise the superior will probably punish him. He had already been
punished several times by the abbot for breaking the rules of the monastery.
Once, both Georgios and the cook were punished because the food was not
salty enough. They had to do twenty full prostrations.70 However, that
punishment was not so harsh: Once, he broke a plate in the kitchen and he
had to do 300 prostrations.71
While he walks on the road to the well, he is watching the birds flying in
the sky. As a shepherd boy back home, he used to catch birds with
birdlime.72 Now there is no more time for such things or playing with nuts;
he has important tasks to do.73 He runs to the well, fills the jars with water
and returns to the monastery. He must wash the vegetables that are to be
prepared for lunch.
Georgios arranges the plates, the cutlery, and the wine cups on the table.
Soon the semantron will be struck to call the brothers to the refectory. The
monks have arrived in the trapeza, singing a psalm. After the priest has
blessed the food, the brothers start to eat. Georgios must wait until they
have finished; he will then eat together with the cook and the monks who
could not attend the first sitting.74 But now he is walking around the table
serving the brothers, while he listens to the reading about the struggles of
St. Antony the Great to overcome the impure thoughts and the carnal
desires stirred up by the devil.75 The story makes a strong impression on
him. At least he is not the only one who struggles to chase away these
thoughts that sometimes come to his mind. He knows he must pray a lot to
make them go away.
Everybody has eaten already and put the dirty plates and spoons in a
basket. Georgios has eaten too, and now he is washing the plates carefully,
lest he break any of them and be punished. After he finishes cleaning
everything, he goes to his cell to rest for a short while, because he has some
more work to do.
The monastery has a garden in which the monks cultivate all kind of
vegetables. When he was a little boy, Georgios used to help his father with
working the land at home. He thus knows how to look after plants, and the
abbot has assigned him the task of working in the garden.
While other monks who are literate are reading in their cells, Georgios
spends the time until evening in gardening.76 This is one of his main tasks
during the week, but on Sundays, after the celebration of the Holy Liturgy,
he learns to read from the Saints’ Lives. While he was living at home with
his parents, he did not learn the letters, as some other children from his
village did.77 He had to work with his father and older brother, to have
enough resources to feed the entire family. He did not have time to go to the
church school where the local priest taught the children to read and write.
Georgios started to learn the letters after he arrived at the monastery, with a
monk in charge of his religious education.78 Since then, he has made good
progress in reading, although he still has some difficulties. Nevertheless,
with the help of the monk who was appointed to teach him to read,
Georgios has learned many things.79 Some weeks ago he started to read
from the life of St. Arsenios. He has learned about the saint’s practice of
standing with his hands extended to the east, beginning at sunset, and
ceasing from standing only when the rising sun shed its light on his face.80
After several hours of working in the garden, Georgios is called by the
abbot who wants to talk to him about something very important. He leaves
everything and goes to the abbot who is praying in his cell. After asking
Georgios about the garden the abbot said:

You know my child, this monastic path is not an easy one. It is narrow
and difficult and those who choose it will suffer hunger, and thirst, and
nakedness. You must know that there are many traps of the enemy and
you must prepare to face them one by one. The time has come for you
to take the vow, but you must be sure that this is the right way for you.
You must forget your mother and your brother and sisters, and love
God above all things. So you must reflect carefully on what I just told
you, and if you consider you are ready for this path, then after the Holy
Liturgy on the feast of Pentecost you will be counted among the
athletes of God.81

The abbot has told Georgios many times about what life in the monastery
would mean, but this is the first time that he tells the boy when he will be
tonsured. After Georgios receives the abbot’s blessing, he goes to his own
cell.
The evening has come. Georgios has already prepared the table in the
refectory for the evening meal; he has eaten a light snack and cleaned the
pots. After the customary prayers of thanksgiving, Georgios goes to bed in
his cell. He makes the sign of the cross and says the Lord’s Prayer. He falls
asleep with the abbot’s words in his mind. He is ready to become a monk.

Reflections on the historically informed narratives

and the world of children
I would like to start my reflections of these narratives by raising a few
questions: what do we achieve with this kind of approach? What new
insights do these stories give us with regard to children’s lives? Can we
trace some similarities and differences with regard to children’s everyday
life experiences?
To start with, looking at the main actions of children from their
perspective reveals a variety of aspects that tend to be left aside when
employing more conventional scholarly methods. Basic actions like
sleeping, eating, and walking in the streets can tell us quite a lot about
children’s material world. Let us take as an example the way in which
children related to the physical environment. Because of their height they
would, for instance, see the city buildings in a different way than adults.
Also, their access to various places would be limited, not only because of
the size of their body, but also because of the restrictions imposed by
parents. In early childhood, children would spend a considerable time inside
their houses, exploring the space and surrounding objects. As they grew
older, their horizon of exploration expanded, by getting to know other
spaces, such as the playgrounds outside the house, the streets in the
neighbourhood, or the path to their school.
Unfortunately, it is impossible to fully reconstruct the physical
environment in which children lived in the ninth to the eleventh centuries.
There is no complete picture of a Byzantine city or village. Both the urban
and village design and architecture present many gaps, because of the lack
of consistent excavations and analysis of the archaeological data regarding
secular buildings.82 In spite of these limitations, we can still have an idea of
what kind of places children had access to, and what constituted their
“social space”.
The archaeologists have distinguished two main types of houses of the
Middle Byzantine period: courtyard houses, with rooms arranged around an
inner courtyard, and multi-storied houses with two or more rooms facing a
road or a courtyard.83 In such houses, the ground floor was occupied by
storerooms or workshops, while the upper floors functioned as the actual
living space. In cities, the low- and middle-class families lived in houses
with small rooms arranged around a court that constituted the space where
the family would spend much of the time. Some elite houses had private
latrines and a small bath, which evidently improved the living conditions of
the family members, thus also of children.84
The division of the domestic space in a Byzantine house remains,
however, unclear. Textual evidence alludes to the presence of gynaichonites
(women’s quarters), where women and girls would spend most of their
time. The gender separation within the house is attested by the vita of
Philaretos the Merciful, which describes an episode when the imperial
messengers in search for a suitable bride for the emperor Constantine VI
were hosted in the house of the saint. At their request to see one of
Philaretos’ granddaughters, the saint replied: “for even though we are poor,
our daughters have never left their chambers.”85 In the ninth century,
Theodore of Stoudios praised his mother for keeping her daughters away
from the gaze of men.86 The seclusion of women is also emphasized two
centuries later by Kekaumenos in his recommendations to his sons: he
advised them “to keep your daughters confined like criminals.”87
Although these sources are quite clear with respect to gender space
differentiation within the household, the archaeological evidence does not
seem to confirm the existence of gynaichonites. The seclusion of women as
described in the texts may, as Kazhdan has pointed out, be only a rhetorical
construction meant to emphasize their purity and morality.88 Perhaps the
women’s quarter was a reality of the houses of the aristocracy, where,
according to some textual evidence, women and girls lived in separate
apartments. Whether the gynaichonites existed or not, the important point is
that inside the house, young children would spend much of their time in the
company of their mother, hence in the same domestic space where women
performed their activities. Mothers were in charge of children’s upbringing,
and they had to watch over them, so that much of a child’s domestic
universe would have been the sitting room where the mother would do the
handiwork, the kitchen where she would prepare the meals, and, of course,
the bedroom. In a better-off residence, children would have much more
space at their disposal, since an aristocratic house had more and larger
rooms than an ordinary one. Moreover, the courtyard, which, according to
Sigalos, functioned as the focal point of the everyday life of the household,
would have been the place where children could play undisturbed and easily
be watched by their mother or servants.89
A well-off family definitely possessed a house in which children had
their own sleeping room. We know from the panegyric written by Theodore
of Stoudios that his mother “after she had put the children to bed, she would
never herself go to bed before making the sign of the cross over their limbs
as she went out.”90 This fragment suggests that children slept in a separate
room. A much later source, the vita of Germanos Maroules (thirteenth
century), gives us more concrete evidence, for it describes the young
Germanos as sharing the bedroom, which was located on the upper floor of
the house, with his brother, Demetrios. The boys, we are told, had separate
beds in this room, which served also as the private chapel of the family.91
Gender seems to play an important role in the spatial division of the
household: children of the same sex would share the same bedroom.
However, in modest houses that had only one room, all the members of the
family would share the same sleeping space.92 Moreover, beds were to be
found in rich houses rather than in modest ones. Oikonomides has shown
that these items were quite rare in an average household; usually, people
slept on mattresses placed on the floor during the night, which were put
aside during the day.93
We see thus that gender, age, social status, and the economic standards
of the family are important factors to take into account when assessing the
everyday lives of children. Gender also played an important role with
respect to their activities and personal interactions. Girls spent most of the
time inside their houses, being strictly supervised by their mothers, whereas
boys had much more freedom in their actions, while of course that too
depended on their age.
Age is linked with what a child was allowed to do, where to go, and with
whom to interact. This is well illustrated in the story of Ioannes and
Constantinos. Unlike Constantinos, Ioannes was not allowed to go to the
hippodrome, because he was too young. Moreover, he interacted more with
children of his own age, both at school or when playing at home. The same
holds true of social status. An aristocratic girl would not benefit from the
same advantages in exploring the physical environment as a boy would
have had, because of the restrictions imposed by her social status.
Wandering around the streets of a city was a privilege of boys more than of
girls, who were expected not to expose themselves to the gaze of males.
In Byzantium, dining was a good occasion for family members to
socialize. Textual and artistic evidence makes clear that children were
dining together with the parents or relatives. The vita of Loukas of Steiris
narrates that once, when he was at a table with his parents, he was tricked
by them into eating meat and fish.94 Athansios of Athos in his youth resided
in Constantinople in the house of his relatives. Because he preferred to
devote himself to a harsh ascetic programme, he refused to dine with
them.95 In a fourteenth-century manuscript of the Book of Job, an
illumination depicts Job dining with his entire family: the wife, his six sons,
and three daughters sitting around a table. The image seems to portray a
common family life, in which even the family dog begging for a morsel was
depicted.96
As the stories show, both in the family setting and monastic milieu, there
were two main meals during the day, the ariston or geuma in the late
morning, and a more substantial meal, the deipnon, which was served
before or at sunset.97 The hagiographical literature that describes holy
children’s diet emphasizes the restrictions they imposed to themselves with
respect to food. For instance, Loukas of Steiris in his childhood excluded
from his dietarian regimen meat, cheese, eggs, and everything that would
provide pleasure, eating only bread and vegetables, and drinking only
water.98 This description reflects both the Christian ideal of asceticism and
what kind of food an ordinary Byzantine child would have on the table.
It seems that both in the family setting and in monasteries, everyday
meals were regulated according to the rules imposed by the religious
practices: Wednesdays and Fridays were fasting days the Byzantines were
expected to observe, either at home or in monasteries. Fasting restrictions
prohibited them from eating animal products, a practice that is highlighted
in the stories of Theodora and Georgios. In a family context, it is hard to
figure to what extent the Byzantines adhered in reality to the fasting
programme.
Dining in a family setting was most likely a pleasant social event when
children, parents, and relatives connected to each other more intimately. In
monasteries, on the other hand, the mealtime was highly ritualized by the
norms imposed by the monastic superiors. Children who lived in these
communities were expected to maintain decorum and to interact and
communicate as little as possible with the rest of the diners in the refectory.
The story of Theodora shows the traditional behaviour at the time of a
common meal: everybody was expected to keep silence and to listen to the
readings of various religious texts.
To a certain extent, children living in monasteries lived an isolated life,
with few interactions with other people, as we have seen in the stories of
Theodora and George. Here, they would have little contact with their
biological families, unless they lived in communities where one of their
relatives was a monk or nun. In the monastic milieu, the biological family
was replaced with the spiritual one in which the monastic superiors
provided guidance, spiritual, and moral support for all the members of their
ascetic community.
A close look at these two stories reveal some similarities in what
concerns children’s expected behaviour. In both settings, their relationships
with adults share the same pattern, which is characterized by social
subordination. Children were expected to obey their parents at home, to
follow the instructions of the teachers at school, and to comply with the
rules imposed by the monastic superiors.
The narratives I have imagined here make the similarities and
differences between children in the family context and those who lived in
monasteries more visible. The story of Ioannes and Constantinos highlights
the differences between them in terms of education, parental practices, and
expected behaviour, which are caused by the age gap between them. The
story of Theodora and Georgios sheds light on differences in their daily
activities. Overall, there are noticeable differences in the living conditions
(hygiene, diet, and sleep) and routines in the two milieus. In a family
setting, children’s routine revolved around play, education, and household
chores. While young children, both boys and girls, would spend more of
their time in amusing themselves with different toys or games, older
children would divide their time between schooling and helping their
parents with various household tasks, having fewer hours for play. In
monasteries, instead, play is an absent feature in children’s expected
routine. The entire day was to be dedicated to church offices and work
activities assigned by superiors.
These imaginative scenarios make us more aware of the codes of
behaviour, the expectations adults had of children, and the way in which
children had to adapt to the world in which they lived. Children’s
interactions with various people and the way in which they related to the
physical environment and the social community they belonged to are
elements of the complex arenas that shaped their identity. Obviously, to
understand what it was like to be a child in Byzantium, we need to consider
many variables such as age, gender, social position, economic status, and
geographical location (cf. the intersectional approach). All these elements
interact with one another in various ways and the outcome of this
interchange is a many-sided picture of children’s everyday experiences of
life.

Notes
1 The story of the two children living in the monastic setting is a revised
version of the essay “Everyday lives of children in ninth-century
Byzantine monasteries,” published in Laes and Vuolanto (2017). See
Cojocaru (2017).
2 For other studies employing a similar approach, see Witherington III
(2012); Oakes (2009); Hanawalt (1993).
3 Sivan (2018: 267). One of the autobiographies included in this volume
is a revised version of “Sabbath in the Galilee,” published in Laes and
Vuolanto (2017).
4 Aasgaard (2015).
5 Brooten (2015).
6 Sivan (2018: ix, 267).
7 There has been an increasing effort in social history to reconstruct the
life experiences of ordinary people. On the new methodological
approaches used by historians, see Burke (2001), especially the essays
by Sharpe on “history from below,” 25–41, by Levi on “micro-history,”
93–113, and by Burke on the “history of events,” 232–48. A fruitful
discussion on the new paradigm for the social history of childhood in
the past and the methodological challenges of getting as close as
possible to the lives of ancient people is offered by Laes and Vuolanto
(2017).
8 Michael Psellos, Funeral oration for his daughter Styliane 10 (65; Eng.
trans. 121).
9 Nikolaos Mesarites, transl. by Downey (1957: esp. 865–7).
10 On these names, see ODB 1, “Constantine”, 498, and ODB 2, “John”,
1042. On popular names used in the late Byzantine period, see Laiou
(1977:108).
11 Life of Nikephoros I the Patriarch; Life of Peter of Argos; Life of
Theodore of Stoudios.
12 Dark (2004: 87–9).
13 Theodore of Stoudios, Funerary Catechism for His Mother 4 (28; Eng.
trans. 44).
14 Life of Phantinos the Younger 3 (404; It. trans. 405).
15 Mango M. (2001); Magdalino (2002: 534).
16 Life of Nikephoros of Miletos 5 (160).
17 According to Mango M. (2001: 46), the Mese was 25 meters wide.
18 Vasiliev (1932: 158–9); also in Berger (2001).
19 Hagiographical literature records that children were fond of attending
the shows in the hippodrome, as for example Life of Nikephoros of
Medikion. On the hippodrome in Constantinople, see Janin (1964:183–
94).
20 Janin (1964: 84–5).
21 Nikolaos Mesarites, Description of the Church VIII, 866.
22 Browning (1997: 97).
23 On how students learned to write, see Cribiore (1996: 139–48).
24 According to Kalogeras (2000: 131–2), some schools had a morning
and afternoon program with a break for lunch, and some schools had
only morning classes.
25 Anonymi Professoris Epistulae, letter 69: 57–8.
26 In case there were guests in the house, Byzantine women stayed in
another part of the house, leaving the dining room for the guests and
the head of the household. Presumably, children did not take part in
such events, since not even women were allowed to dine with the
guests, unless they were members of the family. Such a situation is
described in the Life of Philaretos the Merciful 4c (88; Eng. trans. 89).
27 Koder (2007: 64).
28 Psellos, Encomium for his mother 10 (105; Eng. trans. 68–9).
29 For a brief overview of the differences between eremitic, coenobitic
and lavriotic monasticism, see McGuckin (2008); Papachryssanthou
(1973); Talbot (1987). On monastic life in convents and monasteries,
see Talbot (1985, 2019); Morris (1995:31–63).
30 There are several explanations of why the nuns are found in the sources
mainly in the urban centers: for instance, Alice-Mary Talbot argues that
the monastic communities on the holy mountains prohibited or
discouraged the presence of convents close to the male monasteries.
Moreover, there was a clear concern for women’s safety in isolated
 areas, hence the absence of convents in the countryside. Another
explanation would be the preference of the monastic founders for
building or renovating urban convents, see Talbot (1985: 2–4). For
Byzantine countryside nunneries in the late Byzantine period, see
Gerstel and Talbot (2006).
31 On these names see ODB 3, “Theodore”, 2039, and ODB 2,“George”,
834; also Laiou (1977: 109).
32 The empress Theodora summoned a council under the patriarch
Methodios, who restored the veneration of the icons on 10 March 843.
33 A similar case is described in Translations and Miracles of Theodora
of Thessalonike 13 (214–6; Eng. trans. 228). Many hagiographical
accounts describe the practice of entrusting children to monastic
communities, most of them referring to cases in which distressed
parents promised to offer their future offspring to God, as a sign of
gratitude for their birth. See for instance Life of Peter of Atroa 2 (69;
Fr. trans. 68); Life of Michael the Synkellos 2 (46; Eng. trans. 47); Life
of George of Amastris 4(7; Eng. trans. 2). On oblation, see Doran
(1994). On infant mortality, see Chapter 1.
34 On the age limitation imposed by the canonists, see the discussion in
Chapter 7, section “Regulation regarding children’s entry into monastic
communities.” The practice of choosing a monastic community in
which a family’s relative resided is attested by Life of Nicholas of
Stoudios 3 (869); Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 9 (82; Eng. trans.
170–1); Life of Lazaros of Galesion 3 (510;Eng. trans. 79–80), to name
but a few. On this practice, see also Talbot (1990).
35 Leo VI decreed that the minimum number of monks or nuns permitted
in a monastery to be three, Les Novelles 14: 55–9. Depending on its
size, in general a convent in the final centuries of Byzantium could
house as few as twenty-four or as many as one hundred nuns. For
instance, the typikon of the Constantinopolitan convent Theotokos
Kecharitomene (twelfth century) made provisions for twenty-four nuns
plus two girls who were to be raised by the nuns, Kecharitomene 5
(BMFD 4: 671). For an overview of the number of nuns residing in
convents in the period from the twelfth to the fourteenth century, see
also Talbot (1985: 20).
36 There are several examples of saints from a lowly social background:
St. Ioannikios, Nicholas of Stoudios, David, Symeon and George of
 Lesbos.
37 Life of David, Symeon and George of Lesbos 4 (214; Eng. trans. 154);
Life of Paul of Latros 3 (106); Life of Loukas of Steiris 4 (10; Eng.
trans. 11).
38 As we have seen in the previous chapter, not all monasteries accepted
children among the brethren, because of the fear of sexual temptations.
39 Boys were expected to continue the lineage of the family and to
provide financial support for parents in their old age.
40 The number of the monks in ninth-century monasteries is uncertain. I
have chosen as a model the monasteries of the Savior and of the
Theotokos on Mount Galesion (eleventh century), each of which had
twelve monks, Talbot (1985: 19).
41 The semantron was a piece of iron, bronze or wood that was struck
with a hammer to summon the monks and the nuns to the church
services or to the refectory; see ODB 3,“Semantron,” 1868.
42 Kecharitomene 6 (BMFD 2: 671). Another source that suggests that the
nuns slept in a communal dormitory is Life of Theodora of
Thessalonike 31 (126; Eng. trans. 190).
43 Orthros (or matins in the West) was the morning service of the church.
44 We have no information regarding basic bodily care at the beginning of
the day. The tunic was the basic article of dress of the Byzantines, for
men or women, laymen or monastics. However, there is no mention in
the sources of any particular garment for the novices. On monastic
dress, see Ball (2010).
45 The office of matins was officiated in the narthex, Kecharitomene 39
(BMFD 2: 689). On the liturgy of the hours, see Taft (1986, esp. 75–92,
191–210 and 273–96).
46 The ecclesiarchissa had to take care of the church, to ask and receive
the necessary materials for the daily liturgy, and to conduct the choir
nuns, Kecharitomene 20 (BMFD 2: 681).
47 The ecclesiarchissa should sing the psalms slowly so everybody could
follow the words without stumbling and could complete the words of
the psalms by themselves, Kecharitomene 20 (BMFD 2: 681).
48 In many Byzantine churches, the narthex iconography contains pictures
of the Virgin and Christ. On this, see Kalopissi-Verti (2006).
49 Genuflection was a common gesture of worship in Byzantium. In
monasteries, full prostrations were required, Kecharitomene 32 (BMFD
2: 686).
50 This office followed immediately after the end of matins,
Kecharitomene 32 (BMFD 2: 686).
51 Kecharitomene 32 (BMFD 2: 686); Neilos Damilas 10 (BMFD 4:
1473).
52 Kecharitomene, 32 (BMFD 2: 687).
53 On the ritual of the Divine Liturgy in Byzantium, see Taft (1995).
54 It is unclear from the sources whether there was also a breakfast. The
typika speak about lunch and supper, but no reference is made to the
first meal in the morning.
55 In Christian tradition, Wednesday is a day of fasting. One of the most
common meals on fast days was beans, served either boiled or in soup.
On monastic diet, see Talbot (2007).
56 The monastic charters prohibited the nuns from speaking while at table.
They had to be quiet and to listen to the prayers read by one of the
nuns; see Kecharitomene 40–1 (BMFD 2: 689–90); Lips 29 (BMFD 3:
1274); Bebaia Elpis 86 (BMFD 4: 1548).
57 Usually, the primary drink was wine diluted with water. However, on
fasting days, wine was normally prohibited, Talbot (2007: 114).
58 In general, the monastic institutions did not allow children to be
educated inside the monastery. Nevertheless, some children did receive
education inside the monasteries or nunneries.
59 Mothers played a major role in girls’ education. On the role of the
parents in the process of instruction, see Chapter 4.
60 Children who entered a monastery had to spend several years before
taking the vow. In the meantime, they were instructed in church matters
and everything related to monastic life. The Eastern Church law set the
age of tonsure at sixteen or seventeen, see the discussion in Chapter 7
with references.
61 In general, the nuns had to perform housekeeping duties and handwork,
such as spinning, weaving and embroidery. In some convents, the nuns
did manual labor in the garden and vineyard, Talbot (1985: 11–2).
62 Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 41 (150; Eng. trans. 200).
63 The convents accepted the visits of female relatives of the nuns once or
twice a year. A nun’s mother could stay overnight if her daughter was
sick, Kecharitomene 17 (BMFD 2: 679).
64 Pantelleria 1 (BMFD 1: 62).
65 On the Eucharist and its theological meaning, see Meyendorff (1979:
201–11) and Perczel et al.(2005).
66 The image of Christ the Pantokrator is depicted in the half-dome of the
apse, on the nave vault, or on the proskynetarion of the templon, see
Kalopissi-Verti (2006: 107–22). The oldest surviving icon of Christ the
Pantokrator dates to the sixth or seventh century, and is in the
monastery of St. Catherine in Sinai.
67 The icon gives a fully frontal depiction of Jesus making the sign of
blessing with the right hand and holding in the left hand a thick Gospel
book. On Byzantine icons, see Maguire (1996), and Cormack (2007).
Kissing an icon played a very important role in worship. Through
touching it, the worshiper came in contact with the person depicted on
the icon, James (2011, esp. 9–10).
68 The monastic typika emphasize that the superior assigns various tasks
to each member of the community.
69 Life of Stephen the Younger 13 (105; Fr. trans.198); Life of Loukas of
Steiris 35 (56; Eng. trans. 57).
70 Theodore of Stoudios, Poenae Monasteriales, 43 (PG 99: 1738).
71 Theodore of Stoudios, Poenae Monasteriales, 40 and 46 (PG 99:
1738–9).
72 Life of Theodora of Thessalonike 50 (166; Eng. trans. 207).
73 On games, see Chapter 4.
74 Depending on the size of the monastery and the number of the monks
or nuns, there could even be three sittings. For the second sitting, see
Kosmosoteira 24 (BMFD 2: 812); a third sitting is mentioned in Life of
Lazaros of Galesion 109 (542; Eng. trans. 202).
75 Antony the Great is one of the greatest founders of monastic life. On
the saint’s carnal desires, see Life of Antony by Athanasius 11–2 (Eng.
trans. 17–8). The task of serving the monks at table is recorded in Life
of Phantinos the Younger 6 (408; It. trans. 409).
76 The importance of reading is stressed by Theodore of Stoudios in
Stoudios 26 (BMFD 1: 108). However, not all the monks were literate;
 the illiterate monks were assigned to work on the monasteries’
properties, Talbot (2002: 59).
77 Children from a lowly social background are described in several
hagiographical accounts as receiving an elementary education, e.g. Life
of David, Symeon and George of Lesbos 4 (214; Eng. trans. 154); Life
of Nicholas of Stoudios 3(868). In general, the elementary level of
education was acquired in the local schools, where the priest taught the
children the basics.
78 Life of Ioannikios 9 (Vita by Peter) (388; Eng. trans. 263).
79 The education of novices was assigned to an experienced monk who
was to teach them to read and write, Kalogeras (2012: 168–70).
80 St. Arsenios the Great (354–445) was a famous hermit in Egypt. A
similar episode is recorded in Life of Irene of Chrysobalanton 5 (16;
Eng. trans. 17).
81 In hagiographical accounts, this is a typical address by the abbots to
novices before their tonsure, see Life of Stephen the Younger 12 (103–
4; Fr. trans. 197)and Life of Phantinos the Younger 5 (406; It. trans.
407).
82 Until recently, the archaeology of everyday life has been neglected,
since archaeologists were concerned mainly with ecclesiastical and
imperial monuments of the Byzantine Empire. However, it is worth
noting several studies concerning the archaeology of people’s life that
have been published. On Constantinople, see for instance Dark (2004);
Mango and Dagron (1995); Necipoğlu (2001); Magdalino (2007).On
housing in Byzantium, see Bouras (1983); Türkoğlu (2004); Sigalos
(2004); Ellis (2013). On Byzantine villages, see Killebrew (2004);
Gerstel (2015).
83 Sigalos (2004: 79–85).
84 Rautman (2006: 92, 98).
85 Life of Philaretos the Merciful 4c (88; Eng. trans. 89).
86 Theodore of Stoudios, Funerary catechism for his mother 4 (28; Eng.
trans. 44).
87 Cecaumeno, Raccommandazioni III. 121 (170; It. trans. 171).
88 Kazhdan (1998: 2–10).
89 Sigalos (2004: 81).
90 Theodore of Stoudios, Funerary Catechism for His Mother 4 (28; Eng.
trans. 44).
91 Life of Germanos Maroules 5 (57–8).
92 Such single-room houses have been excavated in Sparta, Athens and
Veria; on this, see Sigalos (2004: 83).
93 Oikonomides (1990: 209–10).
94 Life of Loukas of Steiris 3 (10; Eng. trans. 11).
95 Life of Athanasios of Athos 6(Vita B) (140; Eng. trans. 141).
96 Talbot Rise (1967: 169) (Fig. 67). In this picture, the family members
sit around the table which is set with various utensils for eating and
drinking. According to Joanita Vroom (2007), in an average household
of the Middle Byzantine period the diners still had the late antique
habit of reclining around the table, sharing the food served on a large
plate and often eating it with the fingers. These practices began to
change gradually, and by the eleventh century, the diners started to be
depicted in artistic representations as sitting upright around the table. In
the next century, the use of knives and forks seems to be introduced
into dining manners.
97 Koder (2007: 72).
98 Life of Loukas of Steiris 3 (8; Eng. trans. 9).
Conclusions
DOI: 10.4324/9780429318498

Did the Byzantines perceive childhood differently from us? What about
their rearing practices and children’s experiences of life? Were they
fundamentally different from ours? To begin with, the demarcation that we
tend to set between childhood, adolescence, and adulthood was very fluid
for the Byzantines, as the age boundaries between these stages of life were
imprecise in their thinking. Certainly, age was important as per law, which
gives us an idea of how Byzantines conceptualized the stages of childhood.
The age of seven marked the end of infancy and was the threshold to
acquiring the reasoning capacity to discern between right and wrong, which
determined legal accountability. Age was also important for contracting a
marriage, which was legally permitted starting from twelve for girls and
fourteen for boys. However, even for them, the age-limits for marriage were
just that. Culturally, marriage signalled the entry to adulthood, but in
practice, it often took place later than the law permitted. To our modern
minds, it would be unconceivable that a child could marry at such an early
age, but for the Byzantines, these were optimal ages to start their sexual
life, which was approved only within marriage. Moreover, to betroth our
children from the age of seven, as it was in Byzantium, would be
unimaginable, but we need to bear in mind that the Byzantines lived
surrounded by the prospect of death at any time, and such early marriage
arrangements functioned as an insurance for the child’s future since many
fathers were likely to die before the marriage of their offspring.
The ever-present leitmotif of puer senex in hagiographical texts reflects
the attitude of the Byzantine literati towards childhood as a state of
deficiency that needed to be overcome as soon as possible. On the other
hand, the Byzantines recognized children as fragile and vulnerable
creatures, in need of protection and care, both at a physical and at a spiritual
level. The latter aspect was reflected in the continuous practice of baptism
from a very early age. In terms of physical care, the sources give ample
evidence that children were seen as needing special attention and care and
that their health and well-being were a concern for Byzantine parents and
caregivers. The first five years of childhood were the most hazardous
because of the inappropriate perinatal care, and especially because of the
transition from breastmilk to solid food. The medical advice, especially the
paediatric one, was thought to secure children’s health and help them pass
this risky period. Of course, Byzantine medicine, even if practised with the
best intentions for the children, often failed in securing their well-being or
even their life. However, we should not forget that modern medicine has
made important progress only from the twentieth century onwards, and is
still confronted with inexplicable deaths of infants in the first year of life,
the so-called Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.
Certainly, the methods of childrearing were in many ways different from
ours, as we have become increasingly aware of the importance of children’s
emotional and psychological well-being for their healthy development.
What is paradoxical, however, is the increasing isolation children in
Western modern countries are growing up in, as the experiences of
childhood have become more and more detached with regard to physical
contact with one another, with much of their socialization happening online,
in a virtual space defined by cultural and relational dynamics that are vastly
different from the ones pre-modern children lived in.
Children’s everyday life experiences in Byzantium, as in all societies,
were just as diverse as those of the adults, depending on factors such as
gender, status, geography, or historical circumstances, being also regulated
by the expectations ascribed by society to their future roles. Childhood as a
carefree time, with few worries and responsibilities was reserved only to the
well-off. In Byzantine society, a child learnt from quite an early age what
was expected of him or her. Therefore, societal expectations that were
ageand status-contingent shaped their life experiences.
In early childhood, play was a dominant activity, but as they grew up,
formal instruction and especially household chores and other work activities
became part of most of the children’s routines. Peasants made up the vast
majority of the population in the Byzantine Empire and children were
considered a valuable workforce in household management. The above-
mentioned socio-economic factors underlying the situation of each child
determined the degree to which they were put to work and the kind of
menial tasks they were to perform, but also the type of education available
to them, both of which in turn determined the amount of time and freedom
they had to play. Very few girls, and only those from the elite class had the
opportunity to expand their knowledge beyond learning the rudiments.
Boys could follow the secondary stage of education if their families had
sufficient financial means to pay a teacher who could instruct them in more
specialized subjects, such as grammar, rhetoric, and philosophy. Education
was an essential asset in obtaining an ecclesiastical or bureaucratic position.
Girls of a lowly social background may have attained a certain level of
literacy only if they were brought up in monastic communities with the
intention of becoming nuns later on. The majority of children living in
ascetic communities were orphans who had no legal guardians to take care
of them. However, a variety of familial circumstances also prompted
parents to hand over their children to monasteries. A critical financial
situation may probably have been the most important reason why parents
made such a life-changing decision for their offspring. But in a society
where religion had great importance even in the most ordinary aspects of
everyday life, we should not be surprised that some parents offered their
children to God out of gratitude for their birth, or that they decided to take
the monastic habit along with their entire family.
For these reasons, intersectionality has proven to be a valuable tool in
assessing the diversity of childhood experiences. Age, gender, class, status,
and family circumstances are important socio-cultural factors that shaped
the identity of children. There were both similarities and differences in
parental socializing practices between, for instance, boys and girls. Yet
these differences were related not only to gender, but also to social status
and class. Elite children’s lives differed in many ways from those of a lowly
social background. Rural children had a different lifestyle altogether from
those who lived in urban areas. The differences and similarities in
childhood experiences of life are made visible in the historically informed
narratives in the previous chapter. The imagined scenarios proved to be
useful in assessing children’s experiences of life as they allow a careful
examination of the more ordinary aspects of their lives, and also as they
were seen from their own perspective. This made it possible to focus on
their agency, and to reveal how they acted in various circumstances, how
they related to the physical environment, and how they formed social
relationships with people around them.
If this book has gone some way towards unravelling something more of
Byzantine childhood and everyday experiences of children than previous
scholarship has done, it has equally made clear the limitations historians
encounter every step of the way in their search for the genuine experiences
of children. We must admit that most of the lives of the majority of
Byzantine children lay outside the concerns of the literary texts analysed in
this book. These were the choices of Byzantine authors and we need to
accept them as such. Byzantine adults’ discourses about childhood do not
reflect the reality of thousands of anonymous children’s lives that remain
unrecorded. In many ways, this book has been written thinking of the many
silent voices, most of which are bound to be lost. Some of the traces of their
lives will hopefully be discovered by future research, especially in
archaeology, that will add new layers to our understanding of Byzantine
childhoods.
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Typika
Bebaia Elpis: “Typikon of Theodora Synadene for the Convent of the Mother of God Bebaia Elpis in
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Constantine IX: “Typikon of Emperor Constantine IX Monomachos.” Translated by Timothy Miller.
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Eleousa: “Rule of Manuel, Bishop of Stroumitza, for the Monastery of the Mother of God Eleousa.”
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Evergetis: “Typikon of Timothy for the Monastery of the Mother of God Evergetis.” Translated by
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Kosmosoteira: “Typikon of the Sebastokrator Isaac Komnenos for the Monastery of the Mother of
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Pantelleria: “Typikon of John for the Monastery of St. John the Forerunner on Pantelleria.”
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Pantokrator: “Typikon of Emperor John II Komnenos for the Monastery of Christ Pantokrator in
Constantinople.” Translated by Robert Jordan. BMFD 2: 725–81.
Stoudios: “Rule of the Monastery of St. John Stoudios in Constantinople.” Translated by Timothy
Miller. BMFD 1: 84–119.
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Index

Note: Page numbers followed by “n” denote endnotes

abandonment 5, 176
ability, of children 33, 44, 94, 106, 107, 108, 110–11, 113, 131, 132, 134,
135, 190, 200, 204
abortion 70, 71
absence, of parents 50, 63, 151, 157, 158, 166, 167, 179
abuse 63
accidents 4, 98
accountability, of children 27, 215
adolescents, adolescence 22, 25, 31, 58, 78, 109, 172, 173, 215 see also
teenagers
adoption 62
adoptive parents 113
adopted children 88n23, 151, 162
affection: fraternal 159–61
mutual 157–8
for children 154, 156–7, 158, 162, 182
of children towards parents 37, 38, 157, 158 see also love
afterlife 54, 155
age limits 25, 27, 28, 46, 165, 172, 174, 175, 189, 212n34
agency of children, definition of 10–11
agricultural tasks: gardening 186, 190, 205, 206
 seasonal farming 118–19
shepherding 117, 119
herding 117–19
alphabet 106, 199, 204
amulet 70
amusement 95, 98, 99, 100, 120, 199
anecdote 98, 99, 118, 130, 131, 187
animals: behaviour 26
domestic 95, 209
anger, angry 22, 23, 26
animal husbandry 51
apprentice, apprenticeship 118, 119, 125n151
archaeology, archaeological data 55–6, 63, 70, 77, 93, 95, 100, 120, 207,
214n82, 217
arithmetic 105, 111, 112
asceticism 21n29, 189, 190n1, 209
ascetic communities 20, 171, 216
ascetic behaviour/lifestyle 44, 45, 69, 108, 143, 171, 172, 186, 190
Augustine 23
aunts 82, 83, 165, 180, 188, 203, 204
authority 9, 16, 46, 159
civil 15, 175
imperial 51
religious 129, 145, 174, 189
parental 27, 102, 104

baby 33–5, 44, 58, 69, 71–4, 76, 78–9, 95, 99, 141, 162 see also infants
ball play 95
baptism 8, 9, 14, 16, 23, 62, 78–81, 87, 128, 131, 132, 141, 144, 215
baptismal sponsorship 84–6, 131
Basil the Great (Basil of Caesarea) 16, 28, 106, 171–2, 186
baths, bathing 41, 72, 162, 187–8, 207
beating see corporal punishment
beds, of children 208
in monasteries 202
behaviour, of children 3, 5, 10, 14, 22, 26, 34, 36, 37, 42–3, 45–6, 92, 98,
100, 101, 103–4, 129, 145, 174, 189, 209
betrothal 9, 10, 15, 27, 39, 151, 215
Bible 138, 139, 150, 200, 204
body, of a child 26, 27, 29, 33–5, 37–8, 39, 40, 41, 206
botulism 77
bread 131, 200, 209
consecrated bread 71, 142, 146, 204
breastfeeding 34, 74–7, 79, 151, 153 see also nursing
bride 41, 62, 151, 159, 179, 207
bridegroom 62, 99, 133, 151
bride-show 40–1, 59, 183
brothers see siblings
Byzantine law 5, 27, 59, 133, 154, 158, 175

canon law 84, 130, 132, 135, 171, 172, 184

caring, child-care 129, 150, 151, 157, 158, 159, 161, 163, 179, 215
carrying, by children 186, 190
census declarations 55 see also praktika
chariots, chariot play 98, 199
child bearing 58
child labour see work, done by children
childbirth 58, 62, 66–8, 70–2, 163
childhood mortality 7, 29, 55–7, 131, 155
childhood, definitions of 22–9
childish 22, 33, 35, 36, 42, 98, 99, 129, 162
choirs of children see singing
church 4, 7, 23, 62, 87, 127, 131, 138, 170
church attendence by children 37, 43, 98, 99, 116, 126, 128–37, 170
churching 9, 79–80, 87
classmates 98, 107, 200
classroom 189
cleaning 117, 205
Clement of Alexandria 141
clothing, of children 37, 103, 135, 198, 202, 212n44
swaddling clothes 34, 72
coercion 102
commemoration 54, 79
Communion see Eucharist
compassion 37
continuity, of family 62, 73, 179 see also afterlife
cooking, by children 117, 186, 204
corporal punishment 102–4, 186
countryside 119, 186, 201, 204
cradle 25, 50, 73
cross 73, 102, 126, 140, 143, 145, 198, 202–4, 206, 208
crying 23, 26, 34, 157
curriculum 111–13
customs 3, 5, 22, 27, 67, 80, 92, 96, 97–8, 102, 132, 136

dances 98
deacon 129, 130, 135, 145
dear 43, 106, 154, 157, 161
death, of children 53, 56, 58, 60, 71, 76–8, 83, 136, 143, 154–6, 158, 167,
178, 180, 201, 216
death, of parents 56, 60, 63, 70, 75, 108, 113, 118, 133, 151–2, 159, 160,
163, 179, 190
deathbed 67, 85, 136, 165, 176
decorum 128, 209
delicate 33, 41, 45
delicacies 157, 187
delivery 63, 70–2, 74, 81
demons 70, 95, 118
demonic possession 142
development 22, 23, 24, 31, 37, 38, 43, 51, 79, 87, 93, 94, 95, 163, 216
stages of 1, 25–26, 35, 46
devil 36, 183, 205
diet see eating, by children fasting
disabled 9
discipline 42, 45, 69, 101, 102, 104, 128, 171, 174, 175, 186, 190
disease see illness sickness
disobedient, disobedience 47, 104, 174
divorce 62, 65n53
dolls 99–100, 120
domestic animals see animals
dowry 159–60, 163, 166, 188
dreams 73, 156, 180
dress see clothing of children
duties: liturgical 171, 202
of children 86, 93, 118, 152, 154, 157, 158, 167, 179
to children 85, 157, 158, 159

Easter 97–8, 136

eating, by children 157, 187, 200, 203, 206, 209, 214n96
Ecloga 5, 27, 59, 62
education 2, 6, 10, 12–13, 15, 26, 35, 36, 93, 100, 150, 158, 160, 163, 165–
66, 175, 197, 210, 216
elementary 9, 14, 27, 44, 77, 94, 105–11, 120, 130, 134, 184
monastic 109, 164, 189
moral 100–4
religious 150, 151, 158, 185, 205
secondary 14, 94, 111–16, 120, 165, 216
Eisagoge 27
embraces, embracing 35, 76, 153, 157, 160, 162, 165, 182 see also hugging
embryotomy 72
embroidery 37, 116, 119, 186
emotions 31, 34, 35, 66, 99, 146, 154–5, 156
emotional bonds 76, 149, 156, 161, 166 see also affection fear love
entertainment 98
environments, of children 50, 196–7, 206–8, 210, 217
Eucharist 128, 130, 132–3, 142, 144, 146
evil 36, 44, 70, 141
expectations 3, 9, 11, 24, 29, 32, 37, 40, 50, 52, 74, 92–4, 100, 105, 109,
115, 120, 152, 157–8, 194, 210, 216
experience, definition of 11
experience, of childhood 194, 216, 217
exposure see abandonment of children

faction 196
family relationships 8, 10, 13, 14, 63, 84, 92, 149–65, 167, 195, 209
family strategies 6, 29, 73, 86, 118, 151, 164, 177
family structure 58–61
famine 8, 52, 53
farming 119
fasting 38, 44–5, 68, 129, 171, 185, 190, 209, 213n55
fathers, fatherhood 9, 59, 60, 117, 128, 129, 139, 149–52, 154, 156, 158–9,
166, 179, 215
fatherless 158, 164, 165
fear 22, 53, 70, 103, 107, 159, 173, 174, 177
fertility 50, 58, 99
fictional 12, 20, 53, 131
fish 200, 209
foetus 71, 72, 79
food see eating bread
formative 118, 170
fragile, fragility 87, 215
friendly 31, 34, 76
friends, friendship 69, 96, 98, 99, 131, 162, 165, 187
funerals 133, 160
funeral practices 133
funeral oration 11, 15, 30, 36, 38, 69, 76, 94, 101, 107, 117, 126, 137,
143, 157, 160, 165, 197
funerary inscriptions 54–5
funny 162

Galen 26
games 14, 33, 35, 43, 47, 93, 95–6, 98–100, 119–20, 131, 133, 199, 200,
210 see also play
garden 143, 186, 199, 205, 206
gender 1, 9, 25, 32, 50, 55, 61, 66, 74, 84, 93, 105, 120, 171, 200, 208, 216
gender bias 54
gender differences 45, 69–70, 79–80, 107, 115, 116, 119, 120, 128–9,
145, 207
gender roles 9, 10, 74, 99, 100, 119
gentle, gentleness 26, 33, 34, 37, 43, 46, 103, 142
gestures 35, 131, 132, 139, 140, 145, 146, 157, 158
godchildren 84–5
godparents, role of 84–6
grammar 26, 105, 110, 111, 112, 113, 116, 134, 198, 199, 216
grammatikos (γραμματικός) 110, 112, 123n98
grandchildren 30, 34, 35, 36, 60, 61, 82, 84, 146, 161, 162, 167
grandparents 50, 59, 60, 83, 84, 113, 161–3, 167
grandmothers 60, 162–3
grandfathers 35, 59, 60, 76, 82, 84, 161–2
greeting 199
Gregory Nazianzen 95, 96, 97, 106, 111
grief 68, 152, 154, 155, 158
growth 25, 26, 36, 46, 51
guardians, guardianship 5, 7, 63, 85, 117, 151, 158–60, 163, 166, 169n71,
189, 216

hair, of children 33, 35

hagiography 2, 6, 12, 13, 114, 188
handwork 120, 186, 197, 208, 213n61
handwriting 200
happy, happiness 34, 41, 63, 69, 156, 162
hardship 63, 118, 157
harmony 37, 39, 40
healing 4, 75, 141, 142
health 52, 70, 71, 74, 86, 141, 182, 215, 216 see also illness healing
height, of children 206
history from below 12, 195
hoops 95, 106
horses, horse riding 43, 98, 161 see also toy horses
household 5, 50, 52, 53, 55, 60–1, 63, 76, 92, 94, 116, 117, 119, 120, 133,
149, 150, 159, 163, 165, 166–7, 196, 197, 198, 207–8, 210, 216
housekeeping 186, 213n61
houses 52, 54, 85, 117, 198, 206–8 see also household
hugging 157, 160 see also embracing
hungry 34

icons 13, 70, 107, 112, 138, 139, 140, 141, 144, 146, 176, 201, 203, 204
Iconoclasm 12, 13, 111, 112, 138, 176, 181
identity, formation of 5, 16, 87, 92, 93, 100, 120, 126, 144, 146, 210, 217
gender identity 100
religious identity 127–8, 144, 146, 170
illiteracy 110, 150, 186
illness 4, 8, 70, 77, 177, 184
imagined scenarios 195, 210, 217
imitation 131, 145
immaturity 22, 36, 38, 46, 144
inability 44, 68, 117
inexperience, of children 53
infancy 14, 16, 25, 26, 36, 37–8, 56, 66, 77–8, 85, 87, 92, 95, 101, 108, 131,
144, 151, 158, 177, 180, 201, 215
infants 16, 23, 25, 26, 29, 33, 34–6, 46, 55, 66–7, 69–72, 74–81, 85, 87,
108, 120, 128, 130–1, 143, 151, 156, 162, 216
infant mortality 7, 29, 57
infanticide 5
inheritance 158, 159, 160, 188
innocence, of children 22, 23, 44, 46, 133, 144
instruction see education
intelligent, intelligence 31, 35, 37, 39, 42, 43, 45, 113
intersectionality 8, 9, 11, 196, 217
iron deficiency 7

Jesus 78, 79, 102, 130, 132, 139, 143, 202, 203, 204, 213n67
John Chrysostom 16, 23, 102–3, 106, 130, 141
jokes 43, 44, 98
joy 69, 156, 183
Judaism 79

kidnapping 53, 172

kind, kindness 31, 34, 37, 43, 46, 103
kissing 85, 138, 140, 141, 144, 157, 158, 160, 161, 162, 204
kitchens, and children 185, 190, 204, 205, 208
knucklebones 95, 200

labour 71–2 see also delivery

lament, lamentation 68, 133, 156, 182
laugh, laughter 26, 44, 98, 129
law see canon law Byzantine law Ecloga Eisagoge
lector 131, 134–5, 145
lessons 42, 98, 99, 112, 200, 203, 204
letters: of the alphabet 106, 199, 204
sacred 105–11, 113, 115, 130, 163, 164, 184, 188, 197
uppercase 107
life course, theory of 8–10
literacy 105, 108, 110, 120, 185, 216
lifestyle 171, 174, 176, 182, 183, 185, 189, 190, 217
liturgy 128–30, 132, 134, 137, 140, 145, 201–6 see also Eucharist
loom 116, 143, 197, 203
loss, of children 58, 155, 156 see also death, of children
love 35, 46, 143, 161, 183
parental love 152–7
of God 181, 206
lovely 33

maiden 37
maideservant 36, 165, 99, 117, 188, 200
malnutrition 7
marriage 4, 5, 6, 10, 15, 38, 40, 42, 62, 67, 68, 84, 102, 116, 134, 151, 152,
158, 160, 163, 172, 176, 179, 180
age of 6, 27, 29, 46, 50, 59, 60, 133, 215
second 62, 183
marriageable 40, 166
Mary, the Virgin 69, 70, 71, 73, 116, 136, 139, 142, 143, 177, 202
mass see liturgy
material culture 93 see also clothing toys
mature 27, 37, 40, 46, 144, 172, 183
maturity 38, 42, 44, 99, 171
meal 129, 200, 203–4, 206, 208–9, 213n54, 55
meat 44, 77, 209
medical texts 15–16, 23, 25–7, 67, 72
methodology 8–12 see also agency of children, definition of history from
below life course, theory of microhistory
microhistory 12, 195
midwife 71–2, 162
minors 61, 170
miracles 4, 73, 75, 81, 141, 142, 154, 156
miscarriage 70, 71
misconduct 103, 175
mischievous 43, 45
mocking 43, 98, 130
modesty 38, 39, 42, 45, 47, 101, 170
monasteries: admission to 15, 28, 171–175, 180, 189
as educational facilities 106, 109–10, 114–15, 170, 189
giving a child to monastery 5, 117, 151, 152, 156, 164, 177, 180–181,
184, 188, 190, 195, 217
monastic rules 109, 173–6, 180
monastic vow 10, 108, 109–110, 171, 172, 175, 184, 188, 204, 206, 213n60
monks: as spiritual parents 153, 159, 160, 164, 165, 170, 178, 180, 181,
183, 184, 186, 209
diet of 187
temptations of 171, 173–5
mothers 5, 60, 63, 70, 71, 74, 75–6, 79, 81, 99, 101, 104, 117, 120, 126,
128, 129, 139, 146, 149–156, 158, 163, 165–6, 170, 179, 195, 199, 207–8
motherhood 150–1
mourning 68, 133
music see singing
myth, mythological 70, 83, 127

naming 9, 66, 80–4, 87

natural disasters 52
neglect 63, 117
nephew 73, 113, 163–6, 190
noise, by children 128–9, 174
non-fiction narrative 12, 20, 195–6
novices 109, 170, 171, 178, 180, 184–7, 189–90, 195, 202, 204
novitiate 13, 15, 158, 201
nuns 5, 13, 20, 84, 141, 152, 170–2, 174–5, 180, 185–90, 201–4, 216
nursing, nurses 16, 34, 67, 74–6, 79, 151
nursling 25, 33, 75
nurture 36, 85, 162–3, 166
nutrition 26, 66, 75

obedience 42, 46, 102, 104, 154, 171–2, 186, 190, 195
obedient 37, 41–3, 45, 119
oblation 176–7
old age support 5, 86, 152, 154, 158, 167, 179
omens 74
Oribasius of Pergamon 67
orphans 5, 7, 13, 63, 75, 106, 107, 117–18, 135–7, 145, 162, 170, 174–5,
179–80, 188–90, 216
orphanage 63, 117, 136
Orphanotropheion 136, 175
orphanhood 9, 178

pagan 23, 114

pain, painful 26, 70–2, 75, 152–3, 156 see also suffering
Pantokrator: Christ 139, 204, 213n66
monastery of 185, 188
parents: responsibilities of 23, 101–2, 114, 126, 131, 145
death of 63, 107, 118, 133, 159–60, 163, 166, 170, 179, 190
relations with children 104, 149–58
parental practice 5, 13, 101, 198, 210, 217
patriarchal 9, 50, 105, 116, 135
passions 22, 23, 183
peasant 12, 52, 55, 58, 94, 97, 109–10, 117, 118, 121, 201, 216
pediatrics 15–16, 27, 67, 216
peers 43, 53, 92, 93, 99, 115, 119, 120, 130, 150, 151 see also friends,
friendship
performative 140, 141
personality: definition of 31–2
of children 33, 35–6, 38–9, 42, 45
philosophy 26, 105, 111–13, 134, 216
physiognomy 29–31
physicality: definition of 31
description of 32–3, 36, 38–9, 42, 45
piety 3, 38, 39, 42, 101, 110, 126, 163, 184, 190
pigs 109
pious 12, 37, 41, 45, 78, 83, 98, 101, 108, 150, 170, 178, 184
pity 153, 199
plague 51, 107
play 33, 36, 53, 93, 95–100 see also chariots dolls knucklebones role play
toys
playmates 58, 98–100 see also peers
playthings 99
pleasurable 43
pleasure 26, 43, 45, 67, 69, 98, 135, 182, 187, 189, 209
carnal 44, 67–8
childish 36
poor 4, 9, 10, 63, 95, 101, 103, 116, 117, 167, 186, 207
poverty 63, 179
power 10, 45, 70, 104, 114, 161–2, 188
praying, by children 108, 116, 126, 129, 135, 140, 190
praktika 55–6, 59, 61
precocity 43, 134
pregnancy 26, 27, 68, 70, 72, 79, 156
premature 47, 60, 71, 155
prepubescent 140
procreation 62, 67
prophecy 73, 142
psychology 31, 139, 146
psychological impact 53, 63
Psalms 44, 106–9, 116, 126, 129, 134, 135, 137, 140, 144, 146, 150, 151,
170, 185, 201–4
puberty 27, 29, 40, 46, 50, 133
puer senex 3, 34, 42, 215
punishment see corporal punishment
pure 1, 46, 76, 153
purity 25, 43, 144, 207

rattles 95, 120

reading 68, 98, 106–8, 110, 116, 127, 130, 134–5, 137, 139, 145, 184, 189,
197, 199, 203, 205
reason: age of 27, 28, 35, 46, 172, 215
lack of 22, 25–6
regimen 26–7, 186, 188, 209
religious participation 37, 126, 128, 132, 134–7, 146, 170, 185, 190, 195
see also rituals
responsibilities 9, 20, 94, 99, 104, 119, 121, 157, 158, 166, 171, 175, 189,
190, 216
rhetoric 105, 111–13, 116, 134, 150, 199, 216
ritual 10, 16, 78–81, 87, 106, 126–8, 131–2, 134, 138, 139, 140, 141, 144–
6, 170, 195
of wedding 133
of funeral 133
role model 84, 101, 159
role-play 99
rooms 207–8
rules 5, 79, 84, 92, 100, 102–4, 109–10, 128–30, 135, 149, 173–4, 175, 180,
184–6, 190, 204, 209–10

sandals 198
school 15, 36, 44, 63, 92–4, 100, 106, 109, 111–14, 136–7, 149–51, 158,
166, 195–200, 205, 207–8, 210
episcopal 134
monastic 110, 115, 170, 175, 180, 184, 188–9
of Philosophy 105
Patriarchal 105
schooling 92, 94, 106–8, 111, 113, 115, 116, 158, 195, 196, 198, 210 see
also education
schoolfellows 114
schoolmates 109
senses 128, 137–44, 146
sentimental 154, 156
servants 41, 75, 92, 153, 165–6, 208 see also maidservants
service see liturgy
sexual 26, 28, 29, 46, 62, 68, 215
sexuality 24, 27
sexual temptations, children as 171, 173–5, 189
shame 26, 103, 177
sheep 109, 117–18
shrines 99, 126, 140, 142, 154, 170
siblings 50, 60, 63, 77, 82, 107, 109, 149, 152, 158–61, 166, 167, 170, 201
sick, sickness 78, 136, 140–143, 154, 156–7, 160, 182, 187 see also illness
singing, by children 37, 135–7, 140
sisters see siblings
skills 37, 95, 100, 106, 108, 115–20, 164, 181
slave children 97, 117, 132, 159, 195
smell, smelling 138, 141, 144, 146, 202
smile 34, 76
socialization 10–11, 85, 92–93, 99–100, 105, 115–16, 120, 126, 128, 195,
216
societal expectations 9, 50, 74, 105, 108, 115, 120, 158, 216
Soranus 67
speech of children 33
spinning 116, 186
status, social 9, 50, 55, 75, 76, 93, 94, 105, 116, 117, 120, 121, 198, 208,
217
stealing 97, 187
steadfast 36, 154
stepchildren 62, 63
stepparents 63
stones, playing with 95
stories 102, 127, 139, 145, 150, 204
students 111–13, 165, 199–200
submissive 154
suffering 75, 141, 153, 155–6
survival 58–60, 67, 70, 74, 178
swaddling 34, 72
syllables 106

tactility 140–1
taste 142, 144
teacher 15, 26, 77, 92, 94, 107–113, 130, 164–6, 199–200, 210, 216
teaching 101, 102, 119, 127, 130, 145, 160, 161, 199
teenagers 159 see also adolescents, adolescence puberty
teens 27, 28, 176, 184
teeth 37, 76–7
temperance 44, 47, 83, 84
tender 36, 41, 43, 46, 99, 116, 119, 131, 157, 158, 195
tension 100, 161
tenderness 156–157
toddlers see infancy
tombstones see funerary monuments
topos 3, 24, 34, 42, 66, 73, 76, 104, 116 see also puer senex
touching, touch 79, 138, 140–2, 144, 146, 154, 156, 203
toy horses 95
toys 43, 93, 95, 98–100, 120, 162, 210 see also chariots dolls hoops
training, professional 115–116, 118, 164, 180–181 see also apprenticeship
trajectory of life 8, 10
transition 25, 27, 45, 77, 79, 87, 106, 120, 155, 189, 215
tunic 198, 202, 212n44
tutor 106, 107, 109, 111, 158, 197

unbaptized 80, 132

uncles 13, 42, 63, 73, 82, 110, 115, 163, 166, 167, 179, 180, 182, 184, 186,
188
as guardians of children 107
relationship with children 163–5
unclean 79
undeveloped 37, 85
unruly 109
upbringing 1, 2, 13, 15, 37, 67, 85, 92, 100, 102, 107, 109, 115, 149–51,
157–9, 162–3, 166–7, 170, 207

values 5, 14, 23, 50, 67, 73, 92–4, 100–2, 104, 109, 126, 129, 172
vegetables 186, 200, 205, 209
virginity 40, 172
virtue 3, 26, 32, 35, 37–45, 69, 83, 86–7, 101, 108–9, 126, 135, 150–1
virtuous 23, 35–7, 41, 108
voice 11, 27, 31, 69, 132, 135, 140, 142, 155, 195, 217
vows see monastic vow
vulnerability, of children 44, 46
vulnerable 2, 7, 22, 44, 53, 215

washing: food products and dishes 205

as hygiene practice 187
weak 22, 47
weakness 46
weaning 7, 9, 14, 16, 25, 66–7, 76–8, 87
weaving 37, 116, 143, 186, 197
wet-nursing see breastfeeding nursing
whistles 95, 120
wisdom 28, 43, 114, 161
work, done by children 116–19, 185–6, 202, 205–6 see also agricultural
tasks apprenticeship weaving
workforce 118, 216
wrap, wrapping 25, 34, 72, 162
wrongdoing 103

youngsters 95, 135, 152, 171

youth 22, 25, 26, 27, 28, 38, 44, 45, 53, 98, 119, 153, 173–4, 182, 186, 209
youthful 39, 41, 42
youths 43, 98, 137, 143, 174